A story of what it means to be a pastor

Fr. Rother is a reminder of the commitment to serve the people of God that is essential to a real vocation. We tend to temporarily honor those who have been called to lay down their lives for their faith. But even more we neglect to recognizs the heroism and sacrifice of many priests who quietly serve their people day after day squeezed between the needs and problems of their parishioners and the unfeeling authority and legalism of the hierarchy.

In the mid 1970's (I can find the exact date if necessary), with my friends Sandy and Ann, a gentle and beautiful blonde couple, I, then a good-looking translator, went on a a southern expedition and adventure. Animated by an almost faddish book, Chariots of the Gods, Sandy wanted to re-visit Monte Alban to re-examine and re-search. Ann and I shared his enthusiasm. So the two blonde beauties with their translator ventured south in a Chevy station wagon. We drove from Key West to Laredo and crossed into Mejico. From Nuevo Laredo we wandered to Vera Cruz where we spent time eating jiebas that the local crabbers first shared with us and then taught us how to catch. We crossed to Oxaca where we camped by a creek, sleeping in hammocks, buying food at the town market, and relaxing with guitar music and food at our evening fire, and going for a "night of adventure" along mountain roads with lights out to sample "sinsemilla buds" from various harvests. Our "guides" had mistaken us for "buyers" but were enthralled by Anita, la linda rubia, who rolled perfect joints. We didn't buy, but they offered us samples because they thought Ann was beautiful, they enjoyed Sandy's guitar playing, and they were glad that I could help them all communicate. Begging your pardon, I must say that it was really good weed and we really shared friendship. From there we drove to Chiapas in its pre-notorious but still tenuous times. We were sprayed with disinfectant as we crossed from Mejico into Guatemala at Tapachula. We drove to Lake Atitlan and camped across from Santiago, close to the volcano. While there, Joseph, a hippie like us but on foot, passed by and we welcomed him. The next day, Sandy and Ann decided to walk down the volcano while Joseph and I drove to the mirador, a lookout point. We dropped Sandy and Ann off, planning to return the following day. Joseph and I drove off to the mirador. Just a we were ariving at the perfect lookout point, the tie rod on the Chevy broke and we nearly drove over the edge. I apologized to Joseph who was unfazed. He said he could continue walking, which I thought was a good idea since I didn't know how to repair the car and return to pick up Sandy and Ann. I walked uncounted miles back to Santiago Atitlan, the closest and only town, and found the taller, the garage. But it was closed for lunch. I sat on the steps of the building that was closest, the Police Station. As I sat there, a uniformed man approached me and commented that I looked as if I'd lost my last friend. I explained and he understood. He said that he was the Chief of Police and that he and his deputy had just returned from lunch and would gladly help me. His deputy picked up a length of rope and we began the uncounted miles' return trip to the disabled car. It was a long walk and an even longer conversation during which the Chief and his teniente got the entire hippie soap opera account of our trek. I think they enjoyed the account even though they thought we were a bit out of the ordinary, which is welcomed by those who live in the ordinary. We got to the car only to find out that there was no jack, so I had to quickly return to town and bring back the one that was at the police station. I was young then, and desperate about Sandy and Ann whom I was supposed to pick up the next day after their descent into the volcano, so I was back in time for the chief and his teniente to jack up the front of the car, diagnose the problem, whittle a piece of hard wood, lash it onto the broken tie rod with the rope they had brought at the start of the remedio, and get me back on the road. But the wooden splint was only temporary. They told me I had to go to the Padre who had the only welding equipment in town. I drove into town that night and parked close to the church so that I could see the Padre first thing the next morning. Gracias a Dios, he was there early for a baptism. I waited through rather than participated in the sacrament because all I could think of was the broken tie rod and Sandy and Ann. After the liturgy, the Padre came over to find out what I wanted. I'm sure that it was obvious I was an anxious stranger. I explained my situation, in English; he understood and directed me to his shop. There he jacked up the car, set up his equipment and welded the tie rod. He said that I would be able to pick up Sandy and Ann, and then we should drive to Guatemala City and have the tie rod replaced. Fr. Stanley Rother was right. We three hippies were grateful for his help. Our adventure was wonderful, especially our stay at Lake Atitlan. When we left, the Police Chief and his teniente met us on the road north. We had a Polaroid camera and they asked for a photograph. As we were focusing and they were posing, from out of nowhere, all the people we had met, or rather who had seen us arrive and watched us while we were with them, appeared for a group photo. Thanks to a delay timer, we were all able to get into the picture, which we left with them. And with them, we mourned when learned of his violent death on July 28, 1981. We love you Padre Stan, we love you.
Paz y Bien, Rolando, SFO.

Thank you for this profile of a wonderful man who gave his life for the people of Guatemala. This is truly humble man - already a saint. I find this story refreshing - we need to hear about more of these men and women (not necessarily who have been martyred) who have left family and home to bring light and hope to those who are marginalized. I propose that we have a series of these stories. They would bring joy and life to our church which is in a gloomy state at the moment. I would not have known about Fr. Rother had I not read it in the NCR.

Yes I agree with Bill....well said. These are the priests who are filled with the Holy Spirit and generously

share God's love.

Wow. What a witness.

Fr. Rother seems to have been a tremendous witness for us of God's love and commitment to his people. To hear of such holiness is awesome and humbling.

Contrast Fr. Rother's life to that of Bishop Morlino of Madison, who is currently on the board of the School of the Americas (it's been renamed something or other) that was training the death squads in Guatemala and elsewhere in Latin America at that time. Morlino to this day denies any wrongdoing of his organization despite overwhelming evidence. Morlino, as you might expect, is also against women participating in liturgies and has the standard slate of other stone age attitudes.

We must rebuild our Church on the rock-solid model of people like Fr. Rother instead of on the slimy ooze of people like Morlino.

Our high school mission group from St. Charles Preparatory (Columbus, OH) just visited Fr. Rother's church in Santiago Atitlan as a side trip from our service in Guatemala City with the organization International Samaritan: http://www.intsamaritan.org
While many of us in the United States are familiar with the martyrdom of Oscar Romero or the UCA Jesuits, housekeeper and her daughter, I had never heard of Fr. Rother, much less knew his story. The shrines established at the church in Santiago Atitlan display the continued devotion and gratitude the indigenous people have for Fr. Rother and the sacrifice he made as their pastor. This article is also a great tribute to Fr. Rother and a great gift to us North American Catholics to better educate ourselves on the martyrs of our church.