Before I came to Guatemala this time, I knew I was going to return to Santiago, and I knew I wanted to write about Fr. Stanley Rother.  I pictured myself laboriously penning this long dissertation  that people would marvel at.  It would be filled with information about the man, his family, the priest, and the death of the priest.  But look at those eyes. Can’t you just hear this man saying to me, “Eric, thank you, but that’s so silly.”  So, realizing that that was more about me than about him,  my novelette has been cast aside in favor of a simpler attempt at tribute.

I sat alone for a long time in the room where Fr. Stanley was murdered.  I read things around the church grounds about this place and this man.  The violence of the early 80s that took his life also orphaned my friend Renato and his older brother Mario.  They were just small boys.

In recent days I’ve read about, and thought a lot about, what I wanted to write to honor this man.  Those of you who have followed my writing from the beginning, know that I avoid taking  photos in worship spaces.  And that it’s hard for me to take pictures in places I consider hallowed ground.  I tell you that as prelude to the first thing  that speaks to me about Fr. Rother.

Stanley Rother wasn’t doing well in his first seminary.  Recognizing his passion, the Rector of that seminary asked a friend from another seminary if he would accept Stanley for another chance at achieving ordination.  While he should have been studying, Stanley Rother was fixing things and doing things that needed to be done.

The exquisite altar area inside the church in Santiago is largely the work of Fr. Stanley’s hands and supervision.  Stanley Rother grew up on a farm, and thus had all of those skills of do-it-yourself and self sufficiency that we’ve come to know most farmers have.  During the course of his seminary years and throughout his priesthood, especially in Guatemala, Fr. Stanley was carpenter, confessor, electrician, homilist, bull dozer driver, teacher, plumber, pastor, nurse, neighbor, dentist, mourner, mason, and man of God.  And he was all of those things in an atmosphere of unrest, and during a time when his parishioners would just disappear.  Or tortured bodies of people he knew would turn up in the streets.  We can’t begin to imagine.  When all of this was happening I was expanding my suit wardrobe and deciding what color my company car should be.  I know, suit wardrobe?  Go figure. 😉

While he was with us, Fr. Stanley never stopped doing things that needed to be done.  For his parishes, for his parishioners, for his Church, for his neighbors, for hundreds of school kids, for what was right.

Secondly, I could not write about Fr. Stanley without including the fact that he was safe at one point.  In January of 1981, learning that Fr. Stanley had been put on a death list, The Church had pulled him  out of Guatemala determining that it was just too dangerous to leave him there.  Made sense.  But not to Stanley Rother.  Believing, and living the example, that the shepherd does not leave his flock, he prosecuted a campaign with his superiors, and in May of 1981 was granted permission to return to Guatemala.  Before July ended, he was dead.

This photo is looking across a small garden area to the entrance, (in the corner), of the room where Fr. Stanley was shot twice in the head.  It’s in the area on the church grounds of the original school and rectory.  In the early morning hours of July 28th, gunmen forced their way into the rectory.  The story of three men is the final thing I want to share with you, because their story is emblematic of not only the violence of civil war, but also the politics of power and corruption.

Three men were arrested for killing Fr. Stanley.  One other man and one woman were brought in for questioning concerning the murder.  Eventually it was announced that the three men confessed, saying they broke in to the church to commit robbery and killed the priest when he interrupted them.  Many of the people, if not most, that were familiar with all of the circumstances, never believed that the three men killed Fr. Stanley.  Instead the convictions were a set up, and a cover up of paramilitary involvement in what was in a truth an assassination.  Due to pressure from the US Gov’t, and the church, the convictions were eventually vacated.  No one else was ever charged with the murder.

It’s right now well after midnight and I realize I have no idea how to close this post.  Stanley Francis Rother and Fr. Stanley have been parked in my head for days.  Putting together these few simple paragraphs has taken me hours and hours ’cause I so wanted to be brief and do him justice.  I feel like it would have been an honor to know him.  The love that is felt for him and his memory is still very evident in the place where he lived and died.  A young girl that was working in a small memento shop, locked the door and led me to the room when I inquired about it’s whereabouts.  My sense is, that in keeping with the man, it’s location is understated.  When I left, she was standing by the garden a ways down the corridor.  She had tears and said, thank you for coming.  It was an amazing moment that only later came to full register.  I mean hundreds of people come to visit this place and Fr. Stanley was killed long before she was born.  I have my own small understanding of his love for this country and it’s people.

And so, I’m going to exercise a closing technique I’ve used before.  When in doubt, just stop.