The news about the martyrdom of Sr Anselm and her three Missionaries of Charity colleagues in Yemen on March 4 had left me speechless and devastated.
“Why Lord? I asked Lord Jesus in anger and frustration. “They lived for you, and for your abandoned and ailing people,” I said without looking at the crucifix on the wall in my room.
The Lord seemed slow to answer, but I looked at him. His open eyes were fixed on me. His cheeks were dotted with blood marks. The crown of thorns seemed to have cut deeper into his head. Was he crying? It then dawned on me that his pain is much more than mine.
I heard a little voice deep within. “Do you remember watching the video ‘Of God and Of Men?’” he enquired.
“Yes, of course, Lord. How can I forget a video that touched me so much? Is it not the story of your people?”
“Watch it again,” I heard the voice again. “It will give answers to some of your current questions,” the silent communication continued.
I had watched the video several times; in group and alone. I even spent a day of recollection on it. It had made a deep impact on me because of its contents and depth.
The film was based on a community of Cistercian monks living in a Muslim village in Algeria.
So I followed the Lord’s suggestion hoping to get some idea of what might have gone through the minds of the Missionaries of Charity nuns before their martyrdom.
The video shows a young abbot who with courage and firm faith refused to take army protection for him and companions in the monastery. “It is a place of peace. No presence of the army. Jesus is the watchman here,” he argued with the minister who offered protection.
Other members, barring a worn out doctor and a senior in his community, were all prepared to leave for a safer place. They were afraid of living at the mercy of the army and the Muslim rebels.
A monk voiced the thoughts of others when he said, “I did not become a monk to sit back and have my throat slit. We must leave for good.”
But another said, “To leave is to die. I am staying.”
Other voices said, “We should each decide according to his conscience.”
There was a suggestion to spend time in prayer and reflection.
“Let us turn to the man who beckons from the Cross.”
The abbot struggled to keep up the spirit of his community sent to serve the people around them in that dangerous place.
He told them, “None of us chose to live here. We are not here to be protected by the government. We are called to live here with people who are afraid.”
The abbot prayed alone and in community, took long walks, breathing in fresh air of God’s abundant love and mercy.
He decided to stay. “Lord, do not abandon me. Help me,” he cried.
As if to test him, the rebels brought an injured man to the monastery clinic one day. The doctor cared for him, and that act of kindness was misunderstood by the villagers and the army.
Yet the abbot did not lose heart.
He visited his Muslim neighbors to tell them about their predicament and plan to leave the village. “We are like birds on the tree branch,” he explained the life of a monk to those villagers.
A Muslim woman answered, “For us you are the branch. We are the birds sitting on this branch.”
Her words convinced the abbot about the deep trust the Muslim community had in the hapless monks.
After the monks prayed, each presented his decision before the community.
“My life is here with you,” one monk began.
But the youngest one repeated that he had not become a monk to die a futile death. “We must leave for good,”
Another said he was going mad reflecting on his choices. “I wanted to be a missionary from my childhood. Dying for my faith would keep me awake all night. Now to die here — does it serve a purpose?”
The abbot gently held him close and said, “It is as mad as becoming a monk. Remember you have already given your life away when you gave it to Christ; your life, your family, your country. We are martyrs of love, out of fidelity. Our mission here is to be brothers of all. Love is eternal hope. Love endures everything.”
The abbot’s words gave the frightened monks the courage to stay. They thought of their calling once again. They thought of their offering to Christ to serve him in all situations.
Finally, the community decided to stay with the people, come what may. The frightened people had placed their trust in the presence of the monks in their midst.
Seven of them were kidnapped one night, and the world has not seen or heard about them since then.
After the movie I sat in silence for some time. I did not have the courage to look up at the Crucifix or talk with the Lord.
The scenes of pain that his followers endure in various places of the world flashed before my mind.
“I am alive and with you,” I heard a voice whispering.
“Yes, Lord, because you are alive and with us, we can face our tomorrows.”
I bowed my head in surrender as the Mother Teresa nuns must have done when they decided to stay back to serve the aged in the Aden home.