The celebration of the community was sober, but filled with devotion and remembrance.
Alfonso Acevedo
His name was Alfonso Acevedo (everybody called him “Foncho”) and he was from San Ramón. For many years he worked as a journalist for La Prensa Gráfica. After 1978, he got more involved with the Christian base communities, in San Ramón, as more people were being “disappeared.” His own brother, Miguel, was “disappeared” in 1980. After that time, the persecution in the community was so bad, even the priests left the area. Alfonso committed to his work as a catechist and organized, with Caritas, the distribution of food, clothes and first aid to all the people in need in San Ramón. In 1982, late at night, death squads took him out of his bed and killed him. In 1990, Centro Hogar Alfonso Acevedo was created. This organization, dedicated to children’s health care and pre-school education, is a living testimony of his work.
His life was remembered, a few weeks ago, during the commemoration of his work in the barrio of San Ramon. Children, elders, men and women, recognized this martyr of the community and the deep connection they feel with his words and deeds. Salvadorian people often speak of Monsignor Romero, the Jesuits killed at the UCA, or Alfonso Acevedo as their martyrs.
Bishop Romero
Their lives are like seeds that the community carry forward and foster a spiritual practice deeply linked to helping this world. If you want to know more about the martyrs check this link: http://programavelasco.org/foster-spiritual-activism?lang=en
After the commemoration of Alfonso’s life with the San Ramón community, I went home. I talked with Salvador, the taxi driver, during the trip. He confirmed some of the stories about the war and the thousands of martyrs that people remember every year in their communities. A life given passionately, and planted like a seed, for future generations was a powerful and hopeful image that lingered in my mind. What do we pass forward to others? I was struck by the realization that we are never a separate entity, a lonely self. The people and the stories from our families or our country, from our culture and our spiritual life, live through us. I wondered who my creative and spiritual ancestors were. Who are those people and the stories that breathe life into me? I wrote this poem:
WHO BREATHES LIFE INTO ME
after the rain is over?
Where are you
among the graceful, wet leaves?
Who do you shine
through the children’s eyes
as I walk fully noticing
their shapes, the grace
of their laughter,
the turn of the wind
lightly touching
my face?
Returning to the question
is the only answer
I know these days,
it is the only prayer
that fills my every moment
of breath.
Come back to me
in any form you choose.
You who fully entering
my breathing in,
and breathing out,
belongs so completely
to my here and now.
It is your presence
that finally fills me.
You who shines
in the infinite
encounter of my self
with the timeless life
of your question.
Writing develops awareness–Who breathes? Spend a few minutes in meditation, in deep remembrance. You are never a separate entity, a lonely self. Who are your creative and spiritual ancestors? Who are the people that breathe life into you? What stories do you carry within you, what creative or spiritual seeds need to be born? Write without thinking, faster than your brain.
Juan