FR. RON BURKE

A REMEMBRANCE

I met Fr. Ron Burke soon after arriving in San Francisco in 1985. There were certain priests that I could always turn to when there was need of support on a particular social justice issue. He was one of them. Ron was a very reserved, almost shy man of few words. At times, he appeared rude because of his bluntness, even though he was a very kind and generous man.  He carried a seriousness and sadness with him that showed on his face and demeanor.

Even though he was a priest of the Archdiocese, Ron was committed to serving the poor; especially those south of our border and so was released by the Archdiocese to serve as a missionary in Guatemala in 1966. He served there for 15 years.

Ron had been ministering in Parramus, Guatemala during a time of great political tension. After Vatican II and the beginning of “liberation theology”, many in the church began to side with the poor who were little better than indentured servants on the lands of the small oligarchies who ruled these countries. Inspired by Vatican II, bishops and priests began to preach the Gospel of human rights. They began to preach about the dignity of every person, no matter how poor. They also helped teach the people to speak for their rights and to organize themselves to attain what was rightfully theirs. In the context of the Gospel, this was a non-violent effort, but after, severe repression, massacres and the impunity of those in power, a violent struggle broke out. This was further complicated by the collaboration of Marxists and other groups with leftist ideologies whose goal was to take political power and implement a Marxist type state. Not all in the rebellion agreed with this, but it was the prevailing political ideology and was thus a certain and clear enemy of the United states which at that time was enmeshed in the cold war against communist Russia.

Ron Burke was a believer in the rights of his people. He formed his people of Parramus into small Christian communities (communidades de base) a structure that was conducive to families in a neighborhood sharing the gospel and their life stories. This type of structure also developed leaders from among the community and many of them became catechists trained to preach and teach the Gospel and become assistants to Ron. During these turbulent times in both Guatemala and El Salvador and all over Latin America, the oligarchies in control saw this grass roots Church movement as highly threatening. They mistakenly interpreted this evangelical fervor and leadership development as similar to the increasing threat from the leftist parties who were resolved to topple them. Soon the death threats began and priests, nuns and catechists were being killed with impunity. Ron received many death threats but, in his solid and stubborn way, paid them no mind. One night in 1981, as he was heading back to Parramus from a small gathering outside the town, two men jumped out the darkness on the side of the road and forced him to stop his car. It was two of his catechists. They told him that there was an ambush waiting for him at the next crossroads. He was to be killed that night. He turned his car around and drove the long distance to Guatemala City and the American Embassy where he was secreted out of the country.

Our social justice efforts in the Archdiocese included taking small delegations to El Salvador and Guatemala to show solidarity with the persecuted church there. So in 1993, twelve years after Ron had fled Guatemala in the dead of night, he returned with our small delegation to visit his former parish. In a non-descript Volkswagen van, we drove down the main unpaved street of Parramus. Even though we were driving slowly so that we would not attract attention, the dust formed a cloud behind us. We had arrived purposely during the afternoon siesta period so that there would be fewer people on the streets. All of us were nervous because we had heard Ron’s story and we knew that the perpetrators, still leaders of the town’s political establishment, might cause our brief stay to be unpleasant, and, possibly, very dangerous.

The violence, both in Guatemala and in El Salvador, was so horrific during this time period that it was beyond the imagination of most of us. The Mayans, who comprise over 80% of the population of Guatemala, were particularly hard hit. The Indian villagers told us of whole villages being massacred, soldiers firing their automatic weapons at men women and children without distinction. In one case, the soldiers herded the villagers, old men and women and mothers with their babies into the small church, set it afire and then shot anyone trying to escape.

.We drove directly to the town cemetery. Ron had not forgotten. The cemetery itself was somewhat exotic to our American eyes. Guatemalan cemeteries are filled with statues and each gravesite was situated in a small mound. Natural poinsettia plants with their vibrant Christmas red leaves were flowering everywhere. It was a jumbled combination of natural beauty and plastic kitsch.

Three people were waiting for us at the cemetery, two women and a man. They had been hiding quietly in the trees just outside the cemetery. The tears flowed as they saw Fr. Ron and they rushed to embrace him. It was evident that Ron was profoundly moved. This solid man of little emotion was now face to face with the sole survivors of the killings that followed his departure. Eighteen of his catechists were assassinated, one a twelve year-old boy, the son of one of the women who happened to be with her when she was attacked. We came to the cemetery to pay our respects to these martyrs and to pray. I remember that one of our delegation, a sister, had put together a prayer service with readings from scripture and song. We sang “Amazing Grace” as we cried and tried to imagine the breadth of the violence that afflicted these simple people.

God took this simple, Christ-like priest home on June 19, 2010. May he rest in peace and may he stand tall in glory with the martyrs of Guatemala.