This morning, we all flocked (in a big yellow school bus) to the national cathedral of El Salvador. The body of Monseñor Oscar A. Romero is buried in this church. I have since learnedthat here, the title "monseñor" is used for all catholic priests as a term of respect, as in "my señor." I kept hearing about "Monseñor" Romero, but I knew he had been Archbishop of El Salvador when he was killed. Someone finally told me the truth. We arrived at the service late. Right before the Archbishop and his crew made their procession into the church. As a result, I had to sit in the back and understood very little of the service. The church was packed. I saw lines of twenty or more people on either side of the church waiting for confession. Every available seat was taken.
And there were hundreds of people there. They all sat silently and willingly through the Archbishop's hour long homily while I marveled at their reverence and fidgeted in my seat.
After the service, I saw Romero's gravesite. I bought a tall, beautiful white candle for 15 cents from a woman outside. I entered back into the basement and lit the candle behind t
he grave and said a short prayer for my dad. What I wouldn't give for him to see where I am now.
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