Those Nineteen Martyrs of Algeria, So Dear to Pope Leo

At the Meeting that Communion and Liberation holds eve­ry late August in Rimini, this year with the gene­ral title “In desert pla­ces we will build with new bricks,”  the stan­dout is an exhi­bi­tion dedi­ca­ted to the mar­tyrs of Algeria, also illu­stra­ted by a book soon to be relea­sed by Libreria Editrice Vaticana.

Few peo­ple know that May 8, when Pope Leo was elec­ted, was the litur­gi­cal memo­rial of the­se very mar­tyrs, and that Numidia, modern-day Algeria, was the bir­th­pla­ce and home of Augustine, of whom Leo him­self calls him­self “son.”

And in fact, in the mes­sa­ge he addres­sed to the orga­ni­zers of the Meeting, signed by Cardinal Secretary of State Pietro Parolin, he wan­ted to highlight this clo­se­ness of his :

“The Holy Father has appre­cia­ted that one of the exhi­bi­tions cha­rac­te­ri­zing this year’s Meeting is dedi­ca­ted to the wit­ness of the mar­tyrs of Algeria. In them, the Church’s voca­tion to dwell in the desert in deep com­mu­nion with all huma­ni­ty, over­co­ming the walls of indif­fe­ren­ce that set reli­gions and cul­tu­res again­st one ano­ther, in full imi­ta­tion of the move­ment of the incar­na­tion and giving of the Son of God. This way of pre­sen­ce and sim­pli­ci­ty, of kno­w­led­ge and of ‘dia­lo­gue of life,’ is the true path of mis­sion. Not self-exhibition, in the con­tra­po­si­tion of iden­ti­ties, but self-giving to the point of mar­tyr­dom of tho­se who, day and night, in joy and amid tri­bu­la­tions, wor­ship Jesus alo­ne as Lord.”

The mar­tyrs of Algeria com­me­mo­ra­ted are the nine­teen depic­ted in the icon repro­du­ced here, pain­ted by Sister Odile, a nun of the Little Sisters of Nazareth, all kil­led bet­ween 1994 and 1996 in the thick of the “black deca­de” of  civil war that left 150,000 dead in Algeria.

Among them is a bishop, Pierre-Lucien Claverie, Dominican and “pied-noir,” that is, a French citi­zen born in Algeria, of the dio­ce­se of Oran, kil­led on August 1, 1996, toge­ther with his Muslim friend and dri­ver Mohamed Bouchikhi, also depic­ted in the icon, the only one without the halo.

And then the­re are the most famous of the nine­teen : the seven Trappist monks of the mona­ste­ry of Tibhirine, in the Atlas Mountains, kid­nap­ped with their prior Christian de Chergé on the night bet­ween March 26 and 27, 1996, and decla­red dead the fol­lo­wing May 21 when their deca­pi­ta­ted bodies were found near Médéa. Their sto­ry was taken up in the film Of Gods and Men direc­ted by Xavier Beauvois, which won an award at the 2010 Cannes festi­val and is now being pre­sen­ted again at the Rimini Meeting.

But remem­bran­ce and vene­ra­tion also go to the four “whi­te fathers” – the Missionaries of Africa foun­ded in the 19th cen­tu­ry by then bishop and car­di­nal of Algiers Charles Lavigerie – kil­led in Tizi Ouzou ; to the two white-robed mis­sio­na­ry nuns of Our Lady of Apostles ; to the two Augustinian mis­sio­na­ry nuns kil­led along with a Little Sister of Charles de Foucauld ; and final­ly to the Marist friar who cura­ted a libra­ry and the nun of the Little Sisters of the Assumption kil­led with him, por­trayed knee­ling in the icon.

The exhi­bi­tion and the book tell and illu­stra­te the sto­ries of each of the­se mar­tyrs, bea­ti­fied on December 8, 2018, in Algeria, at the shri­ne of Notre-Dame de Santa Cruz.

But all of their sto­ries have some com­mon fea­tu­res, which are impor­tant to highlight becau­se they touch on vital issues regar­ding the pre­sen­ce of Christians in socie­ty.

Flourishing in the ear­ly cen­tu­ries, the Christian pre­sen­ce in modern-day Algeria decli­ned after the Muslim con­que­st and vir­tual­ly disap­pea­red from the 17th cen­tu­ry. In the 19th cen­tu­ry a revi­val of this pre­sen­ce was lin­ked to French colo­nial rule, but even then with a dif­fe­rent vision embo­died by Charles de Foucauld and his her­mi­ta­ge among the Tuareg Muslims in Tamanrasset, in the heart of the Sahara Desert.

With the Algerian War of Independence, which ended in 1962, this “colo­nial bub­ble” bur­st and almo­st all the “pied-noirs” fled to France. The remai­ning Christians, all forei­gners, for­med a small and fra­gi­le com­mu­ni­ty that reco­gni­zed itself as a “gue­st” of the Algerian peo­ple, who were enti­re­ly Muslim. But they also wan­ted to share their lives and works with the popu­la­tion, in a dia­lo­gue that also tou­ched on the respec­ti­ve fai­ths.

With dif­fe­rent empha­ses. If on the one hand the prior of Tibhirine, Christian de Chergé, aimed for uni­ty despi­te the dif­fe­ren­ces bet­ween Christianity and Islam, toward a com­mon invo­ca­tion of the same God, on the other Bishop Claverie insi­sted instead on the spe­ci­fi­ci­ty of the Christian faith : “There will be no encoun­ter, dia­lo­gue, friend­ship unless on the basis of a reco­gni­zed, accep­ted dif­fe­ren­ce. Loving the other in his dif­fe­ren­ce is the only pos­si­bi­li­ty of loving him.”

But what put Christians to the test was the civil war that bro­ke out in Algeria in 1990, bet­ween the post-colonial secu­lar eli­te in power and the radi­cal Muslims of the Islamic Salvation Front, who were vic­to­rious in the elec­tions but pre­ven­ted from gover­ning.

In 1993 the rebels’ extre­mi­st wing, the Armed Islamic Group, issues an ulti­ma­tum to all “forei­gners,” a word that for them is also syno­ny­mous with Christians. They must lea­ve Algeria within a month, on pain of death. And as soon as the ulti­ma­tum expi­res the series of kil­lings begins.

What to do ? Leave or stay ? For Christians, life is at sta­ke. The Bishop of Algiers, Henri Teissier, asks the cler­gy this que­stion, one by one. But everyone’s respon­se is to stay. And the mar­tyr­dom of the nine­teen is the fruit of this choi­ce.

Two answers, in par­ti­cu­lar, have gone down histo­ry. From a monk and a bishop.

The monk was the prior of Tibhirine, Christian de Chergé. We have his spi­ri­tual testa­ment, writ­ten in the days of the ulti­ma­tum and repro­du­ced in its enti­re­ty in the book dedi­ca­ted to the nine­teen mar­tyrs of Algeria. “One of the most beau­ti­ful pages ever writ­ten in the 1900s,” in the words of Cardinal Angelo Scola, the foun­der years ago of the Oasis Foundation for Islamic-Christian dia­lo­gue, which is pro­mo­ting the Rimini exhi­bi­tion toge­ther with Libreria Editrice Vaticana.

These are its ope­ning lines :

“If it should hap­pen one day — and it could be today — that I beco­me a vic­tim of the ter­ro­ri­sm which now seems rea­dy to engulf all the forei­gners living in Algeria, I would like my com­mu­ni­ty, my Church and my fami­ly to remem­ber that my life was given to God and to this coun­try.

“I ask them to accept the fact that the One Master of all life was not a stran­ger to this bru­tal depar­tu­re. I would ask them to pray for me : for how could I be found wor­thy of such an offe­ring ? I ask them to asso­cia­te this death with so many other equal­ly vio­lent ones which are for­got­ten throu­gh indif­fe­ren­ce or ano­ny­mi­ty.

“My life has no more value than any other. Nor any less value. In any case, it has not the inno­cen­ce of chil­d­hood. I have lived long enou­gh to know that I am an accom­pli­ce in the evil which seems to pre­vail so ter­ri­bly in the world, even in the evil which might blind­ly stri­ke me down. I should like, when the time comes, to have a moment of spi­ri­tual cla­ri­ty which would allow me to beg for­gi­ve­ness of God    and of my fel­low human beings, and at the same time for­gi­ve with all my heart the one who would stri­ke me down.”

And the­se are the con­clu­ding lines, also addres­sed to his kil­ler :

“For this life lost, total­ly mine and total­ly theirs, I thank God, who seems to have wil­led it enti­re­ly for the sake of that joy in eve­ry­thing and in spi­te of eve­ry­thing.

“In this ‘thank you,’ which is said for eve­ry­thing in my life from now on, I cer­tain­ly inclu­de you, friends of yester­day and today, and you, my friends of this pla­ce, along with my mother and father, my sisters and bro­thers and their fami­lies, You are the hun­dre­d­fold gran­ted as was pro­mi­sed !

“And also you, my last-minute friend, who will not have kno­wn what you were doing : Yes, I want this thank you and this good­bye to be a ‘God-bless’ for you, too, becau­se in God’s face I see yours. May we meet again as hap­py thie­ves in Paradise, if it plea­se God, the Father of us both. Amen ! Inshallah!”

The other tou­ching answer to the que­stion “lea­ve or stay?” is that of the bishop of Oran, Pierre-Lucien Claverie, in the homi­ly he gave in Prouilhe, the foun­ding pla­ce of the Dominican order, on June 23, 1996, five weeks befo­re he was kil­led.

Here is the full text :

“Since the Algerian tra­ge­dy began, I’ve often been asked : ‘What are all of you doing down the­re ? Why do you stay ? Shake the dust off your san­dals ! Go home!’

“Home… Where is home for us ? We are the­re becau­se of this cru­ci­fied Messiah. For no other rea­son, for no other per­son ! We have no inte­rests to defend, no influen­ce to main­tain. We are not moved by some maso­chi­stic or sui­ci­dal per­ver­sion. We have no power, but we are the­re as if at the bed­si­de of a friend, a sick bro­ther, in silen­ce, hol­ding his hand, wiping his brow. Because of Jesus, becau­se it is He who suf­fers, in that vio­len­ce that spa­res no one, cru­ci­fied anew in the flesh of thou­sands of inno­cen­ts. Like Mary, his mother, like Saint John, we are the­re, at the foot of the Cross whe­re Jesus dies, aban­do­ned by his own, moc­ked by the cro­wd. For a Christian, isn’t it essen­tial to be the­re, in the pla­ces of suf­fe­ring, in the pla­ces of aban­don­ment, of deso­la­tion ?

“Where should it be, the Church of Jesus which is itself the Body of Christ, if not fir­st and fore­mo­st the­re ? I belie­ve that it is dying pre­ci­se­ly for the fact of not being clo­se enou­gh to the Cross of Jesus.

“As para­do­xi­cal as it may seem to you – and St. Paul demon­stra­tes it clear­ly – the strength, vita­li­ty, hope, Christian fruit­ful­ness, the fruit­ful­ness of the Church come from the­re. Not from elsewhe­re, not in any other way. All, all the rest is nothing but smo­ke in the eyes, world­ly illu­sion.

“The Church is mista­ken and decei­ves the world when it pre­sen­ts itself as just one power among others, as an orga­ni­za­tion, even huma­ni­ta­rian, or as a spec­ta­cu­lar evan­ge­li­cal move­ment. It may even shi­ne, but it does not burn with the fire of God’s love, strong as death, says the Song of Songs.

Because it’s real­ly about love here. Love fir­st and fore­mo­st, and only love. A pas­sion for which Jesus gave us a taste and sho­wed us the way : the­re is no grea­ter love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. To lay down one’s life. It’s not reser­ved for mar­tyrs – or rather, perhaps we are all cal­led to beco­me mar­tyrs, wit­nes­ses to the free gift of love, the free gift of our own lives.

This gift comes to us from the gra­ce of God given in Jesus Christ. In eve­ry deci­sion, in eve­ry act, to con­cre­te­ly give some­thing of one­self : one’s time, one’s smi­le, one’s friend­ship, one’s exper­ti­se, one’s pre­sen­ce, even silent, even hel­pless, one’s atten­tion, one’s mate­rial, moral, and spi­ri­tual sup­port, one’s outstret­ched hand, without cal­cu­la­tion, without reser­va­tions, without fear of losing one­self.”

At the head of the dio­ce­se of Oran today, which num­bers 1,600 fai­th­ful of various natio­na­li­ties out of over 10 mil­lion Algerian resi­den­ts, is the Italian Davide Carraro of the Pontifical Institute for Foreign Missions. Meanwhile, at the mona­ste­ry of Tibhirine – who­se cur­rent five monks have moved to Midelt, Morocco, also in the Atlas Mountains – the­re is now a com­mu­ni­ty of Chemin Neuf, which keeps the memo­ry of the mar­tyrs ali­ve for visi­tors.

(Translated by Matthew Sherry : traduttore@​hotmail.​com)

— —  — —

Sandro Magister is past “vati­ca­ni­sta” of the Italian wee­kly L’Espresso.
The late­st arti­cles in English of his blog Settimo Cielo are on this page.
But the full archi­ve of Settimo Cielo in English, from 2017 to today, is acces­si­ble.
As is the com­ple­te index of the blog www.chiesa, which pre­ce­ded it.

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