This is the true and moving story of the mysterious journey that a simple prayer card of Saint Óscar Romero took last year before, during, and after the saint’s liturgical feast day.
It all began with my personal mission in El Salvador. I have dedicated part of my ministry to collaborating with Salvadorans in preserving the legacy of Saint Romero, and in this endeavor, two of my passions converge: origami peace cranes and the figure of the martyred archbishop. I patiently make small chains of paper cranes and hang a Saint Romero prayer card at the end. Sometimes I add colorful beads or small, shiny hearts. They are simple keepsakes that I give to friends and distribute at events commemorating Saint Romero.
Last year, a few days before March 24, the date on which the Church commemorates Saint Romero’s martyrdom, I stopped by my friend Larry's office to leave some of these origami keepsakes for him and his coworkers. I couldn't find Larry, but hours later he messaged me on WhatsApp: “My colleagues told me you stopped by with these lovely mementos of our pastor. I'd like to take one to my friend, Father Rogelio, who is seriously ill in the hospital after [a car] accident. Do you have any extras?” [Translated from the original Spanish].
I immediately replied yes and was truly happy to think this small gesture might comfort a hospitalized priest.
Larry's friend was Father Rogelio Ponseele, a Belgian missionary who dedicated his life to accompanying marginalized communities in El Salvador. The European priest personally knew Romero. Although they sometimes clashed as they navigated their unique pastoral paths, they shared a deep friendship born out of love for the Salvadoran people and the preferential option for the poor.
The memento I had for Father Rogelio was quite simple: an origami crane in shades of blue and white; purple, wooden beads; and a Romero prayer card – all fixed together with clear filament. Nothing ostentatious – simply paper and thread.
Larry, along with the Romero memento, traveled across El Salvador to visit Father Rogelio. However, when he arrived, the priest was still unconscious in the intensive care unit. I didn't hear anything more for several days.
Meanwhile, Saint Romero’s March 24th feast arrived. I sat in the Divine Providence Hospital chapel, the same site where Romero was assassinated in 1980 while celebrating Mass. As a celebration in honor of Saint Romero began, the main celebrant, Bishop Oswaldo Escobar, announced that Father Rogelio had died that very morning. The bishop consoled us and suggested we could also remember Father Rogelio on Saint Romero’s feast. We then celebrated a liturgy filled with vibrant song.
Weeks later, Larry recounted to me what had happened with his visit to Father Rogelio. Upon arriving at the hospital days before the priest’s death, Larry had affixed the chain with the holy card to the glass door of the ICU. When Father Rogelio briefly regained consciousness, Larry held up the image so Father Rogelio could see it. The priest responded with a smile.
Afterward, a doctor offered to put the memento inside the hospital room. Now the prayer card hung from one of the cables that connected to the machines that were assisting the priest.
After Father Rogelio’s death, one of his friends, Daniel, took the keepsake and gently placed it on the priest's chest. In life, Father Rogelio had adorned his home with humble images of Romero, and now, in death, he rested with the image of the Salvadoran saint close to his heart.
At the funeral home, another unexpected kindness occurred. The staff noticed that Father Rogelio’s body had arrived with the image. Assuming it was important, they placed it back on his chest after dressing him in his priestly vestments.
During Father Rogelio Ponseele’s wake, funeral Mass, and burial, the image of Saint Romero, his pastor and friend, accompanied him to the very end.
After Larry finished telling me the story, I felt a rush of energy. I paced around for an hour. Might I have misunderstood? Larry had recounted the story to me in Spanish, my second language. Then I remembered that a friend had sent me a Facebook video from the wake. While watching the video, I confirmed what had happened: the Romero memento was visible on the priest's chest.
The truth is, at that time, I had been feeling discouraged. The long-term effects of Lyme disease sometimes still plague me. I wondered what I was doing in a foreign country if I only had enough energy to decorate images of my favorite saint.
But Larry’s story offered me another perspective. Perhaps the Holy Spirit had multiplied my efforts as the memento traveled closer and closer to Father Rogelio: Larry visited the sick priest; the doctor showed compassion; Daniel honored the deceased; the funeral home staff respected a symbol of the faith; and the community was consoled by the image of a beloved saint. Three Works of Mercy – visiting the sick, burying the dead, and comforting the afflicted—entwined around a simple paper chain.
The mystery of it all, having occurred around the feast of Saint Romero, seems beyond mere coincidence.
Since then, I’ve enjoyed sharing this story as a reminder of the communion of saints and how faith can travel from person to person, growing in meaning. I like to imagine that, when entering the gates of heaven, Father Rogelio was greeted by his old friend.
“Rogelio, welcome,” Romero might have said. “I see you’ve arrived with an image of me on your chest. How did that come to be?”
“I don’t know, Óscar,” Rogelio would reply. “I was unconscious. Then I woke up to my friend Larry waving an image of your face in mine, and then I showed up here, wearing it. But it’s a joy to see you, my friend. Happy feast day.”
And so, amidst friendship, hope, and mystery, the prayer card found its final resting place.
Happy feast day, Saint Óscar Arnulfo Romero!
Cinnamon Sarver, a parishioner of Shrine of the Sacred Heart parish, enjoys spending time in El Salvador with the Maryknoll Affiliates. She has theology degrees from Boston College and the University of Notre Dame.
