The Life and Martyrdom of Fr Andrea
Santoro, a Priest on Mission in
Turkey
by Sandro Magister
ROMA, February 7, 2006 –– He had knelt down to pray shortly before
celebrating the Mass in the little Catholic Church of Trabzon, in the
north of Turkey, on the Black Sea, when a young man shot him in the
back twice with a pistol, crying out “Allah is great.”
This is how Fr. Andrea Santoro, 60, of the diocese of Rome, a
missionary in Turkey, was killed on Sunday, February 5.
As soon as he heard the news, cardinal Camillo Ruini released this
note:
““A Roman priest, a pastor of this diocese, Fr. Andrea Santoro, who had
been working for a number of years in Anatolia as a ‘‘fidei donum’’
(gift of faith) priest, was treacherously killed today in the church of
Trabzon, which was his assigned parish and where he was meaning to
pray. All the diocese of Rome, and in particular the priests, who
deeply loved and respected Fr. Andrea, the former pastor of the Roman
parishes of Jesus of Nazareth and then of Saints Fabian and Venantius,
are deeply stricken by this most sad news, and are lifting up intense
prayers to the Lord on Fr. Andrea’’s behalf and on behalf of elderly
mother, his sisters, and all of his relatives. With this tragic event,
a new link has been added to the long chain of Roman priests who have
spilled their blood for the Lord. Fr. Andrea had intensely desired and
insistently requested to leave Rome for Anatolia, to be a silent and
prayerful witness to Jesus Christ in that land, in respect of the local
laws. The diocese of Rome, amid great sorrow, is proud of him and
thanks the Lord for this shining witness in the humble certainty that
from this will be born new Christian life.””
The following day, Benedict XVI sent cardinal Ruini and the apostolic
vicar of Anatolia, Luigi Padovese, two emotion-laden telegrams he had
written personally.
The pope called Fr. Andrea ““a courageous witness of the Gospel of
love,”” and expressed the desire that ““the blood that he has shed may
become the seed of hope for the establishment of authentic fraternity
among peoples.””
But who was Fr. Andrea? And why was he killed?
The testimony that follows –– published by ““Asia News”” –– traces the
essential features of his character. The author is an Italian volunteer
in Turkey who knew him well.
““Like a nail embedded in his flesh...””
by Mariagrazia Zambon
It was Sunday and I had just finished teaching catechism to the 12
children of our parish here in Antakya, the ancient Antioch, in
southern Turkey, when Father Domenico stopped me in the garden and told
me that the bishop just rang: ““Father Andrea has just been shot dead
less than an hour ago.”” Father Andrea Santoro! I can’’t believe it.
He was a man full of determination and earnestness. Although I met him
only a few times, for brief moments, when we did meet, our interaction
was always intense, straightforward, centred on God, His Word, and
Jesus Christ.
I was told that he had been in Turkey in 1993 when he stopped in
Antioch for about 20 days. That was his first pilgrimage to the place
he liked to call ““the great land where God chose to speak to mankind
in a special way.”” And it was in the city where the followers of Jesus
were first called Christians that he wanted to perform spiritual
exercises alone.
He met the Orthodox Abouna who, as a sign of things to come, saw in him
a passion for Turkey’’s Christians and so gave him a tiny piece of
metal from a sliver of iron that is said to come from one of the nails
used in the Cross and is jealously guarded in the basement of the
tabernacle of the ancient Greek-Orthodox church of Antioch. It was
November 30, the Feast Day of Saint Andrew, and Father Andrea’’s
name-day. Deeply touched by the honour, he brought it with him to Rome.
It was like a nail embedded in his flesh.
His fascination for this land never left him, in this country he found
““riches and means to enlighten our western world thanks to the light
that God always cast on it.”” But he also found that the Middle East
had its own dark corners, its often tragic problems, its emptiness. And
for this, it needed that the Gospel that came from there should return
there once again, and that the presence of Christ that once was there,
be renewed there.
Since then, he asked his superiors to let him go back as ““fidei
donum,”” gift of faith.
Eventually, he did come back and it was in Istanbul in late 2001 that I
met him when we both started learning Turkish. He was 20 years my
senior and studying for him was difficult, but he never gave up. For
him, learning the language was too important because it would enable
him to directly speak with locals and be in touch with him.
He used to say: ““Turkish is a very difficult language. I am last in
class and I don’’t know how things will turn out, but being last has
its advantages. It helps you know what real, day-to-day humility
means.””
Later, with a broad grin he told me: ““When I speak this language, I
experience poverty because I am constantly learning. I can only express
a small fraction of what I would like to say and have to correct right
away any misunderstanding that my limited grasp of the language may
cause. I do so not only by apologising, but also by giving out Italian
chocolate.””
However, he did also say that ““in preparing my homilies, I realised
that my limited command of the language forces me to focus on the
essential. Being something new for me I can better understand the
newness of the Gospel. Since my worshippers from different backgrounds
–– though most of whom are former Muslims –– I am forced to go to the
heart of the message and show its unsuspected riches.””
When he came to Turkey he chose to go to Urfa, in the south-eastern
part of the country on the border with Syria, where for three years he
was a silent presence, praying in Abraham’’s birthplace, a city without
any Christian. Everyone liked him, even the imam of a nearby mosque.
He told me that his presence ““in Urfa and in Abraham’’s village of
Haran 45 kilometres away always echoed what God told Abraham: ‘‘Leave
your country, your people, and your father's household and go to the
land I will show you, and I will bless you and all peoples on earth””.
Urfa, he said, is every day’’s ““beginning””. Urfa is God who with an
intelligence, power and love greater than our own expressed his plans
to us, asking us to be at his service. Urfa is the power of the
boundless blessing, joy and fruitfulness that God guarantees. Urfa is
the root and compass to know where to go in Turkey and the Middle East.
This city remained in his heart even when he was asked to go to Trabzon
on the Black Sea to serve at Saint Mary’’s parish church, founded
centuries ago by Capuchin Fathers, which had been left vacant for more
than three years.
Trabzon is a city of some 200,000 people. It has many mosques, but only
one church serving a Catholic congregation of 15 people. It has a
larger Orthodox community spread across the city and many women from
Eastern Europe working in the sex trade. It also sees many young
Muslims drawn to the church.
““Here, there is a world dear to God,”” Father Andrea wrote in his
newsletter Finestra per il Medio Oriente [Window for the Middle East]
right after his arrival in Trabzon. The purpose of the publication,
which eventually went online, was to ““gather from this land the many
riches God gave it and send from there to here the riches God created
over time, so that we can interact with each other on human, spiritual,
cultural and religious levels, enriching each other’’s life, and
counter the hatred, threats and war that are too often visible on the
horizon.””
This was always his goal: ““Open a window that would allow Western and
Eastern Churches to exchange gifts, rediscover the sap that flows from
the Jewish roots into the Christian tree, encourage a genuine and
respectful dialogue between Christianity and Islam, and enable him to
bear witness with his life and feelings, above all through prayer, the
study of the Holy scriptures, friendships based on listening, talking,
simplicity, his sincere believing and the way he lived.””
Eventually, distance separated us –– a thousand kilometres between the
extreme north where he was and the far south where I was. But whenever
he could he would come to the monthly retreats the vicariate of
Anatolia organised for the small number of religieux, religieuses and
laity that worked in Anatolia in the service of the local Church.
Two years ago at Christmas time he told us about his concern over the
fate of prostitutes, expressing his desire to do something for them in
Trabzon.
““Once,”” he said, ““we walked by a club where we knew there were young
women, mostly Armenian Christian. They invited us in for tea. Sister
Maria was with me and she was wearing a cross around her neck. I told
the women she was a nun. We chatted about their children, the
monasteries in their homeland, how hard it was to live back home. One
of them told us that she was a paediatrician by profession. A few days
later, we were walking along the neighbourhood’’s main street, praying.
A woman who took her clients in a back alley saw Sister Maria’’s cross
around her neck and came towards us waving. She kissed the nun’’s cross
and hands, made the sign of the cross and hugged her, asking her if she
needed anything. At that point, the pimp followed her, annoyed, but I
told him the woman was Christian like us. Local clubs are full of
women, often very young. What can be done? Every day, I ask the Lord to
open a door for us, to lead some of the women away from that life, to
touch the heart of some of the pimps, to send someone who can help
us””.
The bishop told me that Father Andrea went to Georgia not too long ago
to get in touch with the local Church to help for these women. There is
talk that his murder might be connected with the sex trade mafia that
traffics in Christian prostitutes from countries from the former Soviet
Union.
Others believe that it might be motivated by politics and religion.
They say that those behind the murder might be trying to trigger a
religious conflict between Christians and Muslims, a conflict that in
Turkey does not exist and has no bases, but which is enflaming other
Muslim countries following the publication of blasphemous cartoons in
Denmark.
But who could be more harmless and unassuming than Father Andrea?
I saw him two months ago in Iskenderun, at the see of the apostolic
vicariate of Anatolia. It was our monthly retreat and we talked about
the cross. He told us: ““Often I ask myself: What am I doing here? And
the words of John the Baptist would come to mind. ‘‘And the Word became
flesh and made his dwelling among us’’. I live among these people so
that Jesus can live among them through me. In the Middle East, Satan
continues to destroy, remembering and loyal to the past. As it was at
the time of Jesus, silence, humility, the simple life, acts of faith,
miracles of charity, clear and defenceless witness, and the conscious
offering of one’’s life can rehabilitate the Middle East.””
After a long pause, he took off his glasses letting them hang around
his neck and spoke again, calmly, as if talking to himself: “I am
convinced that in the end there are no two ways, only one way that
leads to light through darkness, to life through the bitterness of
death. Only by offering one’s flesh is salvation possible. The evil
that stalks the world must be borne and pain must be shared till the
end in one’’s own flesh as Jesus did.” Not one word more, not one less.
After he spoke silence fell on the room. Then he looked at his watch
and got up quickly, apologised, picked up his small suitcase and left
the room almost running. He didn’’t want to miss the plane that would
take him back to his Trabzon.
There he was kneeling yesterday, praying in his church. There a bullet
pierced his heart.
__________