A priest's death in Syria shows how many varieties of martyrdom there are
By B.C.
AS I have mentioned in a previous posting, there are many different sorts of martyrdom—in the broad sense of bearing witness, at a high or ultimate cost, to an awkward truth or passionately embraced cause. Independence movements, environmental campaigns, investigative journalism, humanitarian missions to war zones. They all draw inspiration from sons and daughters who perished in the line of duty. But this week's killing in Syria of a brave Dutch Jesuit priest, reported by our sister blog Pomegranate, seemed to generate yet another idea about self-sacrifice for a noble purpose. "He is like a martyr for inter-religious dialogue," said his compatriot and fellow Jesuit, Jan Stuyt, in response to the awful news.
Now at first sight, that's a rather curious concept. As a religion writer, I have experienced a lot of inter-religious dialogue. Especially in the aftermath of 9/11, every religious figure in the world, from popes and archbishops to grand muftis and rabbis, has been engaged in religious dialogue. Sometimes they compare theological notes with one another, to see whether they differ and where they agree, and sometimes they discuss some neutral topic, like poverty and the environment. These are worthy endeavours; they build up robust relationships which come into play when some terrible event, like a terrorist attack, threatens inter-religious peace. But on the whole, the participants are in no danger of anything worse than jet lag or an overdose of caffeine.
We are all familiar with people who die for their belief in this or that religion, but can something as nebulous as inter-faith dialogue inspire the supreme sacrifice? As it happens, a prominent figure in early Christian history, Saint Justin, is remembered both as a martyr and as a participant in a famous dialogue. But it was for his Christian beliefs, not for his dialogue, that he was killed in pagan Rome; and he wasn't an emollient dialogue partner–he had robust arguments with his Jewish interlocutor about which of them was interpreting the Hebrew Scriptures correctly.
So what was the Jesuit spokesman in the Netherlands trying to say about his slain compatriot? It is worth thinking about what exactly Father van der Lugt stood for in war and peace. Having lived in the region since the 1960s, he used his psychotherapeutic skills for the benefit of Christians and Muslims alike. When the war broke out, his already profound relationship with Syrians of all affiliations deepened further. By staying in the heart of besieged Homs, during a takeover by rebels who included militant Islamists and then during a government siege, he was offering succour to all victims of the conflict—and a kind of reproach to all the belligerents. He knowingly risked his life by remaining in a place where some Islamist rebels were active; but he also bore witnesses to the cruel consequences of the siege by refusing to leave when it would have been so easy to do so, and nobody would have blamed him. From the perspective he offered, all civilian victims were worthy of compassion, and fighters on both sides bore a share of blame. That sounds like a truth worth dying for—and it goes a bit further than religious dialogue.
