The Seven Trappist Monks from Algeria
Witnesses of Peace unto Martyrdom

This meditation on the testimony of our seven brothers will be presented from two perspectives, as it were. For each theme, I first would like to above all start with the words of the monks themselves, for it is from them that we wish to receive a message. I will do this by referring to some passages from the book of Father Bruno Chenu, Sept vies pour Dieu et l'Algérie (Seven Lives for God and Algeria) or from other documents left by the priests. From these, I will propose some meditations based upon our personal relations with the priests. I entrust to God this meditation regarding our very great trial. It was first of all that of our brother monks. It remains ours and that of their families, but also that of all their Moslem friends, particularly their neighbors in Médéa.

A Priory in the Atlas Mountains

In 1938, the Cistercian monks of the Order of the Cistercians of strict observance from Yugoslavia and France chose the natural setting of Tibhirine (four miles northwest of Médéa) as being favorable to the quest for God and the hearing of His Word to which their vocation consecrated them, in solitude and silence, in the footsteps of their ancestors of every religious confession, of Pacome and Anthony in Egypt, and of Christ Himself.

Today, men continue to dedicate themselves here with a free and submissive heart in humble and hidden service to the omnipotent and all-loving God in the praise of the Hours, the work of their hands, and the complete sharing of life in community, according to the rule of Saint Benedict, the spirit and the constitutions of the Order of Cîteaux (Sept vies pour Dieu et l'Algérie (Seven Lives for God and Algeria), texts edited and presented by Bruno Chenu, Bayard, Paris, 1996; p. 23).

I would like to take you to the monastery of Notre-Dame de l'Atlas where our seven brother monks lived. It is located at a place called "Tibhirine" ("the gardens" in Arabic), about five miles from Médéa, at an elevation of about 1,200 feet, fifteen miles to the south of Algers, not far from the route between the capital of Algeria and the distant oases of the south, Ghardaïa, El Goléa, all the way to Tamanrasset, 1,200 miles away in the heart of the Sahara where Father Charles de Foucauld was assassinated.

Do not imagine a community similar to those of the great monasteries in Europe. That would be impossible. Algeria is today a totally Islamic country. All the inhabitants of Médéa are Moslems and all the monks' neighbors were Moslems. Thus at the time of the kidnapping the community only numbered eight monks as well as the superior of an associate community in Morocco--a tiny monastery of only four monks located at the outskirts of Fès.

My Meetings with the Fathers of Tibhirine

Henri Teissier, our pastor, came to see us. The first thing he did was to preside at the sacrifice of praise. Afterwards we listened; we were struck by his concern as shepherd whose the sheep are threatened. He left, leaving us free in an obedience which has no evident solution. We had to learn obedience together, without prejudice to anyone's conscience (Op. cit., p. 123).

I had a personal relationship with each of the seven brothers of Tibhirine who were taken from us last year by a criminal act of violence. For several years I would go every two or three months to the Monastery of Notre-Dame de l'Atlas for a variety of reasons. Father Christian de Chergé, the prior, carefully chose the times of each meeting. Every year there was the feast of Saint Bernard, founder of the Cistercian order in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, of which the Trappists were only a seventeenth century reform. Or it might have been a birthday celebration, such as the one held for brother Luke, the doctor, who celebrated his eightieth birthday two years ago. It might have been for a meeting with a visitor from the Order, such as the one scheduled during the visit of Father Armand Veilleux, assistant to the Father Abbot-General, one month before the priests were kidnapped. There were other occasions such as a meeting with the farmers associated with the agricultural work of the monastery or participation in a gathering of the Ribat --a group of spiritual solidarity which would often be attended by some soufis, i.e., Islamic disciples of a mystical movement. But most often I went to the Trappist monastery to accompany a group on retreat or to myself take a time of recollection and prayer with the Trappist priests.

The seven fathers were kidnapped during the night of the 26'th and 27'th of March, 1996. It was a Wednesday at one o'clock in the morning. Moreover, I was to meet with them that very Saturday to preside, in the name of the Church and of the Order--by delegation--over the election of the prior, since Father Christian had reached the end of his term.

The Guests of Tibhirine

The guesthouse--the house reserved for guests--comes under the same vocation of welcoming and sharing, of listening and praise, of silence and unity, in the joyful revelation of what is unique to each person with respect to the Unique and for the happiness of the whole Universe.

In other words, this guesthouse is a place of prayer and of spiritual restoration open to all who seek a climate of silence and recollection suitable for helping a man or a woman discern their way... (Op. cit., p. 24).

I was not the most faithful guest of the monastery. Many other members of our community visited the fathers more regularly than I to share in their prayer, to redirect their lives, for confession or spiritual direction, to renew their vocation as a Christian in a Moslem country--which was also the monks' vocation, although they lived it according to a monastic modality.

The guests of the monastery were very diverse. There were two or three hermits of the diocese who were closest to the monastery and who needed times of liturgy in community in addition to their solitary prayer. There were priests, beginning with Father Nicholas, who is pastor of the neighboring town of Médéa and also teaches at the University. There were also religious, in particular the Little Sisters of Jesus, who used a wing of the monastery for times of communal renewal close to the monks, in particular during the summer. There were also all sorts of lay persons--missionary laity very close to the prayer of the monastery, but also technicians temporarily working in Algeria, which was the case of their neighbors, the twelve Croatian workers assassinated two miles from the monastery on December 14, 1993. There were couples who took a time of retreat for a complete review of their lives. There were youth, in particular numerous African students in the University Institutes in Algeria. There were also Moslems, friends of our Church, desiring to profit from a time of prayer, reflection, or solitude, in an environment where they knew they were respected in their Islamic faith and welcomed as persons seeking God.

The Vocation of Tibhirine in the Vocation of Our Church in Algeria

Guests of the Islamic Algerian people in their quasi-totality, these brothers would like to bear witness to the fact that peace between peoples is a gift from God to men of every place and time and that it is the responsibility of believers, here and now, to manifest this inalienable gift, notably by the quality of their mutual respect and the demanding support of a healthy and fruitful spiritual emulation.

Beside Moslems who pray, they profess to celebrate day and night this communion which is in becoming, and to tirelessly welcome its signs, as perpetual beggars of love, for their entire life, if it so pleases God, in the enclosure of this monastery dedicated to the patronage of Mary, mother of Jesus, under the title of Notre-Dame de l'Atlas (Op. cit., p. 24).

The title which was given to this presentation is "The Seven Trappist Monks of Algeria, Witnesses of Peace unto Martyrdom." To receive the witness of our brothers, we must be able to understand the reason for their presence in this monastery of Tibhirine and their fidelity to this presence despite the gravity of the crisis afflicting the country.

Their presence as monks in this Islamic country can only be understood within the context of the particular vocation of the Church in Algeria. After independence, this country experienced a quasi-total departure of Christians. Thus in 1963, the monastery initially decided upon a progressive departure of the monks. It was Cardinal Duval, then Archbishop of Algiers, who helped the Cistercian Order understand that the Church in Algeria received, from these events and from its history during the past century, the vocation of being an evangelical sign in an Islamic society.

All to often the Church is defined as an institution at the service of the life of faith of Christians. This definition is incorrect. The Church nourishes the faith of Christians so that the latter, as a whole, may be an evangelical sign in the society in which they live. This is already true in post-Christian countries, in Europe. The Church is for the salvation of all men and of the entire human community. She is at the service of the manifestation and the putting into practice of the Kingdom of God in every society that welcomes her. In an Islamic country like Algeria, this means that every Christian and every Christian community receives the mission of being a sign of the Gospel in its relation with each Moslem and with the whole of society. Every Christian group lives this mission according to its proper charism. The Little Sisters of the Poor, devoted to the service of the elderly, accomplish this by caring for elderly Moslems; the Jesuit Fathers by means of health services and receiving African students in their university residences.

Thus the monks had to discover how to be an authentic monastic community which would serve, according to its proper modality, the vocation of our Church to be Church in an Islamic society. Concretely, what does this mean?

Daily Encounters of the Monks with their Moslem Partners

Monks. We are in the process of becoming monks more truthfully, according to the Gospel of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Here this involves spiritual inculturalization. Symbiosis with our neighbors, with the country, holds great things for us. For example: the look of Ali when night falls and he returns home, leaving us until the next day. In cha' 'Allah! And Moussa pruning an apple tree with Philippe today, the day of Epiphany. Or the gathering with the associates to mark the new year. Mohamed assuming his new responsibility as adjunct head of culture... (Op. cit, p. 125).

The monks had to first of all earn the acceptance of their neighbors, the Islamic farmers of the mountains surrounding Médéa. They brought this about more and more deeply through their daily relationships with their neighbors, by means of the formation of a team for agricultural production where the monks--especially Father Christophe and Father Paul--and the associated farmers worked together. This insertion in the Islamic society of Médéa and its surroundings was also lived through the services of the doctor, Father Luc, who received the sick of the entire region in his dispensary; also in the contacts of the priests, especially Father Jean-Pierre who sold the products of the monastery and did the necessary shopping in the market of Médéa. This insertion was accomplished even more thanks to the privileged friendships between the monks and some Moslem neighbors who were more sensitive to the witness of the priests. Father Christian had very deep friendships with many of the guests of the monastery, as did Fathers Célestin and Christophe, and in fact each of the fathers. Thus a fabric of daily encounters developed among the fathers and their neighbors.

A Community Assuming in its Prayer the Entire Life of the Country and the Church

We have come to define ourselves as "men of prayer in the midst of other men of prayer." Coming either from our bells or from our Muezzin, the calls to prayer establish "a healthy reciprocal emulation" among us. Similarly, the times of the great Islamic feasts (Christmas, too) and the months of Ramadan and Lent (especially when they coincide) enable us to travel "part of the road together." It is a real joy to see some of our neighbors enter spontaneously into the spirit of this more spiritual form of hospitality (Op. cit., p. 69).

The relation of the fathers with their environment was not that of a group of specialists in rural development. It was that of a monastic community. All their neighbors knew that at the heart of the monks' life was the celebration of the communal office, day and night. The inhabitants of Tibhirine heard the bells which still announced Christian services in Algeria. The muezzin, from within the monastery walls, responded with the call to the five daily prayers of Islam.

All the neighbors knew that the Christians who came to the monastery did so to unite themselves to the prayer of the monks. All knew that this prayer was a prayer of solidarity where the work, the suffering and the joys of the men and women of the region were taken into consideration, assumed by Christian prayer. Moreover, it sufficed to hear only one of the intercessions of the daily office to discover the entire life of the countryside, the Church, and the neighborhood; some of the petitions having a singular intensity.

The Islamic friends of the fathers thus placed the monks in the context of their mission as contemplatives at the center of the Christian community. Through the visits of the monastery guests, Christian or non-Christian, they understood that the contemplative life of the monks also nourished the faithfulness of the entire Christian community. This faithfulness went beyond the boundaries of the two confessions, Christian and Moslem, since Moslems also came to drink at the spiritual fountain of the monastery. One year when Father Christian had gone to Fès for the feast of Easter, I was approached by one of the Islamic friends of the monastery who said to me directly, "Christian is not here for Easter. You must come to replace him. You cannot leave us alone at Easter...."

The Commitment of Our Brother Monks in the Work of Peace

Very close to us, six young conscripts were found with their throats slit in their barracks for the sole crime of being twenty years old and forced to enlist; the following day, there were four nurses at the civil hospital arrested on the job by the "special forces", tortured and left to die on the street pavement for the sole crime, it seems, of having cared for a terrorist, thus responding to the demands of professional conscience (Father Christian de Chergé, <<Obscurs témoins d'une espérance..>> (Hidden witnesses of Hope...), June, 1994).

In an isolated village like Tibhirine, our brother monks found themselves, together with their farming neighbors, between two camps: the armed groups who hid in the nearby mountains; and the security forces charged with restraining or eliminating them. In their desire to be close to both groups, the monks called the first group the "brothers of the mountain" and the second "the brothers of the plain." Both of them were prohibited from entering the interior of the monastery with their arms; this request was respected.

We had to remain firm in our refusal to let ourselves be identified with one camp or the other to remain free to peacefully protest against the arms and the means of violence and exclusion. To remain what we are in this context is to concretely proclaim a Gospel of love for all which implies respect for differences (Father Christian, November, 1995).

The daily contribution of the monastery in the struggle for peace was their fidelity to being present in the midst of the villagers, likewise disarmed, subject to the daily risks of an attack or kidnapping. They assumed this risk in prayer. "In the night take up the Book as others take up arms" (Sept vies pour Dieu et l'Algérie, p. 182). They also assumed it by the will to live within themselves pardon and reconciliation, as Christian put it when relating the words of brother Henri Vergès: "In our daily relations, let us openly take the side of the party of love, of pardon, of communion against hate, vengeance, violence" (Letter of February 4, 1994).

Fidelity which Accepts the Risk of Martyrdom

"No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends" (Jn. 15:13). It is better to do it ahead of time, and for all, like Jesus, in such a way that the one who believes that he is putting you to death does not take it from you. Already, without his knowing it, this gift was granted to him, as to others. Hamid, one of the youth who frequented the library of Casbah kept up by brother Henri, was able to testify, "His life was not taken away; he had already given it." The fact remains that the abducter committed an assassination and that, in the deliberate violence of his act, he seriously failed in the love God inscribed in his vocation as man, as in my own (Sept vies pour Dieu et l'Algérie, p. 135).

When an armed group scaled the monastery walls on December 24, 1993 and asked for the help of the fathers, each of them knew that they were obliged to choose between leaving or offering their life through fidelity to all persons, Christian or non-Christian, who relied upon them in their own daily fidelity.

They decided to remain. They were aware of the danger this entailed since their Croatian neighbors had had their throats slit two miles from their home fifteen days before.

From December 24, 1993 until March 27, 1996 they bore their vocation as monks in solidarity with the brothers God gave them to love. All their neighbors knew that the monks accepted this risk for their sake and because of their vocation to remain near them. All discovered that the faithfulness lived until that day became the faithfulness of life and death. The entire Christian community also looked towards this monastery located at the frontlines of danger and sustained with even more fervor its own faithfulness to the source which continued to flow from the monastery.

During Holy Week, 1994, Christian gave three homilies for the holy days: the martyrdom of charity for Holy Thursday; the martyrdom of innocence for Good Friday; and the martyrdom of hope for the Easter Vigil.

After the assassination of Brother Henri Vergés, a member of the Ribat and a friend of the monastery, Christian resumed his reflection upon martyrdom. Evoking the martyrs of the early Church who, he said, were the martyrs of faith, he wanted the Church to become attentive to the "martyrdom of charity and of hope."

Curiously, we had to wait until the end of the twentieth century to see our Church acknowledge the title of "martyr" for a witness not so much of faith but of supreme charity: Maximillian Kolbe, martyr of charity. Yet the testimony of Jesus Himself, His martyrdom, is a martyrdom of love, love for man, for all men, even for assassins and executioners, those who act in darkness, ready to treat you as an "animal who perishes" (Ps. 49) or torture you to death because you have sympathy for "the others". "Father, forgive them! They know not what they do."

A martyrdom of hope. This is indeed the risk that we live daily in this place; for quite some time it has been clear to us. It is a choice which must be made, even now. It is a good bet that many do the same outside Algiers. With this risk we would still have something to say about the Gospel in today's world.

It is perhaps Moussa, a neighbor, who gave the key to understanding this martyrdom of hope: "Like you, we can only carry on with hope. If you leave, we will no longer have your hope and we will lose ours." Christian adds, "He was speaking of hope; it is for us to translate this into Hope."

And thus was prepared the martyrdom for Peace which would be asked of them. Their correspondence of these last two years echoes their fears and shows their awareness of danger and their desire to escape a death which they did not want if it was given to them by some lost son of this Algerian land which they loved.

Yet each day passed without violence, the logic of exclusion, the dislocation of bonds between Christians and Moslems, bonds which some sought to sever. Each day was a sign and herald of this peace which was brought by a disarmed man of God. A short time before his death, Father Christian said,

We are called to be friendly to the other, even if he has the right not to respond; the look that is given today is not all of what is to be received from the other. A disarmed look can disarm the other. If one offers himself unarmed and if one believes that the other is capable of disarming himself, it will happen and "violence will become improbable" (Lévinas).

Our great suffering--and that of all men of good will in Algeria united with us in prayer--was to see that the unarmed sincerity of our brothers was not sufficient to touch the hearts of those who kidnapped them. Yet even their death, however sorrowful it was for their friends, their neighbors, our entire community, carried to its summit this offering for peace to which they had consented since the beginning of the crisis. Even members of their family, despite their sorrow, understood that the monks could not leave the place of their faithfulness God and to their brothers. All are now united in our suffering. They are also united in our offering.

The Effect of the Sacrifice of Our Brothers in the Hearts of many Moslems

The announcement of the kidnapping of our brothers, then their death, elicited considerable emotion, as you have witnessed, in Europe. The publication of the spiritual testament, of Father Christian de Chergé, the prior, familiarized tens of millions with the life of this community, its vocation to Islamic-Christian reconciliation, and interreligious peace. Our entire Church in Algeria was enveloped by the prayer of a multitude of Christian communities in France and throughout the world. The seven candles representing their lives, lit at Notre-Dame in Paris during their kidnapping and then extinguished at their death, have become lights upon the way for a great number of Christians, of men of good will.

Among the signs that we receive is the fact that their kidnapping occurred when they were gathered for the meeting of the Ribat. A few hours before the kidnapping, during the evening of March 26, Father Christian was recopying in the Ribat's notebook passages from the last letter of the North African bishops as well as recent texts of Cardinal Arinze and Michel Sabah, Patriarch of Jerusalem. Each of these three documents emphasizes in its own way an aspect of the Christian vocation in relation to Islam. Christian was preparing this message for the members of the Ribat which he was to meet on the morning of the 27'th....

Yet even more remarkable was the effect of their sacrifice upon the Moslems themselves. The spiritual testament of Father Christian was published on the first page of the Algerian daily newspapers and thus many discovered a life given in love, including the pardon asked for the one who would be instrument of their death.

A week after their death, I offered Christian's testament to a young Moslem woman, a doctor, who came to see me for the first time. She told me that she already had attached this testament to the wall of her room. Shortly after this, a mother of an Algerian family wrote me from a village in the Algerian interior:

After the tragedy, after the sacrifice lived by you and by us, after the tears and the message of life, of honor and tolerance handed down by our brother monks to us and to you, I decided to read Christian's testament aloud and with all my heart to my children since I felt that it was meant for all of us. I wanted to tell them about the message of the love of God and of men. Human solidarity and love of the other is a path which leads to sacrifice, until eternal rest, until the end. My children and I are very touched by this great humility, this big heart, this peace in the soul, and forgiveness.

The testament of Christian is more than a message; it is a heritage, it is a light which is handed down to us at the cost of sacrifice.

Our duty is to continue upon the way of peace, of love of God and of man in his differences. Our duty is to water the seeds handed down by our monks so that flowers more beautiful in color and smell spring up everywhere.

The Christian Church by its presence among us continues to construct with us the Algeria of freedom of belief, of differences, the universal and humanity. It is a beautiful bouquet of flowers for us and a great opportunity for all of us.

Thank you Church for being among us today.

Thank you one and all.

Thank you for your big heart, this big heart which only beats for us, which is always present, among us.

Thank you Bishop Duval for his big heart and his great journey.

May they all rest in peace.

This is certainly the first time in the history of Islam that the unjust death of a group of Christians has provoked such a reaction in consciences. And not only their death but also the discovery of what their hidden life in the mountain at the monastery of Tibhirine harbored in spiritual treasures, in daily faithfulness to their vocation of Islamic-Christian partnership and interreligious peace.

A Word of God for us and for All in the Life and Death of our Brothers

Our seven brothers of Tibhirine did not enter their monastery to be placed in the limelight by the international press.

They wanted to give to God their life, their prayer, their daily work and contact with their brothers in humanity, believers of the Islamic religion. Their sacrifice unveiled the gift that God had given to them. This gift became for us a sign and a calling, the sign that God can live in lives and make of them witnesses which go beyond all the barriers between denominations--an appeal to let the gift God gives to each of us bear fruit in our own lives, not only for ourselves and the Church but also for all our brothers in humanity, whatever their religion may be.

Brother Christian told us that a young Moslem neighbor, using an image familiar to both of them, said to him, "It has been a long time since we have dug our wells together...." Christian responded by laughing, to test the young man: "And if we dig, will we find Christian water or Islamic water"? The youth responded, as though hurt, "You still ask this question? You know, at the bottom of that well there, what is found is the water of God" (Op. cit., p. 46).

A young Algerian Moslem, an artist, came to us last month to bring a sculpture he had made in memory of the monks. It is a hand which comes up from the earth and which, with the hand folded, symbolically forms a seven. This hand holds a cross. It is not held in a way which is a victory cry over an adversary. It is turned towards the Algerian earth as if to say, "In our very death we ask of God the blessing of the Cross for this Algerian earth." This young Moslem artist understood the message of the monks and made it a sign of peace.
Are we disposed to give in our lives the signs of peace to which the life and death of our brothers invite us?