In Memoriam Frere Roger

[wiseheart]

Roger Schutz, better known (and loved) as Frere Roger (= Brother Roger) all around the planet by my generation, is dead. He's been stabbed to death at the age of 90, while praying in the Église de la Reconciliation in Taizé. His brutal and undeserved death barely made it to the news, every religious news agency being busy kissing the ass of Pope frigging Ratzinger who did the popularity dance of the big Youth Convention in Cologne.

I don't have the talent to give a proper eulogy, but I just can't bear him to go unnoticed and unappreciated, so I'll try to explain you who he was for me and the likes of me, especially the ones behind the Iron Curtain.


Roger Schutz was a man of peace. When I first met him, in the late 1970s, he was an old man already, old and fragile and infinitely kind and loving. He was the founder and leader of the first - and still only - religious order where monks from all Christian confessions lived as a community. They also lived in near-powerty, and yet found the minds to offer a place for young people from all around the world to go there, pray together, share their experiences and generally have a good time. The monks stood in the church patiently hours after the evening prayer, to listen to the young people and their troubles.

In all his life, he helped everyone who needed help, regardless of colour, nationality, confession or whatever. The order founded small units in all the slums of the world - they can't help much, but they chose to live there, with the poor, to share their lives, out of solidarity. They lived from the work of their hands and never accepted anything for themselves.

At a time when we from the East-European countries had barely the money to pay our train ticket, they took us up and had us stay in Taizé for free, so that we could meet our Western brothers and sisters. There was a time in my life, when all my friends in West-Europe hailed from these meetings in Taizé. Later, we visited each other, and I never needed to worry about accommodations when I went somewhere where one of my friends knew someone from those same circles.

Ten thousands of young people visited Taizé every year. I have been there five times, myself, and it was something wonderful, each time. Not that there weren't misunderstandings and fights sometimes - they are everywhere where people are together - but in the end, we always left with the feeling that we had been give a rare treasure: love, understanding, peace. The world was a better place for the existence of Taizé - and that fragile old man had started it all.

Well, there were four of them in the beginning. I met another one: Frere Daniel, their potter - a funny and eminently lovable old man as well. I remember sitting with him and his assistant, Frere Michael, drinking tea and discussing the logistics of smuggling a certain amount of small ceramic trinkets into Hungary. They were called the "pebbles of Taizé" - tear-shaped white pieces, with some blue email paint in the inside. We used to wear those around our necks. Who had one of them, belonged to us, to the ones who worked on the reunion of the Christian confessions.

However nice and friendly Frere Daniel was, however, the true charisma came from Roger Schutz. He was the one who dreamed the community into life, the one who held it together by sheer love. For him, young people all around the world made long journeys, not to Taizé alone, but to various large cities like Rome, Cologne, even Budapest, to meet him and his brethren, to pray with them for a better future.

When I first met Frere Roger, I was 23 years old. Now, 26 years later, I can still remember his smile, the love in those tired old eyes, the warmth of his touch as he shook hands with us. Despite all his human shortcomings, he was a wonderful person, one of the most amazing ones I've ever met. Nobody ever touched my heart the same way, save my own grandfather.

How could have someone murdered a person like him? It's simply unimaginable. The world will never be the same without him. Taizé will never be the same.

I'ev been planning to revisit this most meaningful place of my youth for quite some time - it's just neve come together. I don't think I'd want to do it so now.


News article about his death:
http://www.gulf-daily-news.com/Story.asp?Article=119753&Sn=WORL&IssueID=28151

And I found this good picture of him in an article:
http://www.clie.es/?page=shop/author&author_id=1473

I know his successor, Brother Alois, personally, too. I've had a few nice conversations with him and we wrote each other while I was in a German convent. He's a good guy, and I don't doubt that he'll lead the community well - but it just won't be the same.

Edit:
Ummm... I just realized that I've mixed up Brother Alois with Brother Armin. It was Armin with whom I had both the conversations and the correspondence. Although I met Alois, too. It's their fault for having all those similar names.

Comments

[wiseheart.livejournal.com]

Thank you... whoever you are. Although I suspect a certain Boat Elf. :))