Digitlnun has been having a trying time recently, in both senses of the word; but she bounded out of bed this morning, full of enthusiasm for Lent, "looking forward to the holy feast of Easter with joy and spiritual longing" and then fell a-cropper when she looked at her inbox. Alongside the heart-rending appeals for prayer, the business emails, the rants about the Catholic Church and its members (no, I am not a pervert; and yes, I do believe that what the Catholic Church teaches is true), the tacky bits of spam and the ads for huge German printing presses (Heidelberg, I love your machines but we don't have room or money for any), there was a thought-provoking message about Archbishop Oscar Romero.

This is the anniversary of the day on which Romero was gunned down at the altar. He knew that he was likely to die and had already forgiven those who would do the deed. Most people think of him as a brave man who changed from being a pillar of the establishment to one who openly questioned whether the inequalities of the society in which he lived were justified and who worked tirelessly for social justice. My questioner asked why the Catholic Church had been "so ambivalent" (his words) about Romero for so long. I think it is a valid question.

Martyrdom, as the Church understands it, is to give one's life for Christ and for the truth of his teaching. Some have tried a little chop-logic on Romero, arguing that he died for something other than that. None of us knows what was in his heart and mind at the moment of death, any more than we know what was in the heart or mind of the man who shot him; but it seems reasonable to suppose that a priest saying Mass was focused on what he was doing, that as the gun rang out God was all in all.

I do not know if Oscar Romero was a martyr or not; but I do know that this morning his courage and generosity have made me feel a little shabby, a little cowardly. I do not live in daily expectation of being murdered, but I grunt and groan about the petty inconveniences of life as though they were important. I am not sure that anyone would find enough evidence to convict me of "working tirelessly for social justice". There is a danger in concentrating on one's own shortcomings, however. I do not expect to become a martyr, but who knows what God may ask, what grace he may give. I must be ready even here, in dear old England. After all, I have vowed my life to him.