After meeting with leaders of a right-wing death squad, the Rev. Leonel Narvaez was driving home along a pitted rural road when he heard rattling in the car's engine compartment.
Pulling over to investigate, he popped the hood and discovered two hand grenades on the verge of exploding, their safety pins nearly jiggled loose.
Brushes with death are becoming common for priests in Colombia's civil war. Going beyond their normal duties of baptizing babies, celebrating Mass and hearing confession, they intervene to secure freedom for hostages, escort civilians to safety through combat zones and broker temporary truces.
Pope John Paul II reinforced that trend Thursday, encouraging Colombian bishops at a Vatican meeting to focus on peacemaking.
''In the particular case of your country, where for years an internal conflict has claimed so many innocent victims ... you must give priority to peace and reconciliation, and so contribute to building a society on the Christian principals of truth, justice, love and freedom,'' the pope said.
Priests already are playing key roles in a nascent peace process between the government and a right-wing militia, the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia. They also are promoting dialogue between the government and the leftist National Liberation Army, known as the ELN.
In May, the Roman Catholic Church even helped broker a deal between the government and striking workers for the state oil company, Ecopetrol.
Throughout Colombia's 40-year-old conflict, the church has often been the only channel of communication between warring factions. In isolated regions, priests fill a void left by the absence of state authority.
''The church is the only institution that all sides respect,'' said the Rev. Luis Ritmel, whose parish is in the jungles of Bojaya county in northwestern Colombia, along a major smuggling route that is being fought over by rebels and their paramilitary foes.
Ritmel said he has arranged cease-fires between the outlawed groups, delivered food to stranded villagers and escorted civilians through battle zones.
''It is God's will to help those in need, so I am obliged to do so. But obviously I get scared,'' Ritmel said. ''I was once threatened by the guerrillas for refusing to bless their rifles.''
The Rev. Dario Echeverri, secretary-general of the church-led National Reconciliation Commission, is trying to facilitate a deal sought by the country's second leftist movement, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. The group proposes to free dozens of kidnapped politicians, soldiers and police officers in exchange for hundreds of jailed rebels.
''Most of the time it's very difficult, frustrating work,'' Echeverri said in an interview at the church's main offices in Bogota, where private guards screen visitors entering the brick building and its flowery courtyard.
Last December, Echeverri took a helicopter into the snowcapped Sierra Nevada mountains to fly seven foreign backpackers to freedom after helping negotiate their release from 100 days as hostages of the ELN.
Underscoring his role in many facets of the conflict, Echeverri interrupted his interview to take a call from a state governor who had received an ELN communique about a regional dispute and wanted the priest's advice.
Sometimes, though, some group sees the clergy as being too close to an enemy. Over the past 20 years, an archbishop, a bishop, at least 50 priests and three nuns have been murdered.
Narvaez, the priest who found the grenades in his car, had spent a lot of time in rebel camps to discuss such issues as freedom of movement for farmers. Paramilitary leaders apparently suspected he was growing too close to the rebels and summoned him to their camp in southern Colombia's Caqueta state. It was after the meeting that he discovered the grenades.
That spelled the end of Narvaez's contacts with the rightist militia.
''I quickly buried the grenades under a tree and never returned,'' he said.