190 - The Church Marches On

The Church Marches On
By David Lee Parkyn

SHE was an "average" Central American person-poor, powerless, oppressed by the ravages of war and political turmoil, without land, malnourished. She was also my sister-a companion in our mutual pilgrimage as Christians. We met during a recent visit to her country and others surrounding it.

As we sat together in the "courtyard" of her "home," I asked that she tell me about her church. Her first words were, "La iglesia sigue caminando" [the church marches on]. In spite of the overwhelming odds it faces in all we envision about this part of the Americas and more, still "La iglesia sigue caminando."

She proceeded to describe what she meant by this phrase. And as I visited various congregations in the days that followed, I learned she was right. In this difficult and challenging setting, the church is alive. In a plethora of ways, the church gives witness to the daily presence of Christ alive in Central America. Multiple examples could be given. Two will suffice.

(1) The Cathedral Church of San Pedro Sula. As the airplane descends from the sky and nears the landing field, the only thing visible to the passenger is row upon row of banana trees. The airport is located in the middle of the country's major fruit exporting region, and as the plane descends the fruit on the trees and the people tending them become more visible.

What makes this airport so different from many others in Central America is the apparent peacefulness of its setting. The military is not evident; a few small planes on the side of the runway, perhaps, but no major presence. The experienced traveler wonders whether we have landed in war-torn Central America or in a Caribbean paradise.

The thirty-minute bus ride into the city begins to tell the story. If peace is the absence of a visible military presence, then this is probably the most peaceful area of Central America. If peace, however, includes the absence of malnutrition, poverty, homelessness, illiteracy, and unemployment, then it must be found elsewhere.

The city is the economic heart of Honduras. It's history is agriculturally based; it is the center of the country's fruit exporting business dominated by international rather than Honduran companies. In this

David Lee Parkyn is Associate Professor of Religion at Messiah College, Grantham, Pa. He spent much of his childhood in Guatemala and travels frequently throughout Central America. The present article is a reflection on a recent trip to Honduras and Guatemala on which he was accompanied by thirty college students.

191 - The Church Marches On

sense, it is a dieter's delight-fresh fruit abounds. Yet the fruit in the local marketplace pales by comparison to what is seen on the local plantation and what is sold in the grocery store where one shops at home. Could it be that all the good fruit is taken from these people? Are they left only with the bruised and poorly formed remnants?

It is a divided city. The central plaza, with its fountain and gardens, represents the center of this division. The further one goes from this center, the more extended the division.

Going west toward the mountains there is abundant wealth. Here the city streets are of smooth cement, swept daily of debris. Here the homes are comfortable, if not elaborate, with watch dogs and security systems the order of the day. The closer one gets to the mountains, the closer one feels to capitalism and the more like an upper-middle class North American one becomes.

Going east, away from the mountains, there is the profuse poverty. Here the city streets are of dirt and dust, wind-swept with garbage. Here the homes are shacks, made of scrap lumber if one is fortunate, and of cardboard if one is not. Emaciated dogs urinate in the dust, but provide no security. The further one gets from the mountains, the greater one's sense of powerlessness, and the more strongly one feels the pangs of hunger.

The central plaza is the dividing line. On the four sides of the park are the city hall, a first-class hotel, financial institutions, and-the cathedral. Here, clearly, the cathedral is challenged to give witness to the gospel. It is here that I participated in the celebration of mass on the first Sunday after Epiphany.

The physical setting is impressive. The building is a massive structure, Romanesque in style. The nave is lined with benches, filled with those who have come to worship. The aisles are crowded as well with people who cannot find a vacant place to sit. Over 2000 people attend this 9:00 a.m. mass. An equal number is likely to attend other masses during the weekend.

In spite of its historic presence on the central plaza, the cathedral is dominated by its youthfulness. As the mass is about to begin, all the children present-hundreds of them-go to the back of the sanctuary. When the processional moves forward, it is these children who follow the acolytes and lead the priest to the altar. Later in the mass, when the "peace of the Lord" is extended, this movement of children occurs once again as they return to the altar and are there individually blessed by the priest. The cathedral is determined to nurture its children.

Holy Scripture is central to the mission of the cathedral. The traditional lessons are read during the Liturgy of the Word. The homily is an expository sermon based on these lessons. The weekly cathedral periodical, "El Buen Amigo," distributed to each worshipper following mass, includes the listing of the week's Daily Office Lectionary, and half the paper's content is devoted to a commentary on the themes of these

192 - The Church Marches On

readings. The cathedral is also determined to nurture its people in the teaching of Scripture.

The witness of the Holy Spirit is present in the cathedral. The homily this day is on the baptism of Christ. What is central to the message, however, is that at baptism God's children are "sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ's own forever." As such, we are recipients of the great force of liberation. The priest states, "We are freed from the imprisonment of sin as Noah was liberated from the waters of the flood and as the people of Israel were liberated from the waters of the Red Sea." As he brings the homily to an end, the priest invites the congregants to join in a time of meditation on what it means to be indwelt by the Holy Spirit, The spontaneous, hearty round of applause which follows this meditation is indicative of the strength of the Spirit's ministry in the lives of these people. The cathedral is determined to strengthen the presence of the Spirit in this city.

In his message in the cathedral periodical, the bishop teaches that the Spirit "creates us anew in Christ, clothes us anew in Christ, and fills us with holiness." Through the Spirit, the church delineates its "objective and critical spirit so that in truth we can discover our problems and defeat the enemies that cause them." During the celebration of the Eucharist, a congregant reads aloud the list of goods-food, clothing, furniture, and cash-provided during the past week and indicates the manner in which these were distributed throughout the city. Evangelism means bringing together, through the power of the Spirit, those who live to the west of the plaza with those who live to the east of the plaza. The cathedral is determined to erase the division between rich and poor, healthy and unhealthy, well-fed and malnourished, literate and illiterate, power-wielding and powerless.

Where this evangelism is found, there "the Lord blesses his people with peace." On six large, twelve-foot banners, these words are visibly present in the cathedral. They serve as the congregational response to the Reading of the Word. Here in this city, where peace is yet to be found, the church ministers to children, teaches Scripture, gives voice to the Spirit, and evangelizes in word and deed. Here in this city, where peace is yet to be found, the church believes God will bless the people with peace.

(2) The church in the hamlet of Chiqua. This small village is merely a sparsely populated area on the side of the mountain. The journey by bus from Guatemala's capital city covers less than a hundred kilometers. Yet, the ride lasts for six or more hours of breath-taking travel on the winding road along the steep cliffs of the country's major mountain chain, lined with more than thirty volcanoes. It is the "land of eternal spring"; a country whose mild temperatures and seasonable rainfall provide not only for fertile plantation land on the coastlands, but also give the country's rural inhabitants the opportunity to turn the steep mountainsides into small plots of land farmed principally with corn.

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The bus driver stops the vehicle at the top of one mountain and calls me forward from my seat. It is here, he indicates, that I want to get off. If I follow the footpath down the mountainside I will come to Chiqua.

The mountainside is steep, the pathway narrow and muddy. As I falteringly make my way down, I pass only cornfields dotted with an occasional hut. How can these people farm on such a steep mountainside? How can families be raised on the few seeds which bear fruit? How can children grow into healthy adults in such a primitive environment? Does the church exist here?

The bus driver is right. After "falling" down the side of the mountain, to the great amusement of occasional children who run from their homes to see this "gringo" trying to manage the trail, I see the church building. It is a humble dwelling, yet larger than anything else for miles around. Nestled on a ledge nearly two-thirds of the distance down the mountainside, the building's tin roof unmistakenly identifies it as a church. The hand-painted lettering on the wall near the main entrance describes it as "evangelical" and "Methodist."

There are no windows in the building. Light enters through transparent panels in the roof. Straight wooden benches provide seating. The floor is dirt but covered with a layer of fresh pine needles. Plastic streamers flowing from the ceiling give a festive touch. The walls are plain. The front of the room has a small raised platform, with a wooden pulpit in the center. On the wall behind the pulpit is painted the word "Bienvenidos." The lettering is in blue and white because "they are the colors of our country."

This little church gives witness to the diversity of God's children. Worship services are bilingual. Spanish is spoken, because it is the country's dominant language, and most of Scripture is available only in this language. Quiche, an indigenous Mayan language, is also spoken, because all of the congregants speak it as their primary language. On the day of my visit, English was also spoken, so that those accompanying me from the United States could-participate in the worship.

This hamlet church gives witness to the suffering of God's children. Of the three hundred people in attendance this day, approximately 45 percent were women, 45 percent were children, and 10 percent, men. This distribution has not always been characteristic of the congregation. Several years ago, however, most men of the congregation were killed; some by the country's military who accused them of being guerrilla sympathizers, and others by the guerrilla forces who accused them of supporting the military regime.

This church, gives witness to the sacrificial devotion of God's children. The altar area is simple-a plain wooden table, covered with a cotton cloth. As the people join for worship, they bring an offering with them. Because theirs is an agrarian society, which still depends largely on a non-monetary economic system, the offering on "Harvest Sunday" is a watermelon, a pound of beans, several avocados, a sack of corn, three eggs, varied vegetables, some fruit, and a few coins. The offering-

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sacrificial in proportion to the people's per capita income-adorns the church's altar.

The church gives witness to a commitment to hear the Word of the Lord. When the Scriptures are read, the people stand. The sermon this day is based on Genesis 1: I- 1 2 where God proclaims that the earth is to 44 produce all kinds of plants, those that bear grain and those that bear fruit," so that the Almighty may be pleased. The sermon teaches the people what they have long practiced-the responsibility is theirs to cultivate the land and guard it as God's gift to them.

This church gives witness to a commitment to live by the Word of the Lord. When the service is over, the pastor leads me to his home. He has something to show me, and a favor to ask of me. In a corner of the one-roomed home, there is a table. On this table is his library-a Bible and an old, worn, English copy of Young's Analytical Concordance. He asks a favor of me. "In English how do you say "widow," "orphan," "war," "peace," and 'government?' " He wants to speak to these needs in his church. What is the church's responsibility to its widows and orphans? To what extent should the church work to influence the government in its efforts to bring peace and discourage war? The pastor wants to study what Scripture says in these areas, but how can he do so if he does not know the English terms to which he must turn in the concordance?

These people speak a language understood by less than 5000 people, yet they are surely God's church. Through their faithfulness they give witness to God's steadfast presence in this world. Out of devotion to God, they sacrificially give of their meager material goods. They hear the Word of the Lord with their ears, tell it to their children with their lips, and give testimony to its power by their lives. They are the church in the hamlet of Chiqua. The church, somehow, marches on.