Episcopal Church Learning to Walk With the People of Panama
Episcopal News Service. August 31, 1995 [95-1220]
Charlie Rice, Communications Staff at the Diocese of Southern Ohio
(ENS) "What is mission? Very often the vision is not on paper, it's here," said Bishop James Ottley, former bishop of Panama, tapping his index finger on the side of his head. "I've seen many missionaries come to Panama. They ask me, 'What is my job description?' That works well in the States, but in Panama," he leaned forward, whispering dramatically, "the vision unfolds."
Ottley, now Anglican Observer to the United Nations, offered that animated preview this past July in Miami to a group of 10 mission observers on their way to Panama. Representing the Diocese of Southern Ohio, the Episcopal Council on Global Mission, and the Racial/Ethnic Exposure Program of the Episcopal Church Center, the group spent two weeks in Panama getting a glimpse of an Episcopal Church hard at work.
A day after that meeting with Ottley, newly consecrated Bishop Clarence Hayes stood in the sweltering noon heat of Colon and described the history and the challenges the church faces in Panama.
"Christ Church by-the-Sea in Colon is the oldest of our churches," Hayes boasted, mixing history with a roving description of the growing church in Panama. Outside its doors, thousands of Panamanians live on the beaches of Colon -- unemployed, homeless, without food, fresh water, or hope. Nearby the heavily guarded, palatial homes of wealthy foreigners loom over unimaginable slums. Crime is high, drugs are a huge problem and murder is an everyday business. Money to keep buildings open and fund church programs is scarce. "But one of these days our prayers will be answered," said Rudolph Clark, the sexton of Christ Church. "We have faith. We fight. We do our best with faithful members."
With only 20 or so priests, clergy shortages plague the Diocese of Panama. Currently, there is no priest at Christ Church, Colon, to serve the congregation of 300. With a funeral scheduled for the next day, "right now we don't know" who will preside at the funeral, the sexton said. "We usually call the diocese to see if they can have a priest come, because the family having the funeral would like to have communion. But for tomorrow, we don't know as yet. We'll just have to wait and see." He paused, laughed, and then with determination in his voice added, "But I know we'll have the funeral."
Despite the problems facing the church, the diocese has taken a strong stand to make a difference in the lives of the poor. One of the successful programs is called Promesa, "The Promise".
"How do we walk with the people?" asks Glenda McQueen, director of Promesa. "That's the idea behind Promesa. It's not doing things for the people, it's more doing things with the people."
Typical of Promesa programs is an effort inthe rural village of Torti, near the border with Columbia. Thanks to Promesa, the church now has a growing cottage industry manufacturing concrete blocks to build a new sacristy and a restroom for the church. The blocks also are being sold in the Torti community for less than the imported cost, which encourages employment, construction, cash flow, and tangible savings in the community.
Wearing an old sweater needing elbow patches in the relatively cool morning air, Bishop Hayes arrived in Torti for his first episcopal visit after a five-hour ride from Panama City in a four-wheel-drive truck through 50 miles fo forest on the narrow, dirt and rock road called Pan American Highway.
Surrounded by the children of Torti, Hayes beams. "The idea here is that we might be able to produce ourselves some of the materials to be used in construction on the church. The sand blocks for example. That will be a great help in reducing costs. It also gives the people a sense of participation."
The church in Torti recently received a boost when the United Thank Offering grants committee awarded $35,000 to the diocese to build a small conference center and housing for clergy adn catechists who travel to Torti for training and educational programs.
In many rural areas, the Episcopal Church walks with the people where other denominations are unable, or unwilling, to send clergy. At the open-air Iglesia Buen Pastor, Church of the Good Shephard, also built with United Thank Offering funds, the Rev. Victoria Minas minister to the villages of Las Guabitas.
Under her guidance, the Episcopal Church brought in a water line to serve the community. Periodically, the line is cut during the night by men with machetes who resent the church, or perhaps it's the water line itself that they resent, she says, shrugging. Some of the men also forbid their wives to attend church services.
When asked if this was because this church is staffed by a woman priest, Minas responded, "That is not fully so, because if the clergy is a man, there is still the idea that the women should not participate. But if the clergy is a woman there is a fear that she will teach the a different form of thinking."
At the opposite end of the canal from Colon is Panama City, where the Cathedral de San Lucas faces a different challenge: making the transition from an English-speaking cathedral for diplomats to a Spanish-speaking church of the people.
Like the country, the diocese is torn between its quasi-colonial past and the desire to be independent. As the churches move from English to Spanish liturgy, many of the older people in the church feel that something is being taken away from them. Attendance at Maiziee Lennan -- the first black woman priest to serve as the dean of the Cathedral -- is proud and hopeful of the future of the Episcopal Church in Panama, despite many challenges.the cathedral has dwindled significantly.
"Cross ventilation, as you can see," Lennan said as she opened the huge wooden side windows of the cathedral, letting in a reluctant breeze. "No air conditioning -- natural ventilation," she quipped, but somberly adding that "candlesticks, crosses, anything of value is put away right after the service" because of constant thefts.
Lennan strolls the aisle, pointing out the flags of Panama's companion dioceses flying in the cathedral. "Yes, Mississippi -- the stars and bars of the Confederate flag, many people remark on that," she says with a laugh. "But this has been a long-time relationship and I think could be an example to many dioceses what a companion relationship is all about. We now also have relationships with Maine and Arizona. The other flags are a history of the church: the Panamanian flag, the English flag, the American flag and the Episcopal flag. Many call this the Church of the Flags. Some like it, some don't, but they're here for a reason. The future of the church in Panama must include partners," she says.
Intervention by other nations and churches has not always been helpful, Panamanians cautiously remark. The 1989 U.S. invasion of Panama to oust President Manuel Noriega left scars and hindered the work of the church. In America, reports said the brief military action resulted in 15 American casualties. Panamanians point to the communities and neighborhoods destroyed, or talk quietly about the estimated 3,000 Panamanians who were killed.
Walter Smith, education officer of the diocese, spoke of his boyhood neighborhood. "Chorrillo was the town site that really got destroyed by the invasion. The old wooden houses are gone. The new structures that were put up are basically structures of cement blocks."
Pointing to the new high-rise apartments, he expresses sympathy for the large families now crammed into tiny rooms with open holes in the walls that pass for windows -- the only source of ventilation and light.
"It will take us time to return to where we were in 1989, because at that time we had begun to move forward," remarked Bishop Hayes. "When the invasion took place, 90 percent of all our business in town was lost -- not because of the invasion but because of looting. The U.S. Army didn't bring in the military police until four days after the invasion. You know what happens when you have a riot. Ninety thousand people lost their jobs in four days."
Despite their small numbers, the 30 congregations of the Episcopal Church in Panama focus on children as their hope for healing the wounds of the past and as the gateway to the future by supporting five schools, an orphanage, and a retirement home.
Standing under the blazing sun on the unfinished second floor of the huge Instituto Episcopal San Jose, principal Gladys Johnson points to where the air conditioned computer room will be someday. Here, she welcomes the visitors to "Panama, the bridge to the world, and the heart of the Universe."
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