I hated Managua! And the Church was no better!

I know. Hate is a strong word, and if my nieces and nephews are reading this, they´re probably saying, "Aunt Janet, we don´t say that word." And I don´t ... typically. It´s a word, though, and a feeling that came up entirely too often in Manuaga. I´ve hesitated writing about it because I didn´t like the thoughts I was having or what of me they reflected. However, the experience stands in dark contrast to other experiences here, and I need to share it.

I hated it! I hated the noise and the pressure and the ugliness. I hated the 15 passenger vans crammed with 23 passengers and that little bastard who "helped" me off the van. I wasn´t moving fast enough, I guess, and time is money! I remember jerking my arm out of his hand and knowing that if he touched me again, I was going to hit him! I hated the taxi drivers hovering / lurking, all of them asking if I want a taxi-- like I can´t see them sitting there and could ask for a cab if I needed one! I hated the creepy little man who spoke to mek in English, warning me about where it was safe to walk and touting himself as someone I could trust. I hated the beeping that meant any number of things -- You´re in my way. I´m on your left. Do you need a cab? Get out of my way. What the hell´s the hold up? You s.o.b. I hated the jingling bells of the ice cream carts that sold stale, already-melting ice cream sundae cones. I hated the internet / phone center -- the only available option -- that had no concept of customer service. I hated the greed, desperation, and entitlment that robbed me of my chance ... and willingness ... to be generous. I hated feeling all the time like a mark, like someone -- some thing -- to be used as a means to an end. I hated the streets with no names or numbers and their being too dangerous to walk ... even in the daylight. I hated nothing being tourist-friendly and whatever it was that prevented people from seeing just how badly tourism is needed. I hated the dilapitated buildings and neglected parks. I hated the pretty monuments that honored a revolution that has had no visible lasting benefit to the people. I hated the contaminated water and the unbelievably excessive littering that contributed to it. I hated the sparkling metro centro (i.e. mall) steeming with all kinds of life ... in too close proximity to the shantytown suffocating from all manners of death.

And I hated the Church for it´s inactivity and excuses. By "the Church," I mean the Episcopal Church. I´ve met with people from each diocese I´ve visited so far. In Panamá, Costa Rica, and El Salvador, I was well-received and well-informed. Folks were eager to share all that was going on in their country (each country is a diocese) ... mostly because things were happening. I´ll tell you more about some of that in another entry or two. The Church in Managua was different. (Disclaimer -- I understand that George Porter, the dean of the cathedral in Bluefields, and the churches there are active and thriving, and I want not to generalize my thoughts / feelings about the Church in Managua to the Church in all of Nicaragua.) I didn´t have much exposure to the Church in Managua, and that was the beginning of my opinion. I had no contact with the bishop, aside from the exchange of peace at the Mass. One young man I met offered to show me another church, and I enjoyed the celebration there. The priest, however, didn´t talk with me about his work or the work of the church. He engaged in a kind of healing service that was too charismatic for my taste ... and a little too much about his reputation. My chaperone was suspicious of the practice, too. My chaperone was a young man (17 yrs old) who wants to be a priest ... and the Church will be blessed to have him. (I plan to return to Nicaragua for his ordination to the priesthood ... and again to his consecration as bishop!) He´s frustrated with the inactivity of the church as well and has much to say about the practices and policies of the bishop, too. I also spoke with a deacon. I´ve been very curious about the role of the deacon in the churches in Central America. There are deacons in Costa Rica and Nicaragua, and all of them are transitional. They serve as priests-in-training. The deacon I spoke with confirmed that. I asked the questions I usually ask about location and membership, justice issues, and the Church´s relationship with the communities in which they´re found and with the government. I learned that the priests are too busy to do much about justice issues. I´m not willing to accept that. I understand there are elderly and sick to visit ... and if that´s all that get´s done, then the church is dying and priests serve as little more than keepers of the crypt. I learned that the church passes resolutions about justice issues, much like we do in the U.S., but this deacon was unable to tell me what gets done with those resolutions after convention. I told her about the Episcopal Public Policy Network and how the role of the deacon, at least as I understand it, is as a bridge between the church and the world and a symbol and model of service ... and how all of that mandates communication with the government and the support and work of the priest and the congregation to carry out the resolutions passed. The deacon told me that there´s no point in talking to the government because the only recognized church is the Roman Catholic Church, and the government is corrupt anyway. My unspoken thought was ... Great! It takes the Church back to the first days when the church was illegal ... and engaged, vibrant, radical ... and changing the world! And there was nothing to lose! Why not be the force to be reckoned with?! The never-to-be-silenced voice speaking for the voiceless?! The deacon added that the people are too much pacifists to engage in the work I was talking about anyway.

It was with that sentiment that I realized all I was getting was excuses, and it was with that sentiment that I added my anger at the church to the anger -- hatred! -- of the city in which it stood. There are so many issues the church could be doing something -- anything! -- about and just isn´t. And "The Church" has no business touting itself as "The Body of Christ" if it´s not going to at least attempt to care for its members.

The whole thing grieves me in my spirit, and I share the experience in the hopes of moving through it. It has, however, served one good purpose. It is informing my view of the Gospel, the work of the Church, and the role of the deacon ... indeed of all servants of God.

And I´m so very pleased that my experiences with the other Churches in Central America are informing my views as well and that those experiences stand in sharp sharp sharp contrast to the Church in Managua. I look forward to sharing that with you, too.