Friends and Partners in Nicaragua

You’ve been hearing me tell about bits and pieces of my experiences in Nicaragua during our children’s sermons on several recent Sundays. Numerous people have requested to hear more. . . .

We have friends and partners in Nicaragua. I had an opportunity to meet our partners and make some friends there last month. I think I left a piece of my heart there with our friends and partners in Nicaragua. Twenty years ago, the Presbytery of Lake Michigan (our network of 70 churches in central and western Michigan) established a partnership with CEPAD, the Council of Evangelical Churches of Nicaragua. CEPAD is a nongovernmental, Christian organization that was founded by a group of Nicaraguan pastors immediately after a massive earthquake destroyed Managua in 1972. Originally, CEPAD’s mission was to work together to provide emergency relief to earthquake survivors. After the initial crisis was over, the founders pledged to continue working together as a development organization, a disaster-relief agency, and a council of Protestant churches. Currently, CEPAD is engaged in development work in about 30 rural communities across Nicaragua.

One of the communities where CEPAD works is a small city called Nueva Guinea, six hours by bus to the east of Managua. Nueva Guinea is a city of 53,000 people that is only about 50 years old. In many ways, it is not too different from small cities here in the United States. There are dentists, doctors’ offices, law offices, schools, churches (about 70 total), hotels, a hospital, a library, a computer lab, lots of shops and corner markets, street vendors, pool halls, an internet café, a small university, a private school, car repair shops (but not many cars), bike shops, police cars, taxis, a public park, volleyball games, baseball games, basketball games, and the list goes on. A number of homes have televisions and/or computers, and a lot of people have cell phones (although landlines are rare). There is socioeconomic stratification – some people are obviously reasonably well off (judging by their houses), some people seem to fall in something akin to a “middle class”; some people are extremely poor. All of that felt very familiar – though most of that looks very different from what we’re used to here. I didn’t see many books (they’re expensive); I saw a lot of wildlife and animals (everything from a multitude of roosters all over town that begin crowing at 5:00 a.m. to a horse parade down the main street of town); I saw a lot of clotheslines; I saw a lot of litter along the streets (though people take pride in making their own property look nice); there was moving water running along the edges of the rough dirt streets (I’m told that the water is runoff water – such as might be left over from washing dishes or clothes – but is not sewer water). I saw a tremendous number of people spending time outside, leisurely talking with their friends and neighbors, working hard at their various professions but not running on crazy schedules the way we seem to here.

I stayed in the home of Pastor Ramon, one of the pastors there in Nueva Guinea. I was not a tourist – I was a guest. Many of us would consider the accommodations a little rough: a dirt floor, little or no running water, a toilet with no seat and no flusher, a small amount of electricity, not much privacy. I carefully inspected my rickety bed for bugs before I climbed into it. But what we received in hospitality more than made up for the rustic conditions: sumptuous meals . . . music and Spanish lessons on the porch . . . long conversations about life and church and faith . . . lots of smiles and hugs. One morning, I had the opportunity to take a walking expedition with some members of Pastor Ramon’s church to deliver donated clothes to the really poor people who live just outside Nueva Guinea in houses that are little more than wood beams wrapped in black plastic with pieces of scrap metal for roofs. Another morning, I was treated to a walking tour through Nueva Guinea, being introduced to my hosts’ friends and a number of local storeowners (and I discovered that leche con banano is pure heaven). One evening, I attended a meeting of a year-old congregation that is trying to raise money to make improvements to its building and to its manse. Another evening, I participated in a worship service at the church where Pastor Ramon serves, and I was asked to preach. My text was John 17; I talked about our unity in Christ, despite barriers of culture and language. I managed to read the scripture text out of the Spanish Bible that I had purchased there in Nueva Guinea, and say a few sentences of my own in Spanish (with a lot of coaching ahead of time from one of my hosts). Another evening we had a fiesta at a farm, where one of our trip members was treated to a surprise birthday party, with music provided by a live band that marched in during the midst of our dinner. On our last night we gathered for another fiesta, with more sumptuous food and drink and delightful conversation . . . and tears of farewell. Our hearts had been profoundly moved.

These wonderful people had welcomed us into their homes, into their lives – and none of us will ever be the same again.

The churches in Lake Michigan Presbytery have had a partnership with the churches in Nueva Guinea since 1991. Originally, we went there on mission trips – building houses, painting schools – but after a few years the mission trips evolved into a partnership. Instead of us continually being on the giving end and the people there continually being on the receiving end, the goal is to figure out, through relationships and conversation, what we can do to help each other. It is truly a partnership; it is a two-way street; the vision is that each side of the partnership – they and we – will both be contributing to the partnership, will both be receiving from the partnership.

The question, “What can we do to help them?” may seem easy enough on the surface. Just take one look around, and it’s easy to imagine all sorts of things we could give or do that might help the people of Nueva Guinea live lives more like ours. But is that what they truly want? Perhaps not. Perhaps we need to be careful not to import our first-world “civilization” into a developing nation that needs to develop in its own way, at its own pace, on its own terms. One of our mission partners there (who is originally from the United States) said that when he first arrived in Nicaragua a number of years ago, he thought he knew exactly what the people of Nicaragua needed. Now, he’s not so sure. The reality of that situation is very complex, far more complex than meets the eye. It is very easy for us to make attempts to be “helpful,” according to what we see, based on our own lives and experiences. It is much more challenging to engage in real conversation with the people there about what they think would be helpful.

So what do we do to help the people of Nueva Guinea? Currently, we work on family development projects like the “Patio Project,” which offers extensive, multi-year training to women in some of the more outlying areas, teaching them how to raise chickens and pigs and how to create small backyard gardens that produce consumable vegetables and fruits. (That’s where some of our two-cents-a-meal money goes.) We support a sewing project that helps women create goods they can sell to enrich their own livelihoods. We promote interfamily violence prevention, self-esteem development for youth and women, and more. The newest initiative is to work towards the establishment of a public Christian radio station in Nueva Guinea. While we were there, five members of our delegation met with five of Nueva Guinea’s pastors for nearly an entire day, developing a set of goals and objectives for the partnership to work on together over the course of the next five years.

The question, “What can we do to help the people of Nueva Guinea?” is tricky enough. But the next question – “What can the people of Nueva Guinea do to help us?” – is even trickier. I suspect all of us who went on this trip would answer that question differently. Certainly, all of us felt that our lives were richly blessed through the time we spent in their company. It was a significant culture shock to return to the United States – and, for me, honestly, not entirely pleasant. Upon landing at the Atlanta airport, I suddenly felt bombarded by noise and things and busy-ness. I miss the casual conversations that people have throughout the day on their porches and on the streets of town in Nueva Guinea. I miss the unhurried pace of life. I miss the incredibly generous warmth and hospitality that was extended to all of us. I miss not being constantly surrounded by television and media. Returning to the United States, I was struck by just how much stuff we have here in this country, and – to be perfectly honest – how much less joy we seem to have in our lives here. What percentage of people in our country struggle with depression? What percentage there? I’m willing to bet that the percentage is significantly higher here. Could it be possible for people who have so far fewer things than we do to have a greater sense of joy in life?

Hmm. What can the people of Nueva Guinea do to help us? Maybe, among other things, they can help us look at life itself through a different lens. Maybe our encounters with them can help us question some aspects of our life here in the United States that need to be called into question. Maybe our encounters with these people – who are created in the image of God, just as much as we are – can help us learn and experience some things about who God is and how God is calling us to live in this world. Maybe we can grow in our Christian walk through cross-cultural encounters like this.

I was particularly struck by my experiences in the churches there, and by the conversations we had about church life. A number of our friends and partners in Nicaragua have visited us here in Michigan; they have traveled around to some of our churches; a group of them was with us at Family Camp at Camp Greenwood back in September of 2008. As I listened to some of them reflect with us on their experiences here in Michigan, I discovered that they too have been struck by what they have seen in our churches. They are concerned that our churches don’t seem to exhibit as much joy as theirs do. They are concerned that there doesn’t seem to be as deep a sense of authentic community in our churches as in theirs. They are concerned that our churches are filled with older people and are noticeably lacking in youth and young adults. They worry about the health of our churches. They worry about our effectiveness and about our ability to pass on a meaningful faith to succeeding generations. As we looked at their churches, we were not surprised to hear them say things like that, because their churches are filled with life, filled with passion, filled with energy, filled with children and youth and young adults. The worship service I preached at was filled with people who were probably, for the most part, under the age of 45. There are Bible studies and small-group in-home meetings throughout the week. There are worship services multiple times throughout the week. There are people who are leaving behind lives of alcohol or drug abuse or crime and choosing to make a radical change of life to follow in the ways of Jesus Christ. We spent time on our bus talking amongst ourselves about the realities plaguing the vast majority of our churches here – membership decline, aging congregations, loss of our youth, trouble reaching younger generations – and those are realities that the churches we saw in Nicaragua simply do not have. We wondered amongst ourselves not only what they have that we seem to lack – but why it is that we seem to lack some of the things that they have. One member of our group commented that it is as if their churches offer “Christianity” – while our churches here seem to be offering “Christianity Lite.” There is a robustness in their churches that we just don’t seem to have to the same degree.

Hmm . . . maybe there are some things we can learn from them.

Now, to be fair, there are lots of things they struggle with, too. One evening, I attended a congregational meeting at a relatively new church (the building was little more than six wooden posts, a concrete floor, a metal roof, and a little bit of electricity to provide for lighting and a sound system). Children were wiggling and parents were trying to get them to hush. The discussion centered on questions about how to come up with funds for a building project, how to get people to follow through on commitments they had made, how to increase the size of their congregation, how to get more people involved. Honestly, that conversation could have happened here just as easily as it did there. Their churches struggle with issues just as much as ours do. I asked my host pastor’s wife how we could pray for their church, and she said we could pray that their church’s economic situation might improve, and we could pray that their church might have a greater impact on the wider community. So much is the same. These people are not that different from us – decent, good, hard-working people, trying to make an honest living, trying to raise their children well, trying to deal with age-old problems of crime and human sinfulness, trying to be faithful Christians in a world where that can be difficult. They’re really not that different from us.

But something about their churches is very different. Something’s going on in their churches that, in general, isn’t happening in our churches here, at least not to the same extent. Declining membership, aging congregations, loss of youth and young adults – those are not problems they have! What do they have to teach us? I suspect lots!

So it’s a partnership. We give to them . . . and they give to us.

We have friends and partners in Nicaragua. Their names are Isidra, Rafael, Heyni, Job, Milagro, Jobito, Ramon, Esther, Danni, Kevin, Mérari, Fabian, Antonio, Adriana, José, Rachel, Cesar, Arsenio, Juana, Lester, Jiseyli, Keylor, José, Maria, Ana, Berlein, Junior, Ingrid, Amaro, Maribella, Juan, Pedro, Leda, Aaron, Damaris, Maribella, Nicolasa, Zopi, Alexander, Jhonny . . . and the list goes on. Those may be just names to you, but to those of us who got to know them, they are real people with hopes and dreams and worries and fears, people who laugh and people who cry, people who work and people who play, people who have a deep faith in Jesus Christ and a passionate commitment to the mission of the church. Honestly, they’re a lot like us. It was a real delight to get to know them. I will be keeping in touch with some of them over the months to come, and I am eagerly looking forward to September 2011, when some of them will come to visit us here in Michigan and we can renew our friendship.

I left a piece of my heart in Nicaragua. When I see our friends next year, I hope to get that piece of my heart back again. But I have a feeling that when we say goodbye, I may lose it again. I can live with that. It was worth it. It was definitely worth it.

Peace and blessings,

Bill