Winding Up in the West Indies

1 Shade is critical in the heat of the day. This is "Miami Beach", just down the hill from the conference centre where I attended the inaugural province-wide conference of the Anglican clergy in the West Indies. I'm sporting the bright-green clergy shirt made by the local tailor in Corozal to give me a Carribean look (it's actually much brighter than the camera suggests).



2 The fish fry at the town of Oistins on the south coast of Barbados is a Friday night favourite. Yes, styrofoam is used a lot here for food and beverage service.



3 Our farewell tea with the teachers and principal of St. Paul's school in Corozal. Delicious home-made goodies! I think the flan is my favourite (a kind of egg custard, also popular in Mexico)



4
The tiny little chapel of St. Joseph, Punta Gorda, an isolated congregation in the far south of Belize, contrasts starkly with the vast buildings and large parishes and congregations in Barbados

Winding up in the Windies

I’m sitting at my desk in the resource room of Codrington College, one of the two theological colleges for the CPWI (Church in the Province of the West Indies) with the relief of the air conditioning maintaining a viable climate for reading and writing. According ot our guide to Barbados, the temperature rarely if ever goes above 90F”,… except of course for the whole time while we are here.

This has been a feature of ministry in the Caribbean context that is significant for those not accustomed to navigating around serious heat, and even for those who do.

During our time in Corozal, we, along with most of our parishioners and most of the townsfolk, did not have a climate-controlled environment. How do you get things done, I would ask? BC tells me that she’s up by 5 am, and gets all the heavy chores done before 7 am, to ease things during the heat. Next year, she’s going to invest in air conditioning, she tells me. AG tells me that she gets up at 330 am to start making baking powder biscuits (powdah buns) and johnny cakes for selling at the market at 630 am. She goes for her walk at first light ~ it’s safest and most pleasant in terms of temperature. That way, when the sun is at the hottest, you can stay inside and the pressure is off. She needs the extra funds from selling at the market to contribute towards her children’s education. She also has an elderly mother living at home to tend to.

The harder thing to understand is that while Chetumal, our Mexican city just over the border generally shuts down between noon and 4 pm for a really good siesta, the Belizean way is generally just to keep going. So construction workers will be out in the heat of the day. I watch a crew at work doing a concrete roof. Whereas we might expect to see a concrete mixer pouring into footings in volume, I am told that the local men fear that this would replace their jobs, so they prefer to go with their traditional hand-pouring. A veritable ants nest of 50 or 60 men climb two-storey ladders with a carefully balanced bucket of concrete on their head, with a custom-made cap forming a flat base for the container, and beaver away from 8 am to 5 pm to earn their $30-50 for the day.

Meanwhile, I am lying shirtless on the bed with buckets of sweat pouring off me from doing nothing and simply trying to make it through the hottest hours of the day. All this, and vestments in church too, I’m thinking.

The month of April has no doubt been the hottest of our three-month stay.

As we start to wind up our time here, I think back over the joys of Easter, a trip offshore to Caye Caulker in the days following Easter for a little touring and R & R, and the long journey by car from Belize to Punta Gorda in the far south of Belize to celebrate with the saints there for the Sunday following Easter.

I look back with fond memories to our farewell service in Corozal on April 18th, the tears, and the gifts, and the sense of special connection that we made and know that it will never leave our hearts.

Our bus trip along the far eastern coast of Mexico took us to the very different world of Cancun, in preparation for our flight to Barbados. No contrast could be more pronounced than the villages of northern Belize and the 17-mile playground of luxury hotels and apartments around the hotel zone of Cancun. We opted to stay in a little home away from the tourist area, where we did not feel the contrast so keenly.

Barbados has given me the privilege of attending the first ever Province-wide clergy conference for the eight dioceses of the West Indies. I attended as a representative of the Diocese of Belize, realizing that many of my colleagues in Belize may not have the resources to make this trip.

Our theme was provocatively entitled “priestly vocation ~ called or hired?”, and we held daily sessions with speakers and with small group discussion over the nature of our ministry. Bishops, priests, lawyers, psychologists, were on the agenda to look at our ministry from differing angles, mostly from the perspective that we are both “called by God” to an office, and “hired” for specific functions. So many of the questions we have faced in Canada over recent years regarding professionalism, misconduct, employment standards and job description, are being discussed here articulately with clarity of focus and passionate feeling. And all surrounded by morning prayer and midday Eucharist. I love singing with these clergy ~ they have such fabulous voices and deep appreciation of hymnody. And we don’t spare any verses either. We may be running “late” (if there is such a thing) for lunch, but we will have all nine verses of the offertory hymns, and all 6 or 7 verses of opening and closing hymns, rather than keep an eye on the watch and wonder if the kitchen staff are doing the same.

James accepted the task of driving on the left-hand side of the road (RH drive) to drop me off at Christ Church parish education center each morning, and then pick me up when our sessions ended at around 3 pm, in time for a drive down the hill to Miami Beach, Oistins, for the family to take a quick dip in the refreshing Carribean waters. We love the water here, and we love to eat the fish that are caught and sold fresh daily in these waters ~ mahi-mahi, tuna, marlin, and many more.

Our first Sunday, I decided to attend St. Philip’s, the local parish church along the neighbouring country road. I was under the mistaken misconception, all of my own doing, that where the parish website advertised a “said Eucharist” for 7.00 am, that this meant I might be home for breakfast around 8 am. Think again! For one thing, there were fully 300 of a congregation, complete with a robed choir, the Church Army out in force, and the Mothers’ Union reps also decked out and sitting in a phalanx in the front pews on the epistle side. “Said” eucharist, it turned out, simply meant that the priest does not sing the Eucharist prayer or chant the Gospel. However, there will still be hymns and songs throughout the service (mostly from Hymns Ancient and Modern), plus 7 or 8 communion hymns, a 30-40 minute sermon, and about 30-40 minutes of blessings, announcements, birthday and anniversary greetings, and more. As we leave, we notice a large crowd gathering for the next service. I have this sensation that a country parish in Barabados might be comparable to a cathedral in many parts of Canada in terms of size, attendance, giving, and commitment and participation.

Barbados has one of the highest rates of literacy anywhere in the Western hemisphere, and Anglican parish life here has founded the basis of the educational system and of social cohesiveness since 1627. Parish groups and organizations flourish with clear structures and commitments. One of the other parishes I visit has an annual report available, so I peek at the annual budget of $729,000 (Canadian $365,000) and ponder the kind of stewardship programs and general economic activity that underlie these figures.

On my second Sunday here, I am invited by Canon Noel Burke to preach and concelebrate at St. David’s at the 745 am service. Noel spares me attending his 615 am service, and for that matter his 1000 am children’s service. This is solemn high mass in the classical Anglo-Catholic tradition, with all the trimmings of incense, candles, processions, choir and organist, and I need to keep my eyes and ears open for those differences from my own experience, so that I do my best to bow, genuflect, and generally move in sync with the Rector and the team of acolytes. Fortunately they have a cordless mike, so I bring myself down from the pulpit to my more customary position of wandering the aisle or standing at the chancel steps to preach on the new commandment of love.

I find it hard not to start to reflect on the differences again with Corozal. Anglicans in Belize may once have been at the center of national life, but now, for all that it may be true that the Prime Minister and Governor General are Anglicans, the church in terms of attendance, membership, and resources, is clearly a minority in a multi-cultural society. And in this sense they have more in common with the struggle of the church in BC to adapt to a multi-cultural but clearly more affluent and secularized society.

We are starting to wind down now, with the prospect of a day or two of being tourists, and a day at the 20/20 World Cup Cricket (yes we know the year is 2010, but the initiated in the cricket world will know why it is also 2020, and what 20 overs per side means anyway), before we pack our bags for the multiple flights to BC.

I am sure as I consider wrapping up my blog for this journey, that my inner reflections have only just begun, and that my learnings are going to be revealed in preparing to re-engage once again a context of ministry that somehow feels as if it will be very different from what I left, mainly because I cannot be sure that I am entirely the same person. (I’ll stick with the double-negative for the moment, because my Englishness is still sufficient to prod me towards that kind of self-evaluation!) Sandy and I speculate to ourselves, will “home” really be “home” when we get “home”?

Easter message for the Diocese of Belize

(the key to the pictures is at the end of the text below)

I have been asked to write the Easter Message for the Belize Anglican News, so I have decided to share that with you electronically too.

But first a few highlights of Holy Week.

We decided to experiment with an ecumenical Holy Week service on Monday night along with the RCs and the Methodists, holding a beautiful Taize service with candlelight. Rev Kofi, a Guyanan Methodist serving locally led the prayers, and I shared the Gospel in English while Father Chris, the Catholic priest (11 years here, and originally from Illinois) proclaimed in Spanish. I played keyboard and James played guitar as we joined with the host musicians in the gentle repetitive chants and silences.

The Catholic church was rebuilt after the '55 hurricane into a gorgeous octagonal design with an open altar in the centre, and a circular arrangement of chairs designed to hold the large congregation, in an acoustically vibrant atmosphere . Taize is a new experience for many here, and it seems to be growing rapidly as a vehicle for prayer.

Daily services for us are 6,30 am, and the Easter Vigil is usually set for 5.00 am, so that we can start the fire before sunlight, but we seem to have slipped to 5.30 am this year.

Maundy Thursday entailed a 4.30 rise for a 5.30 drive to Belize (city) to the cathedral footwashing service. It was a deeply moving sight to see eight stations for footwashing and almost the whole congregation, with all the clergy of the diocese, and many or most of the school teachers. participating in slipping their shoes off and having their feet washed before the altar. It was about a three hour event, in all, and highly inspirational. The minister of education was there (his father is a lay minister here in Corozal) and had his feet washed too. The bishop had chosen the song "The Servant King" (Graham Kendrick) as a highly suitable song for the event, but he noted that no-one seemed to know it, so he passed the microphone over to me after the first verse, and I ended up singing an improptu solo (!) to which more voices were added as we went along. Just one of those little surprises that comes under the category of "be ready for anything".

We returned in the afternoon to repeat the event for the local community, with the divesting of the sanctuary and then an agape meal (aka love feast, or simple meal of bread wine and a few other things at tables in the nave).

Finally the Good Friday fast, and the 3-hour service in the heat of the day, with members of the congregation each offering a reflection on the seven last words, and ending with the stations of the cross, with some new reflections taken from the imaginative standpoint of the centurion watching the crucifixion.

It's over 90F now on Holy Saturday, or Wet Saturday, as some people call it, as it is the local tradition to go swimming and cool off. At least, those who are not watching the major sporting event of the year: the bicycle race from Belize to San Ignacio, a tradition going back over 70 years around here, so I understand.

All the blessings of Easter to everyone reading this. Light, life, and glory :)

Easter Message for the Diocese of Belize ~ 2010

I am giving the first and last word of my Easter message this year to John of Damascus, an Arab Christian, scholar, and priest, who was translated to glory Dec 4 of the year 749. These words ring down through thirteen centuries as the hymn “The Day of Resurrection”, known to us here as number 96 in the 1940 Episcopal Hymnal.

“Now let the heavens be joyful, let earth her song begin;
The round earth keep high triumph, and all that is therein.
Let all things seen and unseen their notes of gladness blend:
For Christ the Lord is risen, our joy that hath no end.”

Joy is such a wonderful monosyllable. No wonder parents sometimes choose it as a name for their children.

And that is my Easter message, condensed down to a single three-letter word: JOY!

Joy is named many times in the lists of virtues in the Bible. And why not, since it infects everything like a positive contagion? Where hope, faith, and love go, there you will find joy lurking, and ready to break out.

We always say love is the greatest thing. And we know that love is inevitably intertwined with sorrow and grief, because everything mortal that we love grows, changes, and eventually dies. So to love, is to feel pain.

But to love is also to experience joy. And for some of us, it is easier to find the pain in life that it is to find the joy in life. Maybe that is why St. Paul has to repeat his command to the brothers and sisters in the Christian community in Philippi to “rejoice always in the Lord…and again I say, rejoice” (Phil. 4.4)

Much of the world continues to run on the scapegoat principle that led to Jesus’s death. Left to ourselves, the ego runs riot in political and civil life, and tends ultimately to attempt to solve the problem of suffering by the same process that led to the suffering in the first place. We find an enemy to blame, and then we exclude, hate, fight against, and ultimately in a symbolic or literal sense, kill. Political and religious authorities still do this today. The example of Robert Mugabe and Norbert Konunga in Zimbabwe are but one painful example that comes to mind. In the same region, the bishops representing eight southern African countries deplore the “almost unprecedented levels of alleged corruption among those in political power in the Republic of South Africa, and the State’s seeming inability or unwillingness to hold anyone accountable” (Church Times, Feb 19, 2010).

But Jesus shows us that God is not like that, and that for all the human corruption in the world, the universe does not operate on the principle of coercive power. Jesus shows us that we do not need to co-operate with violence, but can overcome it with goodness. We fight against evil, amazingly enough, through the example of the crucified Jesus, by absorbing it. And the resurrection becomes the cosmic moment of a ridiculous freedom and an outrageous joy, where all tit-for-tat logic breaks down, and forgiveness takes over.

If you or I had been unjustly put to death and raised miraculously to life, what would we have done? How many of us would start slapping law-suits on people, reproaching them, demanding apologies, going to the press with our story of victimhood, and so on.

But Jesus simply breathes forgiveness over his enemies and his faithless friends, and for those who will allow this to actually affect them and to sink in, it provokes outbreaks of joy in them.

You see, the resurrection doesn’t just say that your life is greater than your death. That is wonderful in itself. We are all glad for signs that we are not merely a blip of insignificance that will expire into absolute oblivion after a few decades. We want to know that we have more of a future than that, and the resurrection of Jesus confirms our best intuitions and assures us that death is the portal to life, not the end of life.

Just as importantly, the resurrection says that we are forgiven. We are released from everything we have ever done and could do. Love, joy, and peace can break out all over the place, because the hatred, misery, and anxiety that were blocking them have all been disarmed by Jesus.

To be connected to the resurrection power of Jesus is to be connected to joy. If violence was contagious in the events leading to his death, the joy of the Gospel was even more contagious in the events that flowed from his resurrection.

So let joy be the name for everything for Easter Day, and for all the days of Easter. For in short, there is only ONE reality. Things “seen and unseen” blend together. The resurrection of Jesus IS the forgiving presence and the felt presence of the divine, which IS love, joy, and peace, which IS the nine-fold harvest of the Spirit (Gal 5.22), which is the overcoming of all dualities and dualisms, which IS God, who IS the Spirit, and the one true and living way, which IS the God of myriad names who is beyond all naming and imaging, which IS the Trinity in Unity, which IS our joy that has no end.

And if all of this sounds like too much theological theory, let’s wrap it up in a few direct thoughts and practical applications. Here is a task and a framework for the Easter season.

1) First of all, find three things on Easter Sunday that give you joy, and tell someone what they are. Make Easter day a reflection on joy, and a reflection of joy.

2) Second, make this whole Easter season an exploration of joy. As you participate in worship, notice how often joy shows up in all our seasonal readings, prayers, hymns, and liturgies ~ it’s everywhere! Joy is waiting to burst out of the tomb of your miseries and apparently otherwise legitimate complaints. Go looking for find the joy in life.
Blend your search for joy among both the things seen and the things unseen. Like the first disciples, go into the garden and go into the graveyard. In the fifty days leading to Pentecost, when you find something about which you could reasonably complain, ask yourself “where is the joy in this?”, and tell someone.

3) And finally, when you find your joy, be unashamed to express it. Sing, dance, and then put up your feet, swing in the hammock, or take a siesta. Smile, and let the smile on your face reach from east to west. Pretend you had just scored the winning goal in the world cup, captured an Olympic gold medal, and won the lottery two weeks running without even buying a ticket.

Celebrate in the One who has triumphed in every imaginable way over the harshest of enemies ~ the chill of violence and the chill of death, and who has returned in love, joy, peace, forgiveness, and with every other virtue and good thing you can name.

Rejoice in the Lord Always. And again I say, rejoice.

For Christ our Lord is risen, our joy that hath no end.

Andrew +

Easter 2010.

The Rev. Andrew Twiddy is a priest of the Diocese of British Columbia, Canada, who is on sabbatical from his duties and serving for three months as priest-in-charge at St. Paul’s-by-the-Sea, Corozal Town.

pictures:

1 ~ howler monkeys (known locally as baboons, but very small in comparison) live in the trees and eat mainly leaves and some fruit. they travel in groups of 4-8 and make a loud howling sound to establish their territory. recommended to not stand directly below them :)

2 ~ was this the snail kite (that feeds on wetland snails, and is almost extinct in the everglades now), or the collared hawk with its brown and black markings? there's 584 different birds here in Belize. I tried to get one of the Northern Jacana, which is also known as the "Jesus Christ bird", because it walks on the lily pads and reeds on the water surface. will need a better zoom for that.

3 ~ the imposing and beautifully proportioned jaguar temple at Lamanai. the site was occupied from 2000 BCE to 900 CE, and was a city of around 50-60,000 people in the classical era, when more than a million Mayans inhabited the area now occupied by 350,000 Belizeans.

4 ~ operating the hand-crank car-ferry (4 vehicles at a time) across the river on the way to the neigbouring village of Cerros. glad it's not my all-dayjob, but you should see the muscles on this guy! you can't see the muscles because i dropped my camera on the concrete of the carport and the lens in permanently out of focus now

5 ~ the cathedral church of St. John the Baptist, Belize City, first and oldest Anglican cathedral church in Central America (1812), made by slave labour of bricks brought as ballast on ships from England. the heart of Anglican life and pride and joy of the people here.

Impressions of Belize ~ part 2 of 2

key to the photos is at the end of the text below

Impressions of Belize ~ Seeing the Diocese with Canadian eyes ~ part 2 of 2

Part 2 of 2…..

The people of Belize can be grateful for their schooling in the Anglican and other denominational churches which gives them a solid foundation in words and themes and messages that can be called upon for many of life’s changing situations, or as Matthew’s gospel puts it, can be used to bring things old and new from the treasure store (Mt. 13.52).

This is something we have largely lost in Canada, at least in BC. In Canada, we talk about the absence of Biblical memory. We are beginning to see people go through their lives with barely any knowledge of biblical stories, characters, or references, without any sacramental connection, and can barely recite the Lord’s prayer, let alone tell you of any purpose that the local parish may have in being there.

By contrast with the highly secular context of BC, it is my observation that nearly all schoolchildren in Corozal have a specifically Christian education, in the sense that almost all primary education is by denominational affiliation, both primary and secondary education includes weekly chapels, and includes the study of Scripture, the practice of Christian worship, and an acceptance of prayer and Christian faith as part of civic life. They may be RC, Methodist, Seventh-Day Adventist, or Anglican, to name the most visible options, but that is the matrix for the delivery of government curriculum. I find it inspiring to reflect on the willing service and dedicated skill of the teachers and principal who go beyond the call of duty to make this possible.

Children in school have a good deal of healthy structure and clear purpose. Outside of school, young children seem to have a great deal of freedom to play, and they display a dexterity in handling social situations. At the same time, we have come across children who seem to grow up too soon, having clearly stopped attending school at an early age to help with earning family income or raising siblings.

I am also impressed by the level of memorization which young people have. I see how a regular exposure to liturgy and a frequency in the use of hymns and songs appears to give both a comfort with and sense of direction in using prayer books and hymn books, and yet also a sense of internalized freedom to go beyond the printed page. If we ask young people to read scripture, to lead a psalm, to participate in a hymn, there is often a clear cultural knowledge of what to do next.

At the same time, I can note that school worship does not necessarily convert into regular Sunday attendance. And so the challenge for this diocese is to keep and grow its living connections with the young people who grow up in its schools, and to reactivate the connections with lapsed members and former students.

My overall experience of the West Indian parishes of Belize and beyond (including Canada) is one of clear and uniform Anglo-Catholic roots, incense, sanctus bells, stations of the cross, reserve sacrament, and other features which were once unknown to me, but with which I have come to find myself at home and at peace. And this is carried in harmony with an evangelizing impulse and hymnody and corporate culture that sits well with ecumenical work with the Methodists, the Baptists, and other faith communities. And in that sense, if someone asks me if the culture here is catholic or evangelical, I would say “yes”, its both.

I enjoy the opportunity of being in diocese and a province that uses a single prayer book. My observation is that the books are well-thumbed and my instinct is that the liturgies are well-loved. Canada is still awaiting a new prayer book and relies on a mixture of a 1962 prayer book, a 1985 alternative service book, plus supplementary materials and local customs.

Having the use of a vehicle has been highly advantageous. (Even so, with four of us, we decided to purchase a bicycle to share, and I have just returned home with a freshly cut and bagged watermelon balanced on the handlebars, courtesy of one of the wardens). I have learned, once off the main highway, to keep a very firm grasp of the wheel, a fierce gaze for marked or unmarked speed bumps, unfilled potholes, and gained an understanding why vehicles need regular maintenance checks. I have also learned that pedestrians on the road display a great deal of faith in those who drive by them, and I have learned that cyclists have great poise and sometimes an equally great faith in the motorists who almost graze their pedals as they drive by.

From visits and conversations with parishioners I feel the poignancy of so many stories of the loss of family members, death at a young age, and the impact of hurricanes on the sense of impermanence of life. Grandparents tell of children leaving the country from economic necessity, and leaving children behind in search of a livelihood. Older members recall the devastating storms of 1931, 1955, and 1961, and the loved ones who died in them.

I would like to pay tribute to the strength and courage that I see in the face of adversity, and the unflappable acceptance of some of the sheer difficulties of daily living. I can sketch the outlines of large family trees, absent parents, and grandparents raising children, and everywhere I see evidences of grief and faith walking hand in hand. “How was is that you came to raise four of your sister’s children?” I ask. “She died at age 27, after the birth of her tenth child, and I took the girls, while her surviving husband took the boys and started a new family after that…” I have to pause in contemplation as I absorb memories like this. I find it hard to complete the sentence on my page without my imagination trailing off into a profound silence, punctuated by similar memories from some of the young children at school ~ …”my mammy gan died, she gan to heaven”, says a five year old. I am marked by the death of a 3-yr old in a traffic accident involving a bus just outside the school. Somehow for these dear people, death is simply woven into the fabric of life, and the veil between this life and the changed life beyond this life thins to a finer fabric of consciousness than I usually experience.

To say that I have seen evidences of the social problems facing the country is a remark that I need to modify. Not just because I can also see evidences of poverty, homelessness, and substance abuse in Canada, and acts of violence and evidence of gang activities in my home region too. But more importantly, I see the church here making its voice heard, and taking steps to address social challenges through advocacy, education, and prayer. The “AIDS awareness” mural on the parish school wall is a testimony to the church’s willingness to take the lead. A member of the committee tells me that the Anglican church was the first of the churches in the country to stand up and be counted in terms of naming the fact that AIDS is here and in articulating a public response. Likewise, the “Women’s equality” awareness banner on the highway in town seems to me to operate in tandem with that, and poses a question about reports I hear about absentee fatherhood in the culture in general, and the relatively low proportion of males to females participating in the overall life and leadership of the parish. With 33% of the population living below the poverty line, and the highest rate of HIV/AIDS in Central America, the task is huge.

I see the diocese aiming high in terms of evangelization, human resources, encouragement of lay leadership, in projects for building in schools and churches, and in social outreach through feeding programs, medical and dental work, and scholarships. I am moved by the breadth of the vision of the diocese here, when financial resources seem to be limited in comparison to many North American parishes and dioceses. I have been greatly enriched by meeting with the clergy in conference, and my heart goes out to those who willingly offer their retirements to give seasoned, thoughtful, and generous leadership in developing ministry in small or remote villages and towns.

It seems to me that the challenge for the diocese of Belize, as our new baptismal preparation booklet notes in the introduction, is not only to advocate for positive changes, but to model within our parishes, schools, and our homes the values which we wish to see. To become the change we pray for and work towards. And I thank God for the extraordinary privilege of having some small and brief part in receiving and giving in the ministry of the Gospel here. I know I am being changed by this experience, and I dare to say that is true for all my family! And so I give thanks for this sojourn with you and for the gift of being able to pray and work alongside so many gentle, joyous, and loving souls in the diocese of Belize in our common longing for renewal.

Andrew +

The Rev. Andrew Twiddy,
St. Paul’s-by-the-Sea, Corozal

1 ~ In the cathedral sacristy, after I concelebrated at the cathedral school's midweek eucharist with Rev. Ilona Smiling, my predecessor at St. Paul's, Corozal, and now "retired" to assist at the cathedral.

2 ~ On our jungle boat tour to the Mayan ruins of Lamanai, we pass by the Mennonite community of Shipyard, where the Mennonites are branching out from their traditional agricultural into bulding barges for oil exploration. Mennonites from Mexico, Canada (the "progressive" ones, our guide tells us), and Pennsylvania make up 3% of the Belize population, and provide 35% of food production.

3 ~ The black orchid, in the wild under the jungle canopy ~ Belize's national flower

4 ~ Looking down the precipitous steps from 34 m height, on top of the ceremonial temple at Lamanai, the third highest Mayan structure known to us. There is no evidence of human sacrifice here, we are told, although there could have been injuries from falling on the steps.

5 ~ Our own St. Paul's school marching band practices after school with the police sergeant-cum-bandmaster for the national marching-band fest to be held this saturday, March 27, in the Corozal stadium. The parade starts right in front of our house.

Impressions of Belize ~ part 1 of 2

for a key to the pictures ~ see the end of the article

Impressions of Belize ~ Seeing the Diocese with Canadian eyes

Recently I was asked by Canon Roy Flowers, editor of the Belizean “Anglican News” to provide an article on my impressions so far of life and ministry in Belize, so here is part one of a two-part article…
I am writing this at the midpoint of our three-month stay in Belize, where I have the privilege of serving as priest-in-charge at St. Paul’s-by-the-Sea in Corozal Town. Enough time to see, and to feel, and to absorb, and to reflect a little.

“Tell me some things about Belize, and I will tell you some things about Canada.” This is the exchange I offered to our children at St. Paul’s school. “Belize is beautiful”, comes the reply. “Belize has many cultures and languages”, “Belize has tigers and crocodiles”, “Belize has a high crime rate” (this from a 7-yr old), “Belizeans are sometimes flexible about starting on time” (this last one actually came from an adult source).

After a six week sampling, I can say that all of this has some truth in my experience. I have heard a tiger roaring in the wild (that is, a jaguar, to Canadians) as well as seeing them in the zoo. I have cooled off in the bay of Corozal and climbed some Mayan ruins. (I am yet to visit the cayes and the south of the country). I have savoured stew chicken and powder buns delivered fresh-made to the door. And yes, Belize is beautiful.

And of all the beautiful things I have seen, nothing is more beautiful than the people themselves. Nothing has been more gratifying that the joyful smiles on the faces of school children, their hearty singing, and the regular and unforgettable cries of animated greeting we receive from them at school and in the streets.

Let me tell you a little about myself. I am in the 14th year since my ordination, and for the past 10 years I have been the Rector of St. Anne & St. Edmund’s parish, Parksville, BC, about 2 hours north of our see city of Victoria, on Vancouver Island in the far west of the vast country of Canada. It’s almost as far for me to travel to Belize’s Canadian partner diocese of Eastern Newfoundland as it is for me to travel from my home diocese of British Columbia to Belize.

I am here by an arrangement between the Anglican Church of Canada (ACC) and the Diocese of Belize, and by agreement with the bishops of the respective dioceses involved. For many years, the ACC has had a theological students internship program which involves a 3-month placement with a mission partner. My colleagues Lon Towstego and Kevin Arndt from the Diocese of BC have both served at Punta Gorda as part of their training.

Now the Canadian church is experimenting with placing priests who are taking a sabbatical on a short-term assignment as a means of broadening our understanding of the Anglican communion, deepening the bonds of affection that hold us together, and widening the scope of our education about the global nature of God’s mission in the world by means of an intercultural experience in ministry. We call this program “Education for Global Ministry”, and I am the willing guinea pig for this experiment.

My wife Sandy and son James are volunteering in the school with literacy education most weekday afternoons, and our younger son TJ is in school at Corozal Community College. James is also traveling each week to Belize to assist in the physical education program, and to help setting up and coaching the cricket team at the cathedral college. We also have three other children and two grandchildren in Canada.

I know that for many people in Corozal this has been a “cold” winter. But for us Canadians, this means the temperature has been just about right, 60s at night and 70s in the day. Perhaps the only thing warmer than the winter weather for us is the warmth of the reception we have received. I and my family wish to pay tribute to the hearty and generous hospitality and welcome by the diocese, the bishop, the clergy, the parish and school at St. Paul’s, and the townsfolk of Corozal. I often feel loved just for my presence here, and I find that to be a beautiful experience of God’s grace.

In one of the parish songbooks I observe that we have a verse to the popular song “We Shall Overcome” that goes like this:

“Creole, Maya, Mestizo, we shall not be moved,
Garifuna, Asian, White ones, we shall not be moved,…”

Before my arrival these were merely words in a book about Belize, but now I can connect parishioners and clergy and townsfolk to all of these titles and think of accents and language and personality and cultural distinctives and stories that attach to each of them. I can think of large Hispanic extended families living in small homes, where everyone seems to be looking out for everyone else even where there are few material possessions or resources in evidence, I can think of a neighbour proudly introducing her “100% Mayan” grandmother in her 89th year, firecrackers and dragons at Chinese new year, Garifuna drum rhythm, playing an evening cricket game with East Indian young men under the floodlights at the Corozal stadium, listening to the men playing guitar and singing the Creole “broke down” rhythm (I’m sure I’m spelling this incorrectly) at the clergy conference.

Perhaps as much as anything, it is the smiles on the faces of the children of the school, and the sense of being adopted as “Fahder Andrew” and “Miss Sandee” is something that will never leave me.

And I can say that what I know, even in a short time, through real people and real life communication, is a hundred times what I can know through book study or academic briefing, and the ability to connect the names and places on the diocesan website to real people and experiences is a thousand times more enriching than merely surfing the net for an understanding of brothers and sisters in otherwise faraway places. (Of course, I imagine the same would be true in reverse. If you ever have the opportunity to visit a variety of Canadian parishes and communities, you can best know our ethos by meeting and worshipping with us.)

Among the resources that have most prepared me for my ministry here are ones that I am reliving and reviving from my early days in the Methodist, Pentecostal, and Baptist churches, prior to my “homecoming” to the Anglican tradition. I find myself in the midst of a very hearty rendition of songs that meant a lot in my early years, but in my experience of the past generation of Canadian Anglican life have largely fallen into disuse.

The memory of a small rural Methodist pastorate in the 1960s where my father had a twelve-point charge is much more in keeping with my experience of life in Belize, where lay leadership is critical to the weekly worshipping life of so many small missions and parishes, and there are fewer clergy. This is a time in my life for me to be grateful for the childhood memories of open-air Methodist services and Moody & Sankey evenings, for the songs of Fanny Crosby as much as for those of Charles Wesley, Graham Kendrick, and the charismatic renewal of the 70s and 80s. It gives me an immediate access to the spontaneous joy, breadth of musicality, evangelizing zeal, and sterling lay leadership that characterizes so many members and affects the atmosphere of the diocese here in my experience.

If I had asked my landlady in Scotland 35 years ago for her favourite song, she may well have said “The Old Rugged Cross”, just as an 8-yr old here may do. I can barely think of any children I know who would offer the same answer today in BC, whether in church or in school. But when I ask our youngsters for a favourite song here, I am likely to be asked for a classic hymn or a song from the evangelical stables of the 1970s and 80s. We sing “Majesty” alongside Anglican classic hymns such as “Forty Days and Forty Nights” and move freely to “This is the Day” (in four languages), “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus”, and “Blessed Assurance, Jesus is Mine”.

Part 1 of 2 … to be continued…

key to the pictures:

1 Some of the clergy at the diocesan clergy conference held at Banana Bank Lodge: Bishop Philip, flanked (l-r) by Deacon Lloyd Perriot of St. Thomas in the village of Doublehead Cabbage, Lynda Moguel (one of the first women to be ordained in the province of the WI), Juan Marentes (visiting Columbian priest of the South American Mission Society on short term assignment in charge of the San Ignacio parish)

2 Morning light on the parish rectory

3 Sunrise, taken from just across the road from us on the bay of Corozal

4 Sugar cane fields line the country roads for miles around us. Heavy burning happens during harvest season (six months of the year), creating smoke and ash over wide areas.

5 Kenny Broaster, member of the Belize national cricket team, meeting with our James as they plan a coaching session for the newly-started Cathedral College cricket team. Brian Lara's cousin Jamie Lara opens the batting for ACC, as they take their first 15-over game by a score of 113-3 to 79-7 against city rival "Excalibur"

a follow-up to yesterday's reflection

As a follow-up to yesterday's reflection, let me add the correction that the name of the little one who died is Gabriela, and that it is her mother's name that is is Ruby, and her father's name Gabriel.

In my scheduled ecumenical meeting with the Catholic priest and the Methodist minister, I discovered that the funeral was to be at 2.00 pm, and so Sandy and I attended the requiem mass. Fr. Chris invited me to speak, as there were about 12 students from the Anglican school who were first cousins of baby Gabriela in attendance at the service with their families. I brought the condolences of the parish, and of the school principal, teachers, and students.

I understand from the priest that over the ten years he has spent hear he experiences more funerals for young people than he would in his native Illinois. We also share another similar experience. After 10 years in Corozal, he took a year of sabbatical for study and pilgrimage, and describes to me a little of his experience of Holy Week in Taize last year. We settle on an ecumenical Taize service for Monday of Holy Week, and the possibility of a monthly Taize to share among Catholics, Anglicans, and Methodists on a rotating basis.

We walked in procession to the cemetery. As with my home-parish experience of Lasqueti Island, a pick-up truck acts as the hearse, and others follow behind, either walking or driving, and everything is done by human hand and appears to be with community-based organization rather than professional services. The burial took place in customary form with a newly-consecrated above-ground grave of concrete blocks, covered with a tin roof supported with rough wooden planks, and plastered over with a dozen buckets of hand-mixed concrete. We all looked on either in profound silence or with tears and sighs and deep feeling. "Life is not ended, but it is changed", the liturgy proclaims. Faith and grief walk hand in hand in a deep intimacy that these dear people Of Corozal, it seems to me ~ as an observer and a guest in this culture ~ know kinesthetically and intuitively.

Our regular Wednesday morning services (6.30, 8.30, and 9.15) included prayers for the family, and I took the opportunity to speak to the 180 students at our two chapel services about the kind of feelings I was experiencing in terms of the traumatic events we had had all heard of or witnessed. We also talked about the fears that teachers, parents, and I have about safety for pedestrians and cyclists. There are so many of our children who cycle on busy streets to and from school daily from the age of 5 onwards, and many of us as adults, teachers, and parents, share a sober fear for their safety.

May the deepening of Lent deepen our spirits in the mystery of life, love, and Divine presence in the midst of experiences and sufferings for which words fall short or even fail us altogether.

Witnessing the aftermath of a fatal road accident

This post comes with a warning. This material is raw and painful. Viewer discretion is advised.
I am carrying a great emptiness tonight. In the last 24 hours I have experienced both shock, and loss, mixed in with a huge sadness, a compassion, and some anger too, and I am sitting with this. I can’t bring myself to write about the otherwise interesting events of the previous week or two. It just would be too incongruous.

For a long time I have noticed the great dexterity with which kids will handle bicycles, and the way in which pedestrians and cyclists alike will “own” the road in town, and expect drivers of vehicles to navigate their way around them. No one seems to wear a seat belt, or a helmet, and one bicycle will often carry two or three people, just as a pick-up truck may carry a dozen passengers sitting, standing, or hanging out the side. And I have also wondered how they do it. Some parishioners tell me there are laws about a number of these things, but no-one seems to pay any attention to them.

Yesterday at around 3.15 pm, I witnessed a large crowd gathered around a white sheet draped over a body on the road, as I heard the sound of an arriving ambulance. I went to the school to learn from a number of teachers and students that a mother and grandmother were riding together through town just a few blocks from our church school, when a bus on a crossing street hit the grandmother and sent the 3-year old flying from the bike (either from the bar or the handlebars, according to differing accounts) to be run over on the road and meet her death not long afterwards. Some students claim the bus driver was speeding and driving dangerously. Some teachers say it would not be the first time, and provide examples from their experience.

The screaming and the severe head injury was witnessed in detail by a considerable number of our students making their way home, including quite a number of very young ones, who are not shy to go into detail. I understand that neither the mother nor grandmother had serious physical injury, but I cannot imagine the pain they will be going through in other ways.

I am told the grieving family are connected at the Nazarene church school, and I am imagining to myself that the pastor will be making his response. I also discover today that there are three of our own young students who are cousins of Ruby, the young girl who died. I have spoken and listened with a number of students and teachers, including the cousins. I have attempted to reach someone in the extended family, and have not yet succeeded. Like many of the teachers, I had resisted being part of the crowd of onlookers. Maybe I could not face it myself too.

Tomorrow morning I lead the children in our chapel services. I pray for direction and ask that nothing I say or do will add to the pain. We will pray for little Ruby and commend her to God, and we will pray for her family and everyone affected by this. Please pray for them too.

I really don’t know what else to say tonight. I really don’t.

A Day In the Life of Corozal ~ Friday Feb 19th

Friday morning, Feb 19th, began with a little sleep-in to 6.55 am, when the marimba sound effects on my iPod sounded the wake-up call to get ready for the day. I drove TJ to school at 7.30 for his customary 7.45 start to find the gates closed and the place deserted. This brought cheers of delight in the teenage section to my right, but no explanation from the student handbook as to why this was a day off. I later was to discover on my visit with the people’s warden in the afternoon that the teachers were taking job action, as she was tuning in to the national debate on TV about the government’s latest strategy to outlaw corporal punishment. Apparently the teachers’ union was marching to buy time against the implementation of this new law, and hoping for a delay in parliament. They had asked school managers not to intimidate the teachers from walking off the job, not so much because they were opposed in principle to corporal punishment, but because they don’t want to move quickly on the topic until they have more options for dealing with disciplinary situations.

One of the local newspapers also carries a Malaysian story of the first examples of corporal punishment for females in the prison system. I am wondering if there is an editiorial connection here in the timing and placement of these stories.

I comment to my warden that we all grew up with corporal punishment, and that it was in the late 70s and early 1980s in Britain that STOPP (society of teachers opposed to physical punishment) won the debate and succeeded in ending this form of “educational resource”. Yes, I had probably grown up without thinking that there was another way, but as I listened to the debate, I had become firmly convinced that corporal punishment modeled violence rather than controlling behaviour. I am to learn later at my clergy conference that this has been before parliament since 1988, and that since 2001, only the principal has the authority to administer this type of corrective measure.

Our elementary school teachers are on the job today at the church school, and I have not yet been asking questions about the link between church-run schools and unionized work.

Friday morning is a good time to get some reading and writing done. But first a good walk with Sandy around the neighbourhood. It’s cooler here today and grey skies above, but still warm enough for shorts and shirt sleeves by around 9.30. One of those rare days where even I start the day with a light sweater.

An 18-wheeler crunches to a halt on the highway right outside us, as a drive wheel snaps off and tenaciously clings to its shaft before causing major damage. A friend comments that it could easily have careened right across the oncoming lane and into the neighbours yard. It's going to be an all day job for the driver to deal with this. The following week, James is on the bus to Belize City that has a blow out on one of its double-wheels at the rear. This time, the bus driver just carries right on to keep on schedule.

We walk on to visit a couple of parishioners in their 80s. Mrs S is virtually blind now, after a complication from her cataract surgery, and she is cared for mainly by Mr. S. She is pleased to receive her Lenten ashes after the fact. Our stay is short, as her headache has taken her to bed. But she is still eager to receive us.

We go into the school after lunch. Sandy and James are helping with literacy education for the younger students, reading and being read to on a one-on-one basis. This is Sandy’s daily routine, and I occasionally drop in. I am previewing the stations of the cross liturgy that we will be doing at 6.00 pm. This is an SPCK publication from 1964, produced by priests from the Diocese of Guyana, and complete with Marian devotions. I would characterize it as having a robust theology of the cross and the atonement, an integration of human suffering through meditation on the sufferings of Jesus, and of human unworthiness in the face of divine mystery. I observe that all the West Indian churches I have visited, both in Toronto and here in Belize, have stations of the cross around the nave, and the tradition here is to observe this weekly on Fridays in Lent, as well as on Good Friday. I am eyeing up the incense pot that faces me every time I robe in the sacristy. It’s ten years since I last picked one of these up, and I wonder if I will risk moving out of my comfort zone and usual experience of liturgy to do something that would be very comfortable and no doubt comforting to at least the older parishioners here.

I listen to a parishioner’s story of how her son died after contracting cancer in his 20s. This has all transpired within the last decade. I am struck as I visit with parishioners just how many of them, and nearly all of the older parishioners, have stories of larger families and the loss of children, and the raising of their own grandchildren. I hear stories of the 1931 and 1961 hurricanes in Belize City that took so thousands of lives. Mrs B. had two of her baby sons lost to the force of the wind and waters. It was only 15 years ago that she also lost her daughter during the birth of a grandchild, and now in her 80s she is still the sole parent raising her granddaughter.

Some hurricanes can be very localized in terms of damage. The 1955 storm almost flattened the whole of Corozal, and everything here has been rebuilt since then. There’s much more concrete than wood now, but I am guessing to myself that it may still be a pervasive sense of commitment to impermanence that keeps many from over-improving their properties.

We visit LR, a widow who as we arrive is watching the TV news on the teacher’s job action and the debate in parliament. She tells me how her husband was chief engineer at the local sugar factory until it closed in the early 1980s, wiping out the main industry. Since then, sugar is processed at the next town south, Orange Walk. On the few times I have driven by Orange Walk, I cannot fail to see the hundreds of fully-laden cane trucks lined up for miles waiting to process their goods.

Mrs R’s children have all left for lives and livelihoods out of the country, returning only for occasional visits. By a strange contrast, she has boarded many Americans, some of whom have chosen to stay on and make their life in Corozal. Affordability for local families often means leaving children behind to be raised by grandparents, as parents move to the US or elsewhere to find income to make ends meet. In our prayers, we mourn the loss of loved ones, we pray with an anointing of oil for relief from aching joints, and pray for loved ones far away.

The papers tell us that sugar has reached a 29-year high in terms of market price, as Mexican demand increases heavily and puts pressure on suppliers in Belize and Guatemala to step up production. My sources tell me the going rate for sugar workers is $3 BZE per ton. This means harvesting long days by machete in the tropical heat for six months of the year, making around $18-24 ($9-12 Canadian or US currency) for the 6-8 tons of cutting they average daily. On $2,000-$3,000 per annum of a worker’s income (US/Cdn), it seems there is enough in the villages for rice and beans, but not much else. And as all store-bought items seem to come in at roughly the same price as in North America, and as fuel is similar to Canadian prices ($8.90 BZE per US/gallon, or $1.00 Cdn/litre, it seems hard for me to fathom that my fill at the pump is equivalent to a full week’s work for many of the people I drive by. My “sources” in this case are a plausible mixture of a Belize city newspaper article plus a conversation with group of volunteers from a nondenominational group in Ohio, who have been on a 10-day mission, offering free clinic services, medical and dental, to the outlying villages.

Perhaps there is more than a Lenten reason why, when I ask a student at school for a favourite hymn, the answer comes back “The Old Rugged Cross”.

As darkness falls on the small gathering of us who attend stations of the cross, we make our way silently from the church, and Sandy and I walk home to lock the gates and doors at home in preparation for a quiet evening at home, punctuated by the barking dogs that I now barely notice, and the occasional air brakes and broken mufflers on the dust-flanked highway that charts a curvy line to divide us from the sea wall and the beautiful bay of Corozal.