Beloved in Panama

Last week Bishop Monterroso and I traveled to Panama for the Synod of the Central American Anglican Church. We stayed on the old U.S. Army base at Fort Clayton and attended the meetings there. The opening and closing Eucharists were celebrated at San Lucas Cathedral in Panama City. The assembled bishops and delegates committed the Central American province to a number of projects to strengthen the Episcopal Church throughout the region, particularly in service to their communities and the poor. They also elected Bishop Guerra of Guatemala to succeed Bishop Barahona of El Salvador as their primate.

As one might expect, hot and humid weather prevailed, with thunderstorms every day. Clayton is located next to the Miraflores locks on the Panama Canal, so I got to do a lot of ship watching during daily breaks. On Friday, Bishop Murray of Panama carried us out in the country to an Episcopal school and parish for a “matanza.” If you know any Spanish this does not sound particularly comforting, since the normal meaning of matanza in English is “a slaughter or massacre, a killing.” In Panama, however, it refers to our equivalent of a pig roast; in this case it was a cow roast. The remains of the poor beast proved delightfully tasty. We also enjoyed folk music and dancing throughout the afternoon. It was a real treat to be with regular folks just having a good time.

Yesterday’s Gospel reading from Matthew is about Jesus’ baptism. As Jesus comes out of the water, the voice of God is heard to say, “This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased.” (3:17)

According to Genesis, we human beings are made in the image and likeness of God (1:26).  Jesus says in John’s Gospel, “Abide in me as I abide in you…. I am the vine, you are the branches.” (15:4-5) 

If we accept these three passages as the truth, which I do, then….

God, since I’m made in your image, and Jesus abides in me and you abide in both of us, does that mean I’m your beloved child, too? Sometimes I don’t feel like your or anybody else’s beloved child. Many days I can’t imagine a lot of the people I meet being your beloved children, either. At other times I experience your love through other persons, the kind of love that says, “I love you as you are, in spite of your imperfections you worry so much about. I am with you through it all.”

Lord, you are the creator of everybody alive and all the people who have gone before us. Does that mean you love all of us, including the homeless, the crack dealers, the child molesters, the cheats, the Hitlers and Stalins and Osama bin Ladins of the world? How can that be? If it’s so, am I supposed to love all these people, especially the ones I don’t like?  How am I supposed to love myself after all I’ve done and left undone?

Abba, are you serious?

Just something to think about. Have a good week.

The bishops receive their panama hats at the synod

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