A Dose of Catholicism

Since being in Nicaragua, I have done many things for the first time: viewed seemingly endless religious processions, understood the stations of the cross, celebrated the ascent of Mary and the Immaculate Conception, participated in neighborhood prayer groups, gone to a mass to celebrate a 15^th birthday and joined a family in the celebration of their daughter’s first communion.  I am not Catholic and living in a predominantly Catholic society is being a bit of an adjustment to my view of the world.

Here I am with my rosary beads

At home we profess religious freedom so I have friends who are Catholics, born again Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Unitarians, and many who identify with no particular religion, like me.  My brother and his wife are leaders in the Centers for Spiritual Living. My friends who belong to a church share a community with other members but they don’t share a neighborhood with them.  In Chinandega everyone seems to be Catholic and everyone in my neighborhood goes to the same church.  There is an instant community here and it is centered in their belief system. 

Before the celebration of the Immaculate Conception in December, there were 9 days of prayer groups in our neighborhood.  We rotated every day to a different home where the reciting of the rosary took place.  I attended 6 of the 9 and although I did not understand what was happening, I got into it.  Someone gave me a rosary and I checked on line so I understood what this familiar string of beads with a cross was all about and eventually got comfortable counting off the Hail Marys during our sessions. There were refreshments and gifts each time.  A few evenings when John and I were walking around the neighborhood we saw several other groups joining in the same prayers we had just completed.  It wasn’t just my neighbors; everyone was doing it!  I think the closest we get to that in my home town is a block party which has no spiritual basis and is structured primarily for fun, not that there is anything wrong with that.  It is just different.  These prayer groups in my neighborhood in Chinandega have a strong history and they happen every year.  It’s a well-established tradition whereas the block party is dependent on the present organizers. 

The family honoring Michelle's first communion.  Picture courtesy of Michelle's aunt, Nubia.

Last Sunday our 7-year old neighbor received her first communion.  She has been studying for a year for this event, along with about 90 other kids.  The church was packed to honor, observe, and photograph these kids: many boys in ties and jackets and dozens of little girls dressed up like brides.  Michelle, my neighbor, slept with her hair tied up in plastic straws and was up at 5 to get ready for the 8 o‘clock mass. Her aunt did her hair and make-up and her mother had her dress clean and ready for her.  We all walked to the church together: four generations accompanying Michelle.  My favorite part of any mass is when we take a break to greet our neighbors and wish them peace.  Michelle left her seat near the front of the church and ran back to hug and kiss all of us including her great grandparents, her grandmother, her mother, aunt and uncle, little sister and two Peace Corps volunteers who have become part of the family.  Despite the fact that the church was very crowded, I did recognize some neighbors and a doctor from our local health center.

Michelle the night before her first communion with her hair curled up with plastic straws.  

Michelle's aunt getting her ready for her first communion

Michelle amidst the sea of girls.  Photo courtesy of Michelle's aunt, Nubia

The big moment! Photo courtesy for Michelle's aunt, Nubia.

Another observation I have made is how deep people’s level of commitment is.  I have met several people who at some point in their life have made a promise to God and they follow through on that promise.  One woman I met had a son with problems when he was young and she prayed and promised to do something if God healed her child.  He is fine and every year on a certain date she and her husband make hundreds of gingery drinks, which they give out free to anyone passing by their house all day long.  In their eyes, they are remembering the work that God did and showing their gratitude annually so they will never forget it.  When my granddaughter Alma was born, she got off to a rough start in life, spending her first month in the hospital and several weeks on life support in intensive care. If I were a Nicaraguan Catholic, I would have made some promise if she pulled through this difficulty and each year I would set aside some time to remember that fragile time and appreciate the healthy little girl she is today.  Of course I am grateful for Alma’s life and quite often, especially on her birthday, I take time to remember how we all struggled with her in the beginning but it feels different from the kind of promise that I have witnessed Nicaraguans making.

Being immersed in a culture that is a strongly religious is new for me.  I like it.  I have no interest in becoming Catholic but I like learning about it beyond the abusive priests and the guilt that we hear about in the USA.  Here I see a community of people who share a belief that creates a foundation for community and understanding among each other.  They have graciously welcomed John and me into their community although they know we are not Catholic.  I sometime wonder what my Peace Corps service would be like if I were serving in Morocco and surrounded by Muslims.  I think it would be very similar: a country with a dominant religion creating a basis for their society and I would have the challenge to understand it and participate in a way that felt comfortable. 

But here I am in Nicaragua, surrounded by Catholicism and enjoying the ride.   

Religious icons in our Nicaraguan home

Cousins sharing first communion

The family walking home after church