HYMNS OF
STRUGGLE IN CENTRAL AMERICA (2001)
by
Joseph
E. Mulligan, S.J.
St. Paul the Apostle parish in
Managua was the birthplace of the Christian base communities in Nicaragua. With support and inspiration from the San
Miguelito parish in Panama (then staffed by priests from the Archdiocese of
Chicago), St. Paul's developed marriage encounter programs, biblical and
liturgical workshops, and communities in various neighborhoods of the
sprawling, working-class parish. As the
people experienced a deepening awareness of the faith-justice link they began
to take part in local and national movements for social change; many supported
the revolution which toppled the Somoza dictatorship in 1979.
One parishioner recalled that
"the most important moment of the week was the Sunday Eucharist,"
characterized mainly by a spirit of joy as reflected in songs and smiles. People brought their bibles and took part in
the dialogue homilies which in those days scandalized some priests and
laity. In 1968 the community, inspired
by the Panamanian Mass which they had heard in San Miguelito, composed the
"Nicaraguan People's Mass," which one Nicaraguan theologian has
described as "the first expression of revolutionary liturgical music."
NICARAGUAN
PEOPLE'S MASS
Combining lyrics about the life of
the people with lively folk music, the Mass became popular throughout
Nicaragua. This Mass, along with the
later "Peasant Mass," was and still is an important expression of the
people's spirituality. A brief analysis
of the people's liturgical music shows both the depth of their faith and the
strength of their social commitment. The
entrance song begins: "We are a
people who walk on the paths of suffering; let us go joyfully to the Lord's
Supper."
Suffering is never far from the
Nicaraguans, but the Mass gives them joy and hope. The hymn hints at the preferential option for
the poor in speaking of the "little ones and the poor" as "God's
invited guests." The bread given by
God "nourishes our unity."
Christ makes himself present here "while uniting us in his
love."
In the meditation song between the
bible readings, the importance of scripture to the pilgrim people of God is
brought out as they sing: "With
your word, Lord, we march ahead."
The creed expresses the people's
faith in Jesus "who was born of our people" and "lived among us,
sharing our lot." Father José María Vigil sees here an indication of
"the historical and incarnational orientation which will characterize
Latin American Christology." [J. M. Vigil and A. Torrellas, Misas Centroamericanas, Managua: CAV-CEBES,
1988] The creed refers to the Holy
Spirit as "the source of love."
In the bread and wine of the
offertory the congregation presents to the Father "our sorrows and joys,
our work and our longing." The song
continues: "Like the wheat of the field under the sign of the cross, our
lives are transformed into the body of Jesus."
The closing hymn is noteworthy,
proclaiming the resurrection of the Lord "whom we take with us" since
"the Mass does not end." The
people ask Christ to "come with us to our homes, to the factory, the
baseball game, the shop, and the office."
Having shared the Lord's word and sacrament, the people pledge
themselves "to be your witnesses today, with love as the yeast of
life." For these Christians the
Lord is present not only in the Mass but in all spheres of life, and they are
not only the receivers of his grace but his apostles and co-workers.
J. M. Vigil finds that this Mass,
unlike the later "Peasant Mass," lacks "any allusion to social
conflict." That will be a later
development in Christian consciousness.
THE
PEASANT MASS
The "Peasant Mass,"
composed in 1975 by Nicaraguan musician Carlos Mejía Godoy with the help of
Father Ernesto Cardenal and the lay community he founded on the island of
Solentiname in Lake Nicaragua, does speak clearly and often of social conflict
as part of the process of liberation.
But the real power of the Mass lies in its exuberant exaltation of the
dignity of the poor and the goodness and beauty of the world of the poor. It repeatedly names individuals, ordinary
occupations, out of the way places, and the simple things of nature and of the
workplace. In this it seems to say: We are all God's children, and we are
somebody, even if high society and the churches of the rich think we are
nothing.
The composer has said that whenever
he meets a peasant his creativity is nourished.
"I can learn from him his wisdom and knowledge of life," said
Mejía Godoy. "I'm the eternal
prospector, always seeking and absorbing everything my people say, how they
speak and sing, how they get excited and shout.
I focus on everything."
"You are the God of the
poor," the entrance song begins, "the human and humble God, the God
who sweats in the street, whose face shows hard work in the hot sun." Since God is totally incarnate, the poor can
relax and speak to him in their own words and manner, "because you are the
worker God, Christ the laborer."
This God "walks hand in hand with
the people, struggling in the country and the city, standing in line for his
daily pay, eating snow cones in the park with Eusebio, Pancho, and Juan
José" and even protesting about the weak syrup. Not letting up, the people proclaim that they
see God in a little stand in the market, or selling lottery tickets
"without being ashamed of such work," or checking tires in a gas
station. The impact is powerful: the poor do not have to be ashamed of
themselves. Father Vigil recalls the
words of Paul in this connection: God's
self-emptying and lowering (Philippians 2: 6-8) raises the spirits of the lowly
and broken.
The Mass has been criticized for not
giving adequate attention to women and their role in society. "The Mass protests political and
economic inequalities but basically supports gender inequality," noted De
Ann Pendry of the University of Texas at Austin in her analysis of the Mass
presented at the Latin American Studies Association convention in 1991.
The Kyrie is perhaps the starkest
expression of the theme of conflict, asking Christ Jesus "to identify with
and be in solidarity with us, with the oppressed, with my people thirsting for
peace, not with the oppressor class who squeeze and devour the community." There is a recognition that conflict, far
from being celebrated for its own sake, is oriented toward the gaining of peace
with justice and that God cannot take the side of sinners who harm the
people.
Moreover, Father Vigil notes, these
songs "shatter the abstract universalism of those who seek to hide the
social conflicts between oppressors and oppressed by putting them under the
mantle of a fictitious Eucharistic fraternity.
Oppressors cannot participate in the Mass addressed to the God of the
poor because they will feel that they are being denounced, unless they are
converted and change. This is really a
Mass of the poor."
The celebrative, lively Gloria
proclaims glory to God in Siuna, Jalapa, and ten other Nicaraguan sites whose
residents never thought that their little village would be announced to the
world in song.
Glory is also given "to the one
who follows the light of the gospel, the one who denounces injustice without
fear, who suffers imprisonment and exile and gives his life fighting the
oppressor." The hymn ends with mention
of seven simple instruments of folk music which are used to glorify the Lord;
the piano and church organ, magnificent as they are in some cultures, do not
make the list.
The meditation song comes alive with
the sounds and names of a splendid variety of birds. Then the powerful lyrics: "I sing to you today, Lord, like these
birds, asking you to unite us in strength and love. I praise you a thousand times because you
were a rebel, struggling day and night against the injustice of humanity. A thousand peasants united, we sing to you,
the guide and pathfinder of my whole people."
The creed proclaims the Lord as the
creator of the whole world, the "primitivist painter" of all
beauty. After naming things of nature
and products of the human hand, attention is called to "the forests
mutilated by the criminal axe."
These Christians love the world as God's creation and rejoice in human
progress but are not blind to the power of sin and injustice.
The Lord is called architect,
engineer, craftsman, carpenter, bricklayer.
The implicit message here is that workers in these crafts are the mind
and hands of God and can feel proud of their work and of themselves. The lord
is the one who "builds thought, music, the wind, peace, and
love."
He is also "Christ the Worker,
light of light and only begotten Son of God, who became incarnate in order to
save the world, and who was beaten, tortured, and martyred on the cross under
Pontius Pilate, the cold-blooded and despicable Roman imperialist who wanted to
wipe away his error by washing his hands."
This is a kind of pastoral and theological reality therapy for those
Christians who have heard the Passion account year after year but never
realized that Jesus was beaten, tortured, and martyred under a cruel regime supported
by an empire, as thousands of Nicaraguans had been.
Christ is the companion, the human
one, the worker who conquered death.
"With your immense sacrifice you engendered the New Person for
Liberation. You arise in every arm raised
to defend the people from exploitative domination, because you are alive in the
peasant farmhouse, in the factory, in the school; I believe in your unyielding
struggle; I believe in your resurrection."
Various crafts are again named with
pride in the offertory hymn: this time
the list includes tailors and day laborers, "all equal," as well as
blacksmiths, stevedores, and shoe-shiners in the park. They are all members of "the working
class who look for work from sunup" and who sing to God from the fields.
Among the offerings are daily labor,
energy, sweat, hard-working arms, and "the lively enthusiasm of my
heart." A large variety of products
of the field--from mangos to honey--are also named in praise and offering. Indeed, special liturgies usually feature a
variety of such things in the offertory procession.
In the Sanctus God is extolled as
just as well as holy and is asked to "free us from the yoke and give us
liberty." Jesus, "the light of
truth," is perceived "on all the paths and trails." Perhaps to correct an overly saccharine,
meek, and passive image of Jesus, this Mass proclaims him as "a real man,
a man of courage, the true leader."
The communion song proclaims the
meaning of the sacrament: "I am a
Christian, and you can count on me, brother.
Communion is not a myth without significance," the hymn continues;
"rather, it means lived commitment, Christian awareness, being part of the
collective struggle."
This point is also made in the
Salvadoran Mass: "When the poor believe in the poor, then we will be able
to sing `freedom'; when the poor believe
in the poor, we will build fraternity.
At the Lord's table, we all
commit ourselves to build love in this world.
Community is made in the struggle for the brothers and sisters; Christ
is alive in our solidarity. When the
poor seek out the poor and begin to organize, that's when our liberation
starts. When the poor announce to the
poor the hope that he (Christ) gave us, then his kingdom is born among
us."
The poor begin to believe in
themselves as they discover a sense of their own dignity and worth. This miracle of growth continues as they
learn to believe in one another as worthy of trust. More specifically, when the poor trust one
another with the community resources, we sing freedom and build fraternity. Perhaps this is precisely why we need the
Lord's Word and table: to become real
brothers and sisters who can count on one another.
The closing song of the Nicaraguan
Peasant Mass proclaims that "there is nothing more beautiful to see than a
people gathered together, decidedly struggling to improve things; nothing more
beautiful to hear than the voices of all making one cry of
fraternity." This beautiful
experience of togetherness is not just on the rational level but has a deep
emotional dimension: "It's not easy
to say good-bye when everyone is so happy; but the lump in my throat will soon
become a smile when we all come back to the Peasant Mass."
Two families, one identified
primarily by the name of the mother and the other by that of the father, are
celebrated in the song. "Today I
feel I have a new heart," the song continues, "and as I return home full of joy I am
going to work my land with more devotion."
No escapism here, but rather a renewed commitment to the daily task and
responsibility.
"As we clap hands it is clear
that we are many, and if we are united no one will move us." (Dr. King and the civil rights movement are
known to Nicaraguans.) "Let us join
our hands in order to be united once again in this great bond of Nicaraguan
brotherhood and love. Let us join our
hands," the Mass ends reiterating the theme of necessary struggle,
"to make a strong wall to defend the community forever."
There is no doubt, says Father
Vigil, that this Mass "is still a privileged expression of the Nicaraguan
people's spirituality and praxis of liberation." And it continues to be sung with gusto today,
in 2001, nourishing the people's hope and commitment.
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About
the author: Joe Mulligan, a Jesuit
priest from Detroit, has worked in Nicaragua for 15 years. His book, THE NICARAGUAN CHURCH AND THE
REVOLUTION (Sheed & Ward, 1991), includes a chapter on the Christian base
communities of St. Paul the Apostle parish.
