Christianity in Ecuador

Cathedral in Cuenca, Ecuador

Towards the end of our time in Cuenca, Ecuador, the principal of the school we are visiting took us to Turi, a towering hill from which you can see the entire city of Cuenca spread out below.  Turi is also the site of some stunning colonial-era buildings, including a church devoted to the Virgin Mary.

The experience was breath-taking, metaphorically for the spectacular view, but also literally because of the altitude and having to climb the ancient stairs up the steep hill from one building to another.  Finally, we were back in the parking lot, sitting in the car, ready to go.

A short, nearly toothless old man--a beggar--approached our vehicle.  Beggars are staples of Catholic churches in Latin America, since the penances required at confession can often be satisfied by giving alms.  The principal, Giovanny, a Lutheran, not a Catholic, rolled down his window and gave him some money.  The two started to talk.

Though quite a bit of my junior high Spanish came back during the trip, I couldn't follow what they were saying.  But I made out Giovanny's emphatic words to the man: "Sólo Jesús salva."  Only Jesus saves.  The beggar, who, I suspect had said something about how the Blessed Virgin would bless Giovanny for his gift, pushed back.  He began witnessing for Catholicism, as Giovanny kept witnessing for the gospel.  The two argued theology in the parking lot for at least ten minutes, with the beggar handing Giovanny a tract and Giovanny repeating "Sólo Jesús salva."  Finally, the beggar conceded.  "Si.  Sólo Jesús salva.  Claro."  It is clear.  Giovanny shook his hand and we drove off.

This impressed me greatly.  First of all, Giovanny saw the beggar as a human being--who does that?--and recognized his need of money and his greater need of the gospel.  We had places to go, but the immortal soul of this poor old man was far more important.

We Americans were moved and inspired by our hosts' piety and devotion--their zeal for evangelism and prayer; the way they freely talked about their faith; their trust in Jesus and the Word of God.

In 2000, about 80-90% of Ecuadorians were Catholics, with Protestants--all of whom are called "evangelicals"--numbering only 7-10%.  By 2023, the latest year for which we have data, only 68.2% are Catholic, with 18% being evangelical.

Most Ecuadorian evangelicals are Baptists and Pentecostals.  I couldn't find statistics on the number of Lutherans.  There is a tiny Evangelical Lutheran Church in Ecuador affiliated with the liberal Lutheran World Federation, but it's apparently so small the numbers aren't given on the LWF website.

The Lutherans we were dealing with trace their origin to the efforts of a Norwegian Mission group early in the 20th century.  (See my post on the Scandinavian Mission movements, in contrast to the state churches.)  Later, Norwegian missionaries from the state church came.  In the 1970s, a German missionary organization built the school, which was taken over by an American Lutheran missionary organization.  I think that was connected to the former American Lutheran Church (also with Norwegian ties), with which the LCMS was in fellowship until 1981 and which merged with ELCA in 1988.  The Lutherans we came to know belong to independent congregations and seem most aligned with the Free Lutherans in the United States (which also have a Norwegian heritage), whose Bible College and Seminary some of the Ecuadorian pastors have attended.  (WELS does some missionary work in Ecuador, but the ELS and LCMS do not.)

So these Ecuadorian Lutherans lean pietist  (they don't drink alcohol) and are low church when it comes to liturgy.  They are, however, very conservative.  We heard a number of stories from both women and men about going to one of the missionary churches only to find a woman pastor, which they said "goes against the Bible!," causing them to walk out.  They have cut all ties to the LWF because of its liberalism.  They are even conservative according to one of the current issues among confessional Lutherans, the sense that the church capitulated too easily to the state in cancelling worship services during the COVID shutdown.  We were told that the pastor of the church we attended in Cuenca, right next to the school, resisted the Ecuadorian shutdown order, to the point of telling his congregation not to wear masks.

The Lutherans of Ecuador, like the other evangelicals, are extremely leery of seeming too much like Catholics.  South American Catholicism is not the cerebral version of First Things and America's conservative intellectuals.  It hearkens back to the Catholicism of Luther's day, with strains of syncretism with tribal religions.  We passed a beautiful church and were told that it houses nuns who are anchorites, who vow never to leave their cells, though the cells have windows opening to the church, where the sisters, hidden behind screens, sell wine, bread, and herbal remedies to pilgrims.  (My later research said these Carmelite nuns are "cloistered"--that is, "enclosed"-- but do not necessarily take anchorite vows as such, but it's pretty close.)  The point is, this is hard-core pre-Reformation Catholicism.  And this is what many of the evangelicals, including the Lutherans, had converted from.

Thus, our hosts were rather discombobulated by our Pastor Paul's collar and habit of crossing himself.  "That's Catholic!"  But he ably explained these practices.  (I didn't realize that a pastor's black garb symbolized their sinfulness but that the white tab at the throat symbolized the pure gospel of Christ that they proclaim with their voice).  He also explained what "confessional" Lutheranism means, as well as putting into context the Pietist and the Rationalist varieties.  (When we were at one of the owner's house and he showed us his wedding pictures, I noticed that the pastor at that time was wearing a collar!)  Our hosts were fascinated and receptive, though cautious.  One of their concerns is that if the school appears too Lutheran in that way, evangelical parents might stop sending them their children.

On Sunday morning at the Peace of  God Lutheran Church right next to the school, the place was packed with people of all ages, at least 200 of them and maybe more.  The service followed the pattern of most Protestant churches I have known:  sing some songs, have Bible readings, the sermon, and prayers.   They did stand for the gospel reading--perhaps a remnant of the liturgy of the Norwegians--and for prayer.  It did close with a blessing, but that was about the extent of anything traditionally liturgical.  They sang one song that is also in the Lutheran Service Book (a Spanish translation of "How Great Thou Art"), a traditional Hispanic song that was quite beautiful and had good lyrics (I'm thinking that songs from the folk culture have an authenticity that can make them work liturgically), and an American evangelical praise song (songs from the pop culture, not so much).

The sermon, from the young associate pastor I had met a few days earlier, was beyond my junior high Spanish, but my ears perked up with I heard, in English, "bondage of the will," and "Charlie Kirk."  The other members of our team, who are actually quite good with Spanish (my wife being a former foreign language teacher and Pastor Paul, who is self-taught, building on the foundation of having taught Latin for 13 years and with the help of the Duolingo app and a Cuban lady at his church) said that the sermon was solid.  This young man said that he had taken an online program from a non-denominational seminary to learn the Bible, then he apprenticed with the senior pastor who taught him his Lutheranism.  But he had read some of what I had written on vocation and praised it highly, saying that it served as the basis for what he had been teaching his congregation.

On Sunday the senior pastor came up to me after the service.  He had read virtually everything on Lutheranism that I've written, including my brand new Embracing Your Lutheran Identity.  He said he has been using my Spirituality of the Cross and God at Work (available in Spanish as Dios en el Trabajo) in his sermons and teaching.  He was a graduate of the Free Lutheran Bible College and Seminary in Minnesota, but he said he has been learning more and more things about Lutheranism that he hadn't been exposed to before, such as the doctrine of vocation and, citing the work of St. Louis Seminary professor Joel Biermann, the doctrine of the two kingdoms.

He and the other Ecuadorian Lutherans we met, including the leadership of the school, showed an eagerness for a greater theological grounding, as well as a desire to learn more about the theology they have committed themselves to.  To coin a phrase, they would like to embrace their Lutheran identity.

Photo of Cathedral in Cuenca, Ecuador by G. E. Veith