Carnival in Trinidad

Today and tomorrow, the twin-island republic of Trinidad and Tobago will celebrate Carnival 2020. Thousands of spectators and masqueraders are expected to experience sheer fun in the sun during this annual exercise.

According to the National Library and Information System Authority, “carnival in Trinidad and Tobago is one of grandeur, color, revelry, rhythm, and gaiety. It is truly an all-inclusive national festival. It is by far the most spectacular event on the nation’s calendar.”

There is no theatrical event that can mobilize mass-participation in any Caribbean island as carnival in Trinidad and Tobago is able to do. It is believed that as many as 15% of the almost 1 ½ million residents, actively participate in carnival. Months of planning and competition culminate in two days of glitter and dance. The creativity reflected in costumes is unparalleled in the Caribbean. The rhythm of calypso music and the unique contribution of the steel pan combine to present one of the greatest theatrical shows on earth.

Apart from the opportunities to be creative, some believe, carnival brings emotional relief to many persons. According to Darryl Barrow (Caribbean Journal of Religious Studies), “There are many people who regard carnival as a good escape-releaser. People have been experiencing stress, strain and certain inhibitions – carnival allows people to release their pent-up energies and desires.”

Interestingly, what Barrow sees as an asset in carnival, Ismith Khan, in The Obeah Man, sees as symptoms of deep-seated social malaise. There seems to be an underlying irony of the carnival spirit. Derek Walcott may well be alluding to this in his poem Mass Man. Here Walcott exposes carnival as a kind of sham behind which we may discover images of pain and despair.

While living in Trinidad, I heard much of this pain reflected in calypsos. Whereas one can choose to focus on calypso as a work of art, and glory in the calypsonian’s ability, the reality of what is communicated cannot be ignored. Pain is too often trivialized in order to solicit laughter. To use frivolity as a coping device for pain can be compared with using Band-Aid to relieve cancer.

The increasing use of alcohol during carnival may also be another coping device as well as a vital part of entertainment. This excessive use of alcohol is compounded by an upsurge of unwanted pregnancies and increasing incidents of sexually transmitted diseases.

In light of this, it is not enough to rejoice in the creative opportunities carnival brings and ignore the social price the nation is forced to pay. When asked about this anomaly, one popular calypsonian told his interviewer that he was an entertainer and not a pastor. In essence, his role was to ensure laughter, not serious reflection.

Ash Wednesday, the day following two days of carnival, is no laughing matter. The abandoned costumes, piles of debris and inebriated bodies, paint a picture of gloom, so unlike the picture of laughter that prevailed hours earlier. When added to the cases of marital unfaithfulness, unwanted pregnancies and sordid list of social evils, one is left to ask - is this the price a small nation should pay for joy?

This quest for joy is not limited to carnival in the twin-island republic. Similar festivals in Latin American countries pursue the same outcomes. Both in Trinidad & Tobago and in Latin America, there is a strong Roman Catholic association with carnival.

The festival is routinely celebrated on the eve of Lent – a period characterized by prayers and much abstinence. It would seem then, that the observance of carnival was intended to serve as a last fling, before the holy season of reflection. In Catholic tradition, Ash Wednesday is one of the most popular and important holy days in the liturgical calendar. The practice includes the wearing of ashes on the head.

The events of Ash Wednesday would suggest that participating in carnival is sinful and therefore requires forgiveness and penitence. But is this religious ritual enough to bring about forgiveness?

Some evangelicals would contend that a personal faith in Christ often leads to a disinterest in carnival. Stories of conversion from former carnival enthusiasts would seem to suggest that their conversion resulted in new interests and different expressions of joy.

Some believe this new way of living is what Paul had in mind when he wrote to the Corinthians. He said, “... anyone united with the Messiah (Jesus) gets a fresh start, is created new. The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! Look at it!” (The Message 2 Cor. 5:17).

The absence of carnival from the Christian worldview, leaves one with the need to find more appropriate ways to express joy. Ways that do not require alcohol to sustain or stimulate joy. Ways that will utilize creativity, melody, movement and glitter. Honestly, Christians have much work to do to be able to display more sanitized expressions of joy.

A Guango Tree Has Fallen

My American friend Dr Tim Erdel (tim.erdel@betheluniversity.edu) described the death of Dr Peter Spencer as the death of a Jamaican guango tree – how apt. The guango is a large, wide spreading tree, beautifully proportioned. The tree folds its leaves at night and when it's cloudy, causing moisture to collect under it. This often makes the grass under a guango tree greener than the grass around it.

Peter Nathaniel Cyril Spencer was one of my boyhood heroes. When my father, Paul Erdel, visited the Caribbean and returned full of stories, his enthusiasm for a gifted young graduate from the Jamaica Theological Seminary knew no bounds. The name of Peter Spencer was a legendary one in our home for many years, long before I actually met Peter or his good wife, Madge.

In the providence of God, both Peter and Madge would become our family’s gracious sponsors and superiors, when Sally, my wife, and I lived in Jamaica with our three children. Peter was President of the Missionary Church Association, under whose aegis I obtained a work permit, as well as the Chair of the Board of Jamaica Theological Seminary, on whose campus we served. Madge was the Director of the Zenas Gerig Library, my primary appointment.

Peter seemed to be involved in everything of consequence in Jamaican Church life, on endless boards and steering committees. He was a strong and reassuring presence wherever he went, a wise, thoughtful, incredibly patient pastor, leader, and counselor. It seemed as though he knew everyone. He understood people and their needs. He navigated frustrating bureaucracies in ways that affirmed others. Our years in Jamaica were made possible day-after-day by the gentle, unobtrusive guidance and hospitality of Peter and Madge Spencer. Their insightful commentaries on Jamaican life and culture helped us appreciate more fully the gifts and strengths of our new neighbors and colleagues.

Over time, I began to realize that my boyhood hero was truly a giant, though clothed in humility and meekness. He had made his mark in US history, when he went to South Carolina for graduate studies. He broke the color line and helped integrate higher education in that deeply segregated state, despite the overt prejudices of a Jim Crow setting that barred him from attending white churches or entering public restaurants. The humiliating experiences Peter faced there might have broken weaker men, or filled them with bitterness. But Peter took everything in stride, however hurtful his trials, and allowed the injustices he endured to meld and mold his character into one of deep empathy for others, of a determined fairness that could absorb misplaced criticisms. He would bite his tongue when others lost their tempers, and would calmly reply to those who failed to appreciate what he did for them.

Peter’s influence was felt not only throughout Jamaica and on across the Caribbean, but in distant lands, as he met with Missionary Church leaders from around the globe. Soon after Sally and I moved to the US to teach at Bethel College, Peter was invited to serve on its board too, and he would deliver the commencement address there in 1996, when his daughter, Laurie-Ann, graduated with two degrees. I rejoiced when the Caribbean Graduate School of Theology recognized both Peter and Madge with honorary doctorates in 2010. During Black History Month in 2013, Peter was honored by Columbia International University, back in South Carolina, for his pioneering role there.

The Bethel University campus is filled with large oak trees. When a leader dies, we speak of a fallen mighty oak. When I think of Jamaican Theological Seminary, I think of the massive guango tree that shaded our home there. A giant guango tree has fallen, but we live in the hope of the Resurrection.