My life as a missionary came to a sudden halt when unknown assailants slipped death threats under my door at Peace House, in Santa Cruz del Quiché, Guatemala. The threats didn’t arrive because I was brave and noble, proclaiming the gospel, risking martyrdom. Rather, the cruel work of gangs and their acts of extortion were finally landing. Violence had swirled around me for four years, but this was now a direct risk. My bishop in Canada pulled me home.

Gangs in Central America — especially in the “northern triangle” of Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador — have muscled hard into rings of power in the past few decades. They move in the shadows most often, but at other times act flagrantly, running — or at least manipulating — the state apparatus. During the past decade, Guatemala and El Salvador have competed for the ignoble world record of the greatest number of murders per capita. In the same period — the past 35 years or so — the number of Salvadorans attending evangelical churches has also grown rapidly.

In Blood Entanglements, Dr. Stephen Offutt, associate professor of development studies at Asbury Theological Seminary, has written a precise analysis of the relationship between illegal networks and the growing evangelical movement. Offutt identifies, correctly, that gangs and most evangelicals occupy the same geography and class identity. Both gangs and most of the small, multiplying evangelical congregations thrive in poor neighborhoods, and have overlapping relationships and worldviews. Gangs and evangelicals maintain relationships, sometimes fraught and uneasy, or resigned, but at other times, hopeful or even apparently mutually beneficial.

Offutt posits that rather than the “haven thesis,” which claims that gangs and evangelicals exist in opposition, the on-the-ground reality is much more complex and intertwined. Fluid relations within families and neighborhoods, and even in individual lives, means that many Salvadorans move in their lifetime, or intergenerationally, between gangs and church.

El Salvador is a small Central American country just about the size of Massachusetts, with a 2023 population of 6.5 million. Decades of civil war and centuries of crushing poverty have forced millions of Salvadorans to seek safety abroad with, as of 2021, almost 2.5 million of them settling in the United States. Gangs gained traction in the 1980s in El Salvador, alongside the intensification of the civil war. Many scholars trace the increasingly violent element of gang involvement and activity to the massive deportations of Salvadorans who had been involved in gang life in Los Angeles. With these deportees back at home in the small villages of the Salvadoran countryside, or the chaotic capital city, San Salvador, without the means, land, education, or job opportunities to build a life even of basic survival, gang activity exploded. By 2020 there were an estimated 60,000 Salvadorans in gangs, according to Human Rights Watch.

Non-mainline evangelical churches, in the meantime, have seen a growth parallel to that of the gangs. Offutt reports that the first non-Roman Catholic missionary landed in El Salvador as early as 1893. But for almost a century, evangelicals saw little growth. By 1980 the estimated evangelical population of El Salvador was still only 5 percent. Twelve years later. 15 percent of Salvadorans identified as evangelical. But by 2008, the numbers had mushroomed to a little more than a third of the population, and by 2020, more than half of impoverished community members identified as belonging to an evangelical congregation, according to Offutt.

Offutt’s study focuses on a narrow question: what is the precise relationship between these seemingly opposed groups? His thorough study, settled into one community, Las Palmas, a coastal city of 90,000 inhabitants, offers precise details and helpful insight into the internal workings within these parallel worlds. Particularly revealing is his description of how the worldviews of gang members and evangelicals essentially mirror each other. They share a cosmology that marks clear forces of good and evil, of heaven and hell, of God and Satan, of demons and angels, in permanent struggle. Describing the universe in this way echoes the experiential day-to-day life of most impoverished Salvadorans, who have little access to traditional legitimate power, whether in church or state.

But while Offutt’s study is thorough, precise, and focused, it is also limited. The critical question of why the number of gangs and evangelical congregations have exploded in the past four decades remains unasked — and therefore unanswered. Although he notes that the exponential growth beginning in 1980 — the year of the notorious assassinations of Archbishop Oscar Romero and four American nuns, the year the civil war began in earnest — he doesn’t offer any analysis of why this might be. The diminishment of the Catholic Church, and the rise of other religious movements, and the gangs, seems to have happened in a vacuum. There is a gap here, a missing piece of history.

Beginning in the 1960s and growing tremendously through the 1970s, particularly in the impoverished countries of Latin America, a new movement was arising in Catholicism: liberation theology. El Salvador was a particularly vibrant part of this new church experiment, as ordinary Catholic Christians began to claim more power, within the church and beyond. The reaction of the political and economic structures — the oligarchy that had run the country for centuries — was swift and brutal. The massive killing of directly targeted Roman Catholics in El Salvador (and even more fiercely in Guatemala, where I practiced my ministry) is a story still to be fully recognized and told.

This state and oligarchy-sponsored violence shattered the whole country — according to a United Nations Truth Commission, more than 75,000 people died, while thousands more disappeared without a trace, and 1 million more were displaced. The full story of the rise of gangs and evangelicals cannot be told without taking into account the profound trauma of this historic violence. Peace accords, signed in 1992, brought some relief to the acute crisis, but never resolved the centuries-long framework of economic injustice, and ineffective state apparatus.

Impoverished Salvadorans have carried an unjust burden, the harvest of historic violence and greed, for decades, if not centuries. If we follow the trail of this evil, we might find that it leads far beyond the decisions by individual “bad” men, or the unsettling acts in small though growing bands of desperate individuals. The roots of evil are deeply embedded in unjust international power structures. If we dare to dig deep enough, we will find that the roots of the greatest waves of bloodshed are sunk into our own soil, in the North, in the dark rooms of Cold War powers that used proxy wars — in Central America and beyond — to exert their dominion.

The other problem with Blood Entanglements is one that all scholars face when they commit their research to the printed page — their lifelong work becomes immediately outdated. Offutt — through no fault of his own — tells a story that has already whisked on downstream. He mentions, briefly, the rise of the law-and-order political leader Nayib Bukele. Bukele came to office in 2019, after serving as mayor of San Salvador. He entered negotiations with the powerful gangs, as had other presidents before him. A truce was signed, and then shattered when homicides spiked in March 2022.

The Bukele government responded by declaring a state of emergency. Without due process, arrests swept across the country, gathering up people with obvious gang affinities, but also individuals with disabilities, LGBT people, anti-mining activists, opponents of all sorts, and ordinary people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Within a year, more than 65,000 individuals had been jailed. Though severely critiqued by international human rights organizations, Bukele’s actions have proved immensely popular.

One of the strongest opponents to the recent governmental collapse of civil rights has been Cristosal, an organization founded with support from the Episcopal Church, both in El Salvador and the United States. Cristosal has maintained a consistent witness to community struggles for justice and democracy. Cristosal’s director, Noah Bullock, warns: “In El Salvador, both obscure negotiations with gangs and iron-fisted security policies have failed to address gang violence in a sustainable manner.”

Blood Entanglements offers a deep dive into the story of the intertwined gang-evangelical relationships in the 2010s. For a fuller understanding of the historic causes of the decisions, actions, and shifting identities of impoverished Salvadorans, readers will need to augment their study with readings that offer a wider analysis. What happens in this small country — which boasts of being the only country named after Our Savior — mirrors the twists and struggles of our wider world.

The difficulties were sparked by an incident during an Electoral Synod of the Diocese of Northern Mexico, which met on April 8, 2022, in Monterrey. Five clerics say they were prevented from entering the voting site. The synod elected the Rev. Oscar Pulido. His opponents, including the five clerics, organized a protest, signed a public letter rejecting the election, and claimed they had suffered threats and coercion, both before and after the election.

Before these disturbances, Francisco Moreno was the Bishop of Northern Mexico and primate of the five-diocese Province of Mexico from 2013 to 2020. He was supposed to resign both positions in 2020, when he reached the age of mandatory retirement. But due to the challenges of the COVID-19 pandemic, Moreno remained as Interim Bishop of Northern Mexico, while the interim primacy was passed to Bishop Enrique Trevino of Cuernavaca, senior bishop of the province.

Less than two months after the Electoral Synod in Northern Mexico, a General Synod met in Mexico City on June 7, 2022, to elect the next Primate of Mexico. But with the earlier dispute unresolved, two slates of delegates from the region presented themselves as legitimate: one by Pulido and the second by Moreno.

Two other bishops, Julio Cesar Martin of Southeast Mexico and Ricardo Gomez of Western Mexico, reportedly asked Trevino to enter dialogue with both parties. Martin said Trevino was not willing to negotiate, welcoming only the delegation led by Pulido, while blocking attendance by the second delegation.

The delegation led by Pulido supported Trevino for primate. Martin, the other candidate for primate, withdrew his nomination, and claims that the two-thirds majority required by canon law to elect a primate was not reached. Nonetheless, according to the minutes of the synod, Trevino was named the victor, and was described as such by the Anglican Communion Office and other entities, including The Living Church.

The dissenters, now also supported by Martin and Gomez, began to engage in an increasingly public campaign of denunciation. In the meantime, Trevino assumed the mantle of primate, and arranged for the consecration of Pulido as Bishop of Northern Mexico. The dissenting bishops then alleged that in a Zoom meeting, Pulido and the newly consecrated Bishop of Mexico (whose diocese is Mexico City and the surrounding region), Alba Sally Sue Hernandez, were named as members of the board of directors of the Anglican Church in Mexico, the legal entity that manages all financial and property matters in the province. The two dissenting bishops, who previously had made up two-thirds of the board, were not present for this Zoom meeting. They quickly declared the proceedings a fraud.

In Mexico, religious organizations are ordered according to the Religious Associations and Public Worship Law of 1992. This law requires that all churches comply with strict regulations imposed by the state. In exchange for the right to free worship, religious organizations must adhere to these laws, which order their governance and their finances. There are severe penalties for violating these statutes.

Martin has produced numerous documents that appear to demonstrate procedural irregularities, including the use of an unlicensed notary public to declare Pulido the legal representative of the Diocese of Northern Mexico. In this capacity, Pulido is said to have begun undertaking measures against those — clergy and lay people — who had acted against him in the northern region.

Trevino, in the meantime, claims the other party has engaged in irregularities that have led to fraudulent actions. He has declared that Martin and Gomez have both acted contrary to canon law on numerous occasions. For example, he claims that there were discrepancies discovered by audits of their diocesan financial statements, and that in May 2023 Martin was ordered to repay monies given to him from a trust fund of the Episcopal Church. These funds were designated for reconstruction and improvements to a place of worship, but were diverted to general funds, Trevino said.

Bishop Julio Cesar Martin, principal spokesman for the opposition group, completed his theological studies at Huron College in Canada. After a 10-year ministry as dean of the Cathedral of St. Joseph of Grace in Mexico City, he served as a priest in two Canadian parishes before being elected Bishop of South-Eastern Mexico.

He took office on March 10, 2020, just as the global pandemic was declared. The diocese, mostly in the states of Oaxaca and Veracruz, consists of 20 parishes, 15 of which are majority Indigenous (people of the Mixtec and Zapotec nations). Martin is known for his work on intercultural ministry, and his commitment to the inculturation of the gospel. He has also become a leading figure in the LGBT movement in Mexico and beyond.

Martin said a tangled web of historic malfeasance is at the heart of the conflict. He denounced what he called “a lack of transparency, a tolerance for corruption, and a deficit of democratic values that permeate numerous institutions in the country, including the church, including our church.”

He said it has long been a practice that certain groups within the church impose their candidates and decide who votes. Why has he taken persistent action on this matter? “It just isn’t right,” he said passionately. “You can’t just turn a blind eye to fraud.”

The Rev. Alba Sally Sue Hernandez was elected Bishop of Mexico in November 2021. She was consecrated in January 2022. She was the first woman elected bishop in the history of the province, which began ordaining women to the diaconate and the priesthood in 1994. Her priorities are women’s rights, ecumenicism, and fighting sexual abuse within the church. She was one of two female Anglican bishops who met with Pope Francis in January in Rome.

Hernandez concurs with Trevino, saying difficulties have arisen in the church because of corrupt motives among the dissenting bishops. She said — in direct opposition to Martin’s claims — that the dissenting bishops will be subject to legal action, and they have been violating both canon and state law.

She claimed that Martin, Gomez, and Moreno are acting unilaterally and with corrupt personal interest. She said the dissenting bishops are driven by greed for “power, resources, property, and money” and that “no one can stop them.” She said the five clerics who were prevented from voting were not legally ordained.

The troubles continued to fester, and in September 2023 the dissenting bishops reconstituted a board of directors claiming to be the legal administrative body of the church. They said they were stripping Trevino of his primacy. In October 2023, a letter to the wider members of the Anglican Church in Mexico advised them that Bishop Francisco Moreno would be recognized as the legal authority of the church, and that he would remain so until a new Electoral Synod. The dissenting bishops retain control of the financial accounts of the Diocese of the North and the Province of Mexico.

Bishop Moreno said all the conflict stems from “foundational injustice” at the 2022 synod in Monterey in the Diocese of the North. He says he is free from any desire for power. “I would like to see a church at peace, a different church,” he said.

He also said that he and others on his side have received anonymous threats to their well-being and security — not unheard of in the complicated and unsettling nature of daily life in Mexico, particularly in the northern regions.

The strife in the Mexican church has been of deep concern to the wider communion. There has been mediation by four leaders:

• Bishop Jo Bailey-Wells, deputy secretary general of the Anglican Communion
• Primate David Alvarado of the Anglican Church in the Central Region of Americas
• Primate Linda Nicolls of the Anglican Church Canada, who is also Regional Primate for the Americas
• The Rev. Glenda McQueen, the Episcopal Church’s staff officer for Latin America and the Caribbean

Bishop Bailey-Wells and Caroline Thompson, private secretary to Bishop Anthony Poggo, secretary general of the Anglican Communion, expressed the global church’s distress at the conflicts in Mexico. They directed further questions to Nicholls.

Nicholls said that outside parties have no authority to adjudicate in local matters. She acknowledged that while the decisions made within the church structures are not perfect, they are sufficient for the moment. She said that until further notice, the Anglican Communion Office would recognize Trevino as primate, and she encouraged all parties to engage in further dialogue.

Trevino has called all parties to a General Synod on March 16. Representatives of the Anglican Communion Office have been invited to attend. The dissenting bishops say that Trevino has no authority to call a synod. They have said they will call their own synod on the same date.

October 4 is the feast day of Pope Francis’s namesake, and on that date the pope released Laudate Deum. Like its sister document, the encyclical Laudato Si’, released on the same date in 2015, this papal exhortation lands right in the fight to address the complexity of climate change.

In Laudate Deum, addressed to all people of good will, Francis is unsparing in his criticism of the greed and short-sightedness he believes are driving the crisis. Dr. Andrew Thompson, director of the Center for Religion and Environment at the University of the South’s School of Theology, says the pope is “clearly affirming the scientific consensus around climate change. For that to come from such a prominent religious leader is really significant.”

Laudate Deum, shorter than Laudato Si’ and focused solely on one issue, is organized into six sections that lead the reader through a rigorous study of the science of climate change, and then the crux of the Franciscan critique: our dependence on a false sense of the great power of the human being, and our belief in “infinite or unlimited growth.”

“The world sings of an infinite Love: how can we fail to care for it?” Francis writes.

“Pope Francis’s identification of the ‘technocratic paradigm’ has been one of the major hallmarks of his pontificate,” said Dr. Lucas Briola, assistant professor of theology at Saint Vincent College in Pennsylvania. “It names quite well the deeper cultural crisis that afflicts our common home, harming both human and natural ecologies alike.”

Thompson concurs: “I do think his critique of the ‘technocratic paradigm’ is an apt diagnosis of the spiritual and ethical blindness that underlies the climate crisis, and his turn to indigenous peoples as an example of a ‘healthy ecology’ seems helpful.” A more thorough exchange with Indigenous concepts of the interconnection of all creation, mentioned in Laudate Deum, can be found in a more complete form, Briola said, in an earlier papal exhortation, Querida Amazonia, delivered after the 2019 Synod on the Amazon.

Francis critiques various conferences that since 1992 have worked hard toward solutions, but have failed to make enough difference. He writes about COP28 (the 2023 United Nations Climate Change Conference), scheduled for in November in Dubai:

“Despite the many negotiations and agreements, global emissions continue to increase. Certainly, it could be said that, without those agreements, they would have increased even more. Still, in other themes related to the environment, when there was a will, very significant results were obtained, as was the case with the protection of the ozone layer. Yet, the necessary transition towards clean energy sources such as wind and solar energy, and the abandonment of fossil fuels, is not progressing at the necessary speed. Consequently, whatever is being done risks being seen only as a ploy to distract attention.”

In “Spiritual Motivations,” the final section of Laudate Deum, Francis underlines that at the heart of climate change there is a struggle to define the world and our place as created human beings in it. We are reminded that after God created all things, he said that it was all good. And we are reminded of the ancient wisdom revealed in Holy Scripture that the Earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it. This document of the Catholic Church invites people of all faiths to act out of their deepest beliefs for our common good.

“Care for creation is a preeminently ecumenical question,” Briola said. “In particular, Pope Francis’s focus on the spiritual roots of the crisis (as a reflection of idolatry; see Laudate Deum 73) can direct our common attention to solutions that attend to those roots. The joint United Methodist and Roman Catholic statement on the Eucharist and ecology (Heaven and Earth Are Full of Your Glory) is exemplary in this regard. As the footnotes to Laudate Deum and Laudato Si’ indicate, I think Catholicism is particularly poised to capturing the global dimensions of the crisis and fostering the type of transnational solidarity we need.”

“God has joined us so closely to the world around us that we can feel the desertification of the soil almost as a physical ailment, and the extinction of a species as a painful disfigurement,” Laudate Deum says, quoting part of the papal exhortation Evangelii Gaudium. “Let us stop thinking, then, of human beings as autonomous, omnipotent, and limitless, and begin to think of ourselves differently, in a humbler but more fruitful way.”

In the penultimate paragraph of Laudate Deum, Francis offers his most pointed critique, laying the greatest responsibility for the destruction of the earth and its creatures at the foot of an “irresponsible lifestyle connected with the Western model.”

“Frankly, I think his critique of developed countries, especially the U.S., for their per-capita emissions could be even stronger,” Thompson said. “In any case, I think he’s correct that reducing those irresponsible levels of consumption is both the most effective and the most just way to confront the crisis.”

“The most powerful tool this document can offer is the radical examination of conscience it affords,” Briola said. “The theme of praise bookends Laudate Deum. The most fundamental question of Laudate Deum is: What do we praise? What do I put my hopes in? What structures our collective lives in a definitive way? What ultimately shapes our economy, politics, and culture? To answer that question in any way other than God is to doom ourselves and our common home.”

Nicolls and Santos Bassotto have struck a deep and supportive friendship. The invitation to attend the Sacred Circle was a sign of their particular way of fulfilling their episcopal ministry. Their friendship is a sign of hope for the ever-changing life of the whole Communion.

The two primates carved out a time to talk with me, to share their hopes and concerns for the coming years. We were joined by the multilingual Dr. Paulo Ueti, theological adviser and Latin America regional director of the Anglican Alliance, who served as interpreter.

Can you share about the nature of your friendship, as well as the work that you do?

Nicholls: Our friendship was an “accident” of both our elections. Marinez had been elected the new Bishop of Amazonia just after I was elected the new Bishop of Huron, in late 2015.

Santos Bassotto: And I was elected in 2018.

Nicholls: My diocese at the time, Huron, was already the companion diocese of Amazonia. That relationship existed for about four years prior to that. Since 2013.

She invited me to come and preach at her consecration. I did! It was so wonderful. I went to Belém. And [Cuban] Bishop Griselda [Delgado del Carpio, now retired] preached at her installation the next morning.

What has it meant to you to have this friendship?

Santos Bassotto: For me it was very important to have Bishop Linda’s support. I was the first woman to be elected bishop in Brazil, and I needed a sister. Bishop Linda fulfilled this role. She was always there for me, with kindness, presence, and support. This is how our friendship began. We cherish one another.

Are you the only female bishop in South America?

Santos Bassotto: In 2018, when I was elected, I was the only female bishop in South America. In Brazil, it took almost 33 years to elect a woman as bishop, even though it wasn’t forbidden. Women have been priests since 1985, and that same year we voted to allow women into all three orders. But I was the first elected bishop — then it was like a wall fell down. No opposition. Then in the next year another woman was elected bishop, and then a third two years later. So now a third of the bishops in Brazil are women!

How does that compare to Canada?

Nicholls: It’s about a third, if not more, in Canada. In the whole house, at least a third of bishops are women, and almost a quarter of the bishops are Indigenous.

Archbishop Linda, what has it been like having Marinez as your sister?

Nicholls: It has been wonderful to watch her leading the diocese, although it is small, in comparison with a very Roman Catholic country. They are passionate about the issues we need to be passionate about: Indigenous relations, climate, environmental issues, also the way in which the diocese reaches out in evangelism. It is not held back at all by its size.

Dioceses that I have worked in, Huron and Toronto, are large and have been relatively well off. They’ve been very complacent about their history, until recently. So in Brazil, in Amazonia, we have a diocese that doesn’t stop its ministry worrying about resources. I have watched Marinez, and I have tremendous admiration for her courage — traveling down the Amazon in dangerous and difficult circumstances, to take the Eucharist and the sacraments to the Indigenous people in the heart of the Amazon, where there isn’t a building in sight, no church, nothing. To see the development of the ministry in Manaus [a city of 2 million people located 800 miles southwest of Belém]. It is so encouraging when you are in a very established, slow-to-change church that is struggling to see its way forward.

Marinez brings such energy and passion to that. And wisdom. Her leadership in the Anglican Communion on environmental matters — she is highly respected and she has a voice people listen to. I love being able to say I know her. She’s my friend.

What would you say this partnership brings to you both, not just personally, but to the churches, and the whole communion?

Nicholls: I was invited to the General Synod of Brazil in 2018. So I got to meet the other bishops of Brazil and build friendships with them. This relationship witnesses to our whole church across the world. We are bigger than just what we see. I know people appreciate that. Canadian Anglicans appreciate it. They appreciate that I connect them to the wider Church when I talk about Marinez, when I talk about Amazonia, when I talk about Brazil. There is a way in which we represent that network, that connection.

Santos Bassotto: We feel the same in Brazil. The church in Brazil, the people in Brazil, appreciate that this relationship exists. Not only the personal relationship, but what we bring together as church leaders. And the issues that we call the Anglican Communion to be concerned about: inclusivity, environmental justice, commitment with Indigenous people, and gender equity.

Nicholls: One of the current — I could say — tropes about our Communion is the division between Global South and Global North. Our friendship shows that there is diversity in both the Global South and the Global North. The questions, struggles, and conversations that Brazil faces around gender equity and human sexuality are the same ones we are facing.

It gives us [in the North] a different perspective on them. I remember being in the [Brazilian] General Synod in 2018, when they were voting on same-sex marriage, and watching the way in which, despite the fact that the country was not unified, they have the same diversity that we have here. There was a deep sense of walking together. I was so taken by the solidarity of the church in Brazil, at a time when our church had been tearing itself apart over those same issues, and not able to speak as one. [In Brazil] there was a generosity of spirit between the dioceses that opposed the motion [authorizing same-sex marriage] and those who were in favor.

Isn’t that the way Anglicans do things when we are at our best?

Nicholls: Sharing these stories of how different parts of the communion handle these subjects, really listening to one another, can help us to recognize where we may need some learning, repentance, and growth.

Marinez, would you share some of the challenges that you face?

Santos Bassotto: Brazil is an immense and diverse country. As a nation, we are now living in a moment of hope. We have lived for the past four years through a very difficult time. We are still feeling this past; we are pushing to move through it. The previous government dismantled many protections and put maybe a third of the population into extreme poverty.

The people in the church were deeply affected by these policies. Church members, churches as well, were affected by what we call the previous government’s policy of death. On one hand, the church needs to look after its people, and on the other, it needs to be a prophetic voice. These past four years, the church has been working very hard, very intentionally, to confront these policies of death — the Anglican church, and the ecumenical movement as well.

Now we are witnessing a moment of hope; we are seeing changes in the governmental policies. We still need to be vigilant, alert. One of our main challenges is to maintain our prophetic voice, to increase our advocacy work, and at the same time to be a restorative presence to those who have been pushed to the margins. There have been huge divisions, a great polarization of the country, in the past four years. Our other role is to be that reconciling presence.

We have three paths to follow for the next few years: to serve, to bear witness, and to work on reconciliation. These are our challenges, to live these in the midst of the diversity in Brazil. The Diocese of Amazona is enormous; it covers 43 percent of the national territory. We grew in numbers during the pandemic. Before we were in two states and now we are in three more states. More people, more challenges, more troubles. We only have six clergy. But we are not complaining!

I am lost on Sexta Carretera, going one way, then the other, with growing frustration. My cell phone is dying, and the red pin on the map showing the cathedral seems unclear. At last, I catch a flash of bright purple. Bishop Elias Garcia Cardenas comes out from around a corner and finds me. He leads me gingerly through a parking lot, then into a labyrinth of construction material, dust, and waste clogging the basement of the Catedral Episcopal-Anglicana San Pablo in Bogotá, Colombia.

“The church is under construction,” he says, apologizing as we pick our way through in the semi-dark. “Here’s where the library will go. And the meeting room. And a place for coffee after church.” He sounds hopeful, motivated. He greets workmen, and they call back with a friendly “Obispo!”

We go up another floor, to the offices. I wait while he goes to fetch me a tinto, a particularly delicious Colombian style of strong coffee served in small cups. I snoop around, scanning the photos on the walls: previous bishops of Colombia, five of them, the first two from the United States, the last three, indigenous Colombians. And there’s the long horizontal photo of hundreds of bishops at Lambeth. I check the year: 2008. Across the room there’s another Lambeth photo, bright and new: 2022.

Elias Garcia Cardenas was consecrated as fifth Bishop of Colombia on February 16. Before coming to his cathedral in Bogotá, he was the rector of San Lucas Anglican Church in Medellín, Colombia’s second-largest city.

“These are early days,” I say as we settle into comfortable chairs. “But what would you say are your greatest hopes for the months and years to come?”

“The last few years have been hard times, since the pandemic,” he says, his eyes warm. “In Colombia, and in the world.”

“We are ready to take some steps forward. Our focus now is with our youth, and our families. We are trying to make our connections solid. We have new projects, like a construction in Barranquilla, apartments, and a house of hospitality, a kind of hostel. We have a new gardening project just to the south of Bogotá, in Cundinamarca. Like all churches, like all communities everywhere, we are thinking a lot about the environment.”

Colombia, a country of almost 50 million inhabitants, has been identified as particularly vulnerable to the ravages of climate change. Most Colombians live either in mountainous areas of the Andes or in low-lying coastal communities. Both regions face severe challenges: erosion, flooding, and rising sea levels threaten millions, while government support for infrastructure has been limited.

“The five marks of mission are where we are focusing,” Bishop Elias says. “Everything we need to do is there.”

“What would you say is the most important of the five?” I ask.

Bishop Elias hesitates. “That is a hard question,” he says, then pauses for another minute.

“Colombia is a huge country,” he says. “There are so many challenges, at a national level, and with our families and parishioners. They are all critically important. Care of creation is central to the survival of us all, and the questions of injustice and violence speak particularly to our nation’s history.”

“Do you think the new government will make any difference?” I ask. As I made my way to the cathedral, I spied an enormous mural depicting a close-up of the determined face of Colombia’s newly elected vice president, Francia Márquez. Ms. Márquez is of Afro-Colombian heritage, a community leader, a feminist, and environmental activist. Great hope has been placed on her, on the freshly minted progressive president, Gustavo Petro, and their new government.

But historic forces of opposition — dirty money and drug-fueled elites and their paramilitary forces — threaten any advances in environmental, racial, and economic justice. The church, especially the Episcopal Church, is small, but can play an outsized role in offering a Christian community focused on active love. Since 2012, the Episcopal Church in Colombia has been a part of the ecumenical group Mesa Ecumenica por la Paz, strengthening the unified presence of Christians in the national peace-building movement.

“I’m not holding out all my hope in the political arena,” Bishop Elias says. “But we are present and we pray.”

The church is focused on important local things, he says. “We are really small. We have 12 parishes and 10 missions. And none of our clergy receive a salary. Our goal is to be self-sustaining. By 2024, we are going to begin a formal separation from [financial dependence on] the Episcopal Church in the United States.

“Our five-year pastoral plan includes these points: women’s full dignity; children; ethnic groups; liturgical improvements; displaced people — we’ve had waves of Venezuelans coming into Colombia — and full inclusion of all.”

Does his church have a position on folks who define themselves as LGBT? Bishop Elias does not hesitate: “We are all children of God. No one is excluded. We have a deeply inclusive and profound commitment to love one another, in all of our diversity.”

Our hour is winding down, but Bishop Elias wants to show me the sanctuary. We head through the offices again, and into the dark, cool space of the cathedral.

“It is small if one is thinking cathedral,” Bishop Elias says. The space is beautiful, quiet, peaceful. “But it is just right for us. I know people look to us, and say, ‘Here they are. These ones who love one another. They are the ones building the kingdom.’”