Punta Arenas stands between two oceans on a stretch of water navigated by Magellan and Drake, whipped by ferocious gales which make for jagged, icy mountains, stunted, hunch-back trees and white horses on the Strait. The city is a former penal colony, then coaling station and today the centre of a wool and meat industry, sending fleeces to China and lamb all over the world.
The hinterland is the low, undulating, grey grassland of Patagonia. The long, long views show up the Corriedale sheep, roamed over by guanaco, pumas, ostriches and flamingos, with dry lakes and tiny wild flowers, all under the unbroken dome of the sky. Driven by the strong winds, low clouds race across it; squalls, blue sky, a shower, then sun followed by hail. The people shrug, “That’s Punta Arenas – five climates every day”.
The city is home to about 110,000 people, including descendents of British pioneers, Croats, Dutch, Swiss, German as well as Chileans of Spanish descent and islanders from the rugged coastline, come to find work.
Laid out in the grid-iron pattern of a typical South American town, it rises up the hills behind, with houses of every conceivable type of architecture from palace to shack, characterised by their coloured roofs – red, blue, green ands orange. Attempts have been made to give beauty with wide grassy avenues, monuments and sculptures. Sadly graffiti, dandelions, broken cement, stray dogs and litter tend to spoil those aspirations, while “nigth” clubs” (so spelt) are thinly disguised names for the oldest profession in the world.
St James’ church, which goes back to the pioneer days, has had a chequered history until 1980, when a SAMS International church-planting team began a Spanish-speaking church. English and Spanish speakers now worship together
there and a more united, loving group it would be difficult to find. The congregation reflects the cosmopolitan character of the city, wealthy sheep farmers rub shoulders with folk from Chiloé and the other myriad groups represented here. “We don’t mind the services in Spanish”, said one lady of Scottish descent. They are longer than ours were and they sing more, but they’re very sincere people”.
Rarely have we heard such robust testimonies as those of these “sincere people”. “I wish with all my heart to be a child of God” said one. “I am like a sponge – I want to know more about the Lord and his Word”, states another. “Thanks to the Gospel, my daughter is not trailing round the muck I was born into”.
Perhaps the climate and landscape make for tough realistic Christianity. One of the many housegroups had compiled it own songbook for their weekly Bible studies. The entitled it “God first”. That seemed to be the keynote of this remarkable congregation, without a pastor for the past year, yet vibrant and concerned to reach out to the people of their city. Psalm 98 suddenly bursts into new life and meaning. “O sing to the Lord a new song. He has revealed his vindication in the sight of the nations. All the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God”.
