by Jason Zuidema (General Secretary, ICMA)
When people think of Panama, they almost always think first of the Canal. It is one of the great engineering marvels of the world, a narrow strip of water and machinery that bridges oceans, links continents, and sustains global trade. Every day, dozens of ships make the passage, carrying goods that touch nearly every corner of our lives. Tourists marvel at the massive locks, the controlled torrents of water, and the slow, majestic movement of vessels across the isthmus. But as I discovered on a recent trip, the real human story of Panama lies not in the machinery but in the lives of the seafarers and Canal workers themselves. For all the Canal’s fame, their presence remains hidden, their well-being an afterthought in the story most people know.
I traveled to Panama primarily on vacation, but as often happens, I couldn’t resist seeking out those who serve seafarers here. I wanted to learn what seafarers’ welfare looks like in a country so central to global shipping yet often so silent about the human beings who make it possible. What I found was both sobering and inspiring. Sobering, because the infrastructure for seafarers’ welfare is still fragile, often pieced together against great odds. Inspiring, because I met people whose persistence and passion bring life and dignity to this hidden world.
Three voices in particular stayed with me: Andrea Meenken, representing the Deutsche Seemannsmission in Panama; Fr. Ian Hutchinson Cervantes, Regional Director for Latin America and the Caribbean with the Mission to Seafarers; and Fr. Jesús Sta. Iglesia, a Filipino chaplain serving both with the Mission to Seafarers and the German mission. The partnership to employ Fr. Jesús, is actually reflective of the pioneering partnership of the Mission to Seafarers and Deutsche Seemannsmission under the umbrella of the Seafarers’ Mission Panama. Working together has helped to amplify strengths of each organization and overcome challenges. Each spoke from their own perspective, but together their stories gave me a deeper sense of what seafarers’ welfare looks like here: fragile, resilient, and profoundly human.
Andrea told me how the German Seafarers’ Mission came to establish itself in Panama. “The German Seafarers’ Mission was granted financial support by the Ministry of Transport in Germany, and it was possible to establish a new mission. At that time, I was already in Panama, and I tried to make everything possible so that they would consider Panama. Because Panama is a super hub, and there’s not much of a welfare or well-being service landscape in this region. So they decided to do this, and to do it with me.” Her story was one of determination, pushing for Panama to be recognized not just as a place for ships, but as a place where seafarers need care.
Since then, Andrea has learned just how difficult that mission can be. “No one really cares for the seafarers in Panama, although it is known mainly for the Canal,” she admitted. Every change of government means starting again, explaining why this ministry matters, knocking on doors that sometimes never open. Even small acts of kindness, like preparing Christmas gifts for crews, face hurdles: “We have to use transparent plastic bags for our welcome packs. We cannot wrap presents—everything has to be visible to the guards.” The Canal may be a global symbol of efficiency, but for those who want to serve seafarers here, the reality is bureaucracy, suspicion, and the constant struggle to prove why their work matters.
Fr. Ian brought a broader regional lens. He first came to Panama after being invited to conduct a review of chaplaincies across Latin America. “I started here on my own, a one-man band doing fairly basic ministry, and then had the great joy and blessing of colleagues coming alongside.” What impressed him in his early travels were the chaplains serving in isolation, often in the most difficult ports. He described Vila do Conde in Brazil, “up a tributary of the Amazon, where ships anchor for weeks in stifling heat, waiting for a berth. When they come in, there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do, nobody to offer hospitality. Yet there were extraordinary people doing everything they could for seafarers. That was hugely inspiring.”
Since then, Ian has helped encourage new beginnings. In Costa Rica, a retired priest whose son was a seafarer had long dreamed of starting a chaplaincy. With support, that dream has become reality, and now his daughter, recently ordained, is taking the work forward. “It’s rather beautiful to see something grow where there was absolutely nothing,” Ian reflected. In Brazil, partnerships with companies like Anglo American have made it possible to provide welfare services in otherwise forgotten ports.
Still, he is frank about the obstacles. “In this part of the world, we are not accustomed to volunteering as in the English-speaking world. We are used to receiving charity from outside, but not to putting our own hands in our own pockets. That’s a cultural barrier, and it’s very hard to overcome.” Add to that the vast distances of the region—“You can fit the whole of Europe into Brazil,” he reminded me—and it is clear why chaplains here often feel isolated. For Ian, one of the most important tasks is nurturing local vocations, finding people who feel called, and equipping them with the tools they need. That is where the international support of ICMA is vital: offering encouragement, training, and networks of solidarity that help overcome isolation.
If Andrea’s words spoke of persistence and Ian’s of vision, Fr. Jesús Sta. Iglesia reminded me of the heart of this ministry: the quiet but powerful act of connection. A Filipino priest, he has the rare gift of being able to speak directly to many of the seafarers he meets in their own language. “There’s always an excitement and longing when you meet someone from the same country and speaking the same language,” he told me. “Communication is often a barrier among different nationalities. But when you know someone speaks your language, there’s comfort and connection. It builds trust.”
That trust, he explained, is more than convenience; it is pastoral. “Seafarers sometimes face very hard experiences on board, and when they can share in their own language what they feel and what they need, it makes all the difference. That connection is what matters.” In his ministry, the ability to create that connection becomes an act of grace—an opening for seafarers to be heard and cared for in the midst of the isolating world of shipping.
Alongside these three, I was also able to meet new Stella Maris priests just beginning their ministry in Panama, as well as representatives from the maritime unions and the Panamanian government. Their presence reminded me that seafarers’ welfare is never the work of one group alone. It requires collaboration between church missions, ecumenical partnerships, unions that defend workers’ rights, and governments that shape the framework in which shipping takes place. The fact that all of these groups are beginning to talk with one another in Panama is itself a hopeful sign, even if much work remains to be done.
Walking away from these conversations, I realized how different my experience of Panama had become. Like most visitors, I had come aware of the Canal, of its locks and gates, of the ships passing through. But after sitting with Andrea, Ian, and Jesús, I began to see Panama less as a corridor for trade and more as a place of encounter. The Canal moves cargo, but the chaplains I met are concerned with people—the crews who risk their lives, sacrifice time with their families, and too often remain invisible.
What struck me most was that none of them seemed daunted by the obstacles. If anything, the challenges only seemed to sharpen their sense of purpose. Andrea said it best: “Actually, the challenges motivate us, because seafarers are so worth it. You are away from your families for such a long time, you risk your life every day, and someone has to give something back to you.” Ian echoed that in his insistence that welfare must flow across borders as naturally as shipping does. And Jesús reminded me that sometimes welfare begins with something as simple as speaking to someone in their own language, showing them that they are not forgotten.
For ICMA, Panama is a reminder of why our work matters. It is not just about well-established welfare centers in Europe or North America; it is about fragile beginnings in places where the need is real but the resources are scarce. It is about ecumenical cooperation—Anglican, Lutheran, Catholic, and others—working side by side, just as Andrea, Ian, and Jesús do in Panama. And it is about remembering that while the Canal is a marvel of engineering, the true marvel lies in the resilience of seafarers and the compassion of those who serve them.
My trip to Panama was, above all, a discovery: that behind the grandeur of the Canal lies a quieter but no less important story, written in small acts of kindness, stubborn persistence, and the refusal to let seafarers be forgotten. Andrea, Ian, and Jesús embody the spirit of ICMA in this corner of the world—ecumenical, practical, pastoral, and determined. Their work may not make headlines, but it makes all the difference to those who pass through Panama’s waters.