EASTER IN EAST JAVA

Obeying the Commandments

Twenty minutes before pray-off the pews were full. Disappointed worshippers in their best heels tottered down the aisles as though a catwalk, hoping the early-birds who’d captured much space might share their good fortune. Few obliged.

The warm-up act featured a sextet in blazers blue – the theme colour for this year’s Good Friday service.  They sang superbly, as did a soaring soprano, a Kate Cambridge dressalike.  On the ceiling images of arrows and stars swirled.  If the congregation hadn’t been so sober and subdued it could have been a nightclub.

Instead it was the Gereja Kristen Indonesia, a major Protestant church in Malang.  The multitudes had come to remember the cruel death of a good man, and be reminded of the ageless lesson: Intolerance begets hate which begets violence which begets war. 

Everyone could participate.  Giant TV screens carried the message and opportunities to note what friends and neighbours were wearing, for a crane camera swooped and soared above the crowd.

This is what it must be like in the Yemen or Afghanistan. The drones circle high like vultures; their lenses focused for signs of AK-47s or improvised explosive devices.  Should a hellfire missile be launched – or should the forgiving joystick god in Langley let the drone Passover?

But here in church the almighty surveillance controller could have spotted only backsliders reading comics instead of Bibles, or fashion faux-pas, like crucifixes that don’t match shoes.

 Islam does public worship better, insisting women wear sajadah, the same white envelope and stay at the back.  The men, who make the rules, can kneel at the front in their smartest sarongs and colourful caps.

Then the readings. The preacher urged his flock to follow the text, a good excuse to power up smartphones and check the Bible app along with Facebook.  Soon we’ll procession an electronic device to the pulpit.  There’s a precedent: Moses brought down the commandments on tablets.

Suddenly a crash and much shouting.  Had terrorists struck?  The police were supposed to be on duty but they were in a huddle far from the church gates, presumably working out who to shake down.  There’d be no shortage of victims; Easter brings out the finest European limos, and many would have full ashtrays or other defects demanding fines.

Fortunately the noisemakers were not modern fanatics bent on persecuting a minority faith, but their counterparts from two millennia past.  The glistening helmets shook as soldiers flogged a brutalised Christ down the aisle to face his temporal judge; a proud Pontius Pilate presciently dressed in a tunic featuring a crown and cross.

The lashed Jesus crashed convincingly on the plywood stage, and was then dragged away. Though not before we witnessed in shock and awe his ripped and ragged clothing, his gore-splashed pain-wracked features - though those who hath eyes to see noticed he was wearing glasses.

Spectacular – but attention was rapidly re-focussed on the altar where the screens flashed scenes of Calvary at sunset and cataclysm worthy of a Russell Crowe movie.  Somewhere must have been the message from the nailed man – to forgive our enemies – though it could have been swamped by the special effects.

The logistics involved in Communion were handled impressively. If the congregation had tried to come to the priest there would have been a traffic jam equalling those outside and we’d have to call back the centurions. 

Trays of tiny white bread cubes were passed among folk whose diet is rice.  Drain cleaner masquerading as wine was served in thumbnail plastic cups to people who live in an alcohol-free culture.

All this dispensing and gathering was done while the orchestra played and choir sang, so passed pleasantly enough. Also passed was the peace, though without eye contact or handshake warmth.

After two hours Jesus had been laid in his cave grave and it was all over for three days. There was a rush to the exits; worshippers woke their Muslim drivers and drove away in a blast of horns, annoyed at the delays, hungry and tired.

We had supped together.  We had experienced the transubstantiation. We’d remembered the awful persecution and death of a man who had tried to change the world through love.  But we returned to the darkness as we had come; strangers all.

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INDONESIA'S CELEBRATION OF FAITH

The Passion of Easter                                               

This coming weekend expect church pews to be packed.

Congregations will spill into carparks, sometimes even the street. Laggards will have to make do with closed circuit telecasts, bottom-pinching metal chairs and maybe a slither of shade under blue plastic

For many Westerners, especially from Australasia, Easter in Indonesia is an extraordinary experience.  We know the population is overwhelmingly Islamic so are astonished to find the principal event in the Christian calendar treated with respect and celebrated with passion almost everywhere.

It’s not like that Down Under.

Population differences aren’t the only factor. Religion is on the way out according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics.  In 1911 only one person in every 250 put ‘no religion’ on their census forms; now the ratio is one in five. The non-religious tend to be under 30 and better educated.

More than eight per cent even refused to answer the question about religion, as they’re entitled to do though all other questions are compulsory. That’s because the State is legally prohibited from getting involved in religion, although Parliaments still start with prayers.  No Ministry of Religious Affairs, no ID cards stamped with a faith approved by politicians.

It’s the same next door in New Zealand, a country settled in the 19^th century by the fervent faithful from the United Kingdom. The mainly Protestant migrants held beach services on arrival before seeking food and shelter – then set about building churches.

Last year’s census shows that less than half the NZ population claims to be Christian, while 40 per cent say they don’t follow any faith. Catholics have now overtaken Protestants for the first time.

This makes the South Pacific nation one of the most secular countries in the world – but all this discarding of religion doesn’t seem to correlate to wrongdoing:  NZ is the least corrupt nation in the world. (Indonesia ranks 114 on the international corruption perception index.)

It doesn’t need spreadsheets of statistics to prove the social shifts. Just a peep inside most churches on a Sunday (don’t linger lest you get kidnapped by an eager pastor) shows a flock of few, mainly elderly women. Multiple services have shrunk to just one, and many parishes have to share ministers.

In Indonesia churches are being built.  In the country next door they’re being closed. 

The upside is that poor attendances and limited funds have encouraged ecumenism. Smaller towns often share a worship center – as the Catholics enter the Presbyterians depart.

Bucking this trend are the charismatic evangelical denominations that attract young people with rock music, and churches catering for Maori and Pacific Islanders.  Other faiths are faring better; there are now more Buddhists than Baptists in both countries.

Islam is also rising, mainly through immigration. Numbers are small – Australia has about half a million Muslims and NZ 50,000.  The faith isn’t monocultural as in Indonesia because adherents come from multiple traditions, liberal Europeans through to conservative Arabs.

As in Indonesia, some are only nominally religious, agreeing to worship occasionally to satisfy their families.

Living in the Southern Hemisphere may also be a factor in the decline because so many references are irrelevant.  Easter pre-dates Christianity, a festival to herald spring as snows melt, soils defrost and dormant seeds sprout.  But in Australasia it’s autumn and a time of death and decay, a hunkering down – not an opening out.

Eostre was a pagan German goddess, usually portrayed as a virginal nymph frolicking in a cornucopia.  An appropriate symbol for the carnival of commerce that Easter has become with eggs and chocolate rabbits (representing fertility) hopping onto shop shelves soon after the Christmas baubles are packed away, and nary a sight of a crucifix.

In southern Australia Easter offers the last chance to get away before winter hits and head for the coast with rod and line. Even on Good Friday the fish keep biting.

Easter Monday isn’t a religious day but it’s still a holiday.  The kids are on their two-week term break, and the weather is usually mild enough for camping. At this time the Great Northern Highway leading out of Perth is like the Puncak Pass on a long weekend.

Yet here in the sweltering archipelago straddling the Equator millions will don their best clothes and head for church where they will freely and joyously worship, even if that means enduring prolix sermons and hard pews.

There are worrying pockets of intolerance and rejections of plurality in Indonesia, but what nation doesn’t have its bigots? You seldom hear of Australia’s Abu Bakar Bashirs because they’re usually ignored by the mainstream media or treated with derision, often by their own congregations.

The standout reality is that so many Indonesians will openly and abundantly celebrate their Christianity in a sea of Islam during a national holiday enjoyed by all. This has to be a fact worthy of national pride and international applause.

(First published in The Jakarta Post, 17 April 2014)

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AN EASTER MORAL MESSAGE

Going to hell in a handcart

Moral challenges don’t play fair. They ambush the unwary, confronting us before we have time to prepare the right response.

There should be early warning systems in place, like tsunami alerts, so we can race to the moral high ground and pass judgment.

Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that, as I discovered in Malang early one Sunday.

The day started uneventfully. Such days always do. The Bromo-Tengger massif stood clear against the dawn, the peaks yet to disappear in the fog of fumes.

The five kilometer walk from home to Oro-Oro Dowo market goes through central Malang, past the Dr Syaiful Anwar Public Hospital. Opposite is the Catholic Cor Jesu (Sacred Heart) high school. Both flank Jl Jaksa Agung Suprapto which rises uphill, heading north.

And on this road, between the two caring institutions (one with a statue of Jesus), shuffled a ragged, tragic figure, a man so old or so damaged, that any guess about his age would be wrong.

Like a human buffalo he was hauling a cart, an enormous flat-bottom trailer so overloaded with rubbish that some bags were dragging on the road, adding to the friction.

Like Atlas the man’s neck was at right angles to his body, set in a permanent hunch. He seemed burdened not just by his impossible load, but the anguish of the world.

He sought to maintain momentum on the 30 degree slope, but the effort was too great. He paused between steps, straining against gravity.

He could not be missed. I stood at the crossroads. What should I do? The man clearly needed a hand. I’m fit enough to give him one. It would be the natural, decent thing to do. No one else was paying attention

Then the devil spoke.

To get to the carter I’d have to cross a dangerous road and scramble over a concrete barrier. This wasn’t just a short rise – I’d have to pull for 500 meters or more. I’d get dirty and hot, maybe miss my lift home from the market.

The filthy load was probably full of disease. Dengue fever was abroad. He hadn’t asked for help, so what business was it of mine? I’m a foreigner. My embassy warns against getting involved in local issues; I should follow its wise advice.

Indonesians could see his plight; they weren’t helping, so why me? The last time I protested about a social injustice the police came a crowd gathered and I had to retreat.

In any case he was probably a scavenger, maybe crazy. He’d only understand Javanese and might react badly if confronted by a babbling white man. He’d think I’m a ghost. He might drop the handle. Terrible accidents could follow as the cart rushed backwards, crashing into cars, crushing little children.

These things have to be considered rationally.

An angel blew awkward thoughts in my ear: Suppose the ancient was really a mystic testing the compassion of those who claim to care? If it was a woman pushing a disabled car, would I hesitate?

Then the angel suggested a compromise: If I wouldn’t help why not pay a strong boy to assist?

The devil was not to be outdone. Was I carrying small change? And where were the willing lads? Should I find one he’d pocket the rupiah and run.

Why do such issues always arise in Indonesia? In my homeland I’d know what to do – call emergency services, contact social welfare. Not that I’d ever encounter such a distressing sight in orderly Australia.

While I dithered the pitiful porter dragged himself away from my dilemma. I hope he rested his body when he reached his destination. I wasn’t able to rest my soul when I reached mine.

I’ve glimpsed the old fellow once since. This time I was a passenger in a car speeding in the opposite direction, thank God. This time his clumsy contraption was going slowly downhill. Like my conscience.

He seemed to know where he was going. Not me, I’d lost my moral compass. I fear it’s slipping and sliding among the garbage of excuses in citizen carter’s tumbrel, waiting to be recovered with a gesture of humanity.

(First published in The Sunday Post 8 April 2012)

INDONESIAN MALL CULTURE

OH SPEND, ALL YE FAITHFUL © Duncan Graham 2007

Next Friday recalls the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. It's also a public holiday. So let's enjoy the long weekend, get out and about, experience the Great Outdoors, commune with nature, refresh flagging spirits and marvel at all Creation.

Where I come from this is the last opportunity to pack the kids in the car, to go camping, hiking or fishing before winter sets in, when chill winds and horizontal rains lash the coastal cities.

Where I live now this is yet another chance to venture forth with the family into the sunshine, to explore the world beyond the front gate where adventure beckons and new wonders wait to be revealed.

In other words it's time to visit an air-conditioned Shopping Mall.

For the ten per cent of Protestants and Catholics in Indonesia, attending church is an important ritual next weekend.

Once they've done their devotions they can join those of other persuasions to pay homage at the shrines of Indonesian consumption.

Which we will do in multitudes. Easter is not a good time for agoraphobics.

But it is a time to reflect. This is not so difficult. Changing rooms in dress shops have mirrors for just this purpose.

The ritual we follow is well known to social anthropologists as the Cult of Swipe. It involves the true believers gathering in large numbers where they make offerings of plastic cards.

Acolytes, clad in the sanctified Vestments of the Brand embroidered with the Sacred Logo, insert the proffered card in a small black box mounted on an altar. (In some denominations this is referred to as a 'counter' or 'check-out').

Here it is lovingly given a brief laying-on of the electrons before being returned to the communicant. Then the revered words of absolution are spoken: 'Please sign here – and have a good day.'

Good Friday is well-named for the retail industry. While followers of the Nazarene take time to consider the Resurrection and the Words of the Prophets, those who worship the doctrine of business contemplate the words of the wholesalers and the raising of the profits.

Like all religions, those who've been brought up in the complexities of one faith find it difficult to appreciate the beliefs of others.

So it is with Mallinity.

First you must understand the teachings that have raised Mallinity to its lofty place in this archipelago of mysteries. The mall is the modern equivalent of hallowed caves where Javanese seers in times past tasted the mountain air and calculated the most favorable lunar moment.

Making such a pilgrimage is now impossible because of the traffic, but worry not: Wisdom is to be found in the Food Court of a mall near you while sampling the Flavor of the Month.

After eons of research I can now reveal how the gallant youth of yore and the founding fathers got their ideas on boosting the economy.

Deep in the Constitution, and overlooked till now, is a clause saying that unity, the national ethos and the balance of payments are enhanced through the buying of things we might want but don't need.

To be a good citizen is to be a good consumer.

If you come from a culture where the soul is refreshed through encounters with the wonders of the Creator, you might wonder how the creations of mankind can excite such enthusiasm.

The answer is simple. Mallinity allows us the chance to commune through the exchange of rupiah for rubbish. It lets us express a primitive need to display our wealth before others, so they may witness and be moved by the depth of our piety and pockets.

Mallinity speaks a common language that bypasses Babel. It takes us to a place where all words are universally understood. SALE, BONUS and BARGAIN are three such examples, known to the devout as the Trinity of Trade.

Clearly the commandments of Mallinity break down the boundaries that divide. Verily, I say unto ye, when we all come together to shop in peace, under one vast neon-lit dome - whatever our backgrounds and beliefs, cultures and ethnicity - then this is a truly pluralist society.

Excuse me, I must break off now as I've just reached the head of the queue: "Yes, Miss, that is on credit."

(First published in The SundayPost, 1 April 07)

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