My village of 4,000 people is, to my knowledge, 100% Muslim.
Enter yours truly, and the statistic changes:
99.99975% Muslim
0.00025% Christian
Where else can you swing the stats by that much?! That’s
sorta cool!
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| "Where's the blue?" my friend asked. Rightly so... |
***
When I found out I’d be living in the predominantly Muslim
country of Indonesia, I figured being one of a few Christians I’d mostly experience
a personal struggle to understand God.
This is a long post that is more for me to think through my
experience here. If you want the more exciting stuff, here’s a non-exhaustive
collection of short blurbs on “Being Christian” in Indonesia. Then, my full
story is below.
Being a Christian in
my village means:
- Biking 30 minutes one way to church.
- Meticulously planning what I will wear, where I will shower
(because 30 minutes at 3 PM = sweat), change my clothes, and be at church on
time without being exhausted.
- Not being able to go to church if it is raining.
- Saying mass parts in English if I forget my translation
book.
- Wanting to laugh aloud at the word “selami” as it appears in
a praise and worship song because I remember Julia Zwak. I still don’t know what
it means, either. It’s not in my dictionary!
- My host mom giving me elevator eyes after I get home from
church wearing a knee-length skirt. “You work that to church?!”
- No real prospects for husbands because everyone would want
me to become Muslim. And because I don’t want to live here forever!
- Avoiding at all costs talking about drinking or pork with
people.
- Explaining what pork tastes like.
- Admitting that I don’t like beer (which is true) so that
everyone will not think Christians/Westerners are all just big boozers.
- Celebrating Christmas abroad with Debbie or Min Yao so as
not to be sad and lonely in the village!
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| Debbie and I in Singapore, 2012 |
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| Min Yao and I in Malaysia, 2013 |
- Having one of my best friends sheepishly hand me a gift and
say, “This was meant to be for Christmas for you but I will give it to you for
your birthday instead because my dad told me I am not allowed to give you
anything for Christmas.”
- Having teachers from my school who know me write on
Facebook, “Don’t say Merry Christmas to anyone. Muslims are not allowed.”
- On the flip side, being wished “Mary Chrismis” and “Happy
Ester” on various occassions by Muslim friends.
- Being one of the only young adults who does not fast all day
for 40 days during Ramadhan (save
menstruating women!)
- Being extremely aware of the days in which I wear my cross necklace.
Sometimes people ask what it is, but usually I just catch them looking at it.
- Hiding in the school’s tiny bathroom eating granola bars
during the fasting month.
- Coming home with ashes on my forehead or a palm branch and
having to try to briefly explain to my host family what that means with very
limited vocabulary.
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| Amin. Amin. Amin!!!!!!!!!! |
- Attending a selamatan
or a pengajian and being the only one
not to enthusiastically say “Amin, amin, amin” during the prayer. You can’t
“Amen” when you don’t know what someone is praying for!
Pre-Peace Corps
2011-2012:
At Carleton College, I had the privilege of being a part of
a diverse group of Christians that challenged me at every turn.
Post-graduation, however, I found that “real” life created extra challenges for
faith.
What? No more 10-minute walk to the Chapel for Monday night
worship?
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| Some of the gang cir. 2011. The Trinity Pyramids instigated by yours truly. |
Ã
Post-graduation = a cold, 30 minute bike ride to church for contemporary choir
practice. And then repeat that cold bike ride home in the dark. Then there and
back again on Sunday for the actual mass!
What? There are not 10 close friends to call up and meet
with at a moment’s notice?
Ã
Turns out that living in your own apartment (or in my case renting a prof’s
home) and having no car makes it a little harder to meet with a friend for a
mini faith crisis. Not to mention most of my friend moved across the country.
Sometimes a phone call just doesn’t do it!
I assumed that life in a 100% Muslim, Indonesian village
would be somewhat like this. No one to immediately turn to and get advice about
my Christian faith. Perhaps no church for 2 years! Ahhh (that’s an “oh my gosh,
this is a travesty!” ahhh, not a “yes, no church for two years” ahh!)
I romanticized the idea that I’d be in some tiny village for
two years with no one but myself to rely on to become closer to God. I’d pray
alone. Maybe sing with myself sometimes. Just struggle to come to terms with
who I was as a Christian. Build my Christian identity around being different
from the Muslims around me.
Thank the Lord that God knows me better than I know myself!
Because being alone for 2 years would have been, let’s face it, a disaster. I’m
a pretty darn social person who learns best from discussions with others. Left
to my own terms I’d probably be farther from God than ever.
Pre-Service Training
in Peace Corps:
For the first 10 weeks of Peace Corps, I was living with a
Muslim host family that didn’t really seem very “Muslim.” By this, I mean that
the women were running around in shorts, t-shirts, and no headscarves. The
mosque was a distant idea; sometimes I heard the call to prayer. I didn’t hear
much Arabic or Assalamm’ualaikum
greetings wherever I went. I think this can be attributed to the fact that
where I lived in Batu, Malang was a pretty bustling place. There are also a lot
of Christians there, a fact I learned after moving away.
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| Julie and I in Lombok |
Additionally, I met with a small group of other volunteers
each day for language class, and I met with all 40+ volunteers each Friday for
full-group training. Thus, my exposure to other Christians was not limited.
However, I really only talked faith with Julie, another volunteer, on long bus
rides!
As there was so much else going on during this time
(essentially, I’d lay down for bed at 8:30 or 9 PM and crash), I didn't have a
lot of pondering time, and faith took a back seat. The best piece of advice I
got at this time was from a Christian in the Peace Corps group before mine.
“Tell them in your final interview about site placements that you want to go to
church.” So I did.
Peace Corps, Year
One:
Fast forward (or rewind, really) to June 2012. DARN, that is
almost 2 years ago! I arrive in my village. My new home for the next two years.
My host family takes me out on the town the second night I’m
there (I’m using this term loosely, not really a rockin’ place!). Somewhere in
the first 24 hours, I am asked about my religion. I tell them I am Christian.
It is decided that during this night out on the town (aka eating with our hands
on a tarp on the ground at the traditional market), we will swing by the two
churches that they know of and see what time they hold services.
The first church appears to be in session. I read a sign
that says 4 PM. It’s 6 PM and it’s still going, so I guess…they are very semangat? (spirited!) We check the other
church that my host family knows. This one in Catholic. It’s at 5 PM on
Saturday nights.
The next week I got a ride to the Catholic mass to check it
out and I graciously welcomed. One, after mass about four people came up to me
and started speaking English and invited me to a praise and worship night at
their house. Two, I quickly realized that my language skills were not anywhere
near me being ready to attend anything but a Catholic mass, as I knew what was
happening when!
Without getting into a long story about how I’m essentially
Protestant now, let’s just say that I attended Catholic Mass for the first year
that I was here. I had full intentions to visit both churches and see which I
liked better, but the Catholics got to me first!
The comforts of going to a familiar church service were good
for me, as everything else in my life was changing. While I didn’t feel I was
growing spiritually, really, at least I was still showing up for church.
Little by little I got more into the praise and worship
service at Since and Agus’s house on Friday nights. Transportation proved a
problem, so eventually I started sleeping at their house and leaving at 6 AM
the next day to bike back to my village to teach. These Friday nights were a
time to pray together, sing, and share. I came to understand how important
language is for religion.
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| PDKK with my Catholic friends |
Side Note on Language:
The first person to bring to my attention the importance of
a word was probably Ms. Schmidt, my senior year choir teacher in Sun Prairie.
We were singing Mozart’s Requiem, and
besides a lot of Latin, whenever we got to the word “blessed,” she was like
“feel it, mean it!” Blessed is He
whom comes in the name of the Lord. What does that mean to you?
In France, I went to a few church services (Catholic mass
and Protestant Hillsong). It was perhaps one of the first times that I really
related to God primarily through my heart rather than through thinking about
words. The French words left my mouth were not words of which I necessarily
knew the definition. However, I understood the feeling. I’d be singing a song
and rather than brainlessly sing along, I felt the meaning.
In Indonesia, the same thing happens. I don’t know what I’m
singing, let’s face it, probably half the time. But I feel the meaning. Even
when I do know the translation, like below, the words mean different things to
me in Indonesian than in English.
Kau selalu punya cara
untuk menolongku
Kau selalu punya cara
keajaibanMu
Kau dashyat dalam
segala perbuatanMu
Dan ku tenang dalam
caraMu.
You always have a plan to help me.
You always have a miraculous way.
You are amazing in all of what You do.
And I am at peace in Your plan.
In English, I don't feel very special about “Your help.” But
in Indonesians, “pertolonganMu” is way more powerful. I am “at peace” recalls
the song “I’ve got peace like a river,” but it doesn’t have the same deep, gut
feeling of “tenang.” In Indonesian, I feel
these words, I don’t think them.
It’s allowed me to consider how I feel about English words. What do I feel when I say “Hallelujah”? Glory?
Honor? Worthy?
Some favorite Indonesian, church-related words that invoke feeling:
menyembah- to
worship
memuji- to praise
menyelamatkan- to
save (someone)
hendak- the will
(of God)
setia- loyal
persembahkan- a
sacrifice
kerinduan- desire,
longing
mengampuni- to
forgive
Engkau- you, but a
more respectful word for “you” rather than “kamu” or “anda,” which are used in
everyday speech
Firman Allah- The
Word of God
Tuhan berkati- God
bless you
Jetting off to
Sydney:
Now we enter year 2 of Peace Corps, June 2013. I attended
the Hillsong Conference in Sydney, Australia for a week and boy was that
amazing!
Imagine this. In college, I was never afraid to pray aloud
with others. I was a leader of multiple things. Then I come to Indonesia where
my language is like that of an elementary student. I simply didn’t (and really,
still don’t) have the vocabulary to be able to pray the prayers I want. There
was one disasterous time and the praise and worship that I was asked to pray
for the food, and I straight up stopped in the middle of the prayer and said
“Amen!” because I was so confused with the grammar. Never again have I prayed
aloud after that!
Being silenced in that way is really hard for me, and one
reason that I don’t want to live here forever. The lack of language ability to
really explain my faith and express it is just not here. I’m sure it’d get
better in time, but I don’t want to have to strain my brain to understand what
someone is even saying. Faith is already confusing enough in one’s mother
tongue!
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| Looking out over Sydney |
Okay, so the Hillsong Conference was a great break from
translating everything at church to just being able to talk with others, sing,
and listen to speeches in English. It was, in short, a saving grace and a
perfect way to spend my mid-Peace Corps service.
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| Finally, humor in my language! Gotta love it! |
Peace Corps, Year 2:
Back in Indonesia, I decided I needed a change. I checked
out the Pentecostal church in town. It’s the only other church available in my
area (the other 2 are in the Javanese language). It has taken some getting used
to, but all in all I love this church. It’s a two- hour marathon, including one
straight hour of a sermon in Indonesian, so I have to be ready to listen. Can’t
be sleepy; if I am, it’s better just not to go! On the good days, when the male
pastor speaks and has handouts, I can easily find the readings in my English
Bible and more or less keep up with what he is saying. At least…75% of it!
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This is mostly how I feel after attending church in Indonesia: exhausted!
|
I continue to go to the Catholic praise and worship nights
when I can, and I attended Catholic mass for Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday and
Good Friday because the Pentecostal church didn’t celebrate these days with
anything special.
Final Reflections:
Q: Did you learn anything about yourself through this?
A: Yes. I don’t grow very much in my faith when I am alone.
I rely on community and discussions with close friends to help me grow in my
understanding of my faith.
Q: When did you most often think of God?
A: Every time I am almost hit by a motorcycle or car
whizzing by, I really do say aloud, “Thank you God!” (for protecting me, that
is!)
Q: Can you pray in Indonesian?
A: It’s mediocre. Here, let me try.
Selamat malam Allah
yang di surga. Aku syukur kepada Engkau bahwa Engkau menemaniku setiap hari di
manapun aku berada. Engkau lebih setia daripada semua orang, lebih sabar, lebih
penuh kasih daripada aku bisa mengerti. Aku mohon kepadaMu, Tuhan, untuk
membuatkan aku sesorang lebih sabar, lebih rendah hati, lebih baik lagi Tuhan,
biar orang orang lain melihat kuasaMu dalam hidupku. Amin.
Q: Did Skype help you stay connected with Christian friends
back home?
A: Brooke and Wookie’s conversations on faith saved me in
the hardest of times!
Q: Did you learn anything about being Christian in light of
living with Muslims?
A: So much, that’s the next blog post!
