An evening walk

After we returned in the mid afternoon from our visit to the pasar and the waterfront, Yudhie and I just rested awhile, refreshed ourselves, and then, as evening approached, thought we would take a walk, all on our own, into the neighborhood. I felt, at least, that we knew our way around the local area well enough to not get lost.

Just as we were getting ready to go, Moda showed up at our front door and peeked inside,
wondering if we were still having our siesta—yes, even in Bali people often rest in the afternoon for a couple of hours before resuming work. He dropped by to make sure we were okay and to find out if we needed anything. That is the extent of this family's hospitality. I sat with Moda for a bit and chatted on the front steps while Yudhie rested. I needed to know a little more about the customs here, so I would not make a mistake when offering my contribution to the household expenses.

We were going to try to find someplace on our walk where we could buy food. I thought for sure there would be a nice rumah makan or warung where we could have a light supper. As it turned out I was wrong—at least there were no rumah makan, and the few warungs we encountered did not look good from my point of view. Poor Yudhie! I knew he was hungry, but he quietly went along with me as I took us further and further from the possibility of dinner!

Going out of the gate of Ibu's compound, we entered the gang and then Jalan Kresna, from which we walked a long way frist in one direction, then in another. Along the way, Yudhie bought some incense sticks from women sitting along the way selling insense and flowers for the evening offerings.

We encountered files of women bearing offerings in baskets on their heads, walking to local puras for evening prayers. The one thing you cannot escape in Bali is the offerings that are left everywhere, even in little plates on the sidewalk. Making daily offerings to the gods of the island is a way of life.

Who are these gods? That's a question to which I have no answer, and I probably won't, until I meet one. It's easy to dismiss them as figments of the imagination of ancient tradition, to describe them in anthropological terms as animism, or to categorize them as 'demons.' Instant Christianity has a talent for the last response.

We know that demons exist from reading scriptures and, some of us, from actual experience with them. But in a culture that is as far removed from the West as is the Balinese, we can't judge the meaning of their iconography by our traditions. Depictions of fierce, scary beings to us are demons, to the Balinese they are protecting spirits, what we would call ‘guardian angels.’

‘Well, why do they look like that? Why are they called nagas, and why are they in the shape of dragons?’ That too is a question I can't answer, except by reference to Indian and Chinese symbolism, again, both quite different from ours. What makes our visible renditions of the body-less powers, the angels, correct and theirs wrong, ours beautiful and theirs awful?

This is a question that not only Western Christians, that is, Catholics and Protestants, need to ask, but also, the Eastern Christians, the Orthodox. If we want to understand the spiritual life of others, we must exert effort. The easy way out is to simply divide, conquer and pave over pre-Christianities wherever we find them, but that is not what Christ does. Following Him, what do we do?

On our walk we passed many beautful monuments, statues of Balinese heroes, decorated walls and gates of puras and other public buildings.




They seemed to follow one another almost without interruption.

One wall had about a dozen bas reliefs showing the fate of souls in hell. Scary.





I photographed only three of them.

Not much different from the medieval paintings and ikons of Christian East and West.

One very interesting sight was a funeral in preparation, the body of the deceased will have been placed inside the tall structure which is pulled like a parade float to its destination. There was no one to explain it any further than just to tell us that's what it was.

My favorite animal, at least my favorite large animal, the noble elephant, was prominently memorialised in this monument.

Singaraja is quite rich in public monuments. Another one depicted a multi-faced Hindu god. I'm not sure, but I think it might be an image of the Trimurti, the Three-in-One. Yes, no matter where you look, the spirit in man that sees God recognizes that unearthly Triad as somehow the One God through whom all that is came to be.

On a practical note, walking anywhere in Yndonesia, you must watch where you're going, and this is especially true in Singaraja. All over the country, local authorities are in a constant battle to upgrade infrastructure that is sometimes a century old. That is especially true of the sewer system. On our walk, not only were the sidewalks interrupted by abrupt rises and falls, but also perforated with openings large enough for a child to fall through. What was below? The sewers. In Singaraja it really isn't as bad as it sounds—but I wouldn't venture out at night on a street that I didn't know.

 
At last, with aching feet and a blister or two, Yudhie and I returned from our walk. I took a few evening photos of the garden outside our door and we photographed each other sitting on the threshold.
I honestly can't remember if we did get any dinner that night or not.

But tomorrow we were going to be 'carried' to our next destination…

…Banyuwangi.

First church, then the beach!

After visiting the local Balinese pura, we headed over to the new Orthodox temple pastored by Fr Stephanos. The Orthodox Church in Bali has grown and now has its own temple in Singaraja capable of holding a large congregation. Fr Stephanos Boik Nino, the priest of this church, received us warmly and with great hospitality. Unfortunately he was pressed for time, as we visited on a day when he was getting ready for a pan-Christian feast in honor of Christmas, and we did not take his photograph.

Yes, the Balinese Orthodox presbyter is the chosen leader of the Christians in Singaraja, regardless of their denomination. I was surprised by this, but there wasn’t an opportunity to discover how this arrangement came about. What I have learned about Christianity in Indonesia in general is that it is far less denominationally fractured than in America. Yes, there are denominations, but Christian churches, not just individual Christians, seem to adhere to one another.

This is possibly the result of being in a sometimes hostile environment. I know that there have been cases of Muslims attacking Christians, and even the reverse, on some islands such as Ambon, of which I will tell later, but in Bali there seems to be a more peaceful attitude of coexistence. True, the Orthodox pura that Ibu’s family is building has been verbally attacked in print, but that was due to misinformation. We often find this to be the case in Indonesia. Riots start because of hostile and unsubstantiated gossip.

After we visited the church, Ibu was feeling tired, and it was time to let our car and driver go. We wouldn’t need his services anymore on this visit. From now on, Moda’s wife Laurensia would drive us to the pasar first, and then very close by—we walked to the waterfront from the pasar—the beach. It was a glorious, sunny day but not too hot. Remember, Bali is an island, and the breezes keep the temperatures down.

The pasar that we went to was actually something like a cavernous flea-market. It reminded me of ‘The Red Barn,’ a flea-market in Bradenton, Florida where my dad lives. I didn’t take a photo, but I found this image of what I think may be the exact one we went into, on the internet. If this wasn’t the place, it’s very much like it: an entrance off the shops lining the street, leading to a labyrinth of stalls within.

After buying a few household items that are unique to Bali, like fabric hangings for the family shrine, and woven plate and cup covers, and a few other small items, we found our way back to the outside world through the maze by following Laurensia showing us the way. When we emerged, she took their son and went back to the car to drive over to the waterfront, and the three of us big guys walked.

Singaraja is not a tourist hotspot, although people who like the real Bali would feel very much at home here. The waterfront is beautifully maintained as to the promenades and monuments, but the beach itself is a bit desolate. I mean, where we were anyway, it wasn’t the kind of beach you’d go sunbathing on. There was driftwood and other sea debris along the waterfront. The tourists go where the coast is maintained for their use and activities.

Neither Yudhie or I are swimmers. We just like the sea. So for us, it was great to just be there. Moda’s little son Michael had a great time just being a kid, and I had a great time watching him. I was a bit sad, though, reflecting on the fact that Moda is in America making a living for ten months a year, and only comes back here in the winter.

How much like it was for some of our own ancestors in America, working there and sending money home to Greece or Poland or Italy, and still saving to be able to bring wife and kids to America. Those were the days. Too bad it’s not like that now. Governments exercise a hidden ownership over their peoples, disguised as protection, not letting them freely move between countries and lands, but restricting them, causing untold hardship to families and individuals.

I’m for a world without borders—ultimately for a world without any but local governments—where I can travel to and live in any country I want to, without hindrance. Yes, social structures will have to be revised, but in the end, fullest freedom is still the seedbed of greatness, just as ‘necessity is the mother of invention.’

Time for… An evening walk

Changes, changes

Our second full day in Bali brought with it a disappointing surprise. The previous night, Yudhie and I visited Ibu in her front parlor, keeping her company because she had received a distressing phone call from her husband in America about some medical problems that might require immediate surgery. She was very worried, because she has always been present for such emergencies. But as the evening wore on she seemed calmer again, and continued showing us the history of her family from the artifacts in the room. Among the many beautiful works of art, there stood on a raised platform at one end of the room two musical instruments.

I don’t remember what Ibu called them but they look like gendèr, a kind of xylophone played with hammers. Since there were two, I’m guessing they were gendèr barung (lower) and gendèr panerus (higher-pitched).

Ibu plays this instrument and also sings traditional songs. I’ve heard recordings of her performing when I’ve visited her in Portland, when her husband plays them as background music during dinner. Ibu had Yudhie climb up on the platform, we rotated one of them so they were both oriented in the same direction, and Ibu showed him how to hit the ‘keys.’
I wish I’d had a camera, but that would’ve only spoiled the moment.
Instead, above is a generic image of a gendèr (pronounced gain-DARE) to show you what it looked like.

That was yesterday evening. This morning brought other news, changes, changes. Ibu’s husband, it seemed, was going to be able to postpone or even forgo the surgery. But one of Ibu’s elderly relatives in a nearby village had passed away in the night, and so she was now both ceremonially unclean, unable to visit a pura without special dispensation and blessing, and also required in the following days to officiate in some way in funeral ceremonies, as a close relative and Balinese eldress. Our plans for today had been to visit the Orthodox pura her family was constructing near the sea coast, so that I could photograph it and make it known in America.

This would not be able to take place, and Ibu was very upset and apologetic. ‘Don’t worry about it, Ibu, don’t be upset. If the Lord wants us to visit it and make it known, He will open the way. If not, He closes the door. Today He has closed the door. That means it is not yet time,’ I told her, while holding her gently in my arms and comforting her. She really was shaking. In the end, she went inside, and then came out again in a few minutes. We were all in the inner courtyard. ‘We will go to the [local] pura and I will pray there. Then, we can drive over and visit the new Orthodox temple and introduce you to Father Stephanos,’ Ibu announced. ‘Then, Moda can take you down to the pasar and to the waterfront.’

The local pura was a very beautiful Balinese temple, as all the others, a walled-in open air garden sanctuary where God meets human beings. It would have been better had we men been wearing sarongs, but since none of us were, not Yudhie and me, nor our driver, nor Moda, the formality was quietly dispensed with. Ibu was dressed as she would be when attending church services. She let us find our way around the pura while she stood apart and prayed quietly. I don’t pretend to know yet how her Christian faith and Balinese identity intertwine, but as long as I have known her, more than twenty years, I have never felt myself to be in the presence of anyone other than a lover and disciple of Jesus.

Christianity, as most people in the Western world hold it, is a faith that sees itself as a kind of militant New Testament form of pre-Judaism, preaching the good news of Jesus Christ, yes, but also demolishing not just ‘sophistries and the arrogance that tries to resist the knowledge of God’ (2 Corinthians 10:4) but also smashing the idolatrous cultures of the people it comes to save. In this it is scarcely different from the religion of Muhammad, which also is iconoclastic and anti-idolatry.

For this reason Christianity makes little sense to the Balinese people, and little headway. The same is true, I think, of Japan. These people are no more idolators than the average Western Christian, who unashamedly tries to serve two masters. The Balinese people, like the Japanese, are a childlike race. Children see through mere appearances. Could it be, that’s why Christ says, ‘I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven’ (Matthew 18:3)?

Here in Bali, we are guests of the first Orthodox Christian family in the island, and we will soon be visiting the Indonesian [Greek] Orthodox presbyter who serves the Balinese Orthodox community. Like Western forms of Christianity, Orthodoxy, an essentially Eastern, even Asian, form of the same faith has sometimes used ‘bait and switch’ tactics when evangelizing native cultures, but not always.

Here in Bali it is the time of testing and opportunity for Orthodoxy to show the Balinese people the face of Jesus, to reveal to them His two thousand year walk among them, so they can recognize Him as their Own, so that all the puras of Bali shine with the knowledge and love of Him Who is, finally and fully manifested in their midst. For is it not written, ‘He pitched His tent among us’ (John 1:14 Greek)? And who is this ‘us’ of which the beloved John speaks, if not also the people of this blessed island?

Next… First church, then the beach!