Malaysia 2: Of Cross-Cultural Panic and Shofars

Dear readers: Thank you for your concern about our well-being amid the monkeys, fishes, and snakes in our last post (see here if you missed it: http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2017/02/malaysia-1-wisdom-of-primates.html).  I here present a very different sort of human interest story, wherein my beloved husband dragged us to a Malaysian church (he is a good man, just misguided as to family vacation expectations).

I wish to clarify at the outset for any lawyers or anthropologists out there that I suspect this particular church does NOT represent the mood/practices of regional churches as a whole.  That said, this little 2.5 hour adventure was FAR more nerve-wracking than toothy monkeys and 2-meter swimming snakes. 

A Canadian friend knew a guy in Kota Kinabalu (KK) who was happy to take us to his church.  We shall call this man Peter.  Peter was well-educated, very kind, and made excellent conversation as he pointed out KK landmarks during the 20-minute drive.  I had warm fuzzy feelings about this man and our Canadian friend’s judgment.  As we arrived at the church, Peter did caution us that this church was a little unusual.  “It’s a rather, um, … vibrant church,” he said.  Hmm.  I wondered briefly about his verbal pause and the implied italics.  We climbed the narrow, creaking stairs next to a coffee shop to get to this second-floor church and opened the wooden door.  It immediately struck me that we were (a) the only white people, (b) the biggest people there by numerous inches and pounds (sorry: centimeters and kilograms), and (c) the only ones beginning a panic attack.  Oh, wait, that was just me.   Ok, so, we were greeted by many of the 15 or so people already there.  Then a teeny tiny woman with a personality like, well, a cross between my mother-in-law (that’s a good thing) and a chipmunk (not so good), warmly greeted us and introduced herself as the pastor (we shall call her Samuela).  She lightly noted that this church was a little different: “We’re a rather, um, … vibrant church.”  Hmm. Panic meter increased a notch.

As we crept toward some empty seats, we noted the room’s atypical set-up: folding chairs lined three sides, a praise team stood at the fourth, and a huge central space was left open.  I pondered this.  Maybe Samuela was an active preacher?  Maybe there would be a children’s program?  Curiosity helped calm me.  A tiny bit.

The service began with impassioned singing (with powerpoint slides in English and Chinese).  People were not shy about singing out or accompanying themselves with energetic motions.  And by “motions,” I do not refer to young children synchronously waving their hands in well-learned patterns from the privacy of a pew.  No, that is not what happened here.  Nope. For the song “Deep Cries Out,“ most adults were moved by Samuela’s loud encouragement to “Be free!”  And they scampered to that central space, exuberantly moving to “jump jump jump in the river” and “dance dance in the river” and “shout shout shout in the river.” The river was created by draping long strips of blue satin cloth on the floor, taken from a mystery box in the back.  Amid her “Be free!” admonishments, Samuela requested shoe removal to reduce blue cloth laundering needs (are bare feet cleaner than sandals?).  This song repeated many many many times.  Which allowed time for creative embellishments.  Some found large flags (thank you, mystery box) printed with “Yahweh” or “Jesus” (one was the flag of Israel superimposed with Aslan the Lion’s head shot) and they commenced to vigorous waving while dancing/jumping/shouting.  

But that’s not all. Nope – we haven’t reached the full meaning of “vibrant” yet. This little church blows shofars.  Wait, what?  Um, yes.  They have apparently been persuaded by the Old Testament to worship God by blowing horns taken from the heads of kosher rams and antelopes.  The sound that emerges from this instrument is indescribable, though I kept picturing a water buffalo during a difficult labor while a crocodile gnawed her face.  Now put 40 people AND THEIR 20 RANDOMLY GROANING SHOFARS atop a backdrop of drums, keyboards, and singing plus all the river dancing/jumping/shouting and flag-waving.  For a half hour or so. 

I stole this picture from the web just to help you imagine the scene.
(from http://beritacalvary.blogspot.kr/2012/09/blog-post_17.html)  

We shall pause here for you to regain your composure.

You may wonder how our family responded.  Ahem.  We are a white, middle-class, mid-western American family descended from Dutch, Germans, and Brits.  We do not dance in church.  Or wave flags, or jump barefooted in fabric rivers, or blow dead ungulates’ head ornaments.  Wanting to be polite yet not abandon our own heritage, we joined in by swaying a little to the beat. 

Once the singing/dancing/chaos was finally over, the river was put away, chairs were lined up in the central space, and Samuela gave a sermon about trees.  Then we heard a testimony (“just 5 minutes, please,” asked Samuela) which wandered for 25 minutes through a confusing array of topics with people hopping up to repeat or challenge details.  Yup. Ok, it was finally time for prayer, which often is a wonderful time to rest my spirit, but I could not help but be distracted by the lengthy prayer for…elephants.  And President Trump.   Ok, no rest to be found just yet.  Next came “organized” shofar-blowing: the lead guy (“He of The Biggest Horn”) gave 7 “shevarees” (sets of 3 short blats) and then he and the second-longest-horn alternated giving 7 “shahrooahs” (sets of 1 long and 8 short blasts).  Then 15+ other people just joined in with random blasts until the orgy of sound grew to a fevered pitch.  And I don’t remember anything else because my soul had retreated away, longing for the peace of rude monkeys and colorfish fish.

P.S. That Canadian "friend" I mentioned?  When we got home, he came over, wanting to chat about our trip.  And he brought into our house...his very own shofar.  Which he blew often.