Yesterday was the sort of day I suppose people in Lichfield had in mind when they told me, before I left, ‘They’ll work you hard in Malaysia’.  But the day ended in a truly heart-warming experience.  It might not sound  heart-warming to have a man dressed only in a loin-cloth wave a sword at you – but it was.

I spent the fist half of the day at St Faith’s Church, Kuching.  Even by Sarawak standards, the story of the growth of St Faith’s is extraordinary: founded only in 1967, there were, last Sunday, over 1000 people at worship in the church building itself, with another 600 meeting at various chapels and centres of worship elsewhere in the (admittedly large) parish.  To the English-speaking congregation established at the outset, was added a Chinese speaking congregation in 1979, an Iban-speaking congregation in 1986 and a Malay speaking congregation in 1990.  All have flourished, and the growth is – significantly – measured not in individuals, but in families.  The church is charismatic and evangelical in style, and at one point during an informal PCC meeting which had been called for my benefit, in the midst of a vigorous discussion which developed between one member whose preference was for traditional hymnody and another whose preference was for contemporary worship songs, I reckon that if I’d closed my eyes, I could have been at any one of dozens of churches I have known in England… 

There are primary and secondary schools attached to the church, but the relationship is vexed.  The Diocese owns the school buildings, but no longer has any influence at all over the curriculum, and very little over extra-curricula activities or even the appointment of staff.  So, my impression is, the schools can feel as much of a missionary liability to the church as an asset.  It’s a bit different with the ‘Kindy’ (Kindergarten), where government legislation is not so constraining and the church has more of a free hand.

Inevitably, my time at St Faith’s began with a lavish breakfast and ended with a still more lavish lunch. 

After lunch I was able to spend 45 minutes with the Bishop.  Like Bishop Moon Hing in West Malaysia, Bishop Bolly has only recently been appointed.  He’s clearly coping with heavy burdens: his wife died shortly before he took up his post, and he’s currently working without the support of an Assitant Bishop.  But he struck me as a wise and able Chief Pastor.  We talked about the CrossTalk conference in July, and he was able to move my thinking on in various respects.  In particular, he pointed out that a proper dialogue (adult to adult, as it were) is not possible, as long as the western church is pre-occupied with the mistakes it has made in the past.  Too often, he said, western Christians, mindful of the dangers of paternalism, enter conversations with Christians from south east Asia only wanting to listen.  That’s not dialogue, Bishop Bolly pointed out, and deprives our partners of their opportunities to learn. 

I spent the afternoon and evening with the Revd Dennis, from St Basil’s Church in Batu Kawa.  And what an experience it was. 

En route to St Basil’s from the Bishop’s House, we stopped at a Teacher Training Centre, where Dennis’s wife teaches.  The Centre is built on the site of what was, between 1941 and 1945, a Japanese prisoner of war camp, where Australian and British troops were detained., and over 700 died.  Some of its buildings are still in use.  It was very moving.

We then called at a new Chapel which has been built on a police accommodation complex within the parish.  It’s been built at state expense, and Dennis has had no input on the design.  He was seeing the interior for the first time, and was a bit disconcerted to discover a) that it includes a confessional; b) that the pews are sited so close to the nave platform that there is no room for the administration of Holy Communion and c) that was had been provided for a Holy Table was in fact a formica topped kitchen unit, complete with cupboard space and drawers…  Our laughter was compounded by the fact that the police who gave us access were wearing badges which proudly stated, in Malay ‘We are against corruption’ – but in Iban (Dennis’s first language), the word used for ‘against’ means ‘waiting for’…

On the way, Dennis told me the story of St Basil’s.  Established as a church plant under his leadership in 1996, it only achieved parish status 18 months ago.  A key moment in the growth of the church was the day he challenged the (almost exclusively Iban) congregation to abandon their tribal ‘charms’, many of which were ancestral heirlooms, but which Dennis had become convinced were detracting from the capacity of new Christians to trust whole heartedly in the love of God.  Many were ‘hedging their bets’.  It was from the point at which a public burning of these objects took place that the church grew rapidly to its present size, with over 500 members.

When we arrived, I was overwhelmed.  All I had been told was that the day would end with a dinner at the church centre, followed by a ‘multi media’ presentation about the development of the church.  I had assumed that meant a powerpoint presentation, and sure enough one was included.  What I had not anticipated were the parishioners turning out in such numbers, in tribal dress and such apparent excitement.  As we pulled into the church car park, a reception party came to escort me into the building, including a church elder clad in loin-cloth, iron bicep-and-calf rings and a feather head-dress, and bearing sword and shield.  He snaked to and fro in front of me, like some sort of cross between a hostile bouncer and a loyal personal bodyguard.  The congregation formed a cheering, clapping avenue, down which I was escorted to the feast.  It was profoundly humbling to be treated as such a special guest.

Before we ate, we sang.  There may not have been much choral sophistication about the worship, but there was a volume and raw intensity about it that transported me to a place I could have stayed all night.  It’s not often I’ve found myself quite so disappointed when an act of worship has come to an end. 

After the meal came a presentation of the parish story, and then some more singing, this time with dance.  I suppose you’d have to call it ‘liturgical dance’, about which I’m afraid I’m usually snobbily dismissive.  But this was a minutely synchronised, rhythmically graceful step-and-sway movement, utterly innate, it seemed to me, and danced beautifully by quite senior women in the community.  At the end of the night, I was asked to give the blessing, and I’ve seldom done so with quite such a full heart. 

Pete

Tuesday 15 January 2008