religion

3 posts

Tim the Cat

Let’s talk recipes for a moment. In the 2,500 metre above sea level kitchen of Lalibela, Ethiopia, bring together a generous dash of Orthodox Christianity, mix in a few thousand metres of white, cotton cloth, sprinkle in a bit of day and night chanting and bring to a boil in a cross-shaped bowl filled with holy water. This Epiphany dish is better known to the locals as Timkat … and no, this is not an endearing name for the regional felines that stalk in and out of doorways nibbling on scraps. Timkat is the Ethiopian Orthodox Church celebration of the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan (unlike the Catholic version of January 6th, which celebrates the manifestation of the holy nature of Christ before the three kings) and is usually celebrated on the 19th of January instead, though leap year can push it back to the 20th if it so chooses.

When one comes to sit at this feast of Timkat, there are a few things you should know so as not to embarrass yourself in front of the thousands of guests also scooting up to the dinner table. Lalibela is perched in the northern regions of Ethiopia, and its table-setting is a sight to behold whether it is for a yearly gathering or a simple breakfast! Can one only whip up this tasty religious culinary treat in Lalibela? Not to worry! With a simple change of kitchen and bowl, this is a national dish that can be thrown together once a year in any Ethiopian town or village! But for the sake of argument, we’ll just keep to the ingredients found here. Lalibela (whose title comes from Gebre Mesqel Lalibela, ruler of Ethiopia in the 12th and 13th century) was previously known as Roha before a change of name was decided upon to honour the king who so loved the area. King Lalibela had supposedly seen Jerusalem before its capture by Muslims in 1187 and decided to build a “new” Jerusalem in Ethiopia, which explains why many of the place names here are Biblical in nature, even down to naming the river running through the town Jordan. It was this king that commissioned the most spectacular of the city’s features … the rock-hewn churches. If these extraordinary monolithic churches can be considered as the furnishings of Lalibela’s kitchen, then they would be God’s very own spice rack! Within easy walking distance, eleven of the world’s most exotic of “spices” can be found dug down into the living rock. By any standards, these are amazing structures that rival even the magnificent façades of Petra in Jordan, especially if you believe in the theory that a majority of them were carved and constructed by medieval Ethiopians during Lalilbela’s approx. forty year reign. With names like Bet Medhane Alem (Saviour of the World), Bet Maryam, Bet Golgotha, Bet Amanuel, Bet Merkorios, Bet Abba Libanos, Bet Gabriel-Rufael, Bet Meskel, Bet Mikael, Bet Danaghel and, my personal favourite, Bet Giyorgis (where St George – the patron saint of Ethiopia – and his trusty steed were said to have made a visit, prompting it to be quickly names after him) to tantalise your senses, a day or more perusing the narrow corridors, contemplating the symbolic carvings and early Ethiopian Christian artwork or standing in awe before the 60 cm, 7 kg gold Lalibela cross will leave you with memories not soon forgotten.

Now that the setting has been placed, let us prepare ourselves to get into the menu at hand, shall we? Firstly, if you wish to be properly dressed for the occasion, you must wrap yourself up in the lengthy white cotton cloth that is typical of church attire throughout the country. One would hate to stand out in the procession that goes from the churches to the central meeting point, eh? I know what you are thinking … “White? But I look so much better in a black tux / red evening dress!” Well, if you happen to be higher in the ranks of the church, then maybe you could get away with more colourful robes of the clergy and a gold embroidered velvet umbrella as an accessory, but since most of us most likely are not Ethiopian Orthodox priests, we’ll just try to blend in, shall we? On the eve of Timkat, each of the churches starts with a religious ceremony and then proceeds to carry (with much chanting, dancing and singing) their holiest of items, the tabots, to a central meeting place in town.

“What are talbots?”, I hear you ask. A soup starter? A Greek salad? How many of you have seen Raiders of the Lost Ark? Well, according to the Ethiopians (Steven Spielberg and George Lucas as well), the tablets that Moses brought down from Mt Sinai, which were stored in the Ark of the Covenant, were not lost after the destruction of Solomon’s Temple by the Babylonians in 586 BC. Legend has it that they were brought back to Ethiopia and hidden here for ages. The original tablets and the Ark are now claimed to be housed in a chapel in Aksum (or Axum, if you so prefer), though only the monk that guards this holiest of religious items is permitted to view them (and we all know that your face would melt off if you did see them close up anyway, right?). This has led to the tablets, or tabots, becoming the most sacred symbol of the Ethiopian Orthodox church, and every church is supposed to contain their replica versions within their inner sanctum.

Just because they are replicas, don’t think you will ever get the chance to feast your eyes upon them either! This is still a bonus solely for priests. Even during the procession, they are thickly covered in ornate velvet cloth as they are transported from one place to the next. Definitely a closely guarded recipe, wouldn’t you say? The priests tempt us and get us salivating as they parade their treasures around town and down to a central meeting point, where they are prayed over, used in blessings and, in general, just glared upon as objects of inspiration.

The Timkat Festival in Lalibela continues to draw hordes of tourists, though. And as of February 2011, you may find it difficult to find a space at this “dinner table”. Visitors and those with cash can get a better viewpoint from the wooden stands set up around the baptismal font, but I should forewarn you: after the priest has spoken his lengthy prayers, blessed the water and done a quick sprinkle over his deacons, even the angels say, “I’m outta here, dude” and all hell breaks loose! Everyone who is anyone wants that water, and since the priest knows better that to hang about and waste his day dabbing a little on the foreheads of the masses, everyone with a cup or bucket is permitted to dive right in and sling this heavenly soup for all it’s worth. Now, most local folks truly want to get a bit of a holy soaking, but those coming for a bit of voyeurism up in the stands become a captive crowd of slow moving targets just waiting for a good drenching. Watch your cameras, as I have heard many a pale-skinned onlooker cursing (in very un-Christian-like manners) the day they had their costly digital ruined with an overdose of moisture.

After the pool has been drained without a drop not doused over the heads of whoever is in range, everyone heads away for a break to towel themselves off and get into some warmer dry garb. You can’t be away too long, though, because desert is yet to be served. Around noon, everyone reassembles again, and a procession begins complete with chanting and dancing, leading the tabots back to their resting places to await another day.

And so concludes our Ethiopian feast. I hope your belly is stuffed to bursting and you have enjoyed your time without drinking too much and making an arse of yourself. But please: take the dishes to the sink and wash your hands, will you?

That Burning Feeling

Ask anyone that knows me well and I am sure they will tell you that they don’t really find me the religious type, but I do try to have a sincere respect for anyone and everyone’s beliefs, and I try to keep my mind open. I truly feel that we should let people be as they wish and do as they will, within reason, of course, and as long as they don’t come knocking on my door asking for donations, my first-born or blood. This does not mean I agree with everything, and there is a fairly strong aversion within me towards fanaticism no matter what religion it comes from. But when it comes down to it, who really is to judge? I am more than a little sure that most people would not see eye to eye with me on many of my ideas either.

In my travels, I have visited the churches and temples of many a god, saint, spirit, prophet and even the occasional fruitcake (Read about St Simeon in Syria for that one. He sat atop a 60-foot pillar for something like 35 years and let maggots munch away at his self-inflicted open wounds. He may have preached a good message, but he was a loony, I tell ya!). Some of these buildings of worship can be quite austere, plain and simple, and some are just way over-the-top and gaudy. Being in Azerbaijan brought me round to another sample of the way folks look to something “higher” for a meaning in their life, but this time, the fire elements played a part.

After leading groups round the fringe regions of the once great Persian Empire, Zoroastrianism, a religion based on the constant struggle between light and dark, good and evil, has recently worked its way into my meanderings, and just outside of Baku in Surakhani is a somewhat interesting site called Atashgah that is believed to be tied to his religion and was used as a pilgrimage centre and monastery. I say “somewhat interesting” because, to be honest, the site itself is not that spectacular in its overall appearance, but the ideology of the place and its natural wonders are (or were, should I say), and I definitely find humour in the punchline of what has transpired here in relatively recent years.

The complex of Atashgah, which literally means something like “home of fire”, is roughly pentagonal-shaped and, in its present form, is thought to have been built in the 17th and 18th century. It looks more of a small castle or fortress than a monastery, but this concept is not so unusual as many religious sects around the globe have not been too popular with their surrounding dwellers, leading many of the faithful to build up a defence system to keep the more aggressive unbelievers at bay. Supposedly constructed on an ancient site of worship that people made holy due to seven holes in the ground that at one time burned constantly from natural oil and gas leaking to the surface, Atashgah eventually became a congregation point for the followers of Zoroastrianism, or possibly Hinduism, as they both have a deep veneration of fire. Scholars really haven’t figured out exactly which religion it is definitely tied to, but pilgrims from both branches made their way out here up until the last century.

As previously mentioned, there are a few natural fissures within the complex that at one time issued forth miraculous flames on a constant basis, the central altar being the largest of said burning holes (I think I had a case of that once, but a nice cream helped). These were all still spouting their internal fossil fuels up until 1969 when the natural supply eventually ran dry due to heavy exploitation from the Soviets during their time in control here. But here’s the punchline: In oil rich Azerbaijan along the Caspian Sea, what do you do when a fairly popular tourist and pilgrimage site whose draw is based on eternal fires looses its main point of interest? Really, who would want to come and see a Zoroastrian Fire Temple with no fire? Well, that’s when you get the state owned gas company to install a pipeline from their main processing plant to give the place back its spark, so to speak. Makes you wonder, though. Does the present-day temple-turned-museum get subsidised gas, or do they have one hell of a bill at the end of every month? Whatever the case, this modern upgrade still takes away from the magic and mysticism of the place when you know that after business hours are over and the last punter has left, some bloke just goes over and switches the mains valve to the off position to cut costs. I guess in the end, though, they are conserving resources!

Monk-ey Business

Whilst digging around through some old computer files the other day, I came across an article I wrote during my days as an English teacher in the Czech Republic in the city of Uherské Hradiště. (I dare you to pronounce that! It took me three months to get it right.) At a certain point, I was so tired of the standard fare included in the majority of textbooks for those learning English (especially the irrelevant crap aimed at teens, which is usually so mind-numbingly dull that it is a wonder they don’t drop the English language for fear of becoming as boring as the examples we give them) that I began whipping up a few pieces of my own to break the monotony. I tried to interject some humour (my style of humour, that is) for the sake of interest whilst keeping with the grammar being taught in the lesson plans at the time. Anyway, the text that follows was one of these. Please keep in mind that it was written for teens and young adults at an advanced stage of learning (advanced, mind you … not proficient, so the vocabulary level and complexity of the text is based around that. Also, please don’t take the text to mean that I have any idea about that which I speak. It was written only to amuse and to make the classes I taught more interested in the subject matter at hand.

Now, I do hope you all know what a monk is. If you don’t, then use your dictionary (that’s why you bought it!). I can’t keep telling you the definition of every single word. What am I? Your teacher? Oh…I guess I am. OK then…a monk is one of those people that lives in a monastery, wears robes and stays quiet all the time except to sing hymns to God. Well, I thought I would give you my theory about these quiet men and their way of life. You possibly think that monks live their life for God and do nothing but pray and worship. I think that is not at all true! I do agree that they believe in God, but not in the same religious way as people think. Let me explain myself. My opinion is that these “holy men” are actually a group of alcoholics that just can’t stop drinking! Take some time to think about this for a moment. First, I will give you some historical facts. Monasteries are well known for their production of wine. Many monks spend months working in the vineyards and cellars owned by their monasteries. They have a love for wine (they claim that it is a fruit that God grows and a drink to praise his name). Even Christ said to his followers, “Drink this wine for it is my blood.” Red wine, of course. The Church has communion in which everyone drinks a bit of wine to remember Jesus and his work upon the Earth. Let me continue with another fact. Part of the lifestyle of monks is a action known as fasting. This is best explained by saying that these men do not eat for long periods of time in order to bring themselves closer to God. The Bible says that Jesus went into the desert and did not eat for nearly forty days. He didn’t need the food of this world because God provided him with all the nourishment that he needed. Monks continue this belief, but they do take small nourishment to keep them alive and with some strength. The monasteries were the first places that created dark beer to be used as “liquid bread” during their time of fasting. The ingredients in dark beer are almost the same as bread, and this provides something for the body to digest. Maybe you can see where I am leading this essay. I happen to believe that monks have stopped being religious and have become a group of alcoholics in the name of God. Look at the facts….They are always wearing robes and sandals. This is very similar to every-day people after a hard night of drinking who never want to get dressed but stay in their bath robe and slippers all day nursing a hangover. Secondly, some monks take a vow of silence except for chanting and praying. When you have a bad headache after drinking a lot, do you want to talk or hear anything? I am quite sure these are not religious songs they are singing. They are just moaning about having a bad stomach and head. Do you remember the last time you drank so much that you were sick? When you are at the wash basin or toilet being sick, what do you usually say between vomiting spells? “Oh God! Please help me! I will never drink again if you just take the pain away!” All day long you also repeat things like: “Oh God…..Good Lord…..Sweet Jesus…..my head hurts!” I think this is as close to prayer as these so-called religious men ever get. It is time we expose these people for who they are and stop letting them hide under the disguise of being part of the Church. The world needs to know the truth!

note from the editor: The author of this article is an incurable drunkard and was once a member of the monastery in Velehrad, but was asked to leave because he was found asleep and naked with two sheep and a jar of marmalade one morning near the city of Zlin.