Being the minority

I noticed it was raining as I left my keys at the front desk. There is some distance going towards the street so I hopped towards a waiting rickshaw while avoiding the puddles.

“Gereja katolik?” I asked the rickshaw driver. He nodded.

“Sapulo ribu?” I asked to make sure about the fare.

“Sapulo ribu” the driver replied.

And there we went, going against traffic. I guessed the polisi don’t mind the rickshaws. We passed by the mosque, I saw some people huddled there because of the rain.

I paid the driver the agreed fare as soon as we arrived at the church. I went in through the front archway. Unlike churches back home this one would not have a direct passage to the aisle and the altar. There’s an anti-room, I think purposely to block direct view of what’s inside.

I dipped my hand in Holy water and made the sign of the cross. The mass had already started as I went in. And, as Enniek have told me, the service was in the vernacular. I had to play it by ear.

I was very distracted. I was observing and comparing things with those back home. The pews were the same. There were hymnals and mass booklets for everyone. I kept on reading the Bahasa writing on the Stations of the Cross. There were three girls and a boy assisting the priest.

Then came the consecration of the Eucharist.

The people clasped their hands in deep prayer, heads halfway to a bow. As the priest raised the host and wine people lowered their heads to a full bow and raised their clasped hands even higher.

That really struck me.

I couldn’t help but think of how great the faith of these people. The church was only half full, but their faith combined could fill Quiapo anytime. Imagine them with their religion in this predominantly muslim country. Indonesia tries to present itself as a country of diversity with muslims as the majority. But in this little piece of earth, inside this church, I am with people of my faith. It is here that I don’t feel alone.

After the mass I stayed for a few minutes still mincing on my thoughts. Afterwards I stood up and slowly walked out feeling good about myself. The rain had already stopped. A rickshaw driver offered me a ride. I declined. It was a good night for a walk across Malang Park.

As soon as I stepped into the sidewalk I heard the prayer from the mosque, calling people from their faith to congregate in prayer.

Suddenly I was the minority again.