Tag: Orthodoxy

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Coptic Iconography: From the Pharaonic Age to the Arab Spring

Magdy William is one of the world’s premier Coptic iconographers, having studied under the renowned reviver of the long neglected art, Isaac Fanous. William discussed his craft, its history, and spiritual impact during an exhibition hosted by St. John’s Episcopal Church in Maadi, Cairo, on October 21, 2011, under the sponsorship of Rev. Paul-Gordon Chandler. Jessica Wright served as curator for over fifty commissioned pieces, and provided translation for William’s presentation, entitled ‘The Making of Coptic Icons’. The event was part of ‘The Eternal Eye’, an exhibition desiring a new Egyptian society, which honors all its religious diversity. Bishop Daniel, bishop of Maadi and assistant to His Holiness Shenouda III, pope of the Coptic Orthodox Church, opened the event.

Rev. Chandler, Bishop Daniel, and Magdy William

There is a direct connection, William states, between Coptic icons – indeed all icons – and the artistic heritage of Egyptian Pharaohs. When a Pharaoh died, his portrait was drawn and placed on his sarcophagus to lead his spirit back to his body at the resurrection. The portrait was idealized, imagining his appearance at age 25 – the prime of life, but intended to be faithful in representation. So also do Coptic icons not seek to be a realistic picture of a saint, but to convey his spiritual reality to both teach and impact the viewer.

Production of icons also mirrors its Pharaonic history. Only natural pigments are employed, to preserve color for thousands of years as witnessed in the pyramids and royal tombs. William first prepares a piece of wood to use as the base, covering it with gelatin and then a cotton cloth. After an initial twenty-four hours he removes the cloth along with any excess, and reapplies the hot gelatin mixture. He repeats this process ten times over five days to smooth it properly for application.

Thereafter William applies a thin gold leaf over the wood, and adds first the darker colors. To this broad lines are added shaping the landscape for where lighter colors are added. A black outline then completes the picture to highlight distinction, and a final varnish covers the icon for preservation. It is a detailed process, and William is a perfectionist.

Jessica Wright, curator and translator

Early Christians in Egypt, like elsewhere, often worshipped in tombs, caves, or secret places, but drew their holy images upon the walls. Icons developed, at least in part, as a way to make their images mobile should their worship locations be discovered. Demonstrating continuity of culture, Egyptian Christians imitated the style and production of their heritage, and exported the use of icons throughout the Christian world.

This process came to an abrupt halt after the 6th Century when icons came under fire as idolatry, and many were burned as the art declined in Egypt. Elsewhere, however, Christian emperors became great sponsors of iconography, as Byzantium and Russia developed their own distinct styles. Yet except for a revival during the Fatimid period, Egyptian iconography stagnated until the 18th Century.

During this time Egypt produced only poor quality icons, as local rulers and patrons sponsored art and architecture from within their religious traditions, drawing the best artists away from the church. Seeking to outfit their community the Coptic Orthodox Church recruited Armenian iconographers, who produced worthy material on Egyptian soil.

This arrangement continued until 1965, when Pope Cyril sent Isaac Fanous to study iconography from a Russian living in Paris. He received a PhD, as well as a blessing from the Russian, who told him we received this tradition from you, and now we give it back. Returning to Egypt, Fanous revived indigenous Egyptian iconography, founding the neo-Coptic school, which William joined in 1986.

At the time William was an artist of a different sort; he created the templates for promotional movie posters, which were then mass distributed. He credits his wife for helping him turn to art of a more spiritual variety, which he called a transformation.

William was keen to impress that Copts do not worship their icons, which serve to remind of the person or event depicted. It is a lesson, recalling Biblical tales or stories of the saints, which among millions of illiterate Egyptians impart the values and knowledge of divine history. But it is more than a lesson; it is communion. Copts believe the spirits of the saints are present in prayer, drawing the believer into a wider fellowship. This is one reason icons are prominent in Orthodox churches, and many Copts set up a prayer corner with an icon in their homes.

Stories abound as well of the intercession of the saints being multiplied as an icon is contemplated, resulting in miracles of healing or fertility. Some icons are celebrated as having cried tears, which drip from their painted eyes. Such miracles happen around the world, not just in Egypt, William asserts, and is due to the choice of God, having nothing to do with the skill of the iconographer.

An exhibition attendee, contemplating an icon of St. Macarious

Today, many in the Western Christian world have turned their eye to the East, seeking additional sources of spirituality which ring with authenticity and history in a material and disjointed age. Stories of miracles may cause these sons of the Enlightenment to pause, but for Copts they are simply the continuation of the faith, for which God has worked miracles through his saints throughout the ages.

Regardless, the continuity of history is source of great comfort for Copts, especially in this current age, as Egypt and Egyptian Christians are facing an unknown future. Many fear the worst, worrying that sectarianism, even persecution, could be on the horizon.

If so, icons are a worthy reminder of God’s ultimate triumph. What are St. George, St. Mina, and even Jesus, but martyrs of earlier ages? Yet their icons are serene, reflecting the idealized portrait of their eternal restoration. The Coptic Orthodox Church is a martyrs’ church, from whose blood the seed of faith has sprouted. If Copts today fear, then a greater contemplation of their artistic heritage is recommended.

Icons are a tool to aid in connecting with the divine, and divine comfort and rebuke vary from age to age and from person to person. Magdy William is only one in a long chain of men who assist others in their path to God. Though his rendition of each saint varies slightly from the next, the eternal eye binds them as humanity, universalizing the individual, placing him in the divine story and spiritual reality of God. God’s means are many, yet the icon is there for all who wish to enter in.

 

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Rebuilding the Social Fabric: Muslims and Christians in Community Service Organizations

Yousry Fu'ad Abdel Latif (and me)

Civil society is one of the hallmarks of a strong nation. Conspicuously, it was rather absent in pre-revolutionary Egypt. President Mubarak did his best to depoliticize the people, with even extension of social services neglected. While religious groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood and the Orthodox Church picked up the slack on both counts, this also contributed to the increasing polarization of the two religious communities, especially Christians, who felt discriminated against in the public square and thereafter largely abandoned it.

These faults have been recognized since the revolution; overcoming them is the current challenge. Yousry Fu’ad Abdel Latif is one man who is trying.

Yousry is a lawyer, aged 44, who lives in Hadayak al-Maadi. Following the revolution he has created and coordinated the Coalition of Dar al-Salaam Youth, submitting paperwork to establish it as a legally recognized community association. Dar al-Salaam is a traditional, working class area to the north of the affluent Cairo suburb of Maadi; Hadayak al-Maadi belongs more properly within its ensign.

I stumbled upon this group quite by accident. Wandering through the Hadayak neighborhood I saw signs posted calling the youth of the area to join in a trash cleanup campaign. Two things were noteworthy: One, the signs were posted on both the mosque and the church, opposite one another across the street. Two, the campaign was taking place the very hour I was passing by. I met three or four of the youth, wearing surgical gloves and mouth coverings, hauling garbage bags behind them. They introduced me to Yousry, and we set up an appointment.

Poster for the Coalition of Dar al-Salaam Youth

The goal of the coalition is to begin transforming Egypt from the local community outward. Individuals must take responsibility for themselves and their area, seeking reform, development, moral consciousness, social justice, and cultural awareness. It is meant to deliberately include Muslims and Christians together, ultimately producing a democratic society in which all are free to participate. Though the coalition organizes seminars and medical testing to accomplish its goals, garbage collection was the starting point. It is the practical work that will forge youth of the area together as a team.

Yousry introduced me to a few members of the coalition. Mahir Fayiz is a 24 year old Copt, of Orthodox heritage but involved with an evangelical social group. He possesses a high school diploma and works in his family’s neighborhood shop, selling rugs and tapestries. One day he heard the calls of a few youth, who he knew but was not necessarily friends with, to come out and clean the streets of Hadayak. Thinking it was a good idea, he joined in.

Mahir asked specifically if he could clean the steps of the mosque, and was so designated. He saw the goals of the coalition as worthy in their own right, and wished to promote community integration by taking this symbolic act of service. He stated that doing so earned him respect among his peers in the coalition, most of whom were Muslim. “The more we focus on our nation,” he says, “the more our country will grow. The more we focus on religion, the more we will divide.” Yousry was particularly impressed by his attitude and actions.

Sharif Muhammad Zakaria is a 21 year old Muslim. He possesses a high school technical degree and works as an interior painter. He knew of Yousry previously as a neighborhood lawyer, and as such has been involved from the beginning. What originally took his attention for the garbage cleanup campaign, however, was the pile of trash accumulated on the side wall of the church. This was unacceptable, he said, and dishonorable for a place of worship. Sharif is a practicing Muslim, but finds groups like the Muslim Brotherhood to focus too much on religion. “Religion is for God,” he says, “but the coalition is united around service to our country, which is for all.”

Yet despite the intentions of the coalition to integrate community Muslims and Christians, so far it has been slow going. Yousry states there are about 70-80 committed members of the group, but only 3-4 of these are Christians.[1] Meanwhile, though the coalition consists of eight separate committees, none are coordinated by Christians.

Fayiz stated that he hoped to bring other Christians into the coalition, but as his friends are primarily among the fewer evangelicals in Hadayak, he is not part of the much larger Orthodox youth group. Sharif stated he has found a good reception to the coalition among his friends in general, but he has not yet invited the one Christian friend he has. He plans to, however.

Yousry noted this was an issue, and stated he desires to increase Christian participation in the coalition. He noted his instructions to the youth to ask permission at the church and mosque before posting their flyers. In separate conversation with Fr. Arsanius of the local Orthodox church in Hadayak, he signaled receptivity to meet Yousry, which was appreciated when I relayed the news. Hopefully, the two will be able to sit down soon.

Yet instead of critiquing the coalition makeup, it should be remembered the effort is only five months old. The forces which have worked to separate Muslims and Christians in Egypt have been operating for decades, largely overcoming the inherent national inclination for tolerance and cooperation. What is necessary now is commitment to fight the status quo.

Sharif noted that about 80% of his friends reacted positively to the ideal of the group, but far fewer have joined. “They are used to initiatives coming to nothing,” he says. Post-revolution Egypt has given new hope, but old mindsets are hard to change. The power of inertia requires great effort to reverse.

Time will tell if Yousry and his team possess the dedication necessary. Time will tell if Christian youth will emerge from the church to join a Muslim majority community effort. Yet Yousry’s focus may appeal to their Christian virtue: “Love is the basis of my organizing. If they feel you love them, they will follow you.”

Love can be a fickle emotion, or it can be the most powerful force in the world. To be the latter, it requires commitment to serve the interest of the other. May the youth of Dar al-Salaam find the means to discover it together.

[1] This equals about 4%, whereas the Christian population in Egypt is about 6-7%. I am unaware of the percentage split in the Dar al-Salaam area.

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John, the To-Be Monk, Eventually

The St. Toma Monastery

Becoming a monk in Egypt is a long process, one I have not studied completely, but encounter often on visits to various monasteries. This weekend my family and I visited St. Toma Monastery to the northwest of Cairo, about two hours away. It is among the newer monasteries in Egypt, but is a sister monastery to the original St. Toma Monastery in Sohag, deep to the south in Upper Egypt, where the saint lived centuries ago.

St. Toma was a wandering ascetic, but a community grew around him in the desert that begins only a few kilometers away from the banks of the Nile. Today, as Egypt’s population continues to explode, the city of Sohag has encroached upon the ancient monastery, stealing the seclusion so valued by monks.

In order to rectify the situation, as well as create more outlets for the burgeoning monastic movement, St. Toma in Sohag spawned this new monastery. John, who I met and told me this story, is originally from Sohag. He states that while twelve monks or so reside in the newer location, significantly in the desert off the Cairo-Alexandria road, only about three monks remain in the original.

For himself, he felt the spiritual longing to devote his life to God, but found the monastery nearby too connected to the world. His family, friends, and neighbors could still have claim on him, or at least access, no matter how confined he kept to his cell. In the early days of testing his calling, he was encouraged to spend a few days at a time, several times a month, in silence and meditation at the monastery. When his aptitude was confirmed, both internally and by his spiritual leadership, he decided to head north.

John was a teacher, in his mid-twenties, when he sought his monastic vows. At the northern St. Toma monastery he was given charge over hospitality, offered to those like himself early on, who wished to spend a day or two in prayer and isolation. These he would receive, provide lodging, and instruct on the ways of the monastery. He would also help assign each a task in which to contribute at the monastery. For Girgis, who I met earlier, this involved washing the dishes for the many day visitors – like ourselves – that the monastery receives.

Chamber rooms for visitors who wish to spend a day or more in meditation.

John was soft-spoken and humble in our conversation, and only reluctantly spoke of his love for God and prayer. It was prayer, in fact, he asked of me. He has now been in his training period, joining the monks in their activities, for over a year. He is with the monks, but not one of them. He did not know when his consecration might come, but he was not overly bothered. The life of a monk is one of long and patient waiting, in obedience to spiritual superiors. To wait on God, as he waits on a man, is part of his calling.

All the same, he asked for prayer. Please feel free to join along with me. If nothing more, it is the desire of his heart.

It is good to have such desire. Much in life must be done for the sake of responsibility, and there is honor and reward for fulfilling one’s duty well. It is desire, however, that helps provide meaning to life. It offers a task that may not be necessary in the formal sense, yet is absolutely necessary as internal compunction. It is a fire in the belly that not only endures, but forges through adversity, sacrifice, and the obstacles which stand in the way.

This was a spirit witnessed among many Egyptian revolutionaries. It is a spirit evident in John. Is it found in you, or me?

Maybe it is not a spirit present in all. Maybe it does not need to be. Maybe it only inhabits some. Maybe both God and the self can be fully satisfied with a life well lived, simply.

But if it is there, nurture it. It is the spirit that changes both self and the world. This change cannot be defined – it may be as wide as Tahrir Square, or as narrow as the entryway to a monk’s chamber. It may be broadcast around the world, or never noticed by a single soul. The fire is internal; though it gives light to all around, it is not meant for an audience. It burns because that is its nature.

The burning will consume its host, but only that which is not essential. What remains will be pure, the truest self. May God be honored; may the cause be just. May each locate their discontent, and channel it into the fire.

May our world be the better for it.

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Jesus Baptized Peter, Others

Awaiting submersion baptism in the Jordan river
Awaiting Baptism in the Jordan River

As we mix and mingle with Orthodox Christians in Egypt, it is not irregular to discover items in the faith that do not square exactly with what we were taught in Protestant circles in America. This week, while at an end of year conference for the Coptic Bible Institute I have been attending, I learned that Jesus baptized the twelve disciples.

This probably isn’t a make-or-break point of theology, but John 4:1-2 appears to say the opposite:

The Pharisees heard that Jesus was gaining and baptizing more disciples than John, although in fact it was not Jesus who baptized, but his disciples.

The point came up in a discussion of John 13, where Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. When Peter protests, Jesus states he must do this for Peter to have a share with him. Peter then swings to the opposite pendulum:

Then, Lord, not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!

But Jesus rebutted:

A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean…

The key point to the story is what does the ‘bath’ connote? According to Orthodox theology, it is baptism, by immersion, which makes one pure before God.

Protestants, by comparison, tend to believe that baptism is only a pictorial representation of one’s new identity as a Christian. As one descends into the water, he mirrors Jesus’ death, and when he comes out, he mirrors his resurrection. It is not the water that makes one pure, it is the faith expressed in Jesus which leads one to obey his command to be baptized.

This is not the site to build systematic theology, but it should be noted that Protestant explanation, though justifiable logically and Biblically, does not fit well with Jesus’ simile of a ‘bath’. Nor does it account well for this verse, from Acts 22:16, where the just-converted Paul is told:

Now, what are you waiting for? Get up, be baptized and wash your sins away.

Before one leans toward Orthodox opinion, however, we must return to the washing of Peter’s feet. The ‘bath’, for them, is baptism, and through it Peter became clean. But when? The gospels give no indication of Jesus ever baptizing. Many of his disciples were baptized first by John, but both Orthodox and Protestants agree this was a baptism of repentance from sin, in preparation for Jesus’ ministry, of whom John said would baptize with the Holy Spirit.

I am certainly not acquainted well with the details of Orthodox baptismal theology, but I learned that the traditions of the church state that Jesus did indeed baptize the twelve disciples. Jesus instructed his disciples to baptize, initiating them in a rite which they were to pass on to others. Logically then, Jesus must have baptized them, inaugurating the movement. Besides, it is baptism that makes one clean, and the disciples needed to be clean in order eventually to multiply the church.

Perhaps the verse quoted above, in which Jesus did not baptize, does not read absolutely. It could be that the Pharisees believed Jesus baptized this great number of followers, but that they were wrong about the multitude, even if right about the twelve. I don’t think it reads naturally that way, but it is possible.

The larger issue seems that Jesus himself defines what made the disciples clean only a short while later. In John 15:3 he states:

You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.

Again, perhaps there is a puzzle in determining what this ‘word’ is, but it does not seem to be the baptismal ‘bath’. If anything, it would seem to align better with Protestant thought that it is faith in the word of Jesus that grants an individual salvation, making him clean before God.

Granted, this is only a very superficial treatment of a deep and often debated theological point. There are other sections of the Bible that can be marshaled in defense of baptismal purification, but on my first look, it does not seem to ground well in the story of Peter and the washing of feet, nor in the discipleship experience of the twelve.

Protestants tend to dismiss tradition too easily. Yet without second level study, I wonder if the tradition of Jesus baptizing the twelve was necessary to backtrack a developed theology of baptismal purification into the ministry of Jesus. Then again, just because a story isn’t told in the Bible does not mean it did not happen. John makes this clear at the end of his gospel:

Jesus did many other things as well. If everyone one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.

Besides, who would know better about these non-recorded acts than ‘tradition’, preserved and passed down through the community of the church?

Those who have studied well on either side of the issue are invited to state their case in the comments of this post. For the rest, and perhaps especially for them, we do well to take care our developed views do not dictate understandings upon the written text. It is there to speak to us, not for us to speak through it.

For those outside the traditions of the Bible, the point is much the same. We cannot live life without adopting overarching explanations for our experiences. These explanations may well be right; we should take confidence in our best efforts to understand. We should teach what we learn, so the other may benefit. Yet humility must triumph, lest knowledge become cemented, along with the ‘other’, defined in opposition.

Humility is a chief point of the story. Jesus, the one who had the greatest claim on overarching explanations, stooped to serve those who knew less. Yet it takes humility also to be served; this is a trait Peter had in short supply. Eager to prove he had the situation figured out, he nearly rejected the one who could teach him the most, oddly enough, in deference to him.

Yet it was this interplay which gave us the story in the first place. As we live our messy lives one with the other, as long as we hold on to our togetherness, we will learn. So doing, we will teach others.

Along the way, may we all become clean, even as we disagree as to how this happens.

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Daddy – Daughter at the Monastery

My daughter Emma is soon to be five years old – getting old enough to enjoy the occasional Daddy – daughter date. The idea came up when I was invited by friends at the Coptic Bible Institute I attend to go to the Monastery of the Archangel Gabriel in the Fayyoum region of Egypt. This post will be mostly pictures from our adventure.

Many Copts enjoy taking weekend trips to the dozens of monasteries scattered throughout Egypt, mostly in desert regions. Besides being a fun getaway, they honor their Christian heritage, taking blessing from the ascetic monks and ancient relics. I have joined them on quite a few trips so far, and wrote once about the ‘miracle stories’ that abound in their faith.

It is fun to take the whole family along, but as our youngest is no longer an infant but not yet a toddler, packing three daughters along can be cumbersome. Fayyoum is only an hour and a half away, but as they often like to squeeze several monasteries into a trip, it is common to leave early in the morning, have breakfast and lunch on site, and not return until late in the evening. Coptic children often come along, but we have found we have different priorities in terms of naps and bedtimes.

So, given that this was mostly a fun trip, we thought perhaps Emma could come along too. She missed mommy at points along the way, doesn’t like the attention given to her as a four year old American sideshow in an ocean of Egyptian-ness, but had a good time all the same. Nothing a little monastery ice cream can’t fix.

Rashad, who organizes most of the monastery trips I go on. Each begins with readings from the Coptic Orthodox prayer book, but he also serves as MC for games, quizzes, and gift exchanges along the way.
The entranceway to the monastery
The monastery courtyard. To the left are the old churches; unfortunately, I did not get any pictures as we were there for early morning mass. To the right will lead to the next set of pictures...
The monastic cells, where 50 monks are resident, passing their time in prayer, unless they continue to the left of this picture ...
... to pray in the caves of the mountains. It is said that the Hebrew patriarch Jacob prayed in these mountains when he came to Egypt.
The entrance to one cave in particular, where monks have prayed for centuries.
Emma, standing in the small cave window.
Father David, who gave us our tour, was born into a wealthy family in Maadi, where we live. During university studies he went often to this monastery where he felt God's presence. After graduation, he took his vows, and has been living here for eight years now.
He also sold us the ice cream from the monastery canteen, where he provides his physical labor.
Our next stop was not to a monastery proper, but to a monastery which also serves as the bishopric for all Fayyoum churches.
The gate to the bishopric. Note in the pictures how the economic state of the location has risen. It is not uncommon for Copts to make donations, even to send money abroad, to modernize their churches and monasteries. The fact that the Monastery of the Archangel Gabriel was so relatively run down was pleasantly surprising. I felt it reflected the state of the monastery from perhaps a hundred years ago, or longer.
The iconostasis at the main bishopric church.
The seating area of the main bishopric church.
Relics from the martyr Stephen, as told in the Acts of the Apostles. The bishopric church had its walls lined with relics of saints, both local and from far abroad. The wealthier a church is, the more relics it tends to have.
Relics of Abd al-Masih al-Manahari. As opposed to Stephen, he died only a few decades ago, in the Minia district of Egypt to the south of Fayyoum.

I wrote about Abd al-Masih al-Manahari previously, click here for an account of his life and the process of transforming an ordinary pious man into a saint.

Our group took time at the bishopric to chant a praise hymn to the memory of St. Abram. His relics are visible behind the group, while the words of the hymn are placed on the wall in front of them.
Our last stop took us to Lake Fayyoum. I knew of this body of water but was overwhelmed by its size, deep in the desert of Western Egypt.
Emma and I enjoyed dipping our feet in the lake ...
... and she later convinced me to go knee deep (but not swim).
Working on Egyptian schedule, we had lunch at around 4pm, as Rashad brought along food for everyone.
Emma enjoyed a bumper car ride with a youth from our group.
Bidding farewell for the long ride home. We arrived back in Maadi around 8pm. A fun time was had by all.
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A Christian Face to the Protests

Translation: Christian + Muslim = Egypt

Sunday, February 6 witnessed a peculiar exhibition amidst the drama unfolding in Tahrir Square. Christian Egyptians publically conducted a prayer service, honoring their fallen co-demonstrators who have died in the effort to topple the Mubarak government. Calling them ‘martyrs’, as is common Egyptian custom to designate all who perish in a cause or as a result of oppression, the opportunity was also used to demonstrate religious cohesion among all protestors. ‘Eid Wahida!’ – ‘One Hand!’ was the most popular chant uttered, exclaiming the essential unity between Muslims and Christians. Within context, a similar chant began when the Egyptian army took to the streets to restore order to society after the disappearance of the police, and was greeted with open arms by the protestors. They cried, ‘The people and the army are one hand.’ No less was the sentiment today confessed along religious lines.

This text was not composed based on first-hand experience, although the author was able to personally witness two days of previous demonstrations. Rather, it is compiled based on nearly eighteen minutes of footage posted on YouTube by the Coptic website Yar3any.com, and an additional two and a half minutes posted by BBC Arabic. It is also bolstered by the first-hand account of Dr. Amin Makram Ebeid, a board member of the Center for Arab West Understanding, which cooperates with Arab West Report.

It is noteworthy to begin by stating that each day’s protests have not been monolithic. Tahrir Square is a large area, and protestors have by necessity grouped together in several ‘stations’, each pressed up against the next. Other protestors ring the square in procession, and the chants that break out in one location soon dissipate into the cries of the next one over. Dr. Ebeid, who went specifically to attend the announced prayer service, had much difficulty finding the right location.

Nevertheless, the YouTube videos demonstrate that the crowd assembled was very sizeable. Christians, despite the Orthodox Church stance against participation, and the statements of Pope Shenouda on state television to end the protests and support President Mubarak, have joined in the thousands from the very beginning. During the service these were accompanied by many Muslims, who stood with their Christian co-demonstrators, holding the Bible and Qur’an aloft together.

This spirit of unity was exhibited by the service leaders. The popular Christian chorus ‘Peace, Peace’ had a line changed from ‘Peace to the people of the Lord in every place’ to ‘Peace to the Egyptian people’. Jesus was addressed as both ‘Yesua al-Masih’ (Jesus the Messiah, in Christian parlance) and ‘Eisa ibn Maryam’ (Eisa, the son of Mary, the preferred Islamic title). Some of the chants were political in nature, including the ubiquitous ‘Irhal’ – Leave! Others emphasized common human rights, proclaiming ‘Life, freedom, and the principles of humanity’, and the nationalistic ‘Egypt for all Egyptians’.

Excerpts from the spoken portions of the service included:

  • Egypt is free: Muslims, Christians, and those of no particular faith. Freedom and peace to everyone; we are looking for a civil state.
  • Let us pray together for the martyrs, help us to love each other and to love Egypt. Preserve Egypt, and its Muslims and Christians.
  • Quoting John 10:10 – I have come that they may have life and have it more abundantly. Christianity, Islam, and all religions want this; we are all together, we do not fear each other.

Many of these types of statements led to the repetition of Eid Wahida, Eid Wahida, and the Christians celebrated together with their Muslim partners. One statement, however, led to an odd proclamation. When the speaker proclaimed, ‘We stand with the martyrs, in a spirit of love, chanting for peace, standing for peace’, the crowd erupted in ‘Allahu Akbar’, the typical Muslim chant confessing ‘God is great!’ Apparently, as is possible theologically, both Christians and Muslims asserted this truth.

It seemed that this chant unnerved the service leaders somewhat, and they proceeded to lead the crowd once more in singing the popular Christian chorus, ‘Bless my country’. Other aspects of the service were more distinctively Christian, which did not seem to unnerve the crowd at large. One song declared ‘Son of God, you are our king’, despite the Muslim abhorrence at the thought that God might have a son. A prayer invoked ‘Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’, despite the Muslim belief that Jesus was only a prophet, however elevated. Even so, it seemed the organizers were very careful to be Christian yet not offensive and supportive of the protests. A main line in the sermon quoted I John 4:18, proclaiming, ‘The Gospel says that perfect love casts out all fear; we saw this love on January 25[1] and on January 28.[2] Let us cast out all our fear in the name of the martyrs’.

Yet even so, Christian principles cannot simply serve the celebrated status quo. At one point the service leaders spoke the Lord’s Prayer, and after each line the people responded ‘Amen’. Upon the conclusion, however, the leader asked for God to forgive President Mubarak, and the people shouted, ‘No, no, no!’ Again, apparently, Christians and Muslims in attendance were united.

At this point it will be fair to introduce the service leader. He was Dr. Hany Kharrat, a psychologist and an elder in the Anglican Church. The flavor of the meeting was fully evangelical, lacking the gravity of the Orthodox mass, as well as its identifiable priestly leadership with its black robes and long beards. Instead, the service employed a guitar and was led by youth, representative of the makeup of the protests in general. It resembled a revival meeting in its fervor and participation. Yet it insisted on speaking on behalf of all Christians in Egypt, as Dr. Kharrat insisted, ‘All denominations of Egyptian Christians have come to share with you and to pray with you’.

This is less clear in conversation with official leadership. The bishop of the Anglican Church in Egypt is Bishop Mounir Anis, also a board member of CAWU. He has also taken a cautious approach to the protests, stating that most Christians fear that extremist elements will take these peaceful demonstrations in ultimately untoward directions. Instead of shouting slogans, he has encouraged his people to pray, which they have done in abundance. He believes people should be gracious to President Mubarak, though he supports a civilized transfer of authority. Otherwise, there might be chaos.

Rev. Radi Atallah is an evangelical pastor in Alexandria, who has worked extensively with local Muslims to secure dialogue and understanding, especially following the bombing in his city on New Year’s Eve. He also expressed concern that the protests were the organizational work of the Muslim Brotherhood, and worried they could go down a wrong path. Even so, he encouraged individual Christians to follow their conscience concerning participation. Meanwhile, the Egyptian Committee for Peace and Justice, associated with the Council of Catholic Patriarchs and Bishops, has stated that these peaceful demonstrations are as important as the nonviolent resistance of Gandhi in India and as the emancipation of American slaves. Ezzet Boules, a Coptic Orthodox activist living in Switzerland, believes that if Christians shy away from participation, it will lead only to their further isolation from society. Church efforts to prevent this, he believes, are counterproductive.

As such, the absence of Coptic Orthodox official representation at the Tahrir prayer service is noteworthy, especially given Bishop Anis’s comments that some were present at the pro-Mubarak rallies organized on behalf of the government. What should be made of their abstention?

The Coptic Orthodox Church represents the vast majority of Christians in Egypt, who represent perhaps 6-8% of the overall population. Since sectarian troubles began plaguing Copts in the 1970s, Pope Shenouda has taken a leadership role in speaking on behalf of the Christian community, seeking to secure its political rights and its protection against extremist Muslim elements. Though the relationship has been wobbly, Pope Shenouda has largely succeeded in crafting a positive political stance vis-à-vis the government of President Mubarak.

Having molded Coptic opinion behind his leadership, however, Pope Shenouda has faced accusations of turning the church into ‘a state within a state’, while President Mubarak has been accused of allowing the inflammation of sectarian tension when necessary to achieve political goals, either against the church or in larger society. Whether or not these opinions have merit, they do not mask the essential reality that all groups in society depend on the power of the state for police protection and preservation of order. Neither do they mask the Biblical reality that calls Christians to ‘honor the king’.

Therefore, though the reasons and motivations behind abstention may be many, it may be true that Pope Shenouda early on expressed sentiments similar to Hillary Clinton when she declared the Egyptian government to be ‘stable’, and when Vice-President Joe Biden declared President Mubarak to be a longstanding ally. Inertia in relationships is difficult to overcome. Falling on the wrong side of the state could be a great miscalculation.

Yet as a hierarchical organization, the Coptic Orthodox Church is built upon obedience and respect for the positions of its pope and bishops. In this regard some bishops have condemned the ‘spirit of insurgency’ that is pitted in some quarters against Pope Shenouda. The spontaneous and widespread Christian riots following the bombing of the church in Alexandria was interpreted by some as church leadership losing its grip on its youth. Youth participation in the Tahrir protests may rightly be seen as a second blow. Whether or not the Coptic Orthodox Church is right or wrong in its decision to abstain from the demonstrations, on February 6 they yielded ground to the evangelicals.

Long term, and even short term, this should not be understood as a significant challenge to Orthodox hegemony in Egypt. Although occasional flare-ups occur between the leaders of the Christian denominations, many ordinary Egyptian Christians dismiss the importance of distinctions. For these, when Christians represent less than 10% of the population, insistence on doctrinal divisions takes on less importance. They will not deny the specifics of their peculiar creed, but they will also not shy away from cross-participation in different congregations, and especially not from warm individual relationships of respect. A Christian, they believe, is a Christian.

In Tahrir, this has been extended to assert that a Christian, like a Muslim, is an Egyptian. What does this mean for the widespread fear that these demonstrations bear an Islamic stamp that will marginalize Christians in the end? Bishop Anis reflected the testimony that over time the composition of the protests has changed, and that some groups are trying to ‘take advantage of the youth’. Is this the case?

During the protests on February 1, the March of a Million, I witnessed one of the changes. As compared to the demonstrations on January 28, the Day of Rage, there was this time a large contingent of Muslim sheikhs, distinguishable by their deep crimson fez. Between 30 and 50 such individuals grouped themselves together in a section of the square, and led those around them in chants of ‘Allahu Akbar’ and calls for the implementation of God’s law (sharia). Yet they declared at the same time that this was a demonstration representing all of Egypt, and that God’s law grants freedom to Muslim, Christian, and non-religious alike. A sign upheld celebrated the fact that since the protests began, not one church in all of Egypt had been attacked.

After Islamic prayers there was a pause, and I sat down to discuss their message with Sheikh Mukhtar, one of the primary chant leaders. He is an employee of the Ministry of Endowments, which oversees mosques and religious establishments in Egypt. His particular position is as a ‘caller’ to Islam, that is, to full practice of Muslim religious requirements.

His testimony reflected anger at the government and its corruptions. He called for the deposing of all figures appointed by the government, including the Grand Sheikh of the Azhar, Ahmad al-Tayyib, the highest Muslim religious authority in Egypt. He bore no malice whatsoever toward Christians or non-practicing Muslims, but, emboldened by the successes of the demonstrations, now desired to take part. As an Egyptian, no matter an Islamist, he wished to display his share. He recognized, though, that leadership was in the hands of the youth, and he was a latecomer.

I asked him about his chanting of ‘Allahu Akbar’. I confessed that many either through ignorance or willful distortion seek to disfigure the Islamist position, especially in reference to these protests and this chant. Yet all the same, Allahu Akbar is an Islamic cry. If he was insisting that these demonstrations were Egyptian, and not Muslim, why employ it? Would it not only serve to confuse Westerners and scare Egyptian Christians? Would this not be against your own interests?

His reply initially suggested that he had never considered such a question. Among Muslims, the Allahu Akbar cry is near-instinctual, and does not necessarily convey a call to jihad. When there is a cause to rally behind, however, it is jihadic in all positive senses (and at times negative as well), and comes quickly to their lips.

Upon reflection, though, he stated that in this situation Allahu Akbar does not express a sense of belonging to a particular creed. Rather, it is a challenging directive against the government. It is meant to state deep, religious dissatisfaction against a power believed to have violated the Islamic principles of justice, equity, and good governance. Besides, in its meaning, he stated, a Christian should not disagree. God is great. Apparently, at the February 6 prayer service, many Christians agreed, and cried Allahu Akbar all the same.

The impression received across the board is that protestors are eager, even desperate, for validation. They know their movement is subject to suspicion, criticism, and accusation – certainly from the government but also from Western liberal supposed allies who fear an Islamist imprint. For the past several decades religion has been a dividing point between Muslims and Christians. Many, however, have insisted these difficulties are invented or engineered, not reflecting the essential national unity that exists between the two groups. Among the makeup of Tahrir protestors, this certainly reflects their reality.

Yet they go forward to make certain this message is heard. When Muslims bow during their prayer times, Christians have encircled them to offer protection. Now, when Christians conduct a prayer service, Muslims participate freely. Has protection been necessary? Yes, but have attacks been immanent? No. Are such sentiments sincere? Yes. Are they meant to be a picture representation before the outside world, and therefore at least partially staged? Perhaps. Should they be criticized for this? No. Should the outside world consider its guilt in assuming religious relations are bad, therefore making these exhibitions necessary? Probably.

What does all of this mean for the uprising? What does it mean for Christian participation? As throughout Egyptian society, opinions are divided. The question now appears to be congealing into a discussion for the long haul. Protestors have established control over Tahrir Square, and the government is in negotiations over demands and concessions. The atmosphere, only a few days earlier a war zone, is now conducive to church services. Things change rapidly, and wisdom is necessary. Will good come about, and if so, who should define it? What should a Christian do? What should an Egyptian do? These are monumental, historical days for a six thousand year old civilization. Rarely does life have such weight. When it does, what is demanded?

Perhaps the Western reader’s life does not bear such weight at the moment, but allow your mind to process the questions as if you shared in the Egyptian experience. How should you think? Who should you support? How should you pray?

We do not share in their struggles, but we share in their humanity. Where does the good of all lie?

[1] Police Day, on which the protests began.

[2] The Day of Rage, the Friday on which protestors emerged from the mosques and marched downtown.

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Personal

Christmas Conversion Conversations

Note: I wrote this piece shortly after Western Christmas, but a few lines needed more consideration, and we delayed publishing. Then, Alexandria happened, and I forgot all about it. Even so the theme, if not exactly the title, is fitting with what has taken place in this country.

——

One of the topics I am most interested to discover here in Egypt is how the Christian population might begin to love and serve their Muslim neighbors without agenda, especially those who are understood to oppose them, such as the Muslim Brotherhood or other Salafi / Wahhabi influenced groups. Characteristic of most Christians I have met here is an attitude of suspicion and a pattern of withdrawal. This is not to say that good relations do not exist between many Muslims and Christians, of course, but the general Coptic community perspective is negative.

Most of my Christian relationships here, however, have been with the Orthodox community. This is not unusual, as most Egyptian Christians are Orthodox, and we have been worshipping at the local Orthodox Church in our neighborhood. On Christmas we joined some foreign friends for a dinner celebration, and they invited two of their Protestant Egyptian Christians along. I love learning perspectives, and with them individually I raised this greater question.

The interesting angle is that each one almost immediately spoke of Muslims becoming Christians, though in a very disjointed manner. Neither one spoke of any personal involvement or activity to promote conversion, either on their part or of the church in general. Yet the topic of love and service prompted a conversation leap directly into the fact of religious identity change. Notably, there was little considered on how to get there.

With the first Protestant conversation developed toward the Muslim Brotherhood, and I asked if he thought they were an organization of crooks. I have heard this not infrequently among both Christian and Muslim Egyptians, who see them as businessmen who use religion to either line their pockets or make political gains.

This gentleman stated this was his perspective as well. I countered, though, that perhaps some of them were sincere. Perhaps many, even, were dedicated to God as they understood him, even if their ideology is to be rejected.

He did not disallow the possibility, but the thought shifted him in another direction. Unprompted by the flow of conversation, he stated that if a Muslim Brother was truly sincere, if he was truly trying to serve God, then God would make clear to him the path of Jesus upon which salvation rests. Up until this point, I did not know the denominational adherence of the gentleman, but this language was certainly Evangelical. I wondered if he might be an unusual sort of Orthodox, but when I asked if he was Protestant, he responded ‘Baptist’.

The second individual, a lady, never clearly revealed her particular denominational affiliation, but her history revealed a mixed heritage of Orthodoxy and Protestantism, some in America, with an admiration for both. Our conversation was much more in depth, and she spoke of the good old days in Egypt when there was both more religious tolerance and personal initiative in pursuit of development. She commented that many Christians have given up hope that things would get better, but that she, though tempted to do the same, felt that as a Christian she was bound to behave as if she had hope, and press on.

Her attitude intrigued me, and when I asked about tangible actions of love and service, she offered simple but poignant advice – interact with them, and do not disparage them. Apparently, she thinks the Christian community is failing here.

Perhaps I have grander ideas unformulated in my head, but the basic humanity expressed in her words is at least the minimum of what is called for, and any more could become a deprecating ‘strategy’. Yet while I as a foreigner might have an awareness of the need for community-wide responses of love, only an Egyptian can say what this would look like. So I pressed on – what love and service could Christians in general offer to those whose ideologies desire conservative application of sharia law?

Again, a jump occurred. I do not fault any Egyptian Christian for not having an answer; it is hard for them to imagine possibilities so opposite of their prevailing mindset. Her answer, though, was education, but through the means of Christian satellite television. She immediately began telling stories of Christians on these broadcasts who had formerly been Muslims. Though some were harsh in their manner of conversation about Islam, there were hundreds, she related, who were learning about the true nature of Islam and the comparable attractiveness of Christianity, Jesus specifically.

Many, perhaps most Egyptians are satisfied in their religion and content to let their neighbors believe their personal doctrines in peace. Yet it is not uncommon for believers of any religion to be interested in the conversion of others. This can be from genuine concern for eternal destiny or temporal happiness, or from a baser instinct of community ‘rightness’ as opposite the other. On the whole, however, Egyptians are aware of the high social cost faced by any convert in either direction.

Yet I was a bit confused by the speed of connection between the initiative of love and the result of conversion, offered independently in separate conversations. By any standard, Muslims in Egypt are not rapidly converting to Christianity, if at all, so it is not as if they are describing a trend. Why then would the conversation move so abruptly in this direction?

If the reason lies in denominational difference, it could be that Orthodox have been a minority in Egypt for hundreds of years, and as such are more focused on preservation of their community, rather than expansion. Not a few Orthodox I have met have also spoken of these satellite channels and the Muslim converts they portray. Most of these have also had some experience in the West with greater levels of freedom, and specifically religious freedom. Protestants, meanwhile, have comparatively greater Western exposure, and with it a more natural connection with the Evangelical focus on evangelism.

Perhaps the Protestant religious priority of evangelism, coupled with a generally perceived Coptic experience of religious difficulties, causes the jump. The presumably real stories of Muslim converts on satellite television nurture the evangelical dream, and talk of ‘love’ reminds such Protestants of their religious obligations, along which the path of conversion treads. That they do not know this path may reflect why the abrupt connection between love and conversion has few details of action.

Or it may be specifically that almost no one even considers loving the more conservative groups of Muslims. Therefore, if conversation suggests this, it will be God’s miracle to bring them to Christianity. As such, details of action are not even necessary, and have never been contemplated.

I certainly have had far too few conversations with Egyptian Protestants to confirm these musings. Yet the congruity of conversation in this instance was striking. Perhaps the best conclusion is found in the thought of the Egyptian lady of mixed denominational heritage. Interpreting her words, engage one another as neighbors, and respect one another’s views. In a society of much religious distrust, these simple ideals have become somewhat revolutionary. Is this sufficient, for either Muslims or Christians, to fulfill the words of Jesus to love the supposed enemy? Interestingly enough, Jesus’ words in context are unconnected to the issue of conversion. Instead, his followers are to imitate God, who sends rain to both the just and unjust. Certainly God desires all to become just, but sometimes his followers can run ahead of him. Or, more consistently with this text, jump.

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

The Happiest Christmas of My Life

You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy.

How is Christmas held in mourning? For the Coptic community of Egypt, Christmas is traditionally a time of celebration. Midnight on Christmas Eve ends a forty-three day period of fasting, concluded during mass in which the Eucharist is served. Afterwards, families congregate and break the fast joyfully, eating the meat, fish, milk, and eggs from which they had previously abstained. Early the next morning parents return to church with their children, who play games and receive gifts, all wearing their new holiday outfits. And since 2003, Christmas has been a national holiday, with all Egyptians receiving a day off from work. Along with Easter, it is a centerpiece of the religious year.

Yet all this merriment was threatened one week earlier when a bomb ripped through worshippers at a Coptic Orthodox Church in Alexandria at the conclusion of the New Year’s Eve mass. Twenty-three people were killed, dozens more injured, and threats were issued for continuation at Christmas. At first Pope Shenouda, pope of the Coptic Orthodox Church, considered cancelling Christmas celebrations altogether. In the end, the church decided to push forward, although the churches of Alexandria decided only to conduct the Christmas Eve mass, and cancel the next day celebrations. How can Christmas be held in mourning?

If one returns to the Biblical story, there was little joy in the coming of the first Christmas. Forced into a difficult period of travel, Mary gave birth to her child in the dingiest of circumstances. Later, that child would grow, and warn his friends of his coming death, promising them their grief would turn to joy. Approaching Christmas, few Copts could anticipate a similar transformation. Even if they attended mass in defiance of terrorist threats, it would be in the shadow of death and the fear of repetition. Grief, not joy, would mark Christmas 2011.

A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come.

St. Mark’s Coptic Orthodox Church in Maadi, Cairo has become our church home in Egypt. It has not been easy adjusting to Orthodox traditions, and though an open, friendly spirit exists among the congregants, they are not used to making foreigners welcome in their midst. Over time, though, our girls have attended the church preschool, and we have made friends. Of course we would attend Christmas Eve mass.

The newspapers had warned that extensive security procedures would be in place, so as we walked to church, passports in pockets, we did not know if we would be allowed entry. There had been a groundswell of support from Muslims in Egypt, condemning the bombing and seeking to stand in solidarity with their brother Christians. Many had expressed a desire to attend Christmas Eve mass, either in defense of the church, or else to die together. Yet rumors abounded that either security or the church would not allow Muslims entrance. Pope Shenouda strongly refuted their rejection, but who could know? If Muslims were to be barred, what about foreigners? While we are known to church leadership, and the regular guards outside the church see us every week, what about their amplified staff? Would they risk the death of foreigners on top of all the other bad press associated with this terrorist crisis?

Approaching the church, we marveled at its military headquarters-like appearance. St. Mark’s Church occupies a place on al-Nahda Circle, between two side roads which receive regular, but minimal, traffic. Since the Alexandria attack took place outside the church, originally believed to be from a car bomb, traffic barriers were placed along a full half of the circle. No cars were allowed to park anywhere, and the two side roads were cordoned off entirely. The barriers were erected to also serve as a channel for approaching pedestrians. As we stepped forward, we were asked for identification.

The checkpoint experience was strangely odd. Security personnel were all around, but we were inspected by plain clothes individuals with badges hanging from their necks. As it turns out, the church had organized its own security team, which helped identify regular congregants from questionable interlopers. We did not recognize the woman who took our passports, but in retrospect there seemed a note of awareness in her eye. Whatever the reality, we were allowed to pass.

But when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.

We arrived at the church about 8:00pm, hopeful that by arriving early we would secure a good seat in the balcony. Instead, there was hardly a place to be found. Though we found a place in the last row of the side balcony, by the end of the evening every place was taken, as well as every step in every ascending aisle. Two lower rooms were also packed, watching the mass projected live on screen. Terrorist threats, security concerns – at St. Mark’s, at least, Copts were observing, if not celebrating, Christmas.

I have heard reports that in many churches the congregants wore black, to symbolize their mourning. Here, the term ‘celebrating’ may not be inappropriate. Many people were dressed to the nines; new outfits were visible in abundance. St. Mark’s in Maadi has a reputation as one of the more well-to-do churches in Cairo; economic stability allows festive possibilities. All the same, people seemed determined to defy terrorism not only through presence, but also through insistence on celebration. Surely their hearts were heavy, but life, including holiday, must continue unabated.

As we scanned the audience we noticed what appeared to be two Muslim women, distinguishable by hijab, seated in the upper opposite corner from us. We wondered if there were others, as religious identity is not determined by physical characteristics. Everyone else seemed to blend together. As will be seen, this was quite appropriate.

The mass continued as it always does, and always has, for hundreds of years. There seemed to me to be more Coptic language chanting than normal, which could result from a desire during times of crisis to reassert original community identity. As a language, Coptic fully gave way to Arabic in about the 14th Century, and the tongue withered away until its liturgical revival in the 20th Century. Or, the Coptic chants may have meant nothing special in particular – I should reemphasize our newness to the tradition. All the same, along with the Muslims in the corner, it felt like a slight divergence from the norm.

As the time for the sermon approached, it was introduced, as normal, by a reading from the Psalms and the Gospels. Then, an unusual but timely procession advanced. Twenty-three individuals, each carrying a lone candle, advanced toward the pulpit and sat down in a vacated pew. One, we noticed, was wearing a hijab.

When they sat Fr. Boutrus began his sermon. This Christmas was wrapped in sorrow, he spoke, but we must always look in hope for good to arise from evil. Indeed, he continued, Jesus promised his followers that there would be grief, but that grief would be turned to joy. Just as a mother suffers labor pains, so Egypt is groaning under the weight of this tragedy. The newborn baby, however, displaces the pain. What will displace the pain of Egypt? Where is the new baby to be born? It is here, in this church, in churches throughout Egypt. It is Muslims greeting us in peace and consolation. It is a national unity that will emerge from the challenge of sectarian tension. I have received so many phone calls and messages, he said, from Muslim friends who have wanted to be a part of our celebration tonight. It is their presence here that fills me with joy. In fact, I must say, today is the happiest Christmas I have had in my life.

Fr. Boutrus acknowledged that there were differences, but he spoke of Jesus on the cross demolishing the dividing wall of hostility, making the two one. We each have our faith, and we must respect each other. Yet we may all follow Jesus in good works, among which is the ministry of reconciliation. Fr. Boutrus thanked the Muslims who had joined us, and reiterated his feelings again: It is right that Egypt is in a period of mourning, but today, in what develops, this is the happiest Christmas of my life.

Ask, and you will receive, and your joy will be complete.

As Fr. Boutrus ended his sermon, the procession of twenty-three, representing those who perished in the bombing, exited down the center aisle from which they came. As they did, tens of others from around the sanctuary also rose and exited. Caught off guard, we realized, these were Muslims seated everywhere in our midst.

It is traditional in the Coptic Orthodox mass that non-Christians are welcome. Visible in the ancient monasteries, but not so much the modern churches, the sanctuary was divided into sections. Up front is the place for the priests to administer sacraments, and behind them are the deacons who facilitate. Next come the believers, who are in fellowship with the church, living Christian testimony. Behind them are other Christians, but mixed also with the curious of other or no faith. These Christians are the ones who do not partake of the Eucharist, due to issues of unconfessed sin and evidence of broken fellowship. Known as the ‘Preached-to Ones’, they with non-believers listened to the Bible readings and the sermon. Immediately afterwards in the liturgy proceeds the preparation for the Eucharist and the transubstantiation of the host. Only baptized Orthodox believers may partake. Traditionally, everyone else leaves.

The tradition is not hard and fast in the modern world. We are not baptized Orthodox, and as such we do not advance for Communion, but neither are we expected to leave. In fact, not all Muslims left either; a few hijab-ed women were seen remaining in the pews. Yet it is customary for figures of state to attend Pope Shenouda-led masses during holidays, and at the appropriate moment, he acknowledges them, and they leave. For years this was a perfunctory, if admirable, feature of church-state relations; today, at St. Mark’s, it seemed poignant and appreciated. Officials from the governorate and district, friends of the priests, friends of the people – all were welcomed, and present in abundance.

In this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world.

After the Muslims’ exit, the liturgy proceeded as normal, but towards its conclusion we were reminded of reality. Before serving the Eucharist the priests asked each congregant not to leave their shoes behind in their seat as is customary. (Coptic Orthodox remove their shoes at Communion.) Instead, they distributed plastic bags in which they could carry their shoes while taking Communion. Following the bread and wine, they were to exit the church, don their shoes, and leave quietly one by one.

It is common following a midnight mass for the Copts to congregate outside the church as they wait for their friends to finish Communion. Having fasted, having waited through a lengthy liturgy, they finally meet up together and begin Christmas celebrations. It was this fact that led to so much destruction in Alexandria. Many people had exited church early, and were just hanging around outside when the bomb detonated. Anxious to avoid the same fate, the priests and security agreed to have each person leave immediately after their Eucharistic share.

Not all did, but many obliged. As we left we filtered through a subdued, porous crowd amidst reminders from the priests to leave. We passed through the gate, navigated the erected corridor, thanked a few security guards as we left, and headed home. It was a somber evening, despite the signs of hope and promise. The questions could not be dismissed: Will this same encampment be present next week? Will the terrorists simply delay until the next mass when both people and security let their guard down? Can the guard ever be let down? What about tomorrow morning, when celebrations should take place?

We woke early to bring our girls to the festivities. Indeed, they were festive. A puppet show was arranged for the youngest children. All age groups had activities going on. The high school students prepared to visit a local home for orphans. As before, people were dressed well, decked out in new outfits. It was enough to make me forget the circumstances; upon seeing some friends, I asked an impertinent question.

One’s guard is lowered quickly. The same security layout was present as the day before. Once again we presented our passports for a security check. At the gate Fr. Boutrus greeted each coming congregant, standing with a contingent of policemen. One policeman, though, produced a pink flower he offered to our four year old daughter. Throughout the day I saw several sporting theirs somewhere on their person. Greetings were exchanged; children played and laughed. Christmas was here, held amidst mourning.

I stumbled. “Are you having a joyous holiday?” My friends lost their smiles produced upon our meeting and replied, “Half and half.”

—–

Perhaps Jesus has overcome the world. Perhaps if these Copts ask, their joy will be complete. Did Fr. Boutrus speak from a sincere heart, or was he trying to will his words into reality? Has a newborn baby entered into the world?

One year ago six Christians and a Muslim security guard were killed in Nag Hamadi when alleged Muslim assailants opened fire upon Christian worshippers exiting Christmas Eve mass. Following the incident many similar expressions of condolences were offered by Muslims, and national unity was asserted in the face of tragedy. One knowledgeable Muslim journalist friend stated that he felt something was changing in society. The outcries were louder, more sincere; he expected the sectarian situation to improve. Yet the year that followed was filled with incident after incident of tension and conflict. This can be traced to a number of factors, far broader than religious difference. If at that time, though, the baby was stillborn, what gives hope this one will survive?

Certainly this occasion is different. The scale is far more serious and the stakes far higher. The past year was filled with recriminations, each to the other. Perhaps, on their part, the Copts never asked. They rallied, they worked, they sought legislation – did they seek God?

In his sermon Fr. Boutrus praised the Muslims, quoting Scripture: “He who loves, knows God.” He continued, expressing his wish, “May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”

The message is Christian, but its borders are porous. Have Copts sought unity? Have they loved? The tragedy in Alexandria has brought substantial love to them; what will they do with it?

Certainly some of this love is perfunctory. Some of it is surface level condolence. But much of it is sincere. It is a love that brought Muslims to enter a church so as to express their solidarity, in the middle of heightened tensions and personal risk.

A Christian skepticism is warranted. They came, but they left early; the bomb would have gone off near the end. If they don’t condemn the massacre they will be perceived as supporters of it. It is the reputation of Islam they are concerned to defend primarily, not us. If they entered a church under normal circumstances, they would run afoul of security, and we would be accused of evangelizing.

Perhaps. But what Copts do next is of the utmost importance. If rebuffed, those Muslims who have sought reconciliation will have little reason to try again. The cycle of mistrust and mutual accusation will begin anew. Can they, with Jesus, overcome the world? Can they overcome themselves?

It is no easy task, but the life of a newborn baby is at stake. The mother, however, remains in critical condition.

Bible verses taken from John 16-17.

Categories
Personal

Weekly Meeting with the Pope

His Holiness Pope Shenouda III, Pope of the Co...

Pope Shenouda (87), head of the Coptic Orthodox Church, is a busy man. For 39 years he has presided over the spiritual – and often political – affairs of Egypt’s Christians, having become pope in 1971. Underneath him are over 100 bishops who administrate local and international dioceses as well as specific programs and activities of the church. He spends [in theory] three days a week in Alexandria, the seat of the historic papal see, three days in Cairo, the center of church governance, and one day in the Monastery of St. Bishoy in the desert of Wadi Natroun, for isolation and prayer, though in practice it is sometimes more. Yet each week he takes one evening – Wednesday at 6pm – to be with the people, answer their questions, and deliver a short homily. This past Wednesday we at Arab West Report had the privilege of attendance.

St. Mark’s Cathedral is located in downtown Cairo and is the central church building for the Orthodox of Egypt. It can accommodate several thousand worshipers and was filled to near capacity during our visit. We arrived about one hour early and slipped into the throng which was bottle-necking at the metal detector. Two weeks earlier al-Qaeda in Iraq issued threats against the Coptic Christians of Egypt, and security has been vigilant since then. Entrance was granted only upon presentation of the national identity card with the marking of ‘Christian’ for the religion field, or else the tattoo of a cross on one’s hand. Once inside, however, the masses organized themselves into an orderly line, stretching from the door of the church, out into the courtyard, around the bend and across the top of the stairs, and then down into the parking lot.

Having neither the identity card nor the tattooed cross, our substituted foreign passports afforded us special privilege. We were advanced to the front of the line, were ushered through a second metal detector, and brought to the very first pew, replete with listening devices for translation.

The evening began with the chanting of a choir. Each week a church is selected to supply this ancient Coptic art during the meeting; representation today was from Akhmim, nearly 300 miles to the south of Cairo. About thirty young men and women dressed in purple presented praise to God and prayers for Pope Shenouda. After about an hour of intermittent performance, they moved in procession past the pope, who greeted them individually.

The evening’s events are televised regularly on two Coptic channels – CTV, affiliated with the church and founded by Christian businessman Tharwat Basily, and Aghabi (the Coptic word for ‘love’), owned by Bishop Botros. You can watch online, if desired, at www.ctvchannel.tv. The station honors the pope with the title ‘the teacher of generations’. Certainly in this generation the title is appropriate, as Pope Shenouda, though 87 years old, enjoys rock star status among many Coptic Christians. Egged on by the mounted extension cameras operated by the networks as they scanned the audience, those in attendance would stand, cheer, and wave pictures of the pope above their heads. The scene resembled a professional sporting event more than a religious gathering.

As the pope prepared to speak, however, all were quiet. During the choir performance the pope was handed small slips of paper from the audience, and he read them over as they sang. Over the next hour and a half he read personal questions and gave answers as his wisdom dictated. The pope is known for his sharp wit and sense of humor; though most of the time we failed in translation to appreciate the joke, the audience chuckled regularly.

Pope Shenouda selected a wide range of questions, perhaps forty in all. Some were theological. Question: What will happen to the bodies of those saints who were translated directly into heaven? Answer: They will appear in the last days, be killed, and then rise again in the resurrection.

Question: My priest said that if a man repents of his sin there will be no punishment for it, is he correct? Answer: If a priest says there is no punishment, he himself should be punished. There is forgiveness for sin, but there are also consequences.

Some were political / ecclesiastical.

Question: I read in the paper that the trial of so-and-so had taken place and he was found guilty, is this correct?

Answer: You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers (this line generated the greatest applause throughout the night).

Question: My priest says that there are two tithes that must be paid, is this correct?

Answer: No, there is only one tithe, but additional offerings are welcome and blessed by God, but voluntary. Furthermore, priests and bishops also have to pay the tithe, as they are not exempt and should serve as your models (this line generated the second greatest applause throughout the night).

Some were personal.

Question: My brother asked me to quit my job and work with him, but once I did so he failed to pay me my share of the money; what should be done?

Answer: Your brother should pay you the money.

Question: It is very difficult for my mother in Upper Egypt to take care of housework, especially now that her washing machine has broken; what can be done?

Answer: We can buy her a new washing machine, but she should take better care of it than she did the old one.

Eventually, the pope set the papers aside. There was a short break, but then he began his closing meditation. Entitled ‘Its end will come’, he spoke of how our problems in this world may be troubling, but that as our faith tells us God will eventually put everything right, we can endure with patience. He laced his message with several stories taken from the Bible and church history, including Job, David, and Athanasius facing multiple exiles during the Arian controversy.

The end was abrupt. The pope delivered his closing sentence, stood, and was ushered away – slowly, of course, as is appropriate for an 87 year old man. The bishops filtered out in turn, and many in the audience also stood to leave. An official of some nature rose and gave the closing benediction, but few were paying attention. Pope Shenouda had left the building.

Now, the audience faced the same challenge. Several thousand people cannot leave an area quickly. They all filed out into the parking lot, moving like sand in an hourglass trying to pass through the main gate back out into the Cairo streets. A small group of ten to twenty stood on the steps of the building adjacent to the church and chanted for Pope Shenouda, as if they wanted an encore (they received none). Eventually, we found our way out the gate as well, and proceeded home, thankful for the experience, but somewhat out of sorts with what took place.

There is always much to learn, and as foreigners, we must remember it takes us longer than normal to do so here. I was raised in a low church tradition, without religious hierarchy. I know the celebrity certain pastors in the United States have attained, but this surpassed them all. I cannot recall that even the Catholic pope has been so openly adored. Pope John Paul II had the admiration of many, but this level of affection was more akin to that given to Michael Jordan in the NBA.

Furthermore, I cannot say that I was won over by his ‘performance’. The pope’s answers did not seem especially profound, and the homily was simply a listing of stories rather than a deep theological treatise or affecting discourse. Most likely I am yet insufficient in appreciating Coptic spirituality; perhaps it was simply an off night. After all, on occasion even Michael Jordan shot 6 for 19 from the field, but was still applauded wildly. Pope Shenouda has authored over 100 books; his theological and spiritual stature should not be questioned.

Even so, an explanation for the wild approbation may be found in similarity to the aforementioned saint in Pope Shenouda’s message. Athanasius was the 20th pope of the Coptic Orthodox Church (Shenouda is the 117th), but was much more than that. At a time in which Egypt was feeling imperial pressures from Constantinople, the largely Christian population of Egypt found in him a rallying point and embodiment of national sentiment. Arianism as a heresy doubted the divine nature of Christ, but political maneuverings in the post-Constantine Roman Empire raised the question of who was responsible for local ecclesiastical affairs. Athanasius was the people’s choice – defending orthodoxy made him a saint; defending his flock made him a hero.

Many Coptic Orthodox Christians today applaud Pope Shenouda in a similar manner, even though they are now a minority, and  his cause is not the nation. Rather, the pope speaks of himself as ‘the father of his children’, and he is looked to as the defender of Christian interests. Religious identity is on the rise among many Egyptians in both Christianity and Islam, which can almost be explained as a near-nationalism. Very few Egyptians, in fact, speak of a sense of pride in their country. It has been replaced, rightly or wrongly, with religious sentiment.

Pope Shenouda therefore, is at the crest of this sentiment. As many Christians believe their community to be beleaguered by Muslims and government alike, they look to the pope as the one figure who can represent them. Copts have little widely regarded secular leadership; only the pope can fill this role.

During his weekly meeting Pope Shenouda did not appear to pay much attention to his applause. On occasion he waved his hand to quiet them down. Another time he announced that people should descend from the scaffolding (as Zacchaeus with Jesus) so as to avoid injury. Most of the time, he had a wry smile on his face, but never seemed to revel in the moment. At the same time, he did little to stop it, and I had the impression that this happens every week.

Similarly, I am still too inexperienced to know Pope Shenouda’s attitude toward his leadership of the Christian community. Does he know the reality and shoulder the burden? Has he sought this position and defended his territory? As noted, he lays claim to being the spiritual father for his children, but does this go beyond their Christian faith into their public lives?

Good analysis can try to untangle these questions; much analysis has attempted it already. For now I am content in the ambiguity of the question, but being content does not mean being at ease. With Pope Shenouda as with the weekly meeting, there is much to appreciate, but there is a lingering unsettledness. Surely this is natural, as no Christian life is perfect. Yet for the Copts of Egypt, finding that note of serene balance is essential in navigating the challenges before them. May God guide them, and with them all of Egypt.

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Personal

Orthodoxy, Year Two

St. Mary & St. Antonious Coptic Orthodox Church
Image by Number1Son via Flickr

How long do experiments last? What does commitment mean in an experiment? Is it right to experiment with church?

Having returned from a short vacation in America, we are now beginning our second year of life in Egypt. The first year was very good, and we are happy to return. While acknowledging our status as foreigners, we like to live as Egyptian a life as possible, which includes worshiping in the Orthodox Church. Orthodoxy is the denomination of the vast majority of Egyptian Christians, and though it is not our own, last year we joined in as best we could. God’s church is one, and though we may or may not agree with all of Orthodoxy’s distinctive tenets, we desire to signal our support and serve Christ’s body.

Our reception has been welcoming, but tepid. While we have described this in the past, beginning again in year two we face again the same reality. By now more than a few people know and greet us, and we have learned better the rhythm of the service and the liturgical year. We are not yet comfortable, in the way an old shoe is comfortable, but we are still not sure if the new shoe fits. Still, it is better than being barefoot.

In our estimation, being a Christian is expressed in a significant way through commitment to a local congregation of believers. Namely, we go to service, we get to know people, we explore opportunities to serve. These actions, and others, are necessary, but they are not the essence of commitment. Rather, commitment is an attitude that says, ‘This is my church.’ The response of others may make this easier or harder, but commitment is a decision dependent only on one’s self.

But have we committed? We began our attendance as an experiment, to see if the church could serve as our spiritual home in Egypt. We desired it to be; it is consistent with the sense of belonging that drives our attitude toward overseas life. I think it is clear, though, that experimentation and commitment are not synonyms. Perhaps beginning year two, we are realizing this. What does it mean for us?

An attitude of experimenting can be a means of resisting full commitment, but it is not the only one. I have previously described the non-uniform Coptic tendency to leave early or come late. In fact, it is a common habit of many Copts here to enter the Mass near its conclusion, partake of communion – necessary as the literal body and blood of Jesus – and then leave, or, enjoy meeting up with their friends and socializing.

Today one of the priests deviated from the timeless repetition of the Mass. As the congregants were approaching to receive the host, he announced that the entire Mass was holy, and the Bible readings and sermon (done earlier in the service) were also necessary for the life of the Christian. One should not take communion unless he attended the whole Mass.

The whole Mass is very long. It begins around 7am, and ends around 11am. Perhaps aware of this, yet frustrated by the many deliberate latecomers, he did not speak absolutely. Rather, he ended his interjection by saying that no one would be denied Christ’s body and blood, but that each person was responsible for himself.

We, meanwhile, may not partake, as we have not been baptized Orthodox. By now we are quite used to this, and I do not write from frustration. Neither do I wish to trigger in the reader any sense of injustice. I mean, perhaps, to highlight that belonging depends on more than commitment.

As a note, we aim to arrive at Mass at least by 9am, in time for the Gospel reading and sermon. Our commitment, as exposed by the priest, is partial at best.

The latecomers, technically, in the Orthodox theological sense, belong to the church, even if their commitment is lacking. Yet their commitment is there – they do come. We, in the Orthodox theological sense, do not belong to the church, even if our commitment is present and our belonging is desired.

We are not Orthodox, but we are able to accept them as fellow Christians. By and large, they are able to do the same with us. Yet we are not the same, and in this reality there is that which keeps us viewing ourselves as if in a glass, darkly. Will it keep us ever experimenting, no matter our commitment? Must belonging at church involve mutual acceptance? If we are barred from communion, the central act of Orthodox worship, can we belong? We can commit, we can serve, we can attend. Can we be one? Is the church truly so? Is it all an experiment? Is this appropriate, for either them or us?

Year two begins with such questions. Please feel free to share your impressions.

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Personal

Communion

Tonight I attended the weekly service at the local international evangelical church.  We attend there sporadically, maybe once every three months, as we have been worshipping at the Orthodox Church, hoping to learn more and participate in the primary church of Egypt.

Since it was the first Sunday of the month, as is typical in many evangelical churches I know, it was also communion Sunday.  It was the first time in awhile that I had taken communion, which is somewhat strange since this is offered every week in the Orthodox Church.  Due to doctrinal differences, however, but mainly to the fact that we haven’t been baptized Orthodox, while we are welcome to attend the service, we are not welcome to partake in communion.

It was an interesting experience for me after being away from it for so long, and witnessing a different tradition in the meantime.  Many thoughts ran through my head:

“Oh yes, the first Sunday of the month … communion Sunday.”

“The pastor said we would come to the front to take communion … something a little different.  Why is it that the churches who do communion less frequently (such as evangelical churches who often do this once a month) are the ones who find the need to ‘change up’ the method of distributing communion? Meanwhile, the church which does this every week, or even more than that, will never change the way it is done.  Ironic.”

“The Orthodox firmly believe that the elements become the physical body and blood of Jesus.  They believe they are participating in Jesus’ suffering on the cross as they take into themselves the holy body and blood of Jesus.  They can’t let a crumb drop to the ground so they cover their mouths with a napkin after the priest puts a piece of bread in their mouth.  And yet that is not my tradition.  I simply see these elements as representing Jesus’ body and blood.  Something He told us to do to remember His suffering.  So as I put the juice-dipped bread in my mouth, I asked myself, or rather, asked Jesus, ‘Who is right?  Are you pleased with this?  What is the point of this ceremony?’”

I have often struggled with seeing Jesus’ death on the cross in a real way.  Sure, I believe it happened and I believe He did it for me, and it was a horrible, painful thing for Him.  But I’ve rarely been able to really appreciate what He went through for me.  I think it comes from growing up in the church and Jesus’ death on the cross being part of my life from childhood … it has become so familiar.  So I understand my evangelical friends who try to “change up” the way communion is presented so that it doesn’t become rote and without meaning.  We don’t want to be passive and do things out of habit.  Making us get out of our seats and walk to the front of the church gets us somewhat involved, rather than waiting for the elements to be passed to us.  And yet, we can still remember Jesus’ death in a real way, as we wait for the elements to come to us in their silver plates and miniature cups.

Another experience I’ve had was in Jordan.  Jayson and I really enjoyed our times of communion at the church we attended there.  This evangelical church followed many Brethren practices, so we had communion every week.  It was a small, intimate service which included hymn-singing and a short challenge, followed by all of us, anywhere from 15-40 people, gathered around the Lord’s table, passing along a piece of bread and breaking off a bit for ourselves.  Then we would pass around the common cup of wine, drink a sip, and wipe off the cup for the next believer to partake.  There was something special about standing there in a circle, being able to see the faces of our fellow worshippers, reciting together the passages from Corinthians regarding Paul’s teaching on the Lord’s Supper and partaking from the same loaf of bread and common cup.  Maybe I felt more of the fellowship of the saints, rather than the suffering of the Saviour, but it was a special time.

And now, unable to be part of such a fellowship on a regular basis, does this keep me from remembering Jesus’ death?  How often should I specifically seek to remember his death?  He told us to “remember His death ‘til he comes.”  My tradition seeks to do this once a month.  Others partake of the Lord’s Supper each week.  Either method leaves room for forgetting Him in between, or doing this out of habit.  Lord, let me remember your death daily, thanking you and serving you for your sacrifice for me.

Postscript: Following a post a few days ago on a similar subject – This Also is True – an Orthodox reader from the United States commented with an impassioned and Biblical defense of their view of communion. For those interested in this subject, I encourage you to take a look and consider what he says. Unfortunately, we cannot provide a link directly to his comment, but if you click on the title above and scroll down, you will find the dialogue between us. Here or there, please feel free to join in, be it to reflect and consider, support, or challenge what he has to say.

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Personal

This Also is True

The central feature of the Coptic Orthodox liturgy is the celebration of communion. Consumed as the final element of the mass, much of what comes before is preparation. Early on, before most people arrive, are Bible readings and traditional hymns, followed by a sermon aimed to connect both to the Gospel text of the day and the lives of the Coptic faithful. By then most are in attendance, and priests and congregation alike repeat the words establishing the foremost mystery – Jesus present in body and blood.

As the priest prepares the host he chants from the passage in Luke in which Jesus institutes the Lord’s Supper:

Take, eat of it, all of you, for this is my body, which is broken for you and for many, to be given for the remission of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.

The people reply: This is true. Amen.

Then follows the presentation of the cup, and the priest proclaims:

Take, drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the new covenant which is shed for you and for many, to be given for the remission of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.

The people reply: This also is true. Amen.

As an aside, before returning to this mystery, then follows my favorite part of the mass, in which the congregation sings:

Amen. Amen. Amen. Your death, O Lord, we proclaim. Your holy resurrection and ascension, we confess. We praise you, we bless you, we thank You, O Lord, and we entreat you, O our God.

These sentiments are repeated throughout the mass: I believe, I confess, this is true. The priest states an understanding of the Eucharist, and the people respond: Amen, amen, amen… Lord have mercy. It is as if the utter impossibility of the event itself – bread and wine becoming flesh and blood, and that of a crucified man nearly 2,000 years ago – demands constant sublimation of the message. Appropriately, at a certain interval, all are invited to prostrate before the holy host. Many are familiar with the sight of Muslims with forehead bowed in reverence to God; though pew position disallows most Copts from complete prostration, most adjust their bodies to the degree possible. In monasteries, lacking any impediments, all humble themselves with their face to the ground.

Raised in Protestant tradition, I have little connection to these pious practices. Communion is a time of remembrance, not an infusion of the transubstantiated Son of God into my being. I label them pious; upon observing the mass many would be excepted. The congregation is prompted to confirm, “This also is true” – quite a few mutter along unengaged. At the moment of prostration, group ethics demand a response, but some heads are bowed only minimally. Among the worshippers seated on the sides of the church (and thus not facing east as demanded by tradition), a good percentage fail to turn their bodies appropriately.

In these observations no disrespect is intended; the repetition of any established pattern naturally lessens the experience of its import. What I would like to highlight is the degree to which an incident today demonstrated unequivocally that Jesus’ presence is a matter of deep conviction.

When communion commences, the men line up at the left of the church, the women at the right, and they receive a cloth napkin. Upon reaching the iconostasis the priests emerge to place the bread in the mouths of the supplicants, after which they proceed to the central aisle where another priest spoons the wine. After each element is received the napkin is placed over their mouths lest anything fall to ground.

In this particular church, women tend to outnumber the men, and as such the last few minutes consist of the final few ladies making their way through the line, some of whom carry their babies who also partake. Today it so happened that one of these babies received his portion of bread, but when the mother lowered him toward the priest to pour from the spoon, the bread, unrestrained in his toothless mouth, fell to the floor.

I cannot tell if the congregation noticed. By this time most are shuffling back into their seats or even out the door. Communion is the point of church – though there are a few minor rituals remaining, many have stopped paying attention. The priest, woman, and those around, however, were jolted into confusion. Immediately the priest bent down and placed the morsel back in the baby’s mouth, as his mother looked on horrified. When it fell again the mother quickly descended to pick it up. The priest, though, was quicker, and pushed the woman’s hand away. This time he put the bread into the woman’s mouth, and mother and child filed away into the anonymity of the crowd.

This woman was the next-to-last participant, and the one after her received the wine without incident, and the priest returned behind the curtain to join his colleagues and the deacons in cleaning the communion implements. This final worshipper, however, was still a little unsettled. She looked down at the ground where the bread had fallen, stepped to the side, and walked around. She took all care that her feet would not trample on Jesus, should any of his presence remain where he fell.

What should be made of such faith? That which struck me the most was that this belief was real. Not in the sense of intellectual credence, but of tangible reality. I cannot say if these women love their families, are considerate to others, or pray on a daily basis. Do they know God? Do they love him?

They know however, at the deepest core of their being, that Jesus is present in the bread and the wine. Maybe this is not true; maybe it is only a constructed social mechanism. Yet a further question is this: Assuming, of course, that God and Jesus somehow go together, does this faith please God?

According to Biblical testimony, God seems quite ready to receive flawed faith. Elisha the prophet bid the healed leper Naaman on his way with a barrelful of dirt on which to worship God in the manner of his idolatrous understanding. Jesus healed the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda who had no one to help him in when the angel descended to stir the waters. Surely other examples could be gathered.

Perhaps the most relevant example, though, should come from an essayist who believes that God loves and accepts him, yet cannot refrain from wondering at the legitimacy of the faith of others. No matter how orthodox my creedal faith, such an attitude betrays a pride and superiority unbefitting a creature of God. That he welcomes me into his family, despite such flaws, should give hope to us all. There may be many pretty sentiments I can conjure, but until I perceive God’s presence as fully as the women I observed today, I must remain their pupil.

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Personal

From Poverty to Riches

Note: This text was prepared recently but recalls a personal trip I took with my family to visit Maghagha during the Coptic Christmas holiday in January 2010. While there we visited Holy Family sites, but also a rapidly developing pilgrimage center focused on the memory of Fr. Abd al-Masih al-Manahari. Upon watching the film produced by the church commemorating his life, these two sources combined to inform this text, replete with personal reflection and photos.

The Coptic Orthodox Church possesses a strong monastic spirit which esteems abandoning the pleasures of this world in preference to those of the hereafter. Yet even in this world God is believed to compensate his servant with spiritual riches which satisfy far greater than any earthly lucre. Not all are called to this life; few can even imagine themselves in pursuit of it. Nearly all Copts, however, find in those who dedicate their lives entirely to God a source of spiritual proof of faith, for which glory is given to God, much of which flows through his servant. This human-directed commemoration is known as al-magd al-batil, or vainglory, which these servants spend their life escaping. Upon their death, however, they can no longer flee.

The Egyptian countryside is dotted with churches built upon or in proximity to the tombs of these saints. Most of these figures lived centuries ago, during the times of monastic establishment or widespread martyrdom. Certain saints have more modern origins, such as during the Islamic ages even through the colonial period. The sites have become places of pilgrimage to which Copts journey to remember their lives, seek their intercession, and receive their miracle-working power. In an earlier essay I wrote about our first encounter with such miracle stories, in which the bodies of many of these saints are preserved from decay. Westerners in general find it difficult to give credence to these stories, imagining them to be vestiges of a bygone era in which scientific inquiry was less developed. Even Western Christians, who are more inclined to believe in the possibility of the miraculous, find little similarity between this understood pre-modern faith and their own. Yet the saying is often repeated here: God never leaves himself without a witness.

The witness to faith through miracles is not understood as a foundational phenomenon only. The first Christians preached Jesus, “who was a man accredited by God to you by miracles” (Acts 2:22), and their own authority was established as “everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles” (Acts 2:43). Salvation, “first announced by the Lord, was confirmed to us by those who heard him … testified by signs, wonders, and various miracles” (Heb. 2:3-4). Paul confirms that these miracles are, in fact, “the things that mark an apostle” (II Cor. 12:12). Copts celebrate their communion in “one holy, catholic, apostolic church”, and trace the succession of their leadership all the way back to Mark, through the ages in direct connection to this apostolic authority. Christianity was confirmed in the beginning through miracles, and its proof continues to be found in God’s concern exhibited through his saints, both living and dead. This witness elevates Christianity from a philosophy to a divine reality, incumbent for belief by all humanity. The level of witness may ebb and flow, but it never disappears.

Scanning the modern age in Egypt, however, may question this conviction. The tombs of the saints are testified to as places of miracle, drawing even Muslims to petition God through these Christian wonder-workers. Yet where are the living witnesses? At one time these saints were flesh and blood humans—devoted, no doubt, to the complete service of God, but no different than their common neighbor. That is not a fair claim, however, for they were different from most men in their voluntary poverty, and if the stories are to be believed, in their ability to petition God for direct and indubitable intervention in the lives of those around them.

This dependence upon the miraculous, coupled with a scarcity of living saints, has contributed to the growing popularity—and wealth—of locations surrounding the holy tombs. When one asks for intercession it is usually accompanied with a vow to be fulfilled sometime after the miracle has been received. This can be in the form of a service rendered, prayers offered, or money donated to the church housing the tomb. There is no scandal here; no one is getting rich off of these stories. Monies are applied to build and repair the church of the saint, with legitimate concern to accommodate the ever increasing number of pilgrims, as well as to assist the poor in the area. Yet the living saint would have cowered at the thought of receiving ‘compensation’ for his expression of grace, let alone the attention which would be afforded him. This is al-magd al-batil which kept most of these saints ever in search of obscurity. With their bodies in the ground, no matter how well preserved, the magd can finally accumulate.

During the season of Coptic Christmas we had opportunity to travel to Maghagha to stay with Fr. Yu’annis, a priest who introduced us to many of the Christian sites of the area. You can read about these accounts here. He also spoke with us about the best practices for church building as well as what Christians should do following the horrific events of Nag Hamadi, which you can read here and here. He also brought us to a modern day pilgrimage site, such as described above, located in the village of Manahara. The story which follows is an account of the life of Abd al-Masih al-Manahari, as depicted in a film, produced under the supervision of Bishop Mina of the diocese of Girga, who researched his life and recorded the stories attributed to this remarkable man.

Abd al-Masih al-Manahari was born in 1892 near the village of Mattai, in the governorate of Minia, located 150 miles south of Cairo. As the only son in a family with several daughters, he caused much consternation to his father for his preference to visit the local monastery over devotion to the family farm. Yet God blessed the production of the farm for his oversight, and whenever his father would limit his time in the monastery several cattle would die. As he grew older he wished himself to become a monk, but could not obtain his father’s permission. Though he loved his boy, he knew that monks neither married nor owned property, so the farm would pass to others, and who would care for him as he aged? In desperation the father brought him a young woman who offered herself to his son, but he refused, sending her away with great pain in her stomach until she publically repented in front of his father, at which point he prayed for her and she was cured. Angry with his father, but knowing also his fears, he asked if he could be released to the monastery if God granted his mother a son in his stead. When his father said yes, he declared it would be so, and shortly thereafter a second boy was born to the family.

Abd al-Masih, which translates into ‘Slave of the Messiah’, then traveled to the Monastery of Fr. Makarius, located in Wadi Natrun in the desert between Cairo and Alexandria. Here he studied from the established monks, serving them but also distinguishing himself as a man of spiritual insight. Here he learned the lesson of al-magd al-batil, which oddly enough drove him away from the monastery. Knowing the honor received by monks he sought to flee to become a hermit in the desert. Upon his return, however, he overheard people speaking about him as the great monk dedicated only to God. Paradoxically, he thought the only place to escape was the world, so he departed to live in the village of Manahara, dressing as a monk, but under the guise of tomfoolery.

Everywhere he went Abd al-Masih mentioned he wished to get married. For a monk this was akin to giving up his vows, so he presented the image of a man with worldly wishes. He always turned down any proposal received, but his reputation began to be established in the village. Furthermore, he would pay the children a small amount of money to dance around him and call him ‘the crazy monk’. Yet at the same time his concern for the people around him became known through small miracles he would work on their behalf. He would present an amount of money to a needy family, matching exactly their debt without any details being exchanged. He would restore a chicken to life when it died in advance of the holiday. He would even be witnessed praying through the night with holy lights surrounding him, once even being seen in communication with the Virgin Mary.

Some of his miracles were for his own benefit, as God enabled. On one occasion he knelt by the river bed and asked the fish to jump directly into his basket. Another time he demonstrated he was as the holy saints of the monastic establishment, able to traverse great distances in minimal time by transforming himself into a bird. To cap his life he gave two great prophesies, which established his recognition by God as a saint. In the first he was comforting a fellow monk who was overlooked for service, telling him he would be appointed a bishop when the otherwise unknown monk so-and-so became pope. No one believed him, but not long afterwards Pope Kyrillos VI was installed, and he appointed Bishop Mina, the very one mentioned above, to his post.

In the second Abd al-Masih received two visitors in approach of the Easter feast, each one vying to invite the monk to his home. Abd al-Masih refused them both, declaring he had a prior engagement, in that he was to be married on Easter, and in fact, one of the two was to join him that day. The colleague in question nodded solemnly, for by now it was well known that this was no crazy, deviant, marriage-bent monk, but a man fully dedicated to God. As predicted, Abd al-Masih’s desire was finally fulfilled, as on Easter, April 14, 1963, he was wedded to his beloved, joining the saints in communion as the bride of Christ. His friend died that same day.

While Abd al-Masih lived in Manahara he occupied only a small room in which he would sleep, eat, and pray. When we visited his now vast and grand pilgrimage site, this room is preserved in its original form, as a reminder of his poverty and humility. It is a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palatial church and complex now surrounding it, especially the bookstore which sells tacky trinkets with his face printed on mugs, ornaments, and pictures of remembrance.

According to local testimony, however, the place deserves its laud. Fr. Yu’annis told me the story of how this complex came to be. One day after Abd al-Masih’s death, the regionally unknown saint appeared in a vision to a local embroiderer named Mukhtar. He had been praying for a cure for his cancer, and in his moment of despair Abd al-Masih materialized before him, and handed over his shawl, telling him to lay it on his stomach and he would be healed.

In the film this shawl figured prominently in Abd al-Masih’s first miracle, which began cementing his reputation in the village. A young girl was suffering from a violent illness and was at the point of death. The family had brought doctors but each one left saying that the matter was now in God’s hands. The girl’s mother implored her husband to call upon the village monk, of whom it was said he was one of God’s saints, but he resisted knowing him only as the ‘crazy monk’. When her pressings finally caused him to yield Abd al-Masih came and knelt beside her, laying his shawl on her head, and prayed to God. Miraculously, the girl arose, and the two of them exited the room together to be met by the rejoicing parents.

With Mukhtar, however, Abd al-Masih gave not only a healing, but also a commission. Upon granting his shawl he spoke to Mukhtar, authorizing him to use it for the healing of all who needed help, accepting no money. At the end of his instructions he disappeared, but left the shawl behind. With this word Mukhtar began his thereafter daily practice of taking the shawl to Abd al-Masih’s grave, entrusting it to the religious authorities for application of healing according to their wisdom, returning at the end of the day to take it home with him again. It is said that upon his death, Mukhtar will bequeath the shawl to the bishop.

Over time Abd al-Masih became far more famous in death than he had ever been in life, and the miracles performed through his shawl outnumbered those performed during his days on earth. Fr. Yu’annis confirmed personally the miraculous healings. On one occasion he invited Mukhtar to come with him, with the shawl, to his village of Qufada. One woman there had been suffering from a steady hemorrhage, but upon being touched in faith by Abd al-Masih’s shawl she was healed, and remains in good health to this day. Furthermore, Fr. Yu’annis declared that the body of Abd al-Masih has been miraculously preserved by God from decay, and is displayed publically once a year on the anniversary of his death. In this manner God honors in perpetuity the glory of his saints.

Be it God’s intention or not, this process also contributes to the glory of their surroundings. Here is a picture of the residence in which Abd al-Masih spent his days:

Following the work of Mukhtar and Abd al-Masih’s shawl, in the late 1960s this church was built on the site:

By no means is this an ostentatious display, but it does depict a progression from the single room residence and decrepit church (no picture) in which Abd al-Masih worshipped. Consider, however, the most recent building project on the site of this mendicant holy man’s grave:

In addition, consider how this man, once ever on the run from al-magd al-batil, is now commemorated throughout the site. Here is his original photo compared with the iconic image by which Coptic Christians choose to remember him:

Other images from the pilgrimage site include:

Here are his relics, to which people come to seek his intercession. Behind the priest on the green board is the Arabic text of a song of praise to Abd al-Masih, which commemorates his virtues.

It is difficult to reconcile these images with the reality of his life. A man of simplicity, poverty, and humility becomes the focal point of a dazzling, luxurious, personal cultic center. Yet at the same time, the extraordinary nature of his life suggests the appropriateness of commemoration. Certain questions demand further study:

Did Abd al-Masih al-Manahari truly conduct the miracles attributed to him in the film? These are verified through the research of Bishop Mina, but how thorough were his methods? Such an account can be built only upon personal testimony; were the subjects of his inquiry predisposed to interpret events as miraculous? Could they have invented certain tales fitting within the known pattern of saintly powers? Is there any hint of duplicity, if not for personal benefit then for that of the church and the faith? Or was Abd al-Masih truly one of God’s witnesses?

Is the story of the apparition to Mukhtar to be believed? How did the shawl come into his possession? It existed previously somewhere after the death of Abd al-Masih; wherever that place was, presumably it is no longer there. What of the continuing miracles? In at least one case, there is a credible personal testimony, received by a friendly priest in whom no duplicity was noticed. Is there a power of belief that itself produces miraculous results? Once the history/legend is sufficiently produced, can the best examples of these accepted tales fuel a continuing mania? Is his body truly preserved? April 14, apparently, produces yearly verification.

Supposing these accounts to be true, what does it mean? If Abd al-Masih was a saint, commended by God in both life and death, is this for his memory, or for a greater purpose of establishing the veracity of Orthodox Christianity? To what does Abd al-Masih witness? Orthodox Christianity generally holds itself to be the true expression of God’s religion, as spoken before, attributed by miracles. Yet how should the miracles of other expressions of faith be considered? Is there a difference in degree between the Christian Protestant faith healers and the Islamic Sufi awliya’ salihiin (literally, good guardians, functioning in a role similar to that of Christian saints)? Are all non-Orthodox, or at least all non-Christian, miracles demonic? Does God need this witness at all, from anyone?

Finally, what interpretive light does this phenomena shed on the miraculous in historical religion? Firstly, is Abd al-Masih a verification of the stories of the centuries old saints, such as Anthony, George, Bishoy, and Abanoub? Or might he serve as a modern example of how their reputations were created and preserved? Secondly, does the comparison carry backwards even to the founding of the faith in the miraculous stories of Jesus and the Apostles? Historical and apologetic studies have dealt with the second question in depth; presumably anthropological and sociological studies have dealt with the first. What are the results?

Without having studied the modern disciplines of the first question, and with some previous reading in the theological and critical disciplines of the second, I see four possible answers. The first is that of complete verification; Abd al-Masih, like the apostolic witnesses before him, was used by God to demonstrate the ‘rightness’ of Christianity. The second is its opposite; though many involved may have been honestly duped, Abd al-Masih, or at least the religious leaders who co-opted his story, was a charlatan and a deceiver. The third returns to a religious response, but one less exclusivist. God has mercy on humanity through many paths; Abd al-Masih was his agent to serve the Orthodox Christians of Manahara and Upper Egypt, though other figures are equally his ‘witnesses’. The fourth seeks to preserve the sincerity of the stories with respect to scientific realities. Psychological and psychophysical studies are necessary to determine how such events can be unanimously testified but yet scientifically impossible; Abd al-Masih tapped into a power that is part of humanity but as of yet is alien to measurement.

For now evaluation of these results is not possible, as further study would be required. What is most interesting is the picture of Abd al-Masih as an example of Coptic spirituality. Celibate, mendicant, and sensitive to the divine, he represents the ideal Christian picture which most are not able to replicate. In return for his sacrifices he enjoyed special favor, which was used primarily to bless others, but from which he enjoyed extraordinary communion with God. Upon his death this favor continued, at which time his legend rapidly spreads. The Christians who are not able to follow his example signal their approval by visiting his grave, seeking his intercession, and donating to his remembrance. In a world lacking an abundance of saints (is it not always?), men like Abd al-Masih can receive the adulation of many. That this adulation results in a complete upheaval of the values they practiced while alive is simply one of the paradoxes of Coptic Christianity.

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

Easter, Reluctantly

Easter in Egypt is a negotiated reality; this is true for both the nation’s Christians and myself.

All last week at work I wondered about the holiday schedule. Ours is a multi-religious and liberal office; if someone wishes a religious holiday, they can pretty much have it. The Copts who work with us would take the day off and go to be with family, some traveling six hours away by train to Upper Egypt. What about the foreigners, though? Or the Muslims, would they be expected to work? Unlike Christmas, Easter is not a national holiday in Egypt. Islam celebrates the birth of Jesus from the Virgin Mary, but denies the resurrection indirectly, for it denies first the crucifixion, believing Jesus ascended into heaven before his arrest. Though the government is not Islamic, in this matter it toes the line with the Muslim majority by not confessing the holiday.

Toeing the line is partial, however, as I discovered at work. National law allows Christians to take the day off from work en masse, but reckons it as a claimed vacation day. Given the reality of a national holiday the day after Easter – Shem al-Naseem, or literally, ‘Smelling the Breeze’ – this policy allows Christians to celebrate their holiday, but allows all citizens to create for themselves a four day weekend. Shem al-Naseem is a cultural vernal festival dating back to Pharaonic times; Muslims and Christians celebrate it equally, though I have not yet researched why it is tied to the Easter holiday. Some Copts see this as an implicit national recognition of Easter, though it is missing from the official calendar.

An event at our office disclosed to me another shade of Easter in Egypt. We have been trying to arrange an interview with a prominent Muslim scholar from al-Azhar University, and my supervisor told me we would meet Tuesday after Easter. I was quite happy with the news, but she continued adding that he originally asked for Saturday evening, but we proposed Tuesday instead. This news meant little to me, though I was somewhat glad not to have a work appointment on the weekend. I shrugged my shoulders however, saying, “OK, whatever the sheikh wants would have been fine.” I figured we should bow to his schedule, but at this my supervisor, a Coptic Christian, was aghast. “What,” she exclaimed, “don’t you celebrate Easter?” It took me a few seconds of puzzlement, but then I remembered that church celebrations always occur on the eve of a holiday, not the day of. The day of is a feast; a day to indulge after weeks of fasting. Children gather at the church to play and the priests open their offices to receive the well wishes of visitors, but there is no mass.

In the West we celebrate Christmas Eve, but there is no such thing as Easter Eve. Yet if you remember the events of Nag Hamadi, the murderer targeted the church around midnight the day before Christmas. As there is no correlation between Coptic Christmas and the Western calendar of December 25, this fact can easily be lost on the non-Orthodox reader. This year it so happens that Coptic and Western Easter fall on the same date. Yet even I, living here now for eight months and more tuned in than most foreigners to Orthodox affairs, was caught off guard by an Easter Eve service.

Unfortunately, once I had learned of it I was not that excited. We experienced the Christmas Eve service in Maghagha, which was wonderful as we enjoyed it with the family of a local priest in his small village. Yet we arrived by train halfway through the service, so we did not have to endure a four hour mass ending at midnight with two squirming, sleep deprived children. Managing them for an hour and a half was enough, but once it was over we went to the priest’s home and enjoyed a sumptuous feast of meat, meat, and more meat. You can read about this experience here.

Easter Eve in Maadi had none of these advantages. Though we have been attending the local Orthodox Church since shortly after arrival, we have yet to make good friends there. In saying this I do not blame them; there are many legitimate reasons for this, which I describe here. Yet even so, the celebration for us would be the four hour mass, with two children, and no meat. We decided to pass.

I continued to waver. I was fully agreed that our girls should sleep and Julie would be home with them, but what about myself? I could go alone. In the days leading up to it I went back and forth on this decision several times. As a family we went to the international church Good Friday service, and we were content to let that be our Easter church attendance. We figured we would join the children’s escapades on Easter morning at the Orthodox Church, and in the afternoon a Coptic friend from the Bible Institute had invited us to join them for lunch Easter afternoon. So all in all we set aside time for the holiday, both by ourselves, with foreigners, and with Egyptians. I could appreciate a quiet evening home on Saturday, so why bother with another mass?

On the other hand I kept being jabbed by a conscious that reminds me we are trying to belong to the Coptic Orthodox Church. Who could confess this desire and yet ignore Easter, the holiest of holidays? There is a virtue in discipline, but I will not claim it here, for my assessment of personal motivation is far too cloudy, with a likelihood of showers. Is worshipping God and being thankful for the Resurrection anywhere near my decision making process? Hardly. Part of the reluctance of going alone is that there will be no ‘credit’. Usually, my daughter Hannah sits on my lap during the service, so I get ‘credit’ for being a good and spiritual father. Furthermore, the service will be packed and any individual will be lost among the crowd. Somewhere in my mind is the idea that if I am faithful in attendance over time I will be noticed and get ‘credit’ in this quest for acceptance and belonging. There would be none of that on Saturday. Worse, I was fully conscious that I could get at least get ‘credit’ in this blog, which would be impossible if I didn’t go. I will not bother to untangle these threads of condemnation, but in the end, go I did.

As I approached the church I was glad I did. I arrived at 8:45, less than an hour after it had begun. On most occasions the church would be about quarter full at this juncture in the mass, but tonight I noticed they had set up two outside areas with live feeds supplying the action on big screen TVs. These already had numerous people sitting comfortably in the cool evening breeze, but I pressed inside anyway and found a seat on the stairs leading upwards in the balcony. If nothing else, this was to be an experience.

As I took my place I noticed my supervisor with a friend of hers in the opposite corner. Ah, credit! The evening was starting out great. About half an hour later it got even better. During this time most of the mass, unfortunately for me, was held in Coptic. Coptic is a dead language except in liturgy, but it has been aggressively promoted in recent decades by church leadership seeking to strengthen Christian identity by, among many other methods, resurrection of the ancient Egyptian vernacular tongue. Many in the audience were chanting along, having memorized the hymns, reciting along with words they would otherwise have no idea of the meaning.

Suddenly, they switched into Arabic, chanting, as slowly as possible as the lights dimmed and the curtain was drawn across the opening in the iconostasis, “al-Masih qaam, bil-haqiqati qaam,” translating the phrase any Easter-going Christian would recognize, “Christ is risen; he is risen indeed.” Except that in accounting for the solemn, deliberate rendering it would more be like this: Chri-i-i-i-i-i-ist is rise-e-e-en; he-e-e-e-e-e-e is ri-i-i-i-s-e-e-e-e-en i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-inde-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e, e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ed. It was eerie, but effective.

Meanwhile, in the Orthodox Church the iconostasis serves to separate the altar from the congregation, holding icons of Jesus, Mary, and the twelve disciples on a lattice which allows preparation of the Eucharistic host to be viewed by all. The main view, however, is through a wide opening in the center, which as mentioned was closed by a curtain as the lights dimmed. Symbolizing the curtain in the ancient Jewish temple which divided the sanctuary from the Holy of Holies, which only the high priest could enter once a year, the mass continued for several minutes in near darkness. Then, with the loud clash of cymbals the lights flashed on and the priest reopened the curtain, setting off a spell of ululation from the women congregants. The curtain was torn in two; Christ had risen from the grave. The mass continued, appropriately, with the reading of the Gospel account of the empty tomb.

I wish I could say the euphoria continued, at least in me. Sadly, though ultimate responsibility rests only in my own human heart, I can find blame in all others around. Allow me to explain.

As I described, I was getting caught up in the presentation. Before the darkness the Bible readings were of such inspiring passages as the resurrection body of I Corinthians, the first Pentecost sermon in Acts, and the Petrine celebration of Christ’s once-for-all death and descent into Hell to preach there the Gospel. When the lights dimmed I was caught completely by surprise, but found myself one with the worshippers even shedding a tear in the darkness. Why, then, did I find the flood of light just a little bit cheesy? Why did the ululation ring hollow, and end sooner than it seemingly should have? For me this was a first time experience, but for everyone else it was observed for however many years that person had been alive. In the darkness, there is no choice but to be silent; with the light comes rejoicing, but who can fake an excitement when it is completely expected? Worse, once the lights came back on several in the congregation began to exit.

I could only guess that most of these were women who needed to get back home to prepare the after mass feast. Surely they were to be excused, but their number increased as the mass continued on. Another large contingent left after the sermon, and the congregation dwindled to about the size of a normal, non-holiday mass. I looked at the time and noticed there was still another two hours to go, and the original ideas of wishing a quiet evening at home as opposed to yet-another-mass returned. If everyone else was leaving, why shouldn’t I? If only from stubbornness to see it through to the end, I stayed.

As I anticipated, it became just an ordinary mass, only on speed, which made things worse. Because of the additional events of the holiday the rest of the liturgy was accelerated to make sure everything ended by midnight. This included my favorite sing-along hymns, which stood in stark contrast to the earlier ‘He is risen’ solemnities. Not only was I conscious of everyone leaving, wondering why I was there, I was also growing tired and sleepy. Still I soldiered on – not the best attitude for worship, but still.

At the end communion was distributed, which surprised me, since there was no communion at the Christmas Eve service. For Lent the Orthodox will fast all day Friday, and then again for eight hours on Easter Eve leading up to the midnight Eucharist. After all had partaken the priest turned to address the congregation, rebuking them for failing to maintain an attitude of reverence in the church, beginning early their Easter revelry. With this, announcements were given, holy water was sprinkled on all, the Lord’s Prayer recited, and everyone exited.

I had told Julie that if offered I would accept an invitation to join someone for the Easter midnight feast. I did not really expect one to be given, but neither did I go out of my way to be friendly. Perhaps this is either a virtue or vice – I was not engaging but at least I held back from worming my way into someone’s hospitality. Instead I went forward to greet the priests, again straddling the line between sincerity and duplicity. On Easter one is to call all friends and wish them a happy holiday, and doing so in person now with the priests I whom I know additionally from the Bible Institute is an even better gesture. Of course, it also grants me the ‘credit’ I earlier was not expecting, grand manipulator that I am. Pausing to see if the third priest I know was also available (he was not), I made way to leave.

Exiting the church I maneuvered between a wonderful scene of Copts dressed to the nines, mingling with friends and exchanging Easter greetings in the cool air of 12:15am. I also exited to witness two other scenes which return to the theme of Easter negotiation in Egypt. Stretched grandly across the street between the trees of the traffic circle was hung a cloth banner impossible to ignore. In bold lettering it wished the brother Christian Copts of Egypt a ‘Glorious Resurrection Holiday’, to translate literally, presented by Muhammad Murshidi and Hussain Magawir, members of the national parliament. Remembering the earlier statement of Islam about Easter, these two Muslim names can either be praised for their commitment to tolerance and national unity or else admonished for shameless pandering for votes. In my opinion, I think the first is more likely, and this was my initial reaction, nearly causing another tear to trickle.

The second scene dried it up, though further reflection might stimulate the tear duct further. As I was walking away back home I saw on the other side of the banner six policemen keeping watch in the center of the traffic circle. I stopped to count; altogether around the church I found sixteen policemen on patrol. For context, churches in Egypt are always under guard, but only two or three are usually to be found, at least in Maadi. It was a clear and immediate reminder of Nag Hamadi, and the efforts of the government to prevent any similar tragedy from marring a second Christian holiday. Praise God, all was fine, as things are 99% of the time in Egypt. It is the 1%, however, which reminds the Egyptian Christian, and this foreign observer, that Easter is a holiday necessary to negotiate with a Muslim majority nation.  

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

A Departing Third Opens an Unclear Future

Yesterday, March 10, 2010, the Grand Sheikh of al-Azhar died of a heart attack while visiting Saudi Arabia. Sheikh Muhammad Tantawi led the inimitable institution, considered by many if not most Sunni Muslims to be the leading Islamic university in the world, since his appointment by President Mubarak in 1995. Together with President Mubarak and Pope Shenouda of the Coptic Orthodox Church, Sheikh Tantawi presided over a period of considerable change during his tenure, and their lives, each one in their eighties, spanned epochal changes in Egyptian society. As the first of these three elder statesmen has passed on, Egyptians may wonder about the next generation of leadership, and the directions it may take.

During his career Sheikh Tantawi was a lightning rod of criticism from all corners of Egypt, making rulings considered too liberal or too conservative, depending on the source. Among the chief condemnations made of his tenure was that he was compliant more to the will of the state than to the principles of Islamic jurisprudence. Though a religious figure, he was also a political appointee; such remarks had ample target. For Muslims frustrated with an apparent secular regime he was its worst symbol, as he was attached to the heart of Islamic learning in the Arab world, the chief figure expected to uphold the purity of Islam.

A brief litany of his most controversial rulings includes issues straddling the religious/secular/political divisions which characterize Muslim debates today. In terms of women’s issues he fought against the burka, the full body covering opening only with slits for the eyes. He denied the Islamic foundation of the cultural practice of female genital circumcision. He ruled also that Islamic sharia did not forbid a woman president. In terms of the Western debate on terrorism and jihad he ruled that Islamic jihad must only be a defensive measure. He condemned the attacks of September 11, but wavered on suicide bombings against Israeli targets. Yet he also worked tirelessly as a mediator for peace, both in Israel/Palestine and Iraq. He was also a firm defender of equality between Copts and Muslims in Egypt, and enjoyed a warm relationship with Pope Shenouda. In all of these matters he pleased some but not others, but many were left frustrated that he either went too far, or not far enough, in his rulings. His lasting reputation as a political stooge or a man of principle will be debated long after his death, which marks the end of an era in Egyptian history, and the initiation of an unclear future.

Sheikh Muhammad Tantawi was 81 years old. Currently his Christian religious counterpart Pope Shenouda is 86. President Mubarak, meanwhile, is also 81. Pope Shenouda was selected by lot to fill the patriarchal chair of St. Mark upon the passing of Pope Kyrillos in 1971. Sheikh Tantawi was appointed to fill the post of al-Azhar, being promoted from the position of Grand Mufti, upon the passing of Gad al-Haq, who was known as a conservative Islamic figure, and with whom he had clashed several times. President Mubarak, meanwhile, became president upon the assassination of President Sadat in 1981. None of the three obtained their post by the will of the people, yet all have defined the political, Islamic, and Christian positions for the majority of Egyptian citizens. Their influence has been incalculable.

Now, Sheikh Tantawi has passed on. In some respects he is probably the least significant of the three. Regardless of the prestige of al-Azhar in Islamic history in the modern state it has become an extension of government bureaucracy. This does not imply Sheikh Tantawi was not sincere in his rulings. It is simply a statement that Muslim religion in Egypt is tied to political rule, and in the multiplicity of religious interpretations al-Azhar is no longer inviolable for the Muslim faithful.

This is much less so when it comes to the power of the church. Orthodox Christians in Egypt represent 90-95% of Christianity, and the majority of these look to Pope Shenouda, though without infallibility, as the undisputed leader and example of Christian thought and practice. There is no connection to the state; though President Sadat once banished Pope Shenouda to a monastery he could have no role in selecting a replacement. President Mubarak, interestingly, reestablished him to his papal chair. The pope is a towering figure in Egypt; in recognition of his advanced age the church is wary of decisive policy. Pope Shenouda has set the course; it will be continued until he also passes away, and then God will select by lot another leader. The church, quietly, does have divergent voices; only God knows which one will emerge.

Since the wick of Sheikh Tantawi was consumed before that of President Mubarak there is less apprehension concerning the next appointment of Grand Sheikh of al-Azhar. It is anticipated that the president will appoint someone similar, certain not to stray too far from the political perspectives of government. Yet the status of sheikh is not similar to that of pope, though by tradition he maintains the post until his death. As a political appointee it is possible, though unlikely, that the next president may depose the current figure and select his own man. Still, choosing the interpretive head of the Islamic world is not as simple as choosing a minister of agriculture; there will be substantial pressures on the next president to satisfy the demands of every religious interest. The identity of this next president, however, is an open question, perhaps for the first time since the revolution of 1952 introduced military rule to Egypt.

Some observers believe simply that following President Mubarak’s anticipated decision to end his political career—the next elections are in 2011—another general from the military/security sector will be internally selected to continue governance. His presidency will be popularly validated through elections, and the course of Egyptian politics will continue as it has for the past sixty years: Secular in orientation, focused on development, cautious with human rights and freedoms, wary of the power of religion.

This prediction bears a substantial wildcard, however, which has not yet featured in the modern Egyptian state. President Mubarak has a son who is acclaimed by some as a potential successor. Gamal Mubarak, however, is not a military man. While he may (this is debated) enjoy the backing of his father, he is less likely to garnish the behind the scenes support of the military elite. Furthermore, while many Egyptians appreciate the stability of the Mubarak presidency, they are reluctant to witness the instillation of his son, reducing the status of the republic to that of the nepotistic Pharaohs.

One final possibility is that true democracy does emerge, but with what result? While political Islamist interests do not represent a majority of the population they are adept at the political game of campaigning and elections. If allowed to participate they may ride the religious slogan of ‘Islam is the Solution’ into the presidential palace on the backs of a populace frustrated by lack of the secular regime’s advancement of freedom and economy. Or, there are other candidates outside the traditional government sector which command wide respect, but are criticized as candidates for lack of political acumen. The former head of the United Nations nuclear watchdog agency and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, Muhammad al-Baradi, is one such gentleman. Though he is understandably reluctant to throw his hat into the ring, he represents the hope of many Egyptians longing for civilian, democratic governance.

Though it be said that only God chooses the pope, space can be granted for the behind the scenes maneuvering of Orthodox bishops. Pope Shenouda has created a church bureaucracy similar to that enjoyed by the state by dividing growing bishoprics and appointing bishops loyal to his philosophy of Christianity. The Holy Synod comprises these bishops in their entirety, and with the General Lay Council of the Church is tasked with election of three candidates according to church tradition, which can be variable. Among these three, then, God makes the selection, through a blindfolded child who draws the lot.

Sheikh Muhammad Tantawi’s life spanned the rule of three kings, three presidents, and both war and peace with Israel. He witnessed the transformation of the country from a British colony with Turkish vestiges into a modern bureaucratic state. His passing signals the beginning of an era of change for Egypt, though the direction is yet uncertain. Not until Pope Shenouda and President Mubarak – may God preserve their lives – join him in the world beyond will this direction fully come to light. May their successors receive God’s wisdom for the substantial challenges each will face in filling the shoes of such monumental personalities.

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Personal

Coloring Theology

What do you notice in this picture? Try to identify subtle messages before you read on.

This picture was a product of craft time in our home. Julie distributed several coloring sheets printed from the internet, and Emma and I were taking daughter-daddy time sitting at the dinner table applying color to white spaces. Emma’s work, seen on the margins of the picture, was added during a previous session, while daddy can limit the usefulness of this togetherness by getting caught up in the artwork. In any case, I hope you like it.

While Emma and Hannah’s artwork gets hung on the wall, my occasional contributions usually just linger around. There is no need to add it to their gallery, but there is something that says you just can’t toss creativity into the garbage. Since our table has more space than the four of us need for meals, the picture sat quietly at the other end, always within my eyeshot.

One day I noticed something interesting that may never have dawned on me if not for time in the Orthodox Church. Icons hang from all corners of the sanctuary; pictures are painted in almost all available spaces, even the ceiling. One dominant image is of the theotokos, Mary, the mother of God.

She is a majestic, towering figure, holding the baby Jesus in her bosom. Like Mary, Jesus is upright; though an infant he is ruling the world from his mother’s lap. Despite her prominence, the theotokos is still a secondary image. The central icon behind the altar is of a risen Jesus, the pantocrator, the ruler of all.

Mary maintains her high place, however, in the esteem of the Orthodox Church. One of the central prayers during mass has the congregation in chant with the priest:

Through the intercession of the Mother of God, Saint Mary,

O Lord grant us the forgiveness of our sins.

We worship You, O Christ,

With Your good Father and the Holy Spirit,

For You have come and saved us.

The mercy of peace, the sacrifice of praise.  

Such devotion of Mary is of common knowledge to Western audiences through the Catholic Church as well. Protestant reaction is also familiar to most. Believing that an individual has direct access to God through Jesus, the Protestant wonders why such intercession is necessary. As such, the role and prominence of Mary is significantly decreased. Consider, therefore, the message of the picture.

Imagining, though not knowing, this internet coloring picture was designed by Protestants, notice first the folded hands of Mary. This was the image which first captured my attention. Her hands are folded in prayer to the baby Jesus. In stark contrast to the proud figure of Mary carrying the divine child, this humble figure emphasizes her subjection. In addition, she is drawn in equal proportion to Joseph, again marginalizing her importance. Furthermore, though both are kneeling, Joseph’s hands are not folded. It is the prayers of Mary that are emphasized. The message is subtle, but pictures communicate. The artist is directly imbuing the coloring child with Protestant theology.

I have sought to write this post so far without a coloring theology of my own. Of Protestant heritage, I maintain the question for Orthodox audiences: Why are these intercessions necessary? I understand and appreciate the overarching idea of the communion of the saints. The Orthodox challenge their Protestant brothers with irrefutable logic: If you ask your living sister to pray to God for whatever issue you are facing, why would you refrain from asking your ever-living sister, Mary, in heaven?

The theology of prayer is difficult in any case, intercessions or not. Why does God sometimes answer prayer, and sometimes seemingly ignore the pure petitions of his faithful? Answers are numerous, and I will not go into them here. Yet whatever answer is given to address one part of the equation always seems to violate a different scriptural precept. Prayer, if analyzed, can be very frustrating.

This, though, is where the Protestant undoes the Orthodox rebuttal. Perhaps this is a mark of American Protestantism, but most people I know who ask others to join them in prayer are not requesting intercession as much as they are asking for them to share in their suffering. The thought is not that if you also pray for me then perhaps God will now grant my request, as if it were a matter of addition. It is the natural human inclination to seek out support in time of need. Of course, since we do not know the mind of God, the prayers offered could not hurt. Depending on how great the need, perhaps the supplicant is indeed keeping count. God, answer me.

Prayer is one of the deepest expressions of human existence. The disciplined, regular prayers that we conduct with our children before meals and bedtime are pale comparisons. So also are our efforts to teach them to pray to God in their time of need, most recently expressed during occasional nightmares.

When Emma truly wakes with a nightmare it is obvious. She cries out and needs immediate consolation. Whoever put her to bed that night will go in and comfort, and then pray with her. Emma has learned this lesson, though, and will sometimes call out just fifteen minutes after going to bed, that she “had a bad dream about a rabbit.” Or, a bear, or cat, or sharks, etc. Our patience wears thin, and we will call from the door, “Did you pray to God about it?”

Clearly, our concern is more for our quiet than her relationship with God. Though the concept is good, we make a mockery of prayer, using it as a tool to wean her dependence off us, not for her spiritual development, but for our few moments of quiet at the end of the day.

What is most interesting is her usual response. “Daddy, I want you to pray to God for me.” Granted, she has heard far more prayers than she has been encouraged to utter, but the question is there: Is the desire for intercession wired into the human soul? If it is, is this positive or negative, a quality to encourage or one from which to mature? The answer may depend partially on the denomination.

Yet even in the Protestant understanding, why should one not seek to share one’s suffering with Mary, or with any other saint? Of course the Protestant cannot conjure this, any more than can be done with a stranger on the street, or perhaps more fittingly, a character from a story. The Biblical figures and the spiritual giants from bygone eras have past from living conscious into the tales of history and the register of heaven. In neither do they impact the Protestant’s daily life, nor enter the circle of relationships. Such a one should not be pressed to do so, for every relationship takes time. Does the lack of feeling toward this cloud of witnesses, however, betray a missing hue of Protestant theology?

On the other hand, if the Protestant has a warm relationship with Jesus, of whom the Bible states specifically intercedes for people before the Father, for what cause is appealing to Mary necessary? Once an Arab Catholic friend remarked, “If you can’t get what you want from someone, who better to go to than his mother!” This is interesting cultural insight as to the strong and continuous relationship an Arab man has with his mother, but contained therein is a point worthy to ask the Catholic/Orthodox: Your theology agrees with the superiority of Jesus and the access of every believer to him; do you indeed have such a relationship, or are you afraid of approaching the throne of grace? If the answer is yes there is no shame; every Protestant trembles as well that a supplication will be rejected. To ask is to risk; it is better to stay silent than to face the possibility of disappointment.

Of course, few of our prayers carry risk. Offers of thanksgiving and requests for well-being are well within our own power to accomplish; asking God’s help is good form, and cements the importance of humility, however feigned in actuality. A true supplication, however, empties the soul. Or, rather, it emerges from a soul which has been emptied. If God is the only answer left, how terrifying it is if he also fails.

This is no different than in any relationship; approaching anyone in weakness strikes at the core of our independence and self-satisfaction. Yet while we loathe our abasement, suffering is stronger in calling out for consolation. Be it for help, or for company, this is the truest of prayers. Jesus promised, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall inherit the kingdom of heaven,” and the Hebrew prophet before him, “I live in a high and holy place, but also with him who is contrite and lowly in spirit.” The prayer, it seems, is given a promise.

Ah, but what if it proves untrue? Is this an explanation of the practical side of Catholic/Orthodox appeal to saintly intercession? Is God held innocent if I only ask of Mary? I cannot answer this question, having no inherited reality of this world. If true, however unconscious, it is only parallel to the Protestant gymnastics which explain God’s inaction toward our cries for help. More likely, we fail to answer this question since we have never truly cried; our soul is not yet empty. The gymnastics are a tool to avoid the contrite and lowly spirit necessary to know God’s comfort.

I ask the Catholic/Orthodox for patience, since I am yet unable to enter this world. We both ask patience from the skeptic and secular, who scoffs at this whole conversation. It is hard to understand that which you do not know, and it is hard to know without entering in. Yet the hands of Mary, folded in the picture, illustrate both the dilemma and its solution. Hands clasped together can hold on to nothing else. This is prayer in its truest form. Though each person kneels alone before God, how much more comforting if we are joined by others. May we each so offer ourselves to those around us; may it be we also profit from those who have gone before?

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Personal

Finding Church (part three)

In early October we began this blog, and after the opening post our next two entries were about the challenge of finding a local church in which to worship. In part one we described our general attitude toward this process, and in part two we described some of the local options from which to choose. I had imagined at the time that part three would follow shortly thereafter, but as you can tell it is now mid-February, and we have gained almost four months experience from where we were. It is high time for an update.

At the end of part two I previewed that we would describe our thoughts toward the Coptic Orthodox Church, which is the primary church of Egypt. Back then it was to be a philosophical description of the value of discovering a new tradition, one which reached back to the earliest days of Christianity. It was to promote the idea of belonging to the church in its local form, feeding and being fed with a people now our own. It may have mentioned the ideal of each Christian possessing something which would strengthen the neighborhood body, wondering what it could be that they might gain from us. It would have admitted the anticipated difficulties of finding spirituality in liturgy, but been hopeful that this was the pattern among millions, and for centuries, so why should we not also find our way?

This is what I would have written; I might yet still. In the previous four months we have had confirmed the troubles described in part two in worshipping late night with the Evangelicals, as we prefer to put our girls to bed early. We have gone several times to stay only for the worship, which has been enjoyable, but has been short of church. At night, however, at the end of a long working day (Sunday), it has been very easy to let this experiment slip.

In the previous four months I have also joined a Coptic Orthodox Bible Institute which—this class at least—is focused on how to extend Christian belonging to those on the fringes of the church. I wrote about a recent conference with this group here. This has been a very good experience for rubbing shoulders with real, believing Orthodox Christians of Egypt. While I do not learn as much about Orthodoxy as I had hoped, it is invaluable for learning of the things which are important to them. I have been received well, despite a Protestant background—many are often concerned about Protestant inroads into the Orthodox Church—and will speak well of them to you.

Finally, as for introduction, in the previous four months we have been a part of their traditional Friday mass community. While mass itself begins at 7:00am, many people do not show up until much later, and the sermon begins between 8:30 and 9:00. Communion is served around 10:15 and not finished until a few minutes before 11:00 when everyone has been served. Thereafter there are closing prayers and the sprinkling with holy water—a practice I must describe one of these days in its own right. At 11:00 the mass ends, and people exit.

Outside of the mass there is a children’s mass in a separate hall which begins at 8:30, followed by Sunday school at 9:30. This ends also at 11:00, at which point the families come back together, and many cross the street to the church owned villa where drinks and food are available for purchase. As best we can tell this area is open throughout the week, and people hang out all day on Friday.

Our pattern has been to go to church and sit together in the main mass from about 8:30 to the beginning of Sunday school. Emma and Julie tried the children’s mass early on but it was crowded and Emma did not have a very good experience. So I take Hannah on my lap and sit on the men’s side, while Julie takes Emma and sits on the ladies’ side. Actually, we both sit in the balcony which seems to be less divided, but we do stay apart in hope this would be easier for our girls to be still. So far, they have both behaved admirably.

Julie then takes Emma across the street to the villa which houses Emma’s age Sunday school. At times she sits outside with the other mothers, but recently has discovered a ladies’ class in the neighboring room. Meanwhile Hannah and I remain in the mass, after which Hannah enjoys getting down from my lap and sitting in all the chairs, climbing through all the wooden pews. After a little while, during which most of the church empties, we cross the street to rejoin Julie and Emma, who have since bought for all an early lunch. We split falafel sandwiches and French fry sandwiches, and sometimes find other families with which to talk, sometimes not. The same goes for our girls and playing with the other kids. We usually leave around 11:45 or so, and cross back to the church, where we take a few kids books—Arabic and English—from the library, unchain our double stroller, and walk to second Sunday school.

Second Sunday school is at the Evangelical church closer to our home, where Emma enjoys her class and Julie stays around and watches from the side. Quite a few of the Orthodox children also attend the Evangelical Sunday school classes, or, perhaps it is the other way around. In any case, Emma likes both and Julie has been getting to know some of the bi-denominational mothers.

 It has been very educational for me to be part of the mass. I have even enjoyed it. Since I am experiencing everything in Arabic (and Coptic) there is that which makes me concentrate more than if all was in English. It has taken time, but I have become familiar with the patterns of liturgy and the communal prayers, even if I don’t always capture every word. At the same time, with Hannah on my lap there is ample room for distraction, which does not seem to be a problem to those around us. The same program, more or less, is repeated week after week, and has been for two millennia. It does not seem to matter if here or there a baby cries or people rise to leave mid-service. The traditions go on as they always have.

This aspect of the service has been enjoyable, as it also allows me time to daydream. By this I mean spiritually daydream, as I contemplate ancient rituals and contemporary importance. If this is what church was in its earliest days, does this carry forward in establishing legitimacy? Or is this church doomed to increasing irrelevance in favor of a growing worldwide contemporary evangelicalism? Do evangelicals do well or poorly in shaping church so closely to culture? Would Orthodox benefit from adding variety to their worship? Since Orthodox believe the bread and wine are truly Jesus’ body and blood, how does this affect their partaking? Do they truly believe, or are they going through the motions? If that is a poor way to ask, are they repeating ritual with sincerity? When they prostrate themselves before the elements, do they ‘feel’ God? He is, after all, present in all his holiness. What would it be like to feel this? Should I even try? Will it happen one day by itself? Do I believe at all? Is what I am doing worship? Am I just an observer, a sociologist? Does any of this, in them or in me, please God at all?

These are fun questions to consider, even if they are troubling at times. Add these to the icons, the incense, the architecture, and the cymbals, and the time goes very quickly. In moments here and there I have been moved; never have I been bored.

This week, however, was a setback.

One week ago we contacted one of the priests who had previously invited me and my wife to sit down and discuss Orthodoxy. He mentioned that though everyone seeks to speak with him after Friday mass, the Saturday services are less regularly attended, especially the English mass celebrated the first of every month. So we called him to reserve a time, made arrangements for a babysitter to watch the girls, and gave our Saturday morning to this endeavor.

He didn’t show up.

I learned later that he forgot, and asked if we wished to meet with him next week. He didn’t seem particularly disturbed that he forgot, nor was he particularly inviting, though not insincere, in his offer. Of course he did not know the troubles we undertook to meet the first time, but his attitude revealed something that was lingering in the back of our heads during the previous four months. There is little welcome extended in the Egyptian Coptic Orthodox Church.

I can imagine that our presence there in the first place is very odd for people. Maadi, Cairo is full of foreigners, but we are the only ones I can notice in the church. Orthodoxy is not a Western tradition, so this is not unusual, and therefore our attendance is. Nevertheless, in four months almost no one has asked why we are there, or offered to help in understanding the liturgy, or even greeted us as the service ends. There are plenty of admiring stares at our girls, and at the villa people are friendly if we approach them, but it seems most people seem to believe we wish to be left alone. Perhaps they are accustomed to this being the normal Western attitude.

If the reader here senses some frustration, it may not be far off, but that is not the point. One other comment on the setback, however, before I get to it.

Getting up for church has been a fabled difficulty in America for a long time, so there is nothing unique in this anecdote. Nevertheless, it is a little different from the norm, for Sunday church in America follows the chance to sleep in on Saturday following the workweek. Here, Friday church is the next day after the Sunday through Thursday workweek, so after rising early for the boss, a Westerner like myself feels entitled to take a day of rest, but finds instead we have to rise again early, this time for God.

A mistake with the snooze button today led to an extended morning rest, and then a few snoozes more. Before we knew it it was clear that we would be late for the sermon at church. Whereas we don’t strive to get there for the start of mass, it is beneficial to hear a sermon, and all the readings from the Bible take place before the sermon. Afterwards, it is all liturgical preparation for communion.

Having had four months of getting used to the liturgy, and having attended the English liturgy the week before, suddenly all desire to go to church was gone. I have not mentioned yet this post that non-Orthodox are barred from taking communion. I will explain more about this sometime in the future when I learn more, but only baptism at the hands of a priest qualifies one to take part in sharing the body and blood of Jesus. We have known this since the beginning, and have not allowed it to bother us or prevent our efforts to belong. I would rather partake with them, and will explore any opportunities for this, but during the extended communion time Hannah and I simply watch the others move forward to receive.

Therefore, no sermon, known liturgy, and no communion equal little desire. We went anyway, of course, going to church has been an established habit since I can remember. It was again as it has always been, which is both good and bad.

Therein lies the point. It is as it has always been. This is a difficult aspect of Orthodoxy to get used to. As for the lack of a felt welcome, we are measuring this against the hyper-seeker-sensitive American evangelical church. If I say ‘hyper’ here many American readers will immediately nod their heads in agreement, thinking of that flashing lights megachurch that gets all the attention. No, I mean your church. Most churches give instruction to certain people to make certain they approach any noticeable newcomer. They must not be overly friendly, lest they be scared away, but they must feel welcomed, lest they complain afterwards no one talked to them. It is a tightrope walking game the American church has almost mastered.

Furthermore the very idea which informs this blog—a sense of belonging—is nearly established dogma in Western society, and as such in the church as well. We want to feel, to experience, to be loved, to be wanted, and we expect our churches to provide this for us. Of course, we need a top notch children’s program as well, so they can share in all of these ‘needs’. This is written with a touch of critique, but it also is both positive and Biblical. The church is a body, full of relationships.

Before moving on it would also be wise to mention the cynical flip side of this arrangement. People must be welcomed, of course, so that they may with us receive the benefit of salvation, if they do not know it, but then can also grow spiritually through sound teaching and service opportunities. This is true and real. It does not stop the critique, however, that we welcome them in pursuit of church growth, either for the crass but real idea of gaining donations to perpetuate existence, or for the slightly improved but still suspect notion that bigger is better. I know this world well; no one thinks this way, but these concerns are never far from the surface. The practice of religion is rarely far from the practice of capitalism. We fail to consider this mammon at our peril.

I am highlighting these features of American church to provide a stark contrast to the Coptic Orthodox Church. Surely there are negative pictures here as well, which I will share with you as I learn them. For now, however, consider the simple fact of continuity. The church here has existed for two thousand years. It has birthed Christianity in many other countries, started worldwide monastic movements, won an entire nation to the faith, become famed for spectacular miracles, experienced waves of bloody persecution, witnessed numerous theological controversies, given way to a dominant rival faith, lost its ancestral language, descended into dry and lifeless repetition of rituals, and experienced unprecedented spiritual revival. Throughout all this the mass has stayed—so as best I can say at this time—exactly the same.

The church is as it was, and presumably will be. Each and every church is the same. Though one priest may differ in style from another, there is no competition between bodies. Deacons, like priests, are appointed by a regional bishop, and may preside over mass in any church to which they come. Worshippers may go to one church one week and another the next. Mass is the same if it is full of people, or attended by only one or two. Outside the sermon and communion, the priest’s back is turned to the congregation almost the entire time. The presence of any one individual makes no difference at all.

In this description I am focusing on the mass; church in Egypt does appear to have a web of relationships and activity that we have not yet been privy to. Perhaps it would be better to say that Christians of Egypt have this network, which is centered on the church. I plan to write a post about this soon.

The mass, however, is timeless worship. As in the Bible, where the same words have informed Christians for generations, so does the liturgy inform Christian spirituality and definition. I have been looking for a sense of belonging, and somewhat been hoping for a give and take from the church. With all patience I have realized our acceptance may take a long while, as would our own ability to know how to belong. The setback of the last week has made me wonder about this expectation, indicating I have aimed incorrectly. The mass is not set up as a give and take with the church, it is set up only for God. The congregation gives itself in worship; it takes an immaterial blessing. God, presumably, will welcome all who prostrate before him; those who come on their own terms are left to themselves.

We do not know what these thoughts will do for our hope to find church soon. These four months have not been sufficient to decide where our family should worship. It remains a request in our personal prayers; to the extent you wish to join in these we are thankful. Church has been part of our family for a long time, and we desire it to be a foundation of our lives here as well. Where we choose to belong we will strive to give ourselves fully. However informed by American Christian culture we are in this respect, we hope it is still our prostration to God, of whose welcome we desire. May it be with Egyptians of all convictions that we gain a sense of belonging, which is the immaterial blessing we seek from God. We pray this is on his terms, and not our own.

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Personal

Coptic Conference, Egyptian Triumph

The two items in the title today bear no relation to one another except for the day. In the end, it was a true Egyptian experience.

This past weekend the class I am with at the Coptic Bible Institute – its actual name is the Institute for Orthodox Doctrine and Spiritual Guidance – had its winter retreat at a former monastery turned conference center in Beni Suef, the first major city to the south of Cairo, about a two hour drive away. Julie and the girls were able to come, as did the families of other students in the class, which made for a nice atmosphere for all. We were put together in a single room in a typical dorm style residence facility, and while I participated in the activities Julie was free to roam around the grounds with the kids, not quite a babysitter, but not exactly comfortable with the hands-off attitude which prevailed. The retreat lasted three days and two nights, and was a nice break from the routine of the city.

The program of the conference focused on communication skills, body language, and the five love languages, which may be known to some readers of this blog as a popular study in many churches. It surprised me somewhat to see it in an Egyptian Orthodox retreat program, but much of American Christianity has come to Egypt through its Protestant churches, and then works its way as well into the greater Orthodox majority. Each day had two lectures and a study group, which I was able to ‘feel’ as normal retreat procedure, but the rest of the activity reminded me I was among those of a different tradition.

We did not necessarily wake early, but the day started with prayer, which was not the common ‘everyone give a request and talk to God’ procedure during Protestant sessions. Instead, we worked through the Orthodox prayer book. Traditionally, and still present in monastic practice, Christians would pray seven times daily. These prayers are scripted, though there seemed to be some variety in the selections. I was more confused than would ordinarily be expected, for instead of breaking for prayer seven times, we combined two prayer sessions into one, ending the day with the single, seventh prayer, and according to a pattern everyone knew except me, intermingled the selections from the two readings.

Within each session there consisted the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostle’s Creed, a ‘Lord have mercy – Kyrie Elasion’ reading, a Psalm, a reading from a Gospel, and general other intercessions. It was all very scriptural, but it was very fast. In part this was because my Arabic reading is still slow, and I was trying to keep up with unfamiliar material, but it also seemed like readers rushed through the selection given them to read. Some seemed like they had memorized the portions, others were less confident, but some read in a sing-song that was very beautiful. We stood standing the whole time, about twenty to thirty minutes, and faced East. I would say that East is the direction of Jesus’ second coming, but that doesn’t sound exactly right, as early Christianity expanded in all directions around Jerusalem, and his return, though to be seen by the whole world, will be, according to his own word, on the Mount of Olives. Nevertheless, within the Orthodox liturgy is a directive to ‘Look to the East’; I will need to ask a bit more to find out why.

 The other activity was also unfamiliar; following the prayer we learned a Coptic hymn. Though most of Coptic Orthodox liturgy is now conducted in Arabic, and has been for centuries, there is a conscious effort on the part of Orthodox Christians to maintain the use of their original tongue. It is only a liturgical language, but its study is mandatory for all priests and monks, though no one speaks it at home and only the learned would be able to follow along except for the known and familiar passages. At the Orthodox church we attend they put the words of the liturgy on a screen; on one side is the Arabic text, on the other is the Coptic language, written in Arabic script.

This hymn was being taught in preparation for the coming Easter fasting session, for it is used only near the end of Lent, if I understood correctly. It contained also an interesting theological twist. The opening lines praise Jesus for his fast, which he undertook for us. I had not heard this notion before. The question of why Jesus chose to fast forty days is a question not really answered definitively in the Bible, but the general answer that I have heard was that it was in preparation for his public ministry, which began immediately after he emerged from the desert. For Protestants who rarely fast, this is seen as a commendable but exceptional event, but one that is designed to draw one especially close to God, and as such, it is understood that Jesus did this for himself.

I am not yet sure of all the formulations, but Orthodox do fast regularly, almost half the year in varying levels of severity, and it has an element of repentance from sin. I may be wrong in this, but if I am not, they do have Biblical warrant. Yet since Jesus had no sin of which to repent, nor need to draw closer to God, the Orthodox may be more pressed in this understanding to figure out why Jesus fasted in the first place. The answer I received, as the hymn celebrates, is that he fasted for us. He undertook his fast to teach us to fast, and in some way, to perfect and complete the fasting required of his followers. Christians are said in the Bible to be ‘in Christ’; as such their lives are mixed with his, and his deeds also become theirs. I was nervous that this made Jesus’ life somewhat of a theater, in which he was playing a role rather than living his life in a real way. The Orthodox believe, of course, that Jesus was both fully human and fully divine, and that during his fast he suffered greatly, as any human would. The motivation, however, seems peculiar. Again, I will have to ask more questions.

Less people were familiar with the hymn than with the prayers, and people seemed less eager to participate in the learning thereof. I thought it was fun in the beginning, but I tired of it as the retreat went on, realizing I was never going to memorize it, and even if I could, would I even recognize it during the few weeks it entered into the liturgy? Perhaps other people felt the same way.

As a note, I have by now memorized some of the more celebrated parts of the liturgy that are repeated every week. It is fun to be able to participate fully during these parts of the service, whereas so much else is still unfamiliar. I keep in the back of my mind, however, the traditional Protestant critique of liturgy. It may well be fine and Biblical, but does the eternal repetition lead to routine monotony? I would like to be inclined to believe it does not have to, but this is an answer I can only discover in time through experience. By the visible participation of many during the mass I can see they are engaged; by the visible participation of many others, there is little indication.

During the retreat, however, mass was the one thing we failed to participate in fully. Justifying ourselves that this was a retreat and thus a good time to catch up on some needed rest, we slept in, resisting the knock at our door which was given to all at around quarter to seven. We did arrive a good half an hour before it ended at 11:00, so who knows what type of credit we received if we were found in attendance following communion. I suppose for full disclosure we should also admit to not participating in the seventh late night prayer, performed at around 10:30pm. We may be striving for a sense of belonging, but we are not yet Egyptians, we need our sleep.

Following Sunday mass and a final group session we were due for lunch and then departure at 3:00pm. This is a key detail, for Sunday was also to be the final of the African Nations Cup. Egypt had defeated hated rival Algeria (see this post, from Julie, and this one, from Jayson) in the semifinal, 4-0, and the country was awash in excitement in advance of the final match against Ghana. In addition, having won the past two African Nation Cups, but missing out on qualification for the upcoming World Cup, this was a chance at national redemption. Our bus was scheduled to leave with plenty of time allotted to return to Cairo before the match began.

Of course, nothing in Egypt goes according to schedule. Lunch was prepared by a classmate’s family who lived in the area. Though delicious, it was an hour late. Then when we had finished, the bus to return had still not arrived. When it came, it was smaller than the one which brought us, causing extra delays in trying to fit everyone and their luggage (we did, somehow). Meanwhile, three of our group had gone into the city for some reason, and needed to be picked up along the way out, except that they were not where they were supposed to be, and we had to search for them. At long last we got on the road, and it was clear we would not make it home in time for the start of the match.

In vain we tried to find the match broadcast on the radio. The best we could do was find a station which gave updates every few minutes, but the frequency was not clear. Fortunately, we were in the first row, so we could hear the time pass with confirmation of the same result, no score. We had no indication of the time elapsed, however, but it seemed likely we could make it home before it ended, and certainly for the overtime which seemed likely.

Then, the bus had an accident. It was no real accident, but there was no reason for it, as best I could tell. We were so close to home and the driver pulled into what seemed like a strip mall. I think he was looking for a shortcut to get over to the main road to take us back to the church, realized he made a mistake, but then backed up into another car. Five or six of the men of our group got out with the driver to investigate, and another lengthy delay ensued. I let things be and stayed in my seat, otherwise I could fill in the details, but I have seen the confrontations that sometimes occur over fender benders, and thought the presence of a foreigner might not help things. In any case, about fifteen minutes later we were on our way again, as there seemed to be no complications from the accident.

During the final approach back to church we saw evidence of the result. People were slowly but increasingly swarming into the streets to celebrate. Those in cars began honking their horns incessantly, including what seemed to be a wedding party in convoy. Children were dancing while waving flags over their heads. Others were shooting off fireworks. Every club or café we passed was emptying. The nation was in euphoria.

We learned in the taxi ride on the way home that Egypt had scored in the final five minutes, and then held off the Ghanaian attack to win 1-0. The next several hours were filled with horn honking throughout the city. Egypt, seven times champion, three in a row. I am glad we attended the Coptic conference, wished we would have been able to watch the match, but at least witnessed the emergence of celebration. We witnessed true Egypt, from the first experience to the last.

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

Bishop Marcos on Nag Hamadi

The recent killings in Nag Hamadi have engendered various reactions throughout Egyptian society. Some have cursed the darkness, while others have closed up their eyes and ears altogether. Some, however, have been spurred to action, but sensitivity, distance—geographically and culturally, and ignorance make it terribly difficult to know what to do. We at the Center for Arab West Understanding (CAWU) find ourselves in this third grouping. We have a project designed to encourage peacemaking, and we have a region in Nag Hamadi which is in need of peace. We also possess internal compunction to make a difference, but find these motivations are like the hitting of a head against a wall; what can we do? With fractions of ideas we sought counsel from a trusted advisor, Bishop Marcos of the Coptic Orthodox Church, of the diocese of Shubra al-Khayma.

Bishop Marcos, in addition to providing spiritual leadership for an influential district of Cairo is also the point person for communication activities of the church. He also serves as a board member for CAWU, and has provided us with advice and insight for many years. Our group was composed of Eng. Sawsan Gabra, head of CAWU, Osama al-Ghazoly, and Jayson Casper, and shortly after arrival we welcomed additional parties to our conversation.

Bishop Marcos had informed us by telephone as we sought to gain an audience with him that he was traveling on Sunday to Nag Hamadi with a delegation from the United States and Australia. The news that he was to visit the area was encouraging—we hope that he might provide great service to the church and city—but what was this foreign delegation?

As we began our conversation the facts became clear and Bishop Marcos introduced us to the foreigners in question… (click here to continue)

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Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

A Priest’s Opinion on Nag Hamadi

During our stay in Maghagha for Coptic Christmas, we got to see Christian reactions first hand as the news about the killings in Nag Hamadi began to spread. We discussed this somewhat in our reflections on Day One and Day Two of our Christmas celebration. There was shock, discouragement, and resignation. Sadly, many Copts believe that they lack the necessary concern of the authorities to prevent such atrocities, and even to respond by arresting and prosecuting the perpetrators.

I do not wish to comment about the validity of these perceptions, but they are widely held. One of the results is that many Copts suffer from a disengagement with society; having been let down so many times they are reluctant to participate anew, and put no trust in government to intervene positively. Though these reactions can be seen as natural and potentially legitimate, it can also be said that this will lead to only further rupture between Muslims and Christians, and between Christians and the state. Many Copts recognize this, and are fervently urging their fellow believers to re-engage.

In the wake of such despair it is difficult for many Copts to find a positive vision. We were fortunate, however, to be staying in the home of one such priest. I asked Fr. Yu’annis (John in the Coptic language) what he would do if he were a priest in Nag Hamadi. He answered in three parts, addressing the government, Muslim leaders, and the Christian community. A summary of the conversation which followed has resulted in a report, and is now presented here…

During the Coptic Christmas celebrations I had the opportunity to stay with my family in the home of Fr. Yu’annis in Maghagha. Fr. Yu’annis is a priest for the Coptic Orthodox Christian community in Qufada, but maintains his residence in Maghagha, the seat of the bishopric, about fifteen minutes away by car. We were able to witness with him the events of January 6, in which gunmen waited in ambush outside a church in Nag Hamadi, Qena, and shot dead six Christians as they exited Christmas mass. One Muslim police officer was also killed in the attack.

Fr. Yu’annis has been a longstanding friend of Arab West Report, which has noticed his exceptional manner in relating to government officials and Muslim neighbors. He has been instrumental in securing permission to build or expand over twenty churches in the bishoprics of Maghagha, Beni Mazar, and Mattai, during a time in which many Egyptian Christians complain of difficulties in this regard. Based on this background, I asked Fr. Yu’annis what he would do if he were a priest in Nag Hamadi. How should a Christian leader respond to such a violent act against the community?

Fr. Yu’annis answered in three parts. The first and immediate action would be to go to government officials, ask questions, and listen. These would include the governor, mayor, and leaders of the police force. He would ask them, simply, what they plan to do about this. He would not interfere, but he would continue to inquire. It would be hoped that through these interactions he might craft good relationships with these officials, but also signal to them that he is following the events and will not let the matter drop. Ultimately, authority and responsibility lie in the hands of the government, and it is best to remain in good communication with all its representatives.

The second action should be directed toward Muslim community leaders, including the mosque preachers but not limited to them. The point here is not to level accusations but to strengthen relationships. Even so, a rebuke could be in order, though it must be properly delivered.

Fr. Yu’annis remembered the Biblical story of David, after he had committed adultery with Bathsheba and had her husband killed by sending him to the front lines of battle. God sent to him the prophet Nathan, who told him of a poor villager whose one sheep was taken from him to be slaughtered for the guest of his rich neighbor, even though this man had many sheep of his own. David was outraged and ordered that this man be taken and put to death. Nathan replied promptly, “You are the man!” David was caught in condemnation through his own words and made conscious of his sin, for which he then repented.

Though the parallel is not complete, this is the manner with which Fr. Yu’annis would approach Muslim leaders. Nathan came to David as a friend; so would Fr. Yu’annis approach the Muslims. Nathan refrained from displays of anger and outright accusation; Fr. Yu’annis would similarly recognize the futility of such an effort. Instead, like Nathan he would ask a question: If we had done this to you, killed your worshippers exiting a mosque, what would be your response toward us? In seeking to help these leaders understand the event from the perspective of the other, he would also seek to establish their own claim of responsibility for the climate in which this atrocity was committed. Accepting this responsibility, he hoped, might lead not only toward initiatives of rapprochement, but also toward personal and community repentance.

Finally, Fr. Yu’annis would direct his third action toward the Christian community. He would urge the people toward patience and forgiveness, but would also give a harder command. Though it would be easy to retreat in frustration at the tensions present between the two communities, the Christians of Nag Hamadi must resist this temptation. Instead, they must make certain to preserve the normal and natural relationships they have with individual Muslims of their community. Where these do not exist Christians should be active to craft them. The atrocity was committed by one to three individuals, who may or may not have been connected to other elements in the area. Regardless of a possible wider scope, they do not represent the majority Muslim sentiment, which would condemn this crime. If Christians retreat, however, they would give Muslims cause to doubt them, and where there is little relationship, there is little concern. Instead, by preserving and strengthening the relationships that do exist they send a powerful statement of community unity in the face of difficulty and potential sectarian strife.

Fr. Yu’annis was powerfully affected by the events at Nag Hamadi, and as we discussed them and listened to the incessant media reporting from which it was impossible to turn away, his eyes welled up with tears. Not only were these for families torn asunder, but also for a community which appears about to suffer the same fate. In such cases, it is far better for policy to be determined by sadness than by anger; may his thoughts also be conjured by the priests of Nag Hamadi.