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Coptic Christmas: Day Three

Today we visited two “Holy Family Sites” near Maghagha.    For those who know the Bible story, you may remember that due to the threat of Herod’s soldiers coming to kill the babies under age 2 in Bethlehem, Joseph took his small family down to Egypt before returning to Nazareth.  From what I know and remember, the Bible doesn’t say much more than, “They went down to Egypt,” but here in Egypt, there is a whole route mapped out where Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, i.e. The Holy Family, went.  I am not sure where all the information comes from, but just about a month ago, I learned that Maadi, the town where we live in Egypt, was one of the Holy Family stops.  There is now a church built on the spot, right along the banks of the Nile.  In some ways, this reminds me of our visit to Jerusalem a few years ago where we walked along the Via Delarosa … the path Jesus took to the cross.  There is a lot of history and archeology that could map a basic route he walked, but there are also places along the way that seem impossible to believe, like the place where Jesus stumbled and fell and his hand print is embedded in the wall.  But, the Holy Family tour is one of the important Coptic things in Egypt, and since Maghagha is near two of these sites, we took the opportunity to visit.

Our gracious host, a priest in a village near Maghagha, was unable to go with us this morning, but he did provide a driver, and another priest, to accompany us.  Not only that, but we rode in the Bishop’s private van … complete with air conditioning and curtains on the windows.  We felt a little like secret service or something since no one could see in.  It was very clean and comfortable … at least before we started the trip.

Traveling to the first site, Dair al-Garnous, took about 40 minutes.  I had been prepared for Emma to get car sick because she sometimes does, and I warned her that if she started to feel sick, she should close her eyes and lay her head back.  After about 30 minutes, she said she wasn’t feeling good, so she actually laid down in the empty back seat.  Hannah laid on my lap most of the time, not sleeping exactly, but resting.   I should have taken that as a clue that she wasn’t feeling well, but I didn’t think of it.  With about ten minutes left in the trip, although we didn’t really know how much longer it would be, Hannah wanted to join Emma in the back.  I didn’t mention yet that the road we traveled on was sometimes just dirt, very bumpy, and required lots of stopping to let the donkey carts, people, or other animals pass by, so it wasn’t a very smooth ride.  I took Hannah back myself because I didn’t want her to fall over.  A couple minutes after getting to the back, Hannah lost her breakfast all over herself and me.  I quickly called for Jayson’s assistance and he got me the bag I had prepared for Emma.  It didn’t do too much good since Hannah didn’t give us the warning that Emma usually does, and my clothes and hers were pretty much a mess.  I sent Emma toward the front because I didn’t want her to get sick from the smell, and I would have liked to get out of there at that point too since my stomach wasn’t doing too well either from all the bumping around.  Jayson offered me his undershirt to wear under my sweater; fortunately I had taken off my sweater since it was warm in the van, so I could wear his undershirt under my still-clean sweater.  I had a change of clothes for Hannah since she is still being potty trained, so I took off her dirty clothes and let Jayson hold her in her dressed-down state while I changed and cleaned up.  All in all, we didn’t get too much in the van itself.

When we were about one minute away, Hannah and I were changed and Jayson was holding Emma when she said “bag.”  We quickly grabbed the bag Hannah had used and caught Emma’s breakfast.  Poor kids!  She managed to stay quite clean thanks to her forewarning, and Jayson did too.  Good thing as we didn’t have any more clothes to spare!  And with that, we arrived at the site, all four of us feeling a bit queasy, and glad to get out, walk around a bit in the fresh air.

This first site was actually the second of the two in order of Jesus’ visits.  Since it was Friday morning, the day of worship for most Egyptians, the church at the site was filled with children having Sunday school.

This place was interesting because it was in an entirely Christian village of about 12,000 people.  No Muslims live in this town.  The well where Jesus’ family drank from was locked up, but we saw it, and by the end of our time there, they found a key so Jayson could drink from it. 

We all drank some Sprite to settle our stomachs, and I visited the bathroom while Jayson and Emma climbed the steps to the top of the under-construction new church

so they could see the whole village.  Since this post has been graphic enough, I won’t share too many details of the bathroom.  It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, and they didn’t have anything but a hole in the ground, and I did think to myself while I was in there, “Oh boy, what a trip this has been,” but we made the best of it, and Hannah and I soon joined the other two at the top of the building.  I remember being glad that both girls lost their breakfast in the van, as I thought they might have trouble using the facilities if they needed them. 

The view was very interesting with lots of unique things on people’s roofs like pigeons, chickens and ducks, which people raise to sell.   The roofs here are flat so that allows for people to store things, or raise things on them until they may decide to add another floor to their existing building. 

The steeple of the evangelical church in town was not too far from this site. 

The one unique thing about what we saw from our view was that there were no mosques … a rare thing in Egypt.

But, as I said, this was an entirely Christian village, and we later found out that when a Muslim family wanted to move in, they were refused.

After looking around for a bit and taking some pictures, we climbed back into the van … somewhat hesitantly.  We knew the ride to the next place would also be bumpy, but we hoped for the best.  We all sat as close to the front as we could, and each held a daughter on our lap.  The girls took a short nap and Jayson and I kept our eyes closed as we rode to the next place.  Fortunately it didn’t take too long to get to Shineen al-Nasara, which means ‘garden of the Christians’ in the Coptic language, where the Holy Family had come directly from Maadi (our current town) and spent seven days before traveling on.  This was an interesting place for us to visit because this is where our host had been priest for about 20 years. They had a life-size manger scene set up and the girls enjoyed getting close to baby Jesus and the animals, cardboard, though they were. 

Then we entered the church where Jayson took pictures and the girls played “church,” and I just sat and rested.  The church was decorated with streamers and balloons for the holiday celebrations of New Years and Christmas.

It was an interesting look considering Coptic churches are filled with icons of Jesus, Mary, the apostles and other saints; the streamers and balloons didn’t quite fit in.  The church also houses a 500-year old baptismal, a small one, since it is for infants.

We couldn’t stay in the church too long since a funeral was about to take place.  Just 30 seconds after we exited, the wailing women came into the church followed by a group of men carrying a coffin high above their heads.  We went to a different building in the complex where they had two smaller churches, a guesthouse and a large reception room. 

We climbed to the roof to get a better view of the surrounding area and we could see the thirteen domes on top of the church—representing the twelve apostles, with a larger one representing Jesus. 

We climbed back down the steps and saw another well which the Holy Family drank from, and also the plaque on the wall with the names of the people who helped to build the building, our priest being one of them.

Then it was time to climb back in the van for our return trip to the priest’s house for lunch.  We had planned to visit a third site after lunch, but seeing what the long car rides did to the girls, and knowing they really needed afternoon naps, especially as we planned to go to someone else’s house for a 9:30pm dinner, we decided to split responsibilities and let Jayson visit the site while I stayed home and napped with the girls.  So Jayson may write about his visit in a later post.

The rest of the day was somewhat restful—after too big of a lunch, the girls and I, along with the priest’s wife, all took naps, while Jayson and the priest went to visit the site of a modern day saint, whose lowly dwelling place has now been transformed into a massive church as a place for local pilgrimage. It was a late nap for Emma and Hannah, but we figured a late night was coming up, and we were right.

Around 8:15pm, the priest and Jayson finally returned home to pick us up to take us a few blocks to one of his daughter’s houses.  She had visited us the night before and really wanted to meet the girls, but they were already in bed.  It worked out for our schedules to visit and have dinner with her and her husband on this night so we climbed 8 floors to their new apartment as they are still waiting for their elevator to be installed.  Everyone was quite concerned for me, being pregnant, but the steps didn’t bother me at all.  Even Emma and Hannah walked the whole way up.  The apartment was very nice, and we enjoyed some nice conversation as Emma proceeded into a separate living room where she eventually put all of the pillows from the couches, maybe 6 or 7 large pillows and 3 or 4 smaller ones in all, on the floor and created a pillow train to jump on. 

She was having a blast, and Hannah joined her. 

Even though I am sure the furniture was brand new, our hosts didn’t mind and in fact, enjoyed the entertainment the girls provided.  At around 9:15, they asked if we wanted to eat dinner yet, or just feed the girls, and I said that we were ready to eat dinner, but I guess it was still early for them.  They kind of agreed as 10pm is more normal for them, so we compromised and said between 9:30-9:45 we could aim to eat.  Good thing the girls got late naps! 

Dinner was delicious, but once again, way too big!  We had a plate full of rice, large pieces of chicken, kefta, another meat dish, cut up raw vegetables and okra.  At just about every meal, we had to eat some of everything, and I felt like I ate quite a bit, yet at each meal they asked me, “Why haven’t you eaten anything yet?  Why does your plate look the same as when you started?”  We really had to insist that we had enough, everything was delicious, and thank you, thank you, thank you!  We sat and talked and drank Pepsi and ate fruit for another hour or so after dinner was over, as the priest fell asleep on the couch after his very busy few days. 

Finally, after 11pm, we were able to take a group picture

and then leave their house, descending the 8 flights of stairs and returning to our hosts’ house.  Fortunately, our next day wasn’t starting too early, and we could sleep in.  But for now, the Christmas celebrations were over and therefore Day 3 ends this series of posts!

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

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Coptic Christmas: Day Two

The lack of sleep did cost us the next morning, though, as we were due to pay a visit to the area bishop for breakfast at 8:00am sharp. In the Coptic Orthodox Church the bishop is only one level below the pope, and carries great authority and responsibility. Christmas duties pressed on everyone, but he allowed us about an hour of his time, and the exchange of greetings was necessary on both sides. For us and the priest, it would have been an offence if we did not honor him with a visit, however short. The same would have applied if he failed to receive the foreign visitors in his area. Needing to receive the governor in only an hour, however, he allowed us a few questions, gave us Christmas gifts of wooden and cloth crosses in addition to an icon of the Virgin Mary, and allowed us our leave. The priest himself was due at his church in the village, so we left promptly.

The responsibilities, however, were simple. All he had to do was sit in his office and receive Christmas greetings. It made for little conversation as every two minutes in the morning another child would enter, kiss his hand, and then leave. This continued for about two hours, interspersed with a phone call of Christmas greetings every minute in between. It was somewhat boring, to tell the truth, but it was a complete cultural experience.

All during this time the church grounds were an open playground. As parents enjoyed a morning of rest their kids gathered and exploded miniature firecrackers one after the other. They were clearly enjoying themselves, but as I sat in the office I could only imagine the chaos outside, except for when the kids threw their fireworks inside. Surrounded by walls, the noise was deafening, but the priest did not seem to mind at all. I got increasingly perturbed, but what can you do when this is normal and accepted behavior? I have noticed that priest may have a slight hearing problem; after twenty-plus years of service, these bi-yearly celebrations can perhaps take their toll. My imagination of the chaos, however, can be presented as reality by Julie, who was outside with the girls, and will take over the authorship of this next session.

I don’t think Emma enjoyed herself too much.  I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant that we would go sit at the church and “play” all day.  I knew Emma liked to play with kids, but the sheer number of the kids would probably overwhelm her.  What I imagined came true.  We arrived to a crowd of children, dressed in their new Christmas clothes.  They surrounded our car, knocking on the windows and holding out bags of chips to our children who were behind the closed windows.  It really felt like a Hollywood star experience, and we were the celebrities.  As we entered the courtyard through the church gates, the kids followed the car.  We parked and got out and they just kind of stared and smiled at us as we exited the car.  I offered typical Christmas greetings, “May you be well all year,” as I carried Hannah and Jayson carried Emma.  Wherever we walked with them, the kids followed, not saying much, but not leaving us alone either.  Emma was overwhelmed, but handling it okay.  Jayson and the priest went into the office, and told us we could play out in the courtyard.  So, holding Emma’s hand, and Hannah in the other arm, we walked around, surrounded by kids.  We eventually went to a ledge that was in the sun and sat down in the warmth.  The kids surrounded us, some of them saying in English, “What’s your name?” or, “How are you?” to the girls, and not getting much of a response.  The firecrackers either started then or else that was when we noticed them, and from that moment on, Emma’s hands were up on her ears every time she was outside the office.  It probably looked kind of funny to the kids, but I felt bad for her.  They offered her the firecrackers; I’m not sure what their thought was: Does she hold it as its lit and then throw it, or is it just something for her to hold in her hand?  I kept refusing and told the kids that she doesn’t like noise; it scares her and hurts her ears.  This seemed a foreign concept to them.  They offered chips or cookies, which was about the only thing the girls responded to positively.  They asked me their names and I told them.  An older girl asked if I knew a certain game, and I didn’t understand her.  She said they wanted the girls to play with them.  I said, “Okay, we can try.  If you all start playing, the older one may join you.”  But everyone just stood there.  I wasn’t sure what they wanted us to do.  How do fifty children play exactly?  I didn’t see a ball and it didn’t seem they were going to organize a big game, yet, we had the directive to “play.”  One of the older boys started trying to disperse the crowd to go play so maybe we could move around or get up, so I took both girls by the hands, well, Emma by the elbow because her hand was covering her ears, and we walked around the courtyard, looking for people playing, yet still being followed by a crowd of children who were NOT playing.  The noise of the firecrackers was really getting to Emma, and at some points, the kids would throw the lit noisemaker near us.  I don’t really think it was malicious, but it did seem intentional.  I think it just enthralled them to see someone so affected by the noise, as they obviously weren’t.  Emma said she wanted to go to daddy, so we all went into the office, where we finally could sit in peace for a bit.  For the next few hours, we either sat in the office, where we usually had some sort of snack from someone, or we walked around the courtyard, Hannah’s hand and Emma’s elbow in my hands, walking around, followed by children and the sound of firecrackers.  When it got too much, we would reenter the office and sit for awhile again.  After awhile, the thought of “playing” all day at the church, didn’t sound too fun!

Ok, Jayson is back. Around noon the priest’s brother came into the office and offered to take us to his house in the village where we were to have lunch around 3:00pm. That seemed a very good idea for the girls, but I thought it best that I stay there in the office. I walked with them to his home, about five minutes away, to keep all propriety, promising the priest I would be back shortly. All seemed fine with the brother’s family, and by the time I came back the ATM had opened. The priest had stacks of bills which he was distributing one by one as each child entered, kissed his hand, and received his $0.045 cents. This apparently was a custom for the holidays.

When this ended the sitting became much more enjoyable. The men of the village now came to pay their Christmas greetings, and several of them would sit and talk for a while, especially the ones who were working abroad or in Cairo and came home for the occasion. I even met someone who was working in Jordan, as a gardener in the church we worshiped in way back when. Many of these people only return home once a year, but some can come more frequently. It is especially hard because most have left their families in the home village.

Julie and the girls were able to take a nap before lunch, and I took mine afterwards. By this time, though, the news was filling the village. Six Christians were gunned down as they existed Christmas mass. Not everyone really knew what was going on, but all expressed concern, though not surprise. Many Christians have surrendered themselves to the idea that the country is against them, and this was just the latest confirmation. Even at that early point, however, there were complicating features, or at least rumors. This event was said to be connected to an ongoing controversy related to a nearby village, in which a Christian was said to have raped a Muslim girl, and the Muslims then responded against the Christians at large as the perpetrator of the crime escaped. In Upper Egypt the practice of revenge killings is not uncommon, and this may have been a continuation. Or, it may have been terrorism clear and simple. ‘Terrorists’ was the word on most of the Christians’ lips.

After lunch ended we left the village, returning to Maghagha, and things were quiet as the priest had to leave for family responsibilities, allowing me to write much of this summary. We had dinner earlier that night, at around 11:00pm, but we had put the girls to bed around 9:00pm. With a full stomach once again we weren’t much in the mood for sleep, and enjoyed good theological conversation until 2:00am, taking full advantage of our time together. It was another long but good day, but with a pall over the events of the day.

The events also could threaten us, as surely the security would be increased throughout the country. Would we be able to continue our program? The next day we were to visit two places reputed to be visited by the Holy Family during their escape to Egypt, and another place which was a pilgrimage site for a modern day saint. Would we be sent home immediately? Would we be confined to the priest’s home? There was no worry about safety whatsoever, but as we finally did collapse into sleep, there were concerns aplenty. The ones highlighted here in this last paragraph pertain to us, but may our prayers highlight those concerns of the country, pertaining to all.

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A Coptic Christmas of Joy and Sorrow

There is complicating news today. It is significant enough that you may already know about it. Six Christians and a policeman were killed today in an ambush as they were exiting midnight mass in an Upper Egyptian town to the north of Luxor. I wish to be careful in conveying information because I have been far from the news in our relative isolation in Maghagha, over ten hours away from the attack, but it has been the talk of the community since we awoke this morning.

Our day began in Maadi, as we fought through Cairo traffic to get to the train station in Giza. We left a full hour to arrive, thinking this would be plenty as the station is just on the other side of the Nile River. We should have known better. We left on the 6th of January, a Wednesday, but in addition to all the Christians who would be in transit to get to their homes and churches, there was weekend traffic with which to contend. Coptic Christmas, the 7th of January, is a national holiday, so whereas Thursday night is often prime traffic with the Friday-Saturday weekend, Christmas led to a three day weekend for the entire country, and it seemed like the nation had emptied onto the streets.

We did arrive on time, but with only about fifteen minutes to spare. We appeared to be the only foreigners at the location, asked about how and where to board the train, had a policeman direct us informing him we were traveling to Maghagha, and settled into our seats, which were reserved by number. The train was very comfortable and we by coincidence sat next to another couple also traveling to Maghagha, and enjoyed pleasant conversation with them the entire two and a half hour journey.

Upon our arrival I am afraid we may have offended some. It was fairly comical, at least from our perspective. It is a bit complicated to descend from a train with two small children, a pack-and-play, suitcase, and backpack, but we managed, and it was no surprise to find a willing porter ready to help us with our bags. If any of you would wish to visit us, please be prepared for this at the airport. They can be friendly, helpful, and by comparison inexpensive, but they can also be insistent.

The first thing we should have noticed is that this porter was not very insistent. He offered to help me with the suitcase, and per custom I refused, with a quick ‘no thank you’, barely an exchange of glances, and began advancing. It may not be the most polite manner, but you get used to the necessity of not getting drawn into conversation, lest you be forever unable to escape.

My advancement, however, was quickly halted as I found the gentleman who was to receive us. Our stay was arranged with the priest of a village not far from Maghagha, but due to our late arrival (now about 9:30pm) he was already involved in leading mass. In his place he sent his brother, who now began helping us with our bags, but only for a moment.

Within two minutes he was surrounded by the police, among them the ‘porter’ who earlier tried to help us as we got off the train. It was all very friendly, and no one was unnerved, but Julie counted seven people who were involved in our arrival. Who are you? Who are they? Why are they coming? Where are they going? Each question had a very simple answer, and the appropriate people recorded the information, finally taking a look at our passports and recording our names. They continued to escort us to the priest’s brother’s car, with a small diversion as I remembered it would be better to purchase tickets for our return trip before we departed the station. It turned out this was rather unfruitful, for the trains were sold out on the day we had purposed to leave as well as the next day, except for either the 5:00am train or the one leaving at midnight. At this point we have no return ticket, but the police assured everything would be taken care of. As great as their attention had been to this point, it seemed the best thing to trust their word. They indicated, if I understood correctly, that we should just show up at the normal time of departure at 10:30am or 1:00pm, and we would (likely) find a place. In any case, the priest would take care of everything.

Here is the background, some of which is known, some of which is conjecture, all of which is the normal and expected procedure. My boss has been friends with this priest for many years, and he selected him for our visit to Upper Egypt in part because he has a very good manner with his Muslim neighbors and the regional authorities. In securing the priest’s agreement for us to visit, he then informed the police in our area, who also gave their approval. This is the known. The conjecture is that the policeman I inquired with concerning how to board the train likely conveyed his knowledge to the station in Maghagha. Therefore it should have been no surprise to find the concerned authorities as part of our official welcome.

The normal and expected procedure has been in place for many years. Egypt has had sporadic violence against foreign tourists who visit the Pharonic heritage sites in Upper Egypt, and consistently sends all tourists with a police escort. Foreigners who go to places like Maghagha, however, are much less frequent, and generally have very limited reasons to be there. Their presence attracts attention, and Egypt is concerned about their security. In a country which depends to a great extent on tourism and outside investment, the death of a foreigner could have wide ramifications. Upper Egypt has a reputation as being a haven of Islamist activity, and while the vast majority of people are against violence of any kind, including the vast majority of Islamists, there are pockets of extremist sentiment. Though the government has made great strides in combating these elements, they do still exist, as was seen today.

The police presence takes some getting used to, but it is very friendly. At the station the officer who recorded my passport information apologized several times. One of their number joined us in the car and accompanied us to the church in the village fifteen minutes from Maghagha, where the mass was in progress, and then joined with his colleagues who make up the normal guard outside the church during every mass, but especially during holidays. He came in a few times to check in on us, and when everything ended two officers joined us on the trip back to Maghaga. One sat on the lap of the other in the passenger seat, and they joked with the priest almost the entire trip home. The next day we returned to the village to join in Christmas day celebrations, and though they checked regularly with the priest about our program, they generally left us to ourselves, as best we knew. Even so, it is now 10:00pm, and an office just knocked on the door of the priest’s home to inquire if we are going out again tonight. After assuring him we were done for the day, we may have allowed him an early evening home.

In terms of the chronology of the day, however, we return to the Christmas Eve mass. We arrived about 10:30pm with an hour and a half of a four hour service remaining. Our girls were doing remarkably well given the hour, and though Hannah largely stayed quiet (but not sleeping) on Julie’s lap, Emma was having a great time. Automatically becoming the guests of honor we were ‘seated’ in the first row of the church, directly in front of the altar boys. Seated is a misnomer as most of the mass requires standing, and as I held Emma she preferred standing on the dividing wall between the congregants and the altar boys, and quite attracted their attention. Three of them in particular paid no further care to the mass and played with her the whole time. Emma was alternatingly shy and engaging, but was causing no stir. There were several children milling about in the pews, and the worshipper standing next to us was goading her the whole time, and was even father of one of the three altar boys. It was fun to join in the chants while at the same time catching Emma as she turned from the attention, slipped off the wall, and fell into my arms. It may not be acceptable behavior for most masses, but on this occasion we fit right in.

As the mass ended the priest left rather quickly and we returned to his home with the aforementioned escort. In the car our girls finally fell asleep, but of course woke upon arrival, which may have been good since food was waiting for all. Though actual practice varies, Orthodox Egyptians fast for fifty-five days before Christmas. The fast is of a vegetarian variety, as all meat beside fish is prohibited. Christmas then becomes the worthy celebration, and the meat flows freely. In addition to a plate of rice and a bowl of salad, there was chicken and the most delicious beef I have ever eaten. It did make me wonder, however, how many ‘foolish’ things we do in our celebrations of which we are unaware. After fifty-five meatless days, it seems strange to gorge on such a feast, especially at 1:00am. We did not have the most pleasant sleep that evening (morning?), but there were no regrets concerning the consumption.

To be continued…

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Tomorrow is Christmas Eve

You may remember Jayson’s post from Dec. 25 entitled “Today is Not Christmas”.  Well, we have been able to extend our celebration of Christmas being here in Egypt, and finally, tomorrow, January 6, we will celebrate Coptic Christmas Eve.  We are still establishing our traditions, as he mentioned, but for this first Christmas in Egypt, we decided to travel to a town about 3 hours south of Cairo, called Maghagha.  We will travel by train tomorrow evening, arriving around 10pm as the Coptic Church is in full swing for their very special Christmas Eve service.  All over Egypt, Christians will be worshipping God in their churches until midnight, at which time they will return to their homes for the big Christmas meal.  One of the reasons the meal occurs directly after the midnight mass is that traditionally, Copts fast for 40+ days prior to Christmas.  This fast includes abstaining from all animal products, and thus, once midnight of Christmas Eve hits, the fast is broken, and the Christians can celebrate the birth of their Savior with food and fellowship.

I am sure we will have more to say about this when we return from our trip on Saturday, but for now, just know that we will participate as best we can in this midnight mass, with our two little ones in tow, and then in the Christmas feast at someone’s house, again, with our two little ones preferably sleeping in tow.  I am sure we will have many stories and adventures to share following four days of celebration outside of Cairo.  Stay tuned.

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Two Thousand Years of Coptic Christianity

Two thousand years of Coptic Christianity is the title of a book by Otto Meinardus, a renowned scholar on the history, practice, and theology of the Coptic Orthodox Church. His work is widely accepted as the standard reference book for all inquiries into the development of this particular expression of faith. Upon reading it, I could only agree.

My strongest agreement, however, is expressed in its description as a reference book. When I asked a well read friend to recommend me a book with which to understand the Coptic Church, he immediately thought of Meinardus. While gladly loaning me his copy, though, he added, but this is a book you must eventually buy for yourself. I didn’t understand this at the time; like with most books I wished to read it, profit from it, and then give it back to its owner. Rarely if ever does a book get read twice – why should anyone ever purchase?

Upon my reading I discovered why, though the jury is still out if I will eventually buy it for myself. The first half of the book is a comprehensive survey of Coptic history, beginning not even with Mark—believed to be the founder of Christianity in Egypt—but with Jesus. The Gospels tell the story of the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt to escape the sword of King Herod. While the Gospel details are few, Coptic legend-slash-history thoroughly establishes their itinerary, proceeding even to sites hundreds of kilometers from Palestine in Upper Egypt. At each significant place of their travel there is a church dedicated to the event. These churches have an ancient history, lending credibility to antiquity of the tradition.

Meinardus does not judge. Though he comments often on this progression, he generally presents the details and leaves the historical queries to other works. His treatment of subsequent Christian development is similar. He tells the tales that surround the preaching and martyrdom of Mark, and of the first communities of Christians that began the transformation of the Pharaohnic character of Egypt. Elements of this story involve the miraculous, which does not stop with the end of the apostolic age. Meinardus continues to list the traditions surrounding the acts of prominent bishops and monks, and especially the martyrs from the eras of persecution. Monasteries and martyrdom are among the pillars of Coptic Christianity, and Meinardus provides a window into the worldview of the church.

He also delves into the development of theology, which is easier to document. Treatment is given to the great Christological debates which divided the early church, but proceeds into the production of Coptic canon law. The great figures who wrote these documents and the ancient liturgies, so obscure to Western readers, are given their names and accomplishments in print. Meinardus has respect to the cloud of witnesses which has gone before, and honors their legacy.

Yet not all the names are obscure. Athanasius, the great champion of orthodoxy against the Arian heresy and compiler of the Biblical canon of Scripture, was the pope of the Coptic Church. Cyril and Gregorius are not as well known, but are still familiar names to students of church history. St. Anthony, the founder of monasticism, was Egyptian, as was the Thebian Legion whose memory is enshrined in many European cities for their refusal to deny their Lord and subsequent martyrdom. Coptic Christianity, in fact, lies behind much of the history of Christianity in Europe, as their monks and missionaries carried the Gospel throughout the continent, and to Ireland especially. Many people are aware of the vital role played by the Irish in the Christianization of Europe; less known is that the origin is Coptic. Meinardus supplies the names and stories of the Egyptian contributors.

Meinardus continues the story into the middle and modern ages, describing the interactions of the church with Islam, during both its tolerant and repressive epochs. Less detail than I desired was given to the question of why the church declined over time, but this is a difficult issue to address; histories are written of triumph and progression—who records the record of loss? Nevertheless, Meinardus provides a window into this near-unknown era, and understanding of the history will take many readings simply to establish familiarity. This becomes easier as modernity approaches, and Meinardus describes Coptic dealings with successive Turkish, French, and British empires. Special attention is given to the deep revival of the church during the 20th Century, which continues to this day. A blog post all its own is necessary, however, to do justice to this phenomenon.

All that is listed above was both interesting and worthy of owning as a personal record, though the story in its broad strokes may be told elsewhere. The second half of Meinardus’ book, though, both establishes and possibly condemns it to serve as a reference book. From here on Meinardus becomes a list-maker, as nearly every monastery, church, and saint’s shrine is given a place in his text, complete with details of the relics therein. I read the majority of the book while I was staying at Makarius Monastery in Wadi Natrun, which is home also to additional historic monasteries established as early as the 4th Century. It was fascinating to read the history of where I was. The other chapters were a chore to read, however, simply because I have no context to appreciate them. If I anticipate a future visit to such-and-such village in Upper Egypt I will open Meinardus and read of the churches there, but otherwise, what good does this information do me?

I hope, however, to visit such-and-such village. I imagine that our work will take me throughout Egypt to discover the many different facets of Egyptian life, Christian and otherwise. To view the foundational facts will require reference to Meinardus, and for this his book seems essential to own. I would recommend the first half of the book to anyone interested in Coptic Christianity, but I will likely in time find better, or at least equal, books to recommend. As a reference book, however, Two Thousand Years of Coptic Christianity will likely stand alone. It is recommended to anyone desiring to study Coptic Christianity, and for long term life in Egypt, if there is a desire to honor its Christian heritage, it is a must.

Click here to purchase from Amazon: Two Thousand Years of Coptic Christianity

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Today is Not Christmas…

… but neither am I Scrooge. Well, that could be interpreted as a matter of opinion, as may be seen.

Perhaps many of you are aware that in Egypt, Christmas is celebrated on January 7. I imagine there are deep and profound historical reasons for this, but to date I have not cared particularly enough to research them. Coptic Orthodoxy split apart, or rather was expelled, from the to-become Catholic faith at the time of the Chalcedonian creed, I believe in 451. One of the consequences was a divergence in fixing the celebration of Jesus’ birth, which for early Christians was never regarded with any importance. Easter also became separately marked, though this was of greater import, both biblically and liturgically.

We discovered while living in Jordan that the Christians there created a novel solution. The Coptic and Orthodox branches of Christianity, about evenly split in the country, agreed to celebrate Western Christmas on December 25, and Eastern Easter according to the lunar rites of the Orthodox Church. I would wish that the worldwide church might make such an agreement as well. For our part in America I imagine this would be easy. Ubiquitous Western culture has established December 25 as Christmas even throughout the non-Christian world, and none of us can ever figure out when Easter is going to be anyway. What would be the difficulty in uniting with our Eastern brothers in faith by celebrating Easter according to their calendar? I doubt anyone would even know the difference.

This could be harder for the Orthodox, however, as it could be seen as yielding to the very unchristian culture which surrounds the birth of Jesus. What should stop the Western world, however, from making a unilateral gesture of unity to Orthodoxy by taking up their Easter? Perhaps the Pope could champion this cause from the Catholic side; if he did, would Protestants go along? Or, under what scenario could the initiative emerge from the Protestant community; who might lead us forward? Might any of you propose such a measure this year in your churches? Might you develop a sufficient sense of belonging to the worldwide church so as to contemplate it?

Our sense of belonging to Egypt, however, has created in us a bit of a quandary. When is our Christmas? Most foreigners here simply celebrate December 25 as they always have, and the local expatriate community churches host Christmas Eve services and have times of caroling. For those spending time abroad away from home, certainly this is a welcome reminder of valued traditions.

But it completely misses Egypt. The non-Orthodox Egyptian Christian community is but a small percentage of the millions of Coptic faithful. Again, I lack the history of why and if this was always so, but the Egyptian Catholic and Protestant Churches celebrate Christmas in unity with their brethren, on January 7. Though Jordan also was a predominantly Muslim country, there were still Christmas lights hanging from the windows of Christian apartments and manger scenes set up among the families we would visit. Here, there is nothing. Not only is there no Christmas cheer, but the Orthodox precede Christmas with fifty-five days of fasting. As we went to sleep last night, it was almost eerie to imagine the excitement among children back in America, and the labors of parents to run the gauntlet through that most sacred of national institutions, the mall. Here, save for the sounding of the call to prayer, there is silence.

This is not quite true, however, and it creates a confusion that is quite palpable. The Orthodox are proud of their traditions and history; why then are there so many trappings of Western Christmas? Last Friday at the Orthodox Church we attend was held the annual church bazaar. There were Santa Clauses being sold, wreathes to buy, and a big sign proclaiming, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!” Why was this not reversed in order? Are the Egyptians yielding in fact to the inevitability of Western cultural dominance? Or, is there simply no escape?

There is a possible explanation in that this church in particular was consecrated on either December 24th or 25th, and from the coincidence of Christmas the two celebrations blend together. Another explanation is that the Christians also celebrate New Year, and the holiday festivities start early, continue through the end of 2009, and pick up steam as true Christmas approaches. Perhaps, but later this evening we will attend the choir concert at this church, which will feature carols in both Arabic and English. We do not have the benefit of familiarity over time; is this normal, both here and throughout Egypt?

In any case, what should we do? The principles of belonging suggest that we should do as the Egyptians do and celebrate according to their calendar. No one claims that Jesus was actually born on this day, so what does it matter? We also have the benefit of having children young enough not to be traumatized by a different date. We could just ignore the 25th and then let the momentum build in both family and country in expectation of the 7th. Yet if this can be interpreted as the noble solution, what do we do in the face of the ignoble bowings to yuletide found among so many Copts? Do they themselves open our door to the legitimacy of Western celebrations?

 Regardless, the noble solution may not be the easiest, or even healthiest. While our children may be able to switch with little difficulty, we ourselves cannot. Furthermore, what of the phone calls back to family in America? These will not stop, but how will they be defined? We have taken to saying, “It is Christmas in America,” but this is forced. I nearly prayed this morning at breakfast, both unconsciously and with a smirk on my face, “Thank you God that Jesus was born in America today.” Of course I will not play with such blasphemy, but is this a duality that can be maintained?

If only for year one in Egypt, we will try to maintain it. Perhaps our children will grow up bragging, “We get to celebrate two Christmases!” Our current solution is to avoid the expatriate church focus on the 25th, in the manner which we generally avoid this church anyway. Still, we will wake on Western Christmas and have a special breakfast, after which we will open our stockings. Before lunch we will participate with other foreign friends by taking a boat ride on the Nile. Later in the day we will call our families to join in their celebrations, and will close the day at the aforementioned Orthodox choir sing. All this will be Christmas, in very nature and being.

Yet it will not be Christmas, amen and amen. Eastern Christmas is still to come. I am not sure what this will entail in terms of participation in the greater life of the Coptic community. For ourselves, though, we will leave the opening of presents until this day, when we will also have a cake to celebrate Jesus’ birthday. Perhaps this suggests that we will treat the 7th as ‘true Christmas’. So be it. We can never leave behind our own culture, nor should we try. Yet we should give ourselves as completely as possible to those we live among, and the sole celebration of the 25th would be tantamount to insisting, “We are not of you, we remain foreigners.” It is doubtful that anyone would care; they expect foreigners to remain so. Yet we hope that if only in a symbolic way some might see our holiday adoption, albeit short of transfer, as an expression of love and appreciation.

The celebration of Christmas, on either the 25th or the 7th, is a celebration of incarnation. The word of God took on flesh, and dwelt among us. Following this pattern, all who follow him can take on the flesh of those they live among. As he remained God, so we will remain American, and all will keep the identity they possess. None of this need be set aside, but so much more can be added. For the good of Egypt, for the good of all the communities in which we live, and for the good of our very souls, may such incarnation take hold.

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A Protestant on Peacemaking

A little while ago I had an opportunity to dialogue with Rev. Safwat al-Bayyadi, who is the President of the Protestant Churches of Egypt. My summary of this conversation has been published on Arab West Reports, which you can access by clicking here.

As I remarked once before, it is a great benefit of my work that I get to meet such influential people. Rev. al-Bayyadi was able to provide me with a bird’s-eye perspective on Christianity in Egypt, encompassing all but especially from a Protestant perspective. While the title for the reverend is correct – President of the Protestant Churches of Egypt – it is interesting to note that generally speaking the Protestant churches here all go by the name of ‘Evangelical’. I haven’t yet asked enough questions to know why, but it may be that within Egypt ‘Protestant’ could seem like a foreign entity, brought from the West, and therefore suspect, while ‘Evangelical’ is more of Biblical terminology. Though this decision was made long ago, in recent years the ‘Evangelical’ title may result in negative association with the Bush administration and the general support the American Evangelical Christian community gives to foreign policy in Iraq and Israel.

If only from a small outsider’s perspective, I would note that in calling their denomination ‘Evangelical’, Egyptian Protestants may have done themselves a disservice. While the motivation I have briefly come in contact with is laudable, it may have unfortunate consequences. In America, ‘Evangelical’ is an adjective, describing a certain understanding of Christianity. While my rendering here is off-the-cuff, it generally refers to an understanding that is centered on the Bible above tradition, focused on a personal expression of faith, and accepts the necessity of communication of the Gospel message. Thus in America while ‘Evangelical’ is generally understood to be Protestant but not mainline, and has also acquired conservative political associations, in terms of the definition given it is not unusual to find evangelical Catholics, Orthodox, or otherwise. I wonder if in naming themselves ‘Evangelical’ Egyptian Protestants may unwittingly limit the description of the definition from being applied also to the larger Orthodox community. Like I said, I haven’t explored this much yet, but I wonder.

In any case, though Protestant and Orthodox relations here seem mainly positive, there have been recent examples of accusations thrown cross-denominationally. Specifically, at times Orthodox leadership sees Protestants as ‘sheep stealers’, conducting organized efforts to ‘turn Egypt Protestant’ by winning over the youth. You can read a press review on this topic by clicking here.

On the other hand, in my personal interactions with individual Orthodox Egyptians, almost everyone has expressed appreciation for the Protestant Church here. While they hold to their distinctive doctrines, they commend the Protestants for their skills in Bible memorization, vibrant sermons, praise music, and youth ministry. They emphasize that there is only one faith, shared by all denominations, though particular understandings of faith differ, and may reflect the truth closer or farther from correct Biblical understanding. Many families have members in each denomination, and many others worship in both churches. Julie has also found that Emma is not unique in attending the Sunday School sessions of both the local Protestant and Orthodox Church. 

In any case, I am making comments that could be better developed into another post later. For now, please accept my encouragement to read what Rev. al-Bayyadi has to say about the vital task of peacemaking in Egypt. His perspective is both noteworthy and gained from personal experience. If you didn’t do so earlier, you can click here for the text.

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The Value of Monasticism

At Wednesday noontime I traveled to Shubra, Cairo to meet Fr. Basilius in the offices of the St. Mark’s Bookstore. While our meeting was ostensibly to discuss the arrangements for my stay in the Makarius Monastery, we discussed extensively the role of monasticism in the church, with an eye toward the issues of the Abu Fana Monastery, which has fallen into sectarian conflict. The following is a summary of our conversation.

Before our meeting I had written a long list of questions for Fr. Basilius concerning the details of my stay in his monastery. How long should I stay? What should I bring? Where would I sleep? What should I wear? What time are prayers? These and many other concerns filled my practical head, but I had a few other questions as well about the monastery and things I had heard about it. Nevertheless, our conversation turned instead to introductions, which led quickly into substantial discussions about monasticism and its role in society and the church.

I briefly described my role in the Center for Arab West Understanding as a continuation of the work done by Cornelis Hulsman in unearthing the real, often non-religious origins of sectarian conflict, but seeking in our new project to move beyond reporting into proactive contributions to the reconciliation effort, in areas, for example, such as Abu Fana. Fr. Basilius spoke warmly of Mr. Hulsman and mentioned instances of their prior cooperation. He then asked me what I thought of the Abu Fana situation. I replied that I was new to this country and preferred to hear from him what he thought, but that I was able to state the findings of Mr. Hulsman, of which he was aware. Fr. Basilius was reluctant to say much, but the nature of our conversation signaled an implicit understanding that the role of the monks in Abu Fana was negative.

“Has anyone tried to communicate with them about their position?” I asked. Fr. Basilius was unaware of any efforts, but stated that he doubted anyone was able. The monks are entrenched in their position and in general were supported by their leadership. What benefit could be gained from words by an outsider? The situation was beyond redemption in any case, for the surrounding population, including government officials, had developed a hatred for the monks in their intransigent attitudes. “But if a message was to be delivered, what would it be?”

Fr. Basilius paused for what seemed a long time, and I was not sure he was going to answer. I had asked variations on the two questions above a few times already, revealing perhaps a strange urgency. He had been engaging, kind, but perhaps not inappropriately vague. When he did answer, it was in recollection of a story, “We have dealt with a similar issue ourselves.”

President Anwar Sadat decided in the late 1970s to grant Makarius Monastery over one thousand acres of land. He had noticed the commendable job the monks had done in reclaiming desert land for agriculture, and, as the country was experiencing phenomenal population growth the government realized such projects were extremely necessary, so he tripled their workload. The abbot at the time, Fr. Matta al-Miskeen (Matthew the Poor) was honored at the gift but wondered, we can barely keep up with our three hundred acres, what can we do with so much? There was much internal debate and reluctance to receive this gift, but in the end, they accepted their charge, and began working the land.

The process of registration of the land in the name of the monastery, however, did not go smoothly, despite even a later presidential rebuke of his ministers. They faced endless delays in getting the proper paperwork, but pressed on anyway with their cultivation. During their efforts to navigate Egyptian bureaucracy, President Sadat was assassinated. In the next meeting with government officials Fr. Matta was told that the monks had no claim to the land, as the promise from President Sadat was only oral, and not in writing. Discouraged but accepting, Fr. Matta returned to the monastery, and informed his fellow monks of the decision.

As time passed the monks returned to their own fields, but a little later there came word of a general presidential initiative. This one was meant to encourage all university graduates to find land in reward for their studies, as many were entering a work force devoid of substantial openings. As the monastery was populated by dozens of monks with university degrees, each one applied for the position, and not long thereafter the monastery had recovered, now officially, all the land originally promised. These lands were in the names of the monks, not the church, but that mattered little since the monks had forsworn all worldly possessions. The monks had been promised wealth, but showed no excitement; they had been ill-treated, but put up no protest. Finally, after accepting patiently the will of God, God had restored to them their previous honor.

Fr. Basilius gave no direct answer to my question about Abu Fana, but said succinctly, “Perhaps the monks at Abu Fana have not been able to have a teacher as wise as Fr. Matta al-Miskeen.”

I shifted course after this story with a personal inquiry. I communicated that I was a Christian, raised in a Protestant tradition, and surely he was aware of our critique of monasticism. “Yes,” he replied quickly, “you think we are lazy and do nothing but pray all day.” He smiled as he said this.

I countered, however. While some may think so, this was not the impression I had growing up. Monks were imagined to be among those who love God most fervently, and are dedicated in their prayers, and, in places, in their work. Their fault, it is claimed, is that perhaps they love God too much. They can be seen as selfish in their spirituality, for they are so enraptured in his love that they neglect relationships with the rest of the world. They hole themselves away with others of like mind, and experience neither the hardships of communion with ordinary people nor the necessity of service to those around them. They live only to God, and therefore in a sense, only to themselves.

I assured Fr. Basilius that this was a perspective I have inherited, but it was absent of the attitude which often accompanies it. I have a healthy respect for Orthodoxy in general, and am confident that they have an answer for such accusations. Having never heard the reply, however, I asked him to respond. I told him it was my purpose to better understand and appreciate monasticism in general, but with an eye toward Abu Fana in particular. The monks there are bent on the acquisition of land surrounding the recently rediscovered ancient monastery. Though there have been regrettable actions on both sides, the monks have shown little regard for their neighbors. Yet if the nature of monasticism is internal in focus, walled around a community closed to the outside, how can these monks receive a message of reconciliation with their neighbors?

Fr. Basilis began by commenting on Protestantism, stating, “Your living of the Gospel is based entirely on preaching.” I interrupted, stung by his choice of pronoun, for this is a critique I share of our denomination. “Not entirely,” I offered, and perhaps he recognized the legitimacy of my qualification. It should be mentioned that as he continued he gave no indication of ill will. If he was offended by the repetition of Protestant critique, he did not show it. Instead, his manner was warm and friendly, yet intent on edification.

Protestants will criticize us, he explained, because we isolate ourselves and do not preach. Meanwhile, they express their service to God in their positions in business, education, and a host of other occupations, but in reality, neither do they preach. Even in the Protestant services one can see the emphasis on preaching – there is a lengthy sermon, a few hymns, and a couple prayers. We in the Orthodox Church have a different understanding of Gospel responsibilities. We do preach, but the sermon is only a smaller part of our mass. Most of our time spent in worship is dedicated to prayer.

As monks, this is our dedicated heritage. We do not occupy positions in society which take time away from prayer. We have forsaken family, wealth, fame, and reputation to dedicate ourselves to the kingdom of God. Our prayers support the work of the church in all other areas, including preaching. Furthermore, since we have no children to support we can offer all the proceeds from this monastery as gifts to the poor. We have a calling, as others in the church have a calling. Ours, however, is for prayer, both to God in praise, and for others, in supplication.

I thanked Fr. Basilius for these words, and acknowledged their Biblical nature. I assured him I would be pleased to convey such thoughts to my fellow Protestants. Yet what of Abu Fana, how can this message be communicated to its monks? “This is difficult,” he replied. “They will not receive this message from you,” he smiled, “a Protestant. And we in this monastery are not accepted by many in the church.” “But what of those among you who are called to preach? Who could deliver such a vision? The messenger is not as important as the message. Besides, it is the work of God to change hearts, not of man. It is men, though, that must communicate the message. But what should the message be? ”

Fr. Basilius gave pause again. This time he answered. Though brief, it encompassed all. “The first priority of Christianity, and the second, and the third, is love. Perhaps the monks of Abu Fana have neglected this.”

Time was escaping us. Though I could have spent the rest of the afternoon with him, he had details to attend to for which he had come to Cairo, neglecting his monastery. The exigencies of my upcoming stay required a bit of mundane conversation, after which we departed. The value of the encounter, however, will last, and is the best place at which to end this account. May God grant peace to the people and area of Abu Fana; may his love be communicated to all.

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Miracle Stories

Can you notice what is ‘wrong’ with this picture?

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Our daughter Emma noticed right away. The picture is a clear inversion of the Gospel story in which Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. Emma asked, “Why is that man washing Jesus’ feet?” and the question is valid. Presented in such a manner the lesson is clear: We are to be servants of Jesus. This is a good message, of course, but it disturbs the radicalism of the Gospel in which Jesus established the basis of leadership to be service to all, especially the lowly.

Had Emma been born in the Orthodox Church, however, she would not have noticed a dissonance. The picture represents Saint Bishoy, who was renowned for his hospitality, and this picture represents the pinnacle establishment of his holiness. One day a visitor came to him, lowly in presentation, dirty from the travel. As was his custom, St. Bishoy stooped down to wash his feet. Only in the assumption of this command of his Lord to repeat his holy practice was the visitor then revealed to be none other than Jesus himself. This manifestation demonstrated God’s favor upon St. Bishoy, and the story was recorded for all history, here preserved in a stunning icon.

Though any Egyptian Christian child would have recognized this story immediately, I am unable to differentiate St. X from St. Y, or to know how it came to be that St. George killed a dragon. The icon above is from St. George’s Monastery in Khataba, Egypt, about a two hour drive northwest from Cairo. In conjunction with a class I am taking in a Coptic Bible Institute, a story I will have to relate later, I went with my family on a day trip to visit this and a sister monastery only about fifteen minutes further on. It was a wonderful view into Coptic spirituality, which is very monastic in its formation, and we heard many stories about the various saints which populate the Coptic imagination. In each monastery the relics of such-and-such saint were preserved, and prayers were offered at each in commemoration of their life.

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I am no longer as disturbed as I once was by the idea of praying to saints. This formulation, however, ‘praying to saints’ may simply be a Protestant slur to blacken the concept; surely we should pray only to God. On the other hand, it may represent the actual practice of many traditional Christians who perhaps feel that they are not worthy to approach God directly, or that a particular saint may more readily grant them favor. But as a concept: If I will not hesitate to ask my living brother to pray for the healing of my sick daughter, why should I hesitate to ask my departed brother now living in heaven? We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses watching with interest our terrestrial drama. Can their requests to God not also be marshaled on our behalf?

As I discussed these matters with my classmates—professional employees, university students, businessmen, all committed to God and his service in their church and country—each one was keen to convince me of the legitimacy of these practices. They have heard the critique of rational Western Protestantism, both from within and without Egyptian borders. They would link each practice to either the Bible or early church tradition, and I wish my Arabic was strong enough to fully understand their arguments. As I learn more, I will relate their tales, but inasmuch as these were my first lessons it was hard to grasp all their nuances. The fervency of their justifications, however, was noticed, as they sought to demonstrate they were not backwards, occultist Christians, anticipating an oft-heard criticism before I might voice it. They worship God alone; they pray to God alone. God, however, has left marks of his favor on certain of his saints.

St. Bishoy, for example, had his dead body preserved for centuries after his death as it had been the day he died, soft and supple. This story was repeated for other saints in other locales. This miraculous preservation of the corpse is a signal from God that such a person was particularly holy. In fact, St. Bishoy’s body only decayed in rebuke of a later Pope who departed from God’s favor.

We in the West have heard stories such as this, but largely assign them to the genre of pious legend. Certainly St. X and St. Y were holy people who lived God-pleasing lives. Yet after their death in preservation of their legacy the simple, pre-scientific peoples around them developed all sorts of miracle stories to idolize them. Perhaps this was innocent, perhaps it was sinister—a place of pilgrimage is generally also a place of commerce—but over the centuries the stories remained part and parcel of the saint’s history. Given that the Muslims of Egypt and elsewhere also have their celebrated miracle-working saints, it is easy for us today to dismiss these tales of ancient European and Mediterranean Christianity.

Yet the testimony of these professional, modern-educated lovers of God makes it harder to dismiss. If they were only preservers of ancient tradition, however, they could be excused for following in the credulity of their ancestors. The testimony, though, does not remain in the past.

One of my classmates spoke of the city of Damietta, on the northeastern shoreline of the Nile Delta. In that city is preserved the soft, supple body of a deceased saint from two centuries ago. The body is enclosed in glass casing, allowing the miracle to be witnessed by all. She invited us to join her family some day in the future to take a trip together to see it.

 Furthermore, she spoke of her own village in southern Egypt, which was served by a noble, but uncelebrated priest. One day the priest died of natural causes and was buried in ordinary fashion. Unknown outside of the village he was simply replaced by another priest, and life continued as usual.

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One day there was some reconstruction taking place in the village, and the local sewer line was disturbed. The pipes cracked and burst forth, spewing into the cemetery where the priest and many others were buried. It made quite a mess, and necessitated the transfer of the cemetery to another location. At this time, however, in unearthing the grave of the priest, buried traditionally without a coffin, his corpse emerged unchanged from the day of his internment. Soft and supple his body remained. Though not esteemed by man, God gave witness of his favor.

This story resembles the others told in history, but comes with a contemporary witness: My classmate testified she saw this take place with her own eyes.

Perhaps a journalist would probe deeper. Perhaps a sociologist would identify group hysteria. Perhaps we in the West are so terrified of these stories that we immediately seek for alternate explanation. What is the cause for our terror? Stories like this threaten our unconsciously adopted worldview of scientific rationalism. This worldview can make room for sporadic divine interventions, but generally only if there is a clear and logical purpose behind it. Stories such as these, however, make no sense to us. What purpose does God have in the rather morbid preservation of a corpse?

As I will learn the longer we live here, many Orthodox traditions have a sense of the mystical. I have begun getting introductory lessons in transubstantiation, for example. Yet no matter where we draw the line, the mystical cannot be separated from Christianity. At its core is the promise: Christ in you, the hope of glory. It is not my point to either justify or refute the miracle stories that are believed by so many. A faithful record of them, however, is necessary, for the Orthodox in Egypt are brethren in Christ, members of his body. This itself is mystery, a miracle story to be cherished.

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Postscript: I am posting this reflection one day before traveling without my family to another monastery, St. Makarius, where I will reside for the next three days. One of the places of conflict I am researching is the Abu Fana monastery, in which monks are prominently involved. It was recommended to me that in due time I stay with the monks there in order to better understand the local realities. That monastery, however, due to the conflict surrounding it, has become a much politicized place, and as such is not the best introduction into monastic life. In preparation for this experience, then, I should first have a taste of a functional monastery, and St. Makarius is by reputation one of the most reputable, though most controversial, in all Egypt. This, though, is a story for another time, hopefully shortly after I return. Your prayers are requested; may they mix with the incense rising from the altar…

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A Trip to Qalzam

Three weekends ago we traveled to the village of Qalzam with a friend of ours from Cairo, whose uncle still lives a traditional, agricultural life. The village was about a twenty minute drive from Shabin al-Qanater, the capital city of the Qalubiya governorate, which is in the Delta region about an hour north of Cairo. Qulzam means ‘fertile ground’ in Coptic, and was the place of his relative’s home and the area church, Archangel Michael. The church was built 250 years ago on the site where the angel appeared to a Christian villager. In those days the area was 75% Christian in composition, but their population has dwindled to only five families today. Over time, most of the families have relocated to Cairo for better work. Nevertheless, there is still significant Christian representation in the area, and during the Friday morning service we attended there appeared to be over 100 people in attendance, perhaps buttressed by a funeral service that coincided with our visit.

                 The church building itself was not 250 years old, but has been rebuilt recently, though it is not quite finished.

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It is a monumental structure, complete with a balcony, but the church is still awaiting donations to paint the icons on the wall dividing the people from the altar.

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My friend asked if I would be willing to help the church solicit. It uses its finances currently to conduct a shuttle service helping the Christians from surrounding villages to get to the church. It also gives the children small toys to encourage them to attend the Sunday school. These lessons follow the main mass, and we participated with them.

                 While Julie took Emma into the younger class where they chanted Arabic hymns and taught the kids to pray making the sign of the cross, I was with Hannah in what I discovered later was the combined class of all older ages. These are usually kept separate, which was a relief to hear, since it was quite chaotic, with few paying attention and much chatter throughout the lesson. I entered late, as I was talking with the ‘college and career’ folk after the mass, only later finding out that they had a class as well. When I entered they were chanting an Arabic hymn, but then to my surprise they sang a popular Arabic praise song, albeit without any instrumentation. They then tried to show a film on the recently obtained screen, which was the very reason every class met together, but sound quality was so poor they abandoned the effort after a few minutes. Then followed a lesson given on powerpoint, which seemed well designed but was way over the heads of the younger kids, and failed to attract the interest of the older ones. I felt sympathy for the teachers.

                 I spoke afterwards with a younger woman who was in charge of the older Sunday school class, but was not the teacher. She serves as Sunday school supervisor for the whole diocese, traveling especially to make certain that Christian daycare centers are well run. Yet Archangel Michael is her home church, and she recruits from the ‘college and career’ to teach the Sunday school classes. I was accompanied most of the visit by the one in charge of the middle school class, who works as a middle school science teacher another village over. He walks to work about a kilometer and a half every day, which is cumbersome only during the winter rains when the dirt roads get muddy.

                 In describing my work to them, the supervisor mentioned the travails of the Christian community in the regional capital, Shabin al-Qanater, in building a church. While relations with the Muslims are fine and official permission is granted for its construction, she claims that the local security forces are preventing the building from beginning. She asked if it was in our capability to investigate. While I was not certain, I reiterated that our group does not intervene for the sake of Christian church building, but we are interested in getting at the whole story from all sides, and my work in particular was towards the aim of building peace in an area. The presence of a foreigner in such a setting, I added, could easily over-encourage some (zealous Christians who think that their story will be told abroad and pressure put on the government) and infuriate others (zealous Muslims who could retaliate if they believe Christians are going outside the system to get help). So I put the request on hold, given also that she had to leave for other responsibilities, preventing further exploration of her story. Following on her comment that she visits Cairo with some regularity, though, I told her to contact me next time through and we would sit with a recorder to get all the details, and then decide from there what was best to do.

                 The rest of the day was spent at the old-style villa of my friend’s family, which was twelve rooms large in sprawling design incorporating much open veranda space.

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Though it was in need of repair in some places, it was elegant and comfortable, full of antiques over 100 years old.

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The only person who lived there, though, was his uncle, a young man by appearance but who was a former army officer, and thereafter lived 24 years in Baghdad, owning a restaurant and a few other shops. He lost everything, including his family, due to the First Gulf War, and returned home to Qalzam, where he takes care of his family house, enjoying the quiet life in the countryside, involved also in the church to which he often opens his home. His sustenance comes from the farmland he owns, which he hires others to work for him. There were several relatives and neighbors with us throughout the day, both Muslim and Christian, and he treated us to a traditional barbeque and fatayer meal. The meat was cooked over an ancient grill,

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and the fatayer—thin bread folded many times over, each layer coated in butter and honey (click here for video)—was cooked in an oven that seemed right out of the Great Depression.

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Save for the washing machine and television, the whole house was as it was constructed over 150 years ago. While much of the village has been remodeled and built up with modern construction methods, it was very comfortable to enjoy life as it has been lived unchanged for generations. Except, of course, that soon after eating and after Emma declined a chance to ride on a neighbor’s donkey, we instead mounted the car and drove back to modernity.

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                 The trip was our first outside of Cairo, and it was enlightening to witness life in a traditional setting. Our lives in Maadi are very insulated, and we will do well to continue to travel domestically as much as possible.

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            To close this post, allow me to say that my sentence about soliciting is sincere; should anyone be interested please contact us and we can discuss it. Yet at the same time, my friend told me that the priest of the church has increased in wealth since he began serving at the church. While this was not labeled as fraud, according to my friend church policy allows the priest to take a percentage of the gifts for his personal use, and other people have given him property directly. Personally, though I shook his hand, I did not speak with him, and at the request of my friend I put a donation in the box. The services of the church seemed very sincere, however, as did the volunteers with whom I spoke. Please do not understand this paragraph as my request for you to give, but in relaying the story and circumstances, I hope you get a small snapshot of local life.

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Finding Church (part two)

Within the Arab World, no nation contains as many Christians as Egypt. As a nation there are approximately 80 million Egyptians, and it is commonly constituted that 10% of these are Christian. Yet while some Copts (the name of local Christians, and the word from with ‘Egypt’ is derived) occasionally claim that there are even up to 10 or 12 million Christian Egyptians, the true figure may be as low as 6%. The percentage of Christians has steadily declined in the last several decades, due to various factors. Muslims maintain a higher birthrate than Christians, Christians emigrate abroad in greater number than Muslims, and due to complicated social factors, deserving its own blog sometime in the future, it is not uncommon for Copts to convert to Islam for domestic reasons, be it marriage, divorce, or an oppressive family setting. Add these factors together, and similar to Christianity in much of the Middle East, the church is contracting.

                Yet in Egypt at least, unlike in Palestine for example, there is no crisis, if only because any percentage of 80 million people is sizeable. To break down the numbers further, of the Christian population, perhaps 90-95% is Orthodox. Catholics and Protestants have an influence greater than their percentage would suggest, for they can often find support from their international denominations, both in terms of money and theological education, and as such their leaders are accorded national prominence greater than their numerical due.

                 Behind these logistics is the local setting in Maadi, Cairo, where we reside. Maadi is one of the popular areas for internationals to live, and as such, there are a plethora of worship choices. Among the most popular is Maadi Community Church – http://www.maadichurch.com/. As a Protestant non-denominational church, it attracts over 1000 worshipers during three Friday afternoon services, including one especially tailored for African internationals, both professional and refugee. There is another English language service held at St. John’s Anglican Episcopal, which also operates as an interdenominational fellowship, though high church in tradition. They are smaller in size, meet Friday mornings for traditional service and Thursday evenings for contemplative communion, and have a Rector who has written an interesting book on Muslims and Christians, which you can find through the who’s who link at their webpage – http://www.maadichurch.org/. The local Coptic Church, St. Mark’s – http://www.stmarkmaadi.com/ (Arabic site, but interesting pictures if you dare to experiment; place your cursor on the first rollover link on the column to the right, then click on the third option given. Finally, let us know if you succeed so we can applaud you) even has an English mass once a month on Saturday morning. Of course, we have already written about our general attitude toward belonging to the international community, which you can review in our first post.

                 Similar to our situation in Jordan, discussed last post, we have a local evangelical church only five minutes walking distance away from our home. Unfortunately, the only meeting time begins at 7pm on Sunday evening. With care given to Egyptian timekeeping, it often does not really begin until later, and then does not end until 9pm or so. Since church is more than just a service, but rather a web of relationships in a community of people, in order to get to know anyone we would need to stay even later to have any fellowship. In general we put Emma and Hannah to bed at 8pm. We wrote in our first post that we will try to become like them as much as possible, though we know we will never succeed, and it would be foolish to imagine we could. The issue of children’s bedtime exposes us in terms of the latter half of that sentence. It seems to us that Egyptian children have little bedtime expectations. Since the vast majority grow up to be responsible adults anyway, we see just how difficult it is to jettison our own cultural superiority. We should mention that the church does have a good Sunday School program, meeting at 12:30pm on Fridays, which Emma has been enjoying, and even memorized her first verse in Arabic last week, Exodus 15:26.

                 There is also a somewhat famous evangelical church in downtown Cairo, which we could get to by about a 20-30 minute metro ride. They have several services throughout the weekend, some of which have 1000 people at one time. You can check this church out at http://www.kdec.net/, but it is only an Arabic site, it seems. We would prefer a neighborhood church, and one that would be a bit smaller, but still, it is an option.

                 This leaves one last option, which would involve a resurrection of the quest to discover Christian diversity. St. Mark’s Orthodox Church is located about a twenty minute walk away from our home, and has Friday morning services which include a Sunday School time following a children’s mass. Unfortunately, there is much that would need to be written to introduce this option, so we ask your patience in awaiting part three of this theme…

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Personal

Finding Church

The Christian who believes he belongs to God, and who wishes to belong to a particular people, must also believe he belongs to its church.

                 Here in Egypt, however, that is a bit of a complicated matter.

                 The church in general is multifaceted, diverse in styles, practices, doctrines, and denominations. While this has been rife with and deserving of criticism for its putting the lie to the claim of the universal unity of the church – “My prayer is that they may be one, as we are one” – it can also, with not too much difficulty, be interpreted as a strength. The Bible is a flexible document open to various interpretations, most especially in the area of church structure and practice. While the arguments for and against the claims of competing ecclesiology are valid and useful, in general each and every one can be both supported and exposed Biblically. This gives the church worldwide, as well as the local Christian, the freedom and ability to shape and to choose a community of worship as is fitting both with culture and with personality, if bound primarily in principle to the guidance of Scripture.

                 Belonging to a church, however, is at least somewhat an expression of exclusivity. While one may be open to the ideal of Christian unity, in practice, one must belong to a particular local extension of the universal church. It is there that Christian principles are lived and experienced in community, as a place both to serve and to be served, to gain and to give spiritual nourishment. In the messy realities of life together our ideals are put to the test, and while we are often found wanting, we also spiritually develop. This process is impossible apart from organic membership in a flawed, deficient, yet strangely God-inhabited body of believers.

                 It was in Jordan that we first experienced church in an Arabic context. Right down the street from where we lived, after a walk of only five minutes, was a vibrant congregation of Arab believers, in an Evangelical Free denomination that was largely modeled on Brethren polity and, at least for the weekly Sunday evening service of Breaking Bread, practice. I qualify about their practice because the main service on Thursday evening was patterned almost exactly on the typical order of worship in many evangelical churches in America. It was composed of popular worship songs, brief prayer, a sermon, and announcements. Except for the language, it was as if we were back home. Before going to Jordan we were excited to see how Christianity might be expressed in a different culture, but as the similarities were comforting, especially in helping us overcome the language difficulties, we quickly abandoned the quest for discovering Christian diversity.

                 That is not exactly true, though. On one hand, it could be said we never really adopted the quest. We attended once or twice the historic Catholic or Orthodox churches of Jordan, but found them, with apologies to our respected Catholic or Orthodox readers and friends, very dry and boring. Of course, language difficulties made the appreciation of them near impossible. But on the other hand, we did fully delve into the Brethren aspects of the church’s worship, and experienced therein a warm fellowship and weekly experience of Communion for which we have been grateful, and by which we have been affected. We thank God for our time of belonging to that body.

                 Here in Egypt we face again a similar situation. There are international churches in which the language of worship is English. There are evangelical churches which are fully Arab. There are Catholic and Brethren churches which have a long history. Yet it is clear that the dominant expression of Christianity in Egypt is Coptic Orthodoxy. Hopefully in our next post we can continue the story, not yet completed, of where we can find a church in which to belong…