Religion A Doorway To Island Culture And History
The Sunday Age
Sunday May 14, 2006
The best way to get to know the locals is to attend their place of worship, writes Thomas Swick.
Fans fastened to the church's internal pillars make excruciatingly slow half-orbits, and parishioners out of range flap the hand-held variety. A woman across the aisle from me, in white dress and white-flowered hat, vigorously wipes her face with a towel. A rare breeze wafts like a benediction through the open, louvred windows topped by the more traditional Gothic kind, each radiant with sunlit panes of primary colours. The large preacher, in white suit and black tie, sweats in the pulpit that erupts from the middle of the high west wall, and hefty women's voices, unadorned by instruments, belt out hymns in Maori.It is Sunday in the Cook Island Christian Church in the village of Arutanga on the little island of Aitutaki - best known for its superb lagoon. In the 19th century, the London Missionary Society enjoyed great success in the Cook Islands, the South Pacific nation that, today, is a self-governing democracy in free association with New Zealand. "It was a God-fearing archipelago," Paul Theroux wrote in The Happy Isles of Oceania. "Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists, Catholics, and the local outfit, Cook Island Christian Church, the CICC." But he didn't attend any of their services. It was not expected. Travel writers, coming as they do from predominantly secular societies, tend to ignore the religious practices of the people they visit, especially the Christian ones. They will travel to Chichen Itza in Mexico, fascinated by the sacrifices of the ancient Mayans, but will not join their descendants at Sunday mass in Merida. In most of the world, with the exception of much of Europe, the Antipodes and parts of North America, religion is still an integral part of people's lives, a key to understanding their culture, history, who they are, their behaviours, prejudices and desires. Going to church (or temple or mosque or synagogue) should be as high on a serious traveller's itinerary as visiting a market or attending a game. I discovered this when I lived in Poland in the early '80s. It was the period of Solidarity, the beginning of the end of communism in that part of the world, and the church was playing an active role. That first Christmas, a creche in one of Warsaw's Old Town churches featured the infant Jesus lying peacefully in the Gdansk shipyard of Lech Walesa. A joke at the time featured a man in a pew admitting to his neighbour that he was an atheist. "Then why are you here?" the neighbour asks. "I'm against the government." A similarly predisposed travel writer could easily respond, "I'm writing a story". An Episcopalian, I sometimes search out an Anglican service when abroad. Admittedly, attending Holy Communion at Christ Church in Bangkok didn't give me great insight into the local culture, but it provided me with something I cherish almost as much: a glimpse of life most tourists miss. After the service, the coffee was enlivened by curries and conversations with expats and Thais. Communion in Aitutaki had its own charms. White-suited ushers come down the aisle bearing shallow wicker baskets neat with rows of coconut meat. Shortly after, the men return with wooden trays holding tiny glasses of coconut water. It seems, in appearance and taste, the essence of purity. After the service, we repair to the parish hall. Tables groaning with dishes stretch the length of the room - in honour of students from Tahiti. A cheerful crew sings pop songs in the corner. No locals approach the food until the visitors have enjoyed seconds and thirds. When the preacher takes the microphone he thanks us, the guests, for accepting the invitation to the feast.
© 2006 The Sunday Age