We were traveling out to a small village a few hours away from the city. By village, I really do mean village. Small little wooden buildings and a well and electricity only by generator and everything. My brother and I were very small. There were enough of us going that he and I were told to ride in the back of the covered pick up truck… Over there, they take pick up trucks and put a roof on them, and benches in the inside. Sometimes they even add air conditioning. I can’t remember if this particular truck had that feature… Normally he and I would be ecstatic about this, there was just one problem.
Ruth.
Ruth was a sweet old lady, I’m sure. And she was good friends with our parents. But she was missing teeth, she coughed up stuff and spat a lot, I’m pretty sure she smoked or chewed tobacco or both, and oh yeah, she had more than one demon.
Now I know, I know. You can’t just call someone demonized because you don’t like them. But I’m not doing that here. She actually got delivered of them a year or so later and lived out the rest of her life as a much different, freer, and less scary woman. But she was demonized during this story. And we were confined to a small space with her for a 2-3 hour trip.
Just us. And her. And her crazy eyes and the things she would say that neither of us could understand and how she’d crack up laughing at whatever it was she just said and how she would watch us… We less than pleased with the situation. But such was life.
Now I have a theory. This theory being that if you took a random american child, raised safely in the church, and put them in half the situations over there, they’d snap. Go into shock or something. Of course I could be wrong, especially since kids tend to be pretty flexible… But demons are simply not something the American church seems familiarized with here. Our parents weren’t freaked out about Ruth. She wasn’t attacked by bible-wielding screaming people casting things out of her. She wasn’t sent away from the church because of her problems. The church took her in and it loved her. My parents took care of her. They were friends with her. And when she wanted to be delivered, when she was finally able to be free of her demons primarily of her own volition, they and the church were there to help her.
This is not something I’ve encountered here in the U.S. Heck, it doesn’t even take being demonized for someone to get rejected by the church here. But that is a matter for a different day.
Every house over there had house spirits. And when a house was built, or when someone moved in, they were to put a string all around the house. That kept the spirits there. Even the apartment complexes had them, they were just wrapped around all the buildings on that floor. And to add to that, each house had a small, doll house sized shrine. It was built in the shape of a small temple and had at least one idol in it if not more. The home owner was to feed the idols on a regular basis, leaving fruit or bowls of rice in front of it. They would also burn incense there, making me very wary of incense here.
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| This is very chinese, but same basic concept. |
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| Shrines for sale... These would probably end up in a garden. |
When I found out people use incense here I was perplexed, honestly. We don’t have house idols here… Yes it smells nice but… That’s the stuff you burn in offering. Incense has always been an offering. Even in Old Testament times it was an offering. You mean people here do that… Just to scent their houses?
It took me a while to get my head around the concept. Once I did though I was ecstatic. I’d always loved incense but it simply wasn’t religiously sound to burn over there. Kind of like the concept of fire crackers... Over there, fire crackers are a means of catching the gods’ attention. They invited good spirits. People would go up to the temples, literally the high places, to pray and then to set off fire crackers. They would buy huge, long strings of them and wait their turn to set them off. The burning smoke and the smell of the gunpowder was delightful to me, as a child. I sort of grasped the seriousness of the religious fallacy but… Explosions. Smoke. Fire. I was little. It was more fascinating than sobering.
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| The firecrackers came in different sizes. Normal size, like pencil or chapstick size... Or this size. Like glue stick size. |
These were daily practices. Imagine if we, as the bride of Christ, had as many daily practices as these people! Imagine if we had such devotion, such willingness to do whatever it took to be right before our God. To walk in an upright manner, according to His statutes! I think we would see a very different bride than the one we have right now.
But I digress. Again, that is a matter for another day. Food for thought, for now.
One of the things my family would do is when people got saved and decided to abandon their old practices, we would smash their idols and pray over their houses. There really is nothing quite like literally smashing idols. Actually taking a hammer to an actual idol. I remember my dad reaching up and cutting the string tied around the apartment complex and thinking, but what about all the families that aren’t Christian? Won’t they notice and get mad at this family?
As if the strings and household shrines weren’t enough each neighboorhood had one. The wealthier neighborhood the bigger their shrine. These were not dollhouse sized, nor were they full house sized. They were usually about the size of a large dog house, and set on a pedestal. (Though some were tool shed size...) I don’t know whose job it was to make sure it was fed and stuff but there were always fresh strings of flowers and fresh fruit out on it.
Speaking of flower strings, that’s another thing I grew up with. (This is a complete bunny trail.) The day we arrived in Thailand (I was 5 and a half), on the way to the missionary base, the woman who had picked us up bought us flowers. She didn’t stop somewhere. Just a stop light. It was (And probably still is) very common for families to force their children out on the streets, selling these strings of flowers. They were very pretty and smelled nice and were attached to ribbons. Good for offering, or in this case the woman gave the flowers to us as a "welcome to the country." I was glad she’d gotten them. But it was sad, what I found out when I got a little older. The families would force the younger children on the street selling these, and would beat them if not enough were sold. I always felt so bad for the kids, who were my age. But that is the world over there. And no one bats an eye.
Once upon a time my father and I were exploring the city. He was looking for temples, so he could pray the God would break in there. I didn’t quite get that. To me it was just a fun day with my father. We chanced upon a small, newly built temple. Having never seen this one before I was pretty excited to explore it. There was construction going on outside; the side of the mountain was being excavated to make room for more statues. Also, the dirt that was being moved was being sold to places like the Netherlands, where land-space was constricted and in peril of being overrun by the sea.
When we entered the temple we found it pretty scarce, but that was ok. There was still plenty to look at… Because one of the walls was covered in pictures. Terrible, gruesome, and wildly fascinating pictures. Men who had pierced standing fans and ladders and other random objects through their faces and necks. No blood in sight. Small me was engrossed in the pictures.. How could these men stick such large objects through their faces and necks, with no blood or obvious pain?
(I found some similar but I don’t want to post them here. They really are pretty gruesome and disturbing. This site has them as well as some explanation about them.)
A temple attendant saw us over by the pictures and smilingly came over to us. She wanted to know why we, foreigners, were there. My dad asked her about the pictures, and here is what she explained. (I think it was all in Thai, so this is young me’s remembrance of what he told me later.)
This was pictures from last year’s piercing festival. Once a year, those devoted to Kuan I’m, the female reincarnation of Bhudda, and also the goddess of mercy, fast for her They fast for a period of time, and then they all get together and, feeling no pain, pierce themselves with random objects. They parade around the city like this, following the head monk, until the end of the procession. Every year the head monk, head of the procession and the religion, cuts his tongue out. (Because after all, gotta one up the insane piercers somehow right?). He heads the parade, holding his tongue up for all to see. At the end, he puts his tongue back in and it is healed as soon as it is back in his mouth. No harm done. A complete miracle (And we get impressed when someone’s headache goes away.)
One year, the head monk went about his normal ritual, fasting and then praying and then having his tongue cut out. Everything went fine, just as normal. But when he put his tongue back in, he put in back upside down by accident. It healed immediately as it was supposed to, before he could realize his mistake. And then when he opened his mouth to speak it hit him. He couldn’t talk. His tongue wasn’t working. He panicked. He motioned to the other monks. They panicked. He couldn’t simply cut it back out, the festival was over. So they rushed him to the emergency room.
The doctors there had no answers either. “We don’t know how it got this way, sorry. We can’t fix it,” they told him. As far as they could tell he had been born that way. There weren’t even any marks from when he had cut it.
So he had to fast for another 10 days or however long and then pray until the demons came upon him again. He cut his tongue back out and set it right in his mouth. And then, just for show, went back to the hospital. The doctors were amazed. A true miracle, they called it.
Dad thanked her for the story, and then prayed a little longer. She smiled and nodded, and took my hand. She prayed over me and tied a pretty bracelet, made of golden yellow thread, around my wrist. She gave me two others, one red and one green, to take with me. I thanked her with wide eyes and admired my new acquisition. Dad also thanked her, took me back from her, and we left.
When we got to Tesco Lotus he pulled out his pocket knife and asked to see my wrist. I shook my head and asked why? I liked the bracelet. It was pretty. He sadly explained to me that she hadn’t just given me a bracelet, she had prayed spirits over me. He pointed out some other small boys and girls with similar bracelets. Like the string around the houses, this braided string on my wrist was a bind of protection. It held good spirits to me. Reluctantly I let him cut the thing off me and also gave him the two others to cut up. But secretly I kept the pieces for a while until I got worried that I’d allowed demons into the house.
The other festivals weren’t quite as extreme as the piercing festival, thank goodness. Actually, the other festivals I can remember were pretty fun. They were initially religious practices but also served as great tourist attractions. There were two. The first is a pretty common, worldwide type of thing. It’s name is officially Loy Krathong (Said Loy Krah-tong) but an easier name would be the lantern, or floating lantern festival. Participants would build small circular boats out of wood and banana leaves, and would add flowers and candles. The boat was supposed to have some aspects of the owner’s life, as well. It was to be a representation of sorts. The final day would be filled with parades and dances and concerts and small attractions, and then at the end everyone would go to the lake (In Hat Yai, anyways. It was at the park I mentioned last time.) Everyone would take their boats and set them in the water. They would pray over them as they lit the candles, confessing all the previous year’s sins over the little boat. Then they would release the boats into the water, allowing them to carry all their sins away and leaving them with a clean slate for the next year. My brother and I got to release a boat once, though we didn’t pray over it or anything. It was just fun for us. A I said, we were young.
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| These young ladies were in a parade, and would maybe dance as well. Traditional thai dancing, of course. |
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| These were the "boats". There would also be larger floats on the lake, but those were only for display. These would be for sale all around he park and the city, in case people didn't have the time to make one of their own. |
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| And this is the boats on the water, carrying away the sins so to speak. |
The other annual festival was called Songkrahm (Said like it’s spelled. Song. Krahm. Not aim. Ahm.) We called it the water festival. There were three seasons over there (None of that “oh hey it’s winter but it feels like spring and SNOW and then rain and ICE and now it’s summer or is it?” stuff.) Just three seasons. Dry season at the beginning of the year, super dry really hot season at the middle of the year, and then rainy season at the end. The water festival marked the end of super dry really hot season and ushered in the rain for the next season. Everyone would arm themselves accordingly with water guns of all sorts and run around the city attacking everything and each other with water. Many would, as we did one year, put a tarp in the back of their pick up truck and then fill the bed completely full of water, providing a nigh endless supply of ammo for those sitting in the back as the truck was driven around. It was great. Of course I didn’t understand the purpose of that one either. Far as I was concerned it was a city wide water fight. (I did understand when I got a little older, but the first few years it was just fun.)
Of course we also had chinese new year, but there was nothing too special about that. Just fireworks and one year we had chinese friends who gave us new year money.
The thing is, all of this was normal. Here alternate religious practices scare people. Everything is about being politically correct. If a little girl tried to sell you a string of flowers whil your car was stopped, social services would be called. We don’t know anything over here. I grew up with ex prostitutes. Around men and women who were openly demonized. I grew up where people respected and honored the power of demons, where it was not unusual to make offerings. We see those waving cats and we think aw, how cute, not realizing it is part of chinese religion. The cats are for good fortune, for good spirits, and to invite business.
Our nation is so spiritually unaware and dead it’s scary. One year at a teen camp the other girls thought I had a demon. If they had grown up where demons were common I think they would have known better, but we are so very sheltered here. The church doesn’t teach us, doesn’t equip us for the very real spiritual world out there. Half the church body even rejects it! But how can they reject the Holy Spirit and the miracles of God, when demon are making miracles of their own?
It mystifies me. How ignorant can we be? I told some of these stories to someone once and she became sad, told me I shouldn’t have had to deal with any of this. I was confused. Deal with any of this? As though it was traumatic. This wasn’t traumatic. I’m sure those living in Jesus’ day would agree with me… We should be way more aware of the spiritual world than we are today.
Anyways. Rant over. That’s my post for today. Ask me questions!! No one ever does. It makes it easier to write when I have something to answer, after all. The next post will be about growing up third culture, not really a thai kid, but not really american either. Expect more ranting, too.
Until next time!
~Silver
