Learning from my grandfather of doing an interfaith practice
By Farsijana Adeney-Risakotta
My grantfather was a Javanese. He had eight siblings. I got to know his family when my parents took us including our grandparents to what we called "the tour of Java". It was carried out when I was about 13 years old in 1978. Our parent rent a blue bird car to drive us from Jakarta to Surabaya. It was about a month trip while stopping in many places to reconnect with my grandpa's family and to enjoy the beauty of Javanese landscape.
Coming to Java was to see another paradise in my life. I grew up among the ocean and plantation of our grandmother's property in the village of Amahusu in the bay of Ambon. Actually our parent's home was in the city of Ambon, but my father loved so much to have a nap on the beach at the front of my grandma's home. He would drive us to taste the breeze almost everyday whether he could make it after his working day and when he did not travel to Jakarta. My father was the head of the department of Industry at the time.
The tour of Java gave a deep meaning of myself. Especially to think how could I develop myself like this now. Now we live with Muslims and Christians at our home. I work with women of different religious background in Yogyakarta. I have retraced myself to understand how I can be the person to listen others sharing their faith without feeling of uneasy.
The more I think the more I strongly believe in the role of my father and my grandpa. My father had a driver whose name was what we called "Oom Hadi". Oom means uncle. He was a Muslim from Buton, South Sulawesi. He was a sweet guy. I remember always talking with him about his memory of living at his original home in Buton. We were living at the time in the city of Ambon. The attitute of people in Ambon toward the Butonese was to look them down.
However, in our family, my parents taught us to respect to oom Hadi and others. Whether we had something more in our home, my mother always gave some food for oom Hadi to take home. Going to visit my grandparents in their home in Amahusu, we always returned with frest coconuts, different kind of fruits and vegetables that were harvested from their yard or plantation up in the hills. So giving to oom Hadi as we brought home was a common practice.
However only coming to Java, I learned that we have many Muslim families. My grandpa, I called him "Opa" had told us about his siblings, but I could comprehen when I arrived in Java. I remember my grandpa would be asked to pray anytime we came to visit them. The family thought that he had died because of no news for 40 years since he left Java to go to Serui, Papua. He was the fifth of eight siblings. He and his elder brother were Christians. Being as Christians and Muslims in the family was accepted as I also saw in the extended-family grave yard, there are signs of Al'quran calligraphy and the cross.
Later on, I returned to Yogya in the Central Java of the costal line to live with my Muslim aunt while I went to my senior high school. Perhaps my interests to stay with them, beside I had to company my brother who already had studied in Yogya, was because of our trip to Java. The first night of staying in my aunt's home, I woke up in the early morning listening of the call of praying. I was curious to know what was going on. I sneaked out from my bed to follow the blurred light. I was so surprised that I saw my aunt who had bowed wearing a white cloth covering the whole of her body. I wactched deeply. Before she later felt being wached by someone, I had to return to my bed.
After my grandfather woke up, I told my morning observation to him. He smiled and said that my aunt, Suti was doing a pray which is called "sholat", that means pray in Arabic. He told me that as she performed sholat, as I have prayed anytime I want to talk with God. Christians pray anytime to feel closed to God as Muslims pray five times a day.
At the day, my aunt who had felt sick told my grandpa that she would like him to pray for her. My grandpa did not look surprising. He was calm. I guess because anytime we travelled to visit new families, I have seen their requests for my grandpa to pray. Then my grandpa said that he could pray only in his Christian tradition. My aunt smiled and said that the more other pray the more blessing for her healing would happen.
So my grandpa invited me to join the pray. I prayed with lots of curiousity. I closed half of my eyes to see what was happening. I showed the face of my aunt peacefully during the pray. My grandpa ended up with the blessing of God to all his offerings and asked God to heal my aunt. He asked the healing that was done by Jesus, the prophet according to Islam may return to give her a strength.
It was a wonderful morning for me as a teenager to learn how we can share our faith to strengthen our love one in the time of needs.
Thanks my grandpa for a deep feeling of love you have left for me as you did to my aunt. It always inspires me for doing the same thing with the grace of God.
By Farsijana Adeney-Risakotta
My grantfather was a Javanese. He had eight siblings. I got to know his family when my parents took us including our grandparents to what we called "the tour of Java". It was carried out when I was about 13 years old in 1978. Our parent rent a blue bird car to drive us from Jakarta to Surabaya. It was about a month trip while stopping in many places to reconnect with my grandpa's family and to enjoy the beauty of Javanese landscape.
Coming to Java was to see another paradise in my life. I grew up among the ocean and plantation of our grandmother's property in the village of Amahusu in the bay of Ambon. Actually our parent's home was in the city of Ambon, but my father loved so much to have a nap on the beach at the front of my grandma's home. He would drive us to taste the breeze almost everyday whether he could make it after his working day and when he did not travel to Jakarta. My father was the head of the department of Industry at the time.
The tour of Java gave a deep meaning of myself. Especially to think how could I develop myself like this now. Now we live with Muslims and Christians at our home. I work with women of different religious background in Yogyakarta. I have retraced myself to understand how I can be the person to listen others sharing their faith without feeling of uneasy.
The more I think the more I strongly believe in the role of my father and my grandpa. My father had a driver whose name was what we called "Oom Hadi". Oom means uncle. He was a Muslim from Buton, South Sulawesi. He was a sweet guy. I remember always talking with him about his memory of living at his original home in Buton. We were living at the time in the city of Ambon. The attitute of people in Ambon toward the Butonese was to look them down.
However, in our family, my parents taught us to respect to oom Hadi and others. Whether we had something more in our home, my mother always gave some food for oom Hadi to take home. Going to visit my grandparents in their home in Amahusu, we always returned with frest coconuts, different kind of fruits and vegetables that were harvested from their yard or plantation up in the hills. So giving to oom Hadi as we brought home was a common practice.
However only coming to Java, I learned that we have many Muslim families. My grandpa, I called him "Opa" had told us about his siblings, but I could comprehen when I arrived in Java. I remember my grandpa would be asked to pray anytime we came to visit them. The family thought that he had died because of no news for 40 years since he left Java to go to Serui, Papua. He was the fifth of eight siblings. He and his elder brother were Christians. Being as Christians and Muslims in the family was accepted as I also saw in the extended-family grave yard, there are signs of Al'quran calligraphy and the cross.
Later on, I returned to Yogya in the Central Java of the costal line to live with my Muslim aunt while I went to my senior high school. Perhaps my interests to stay with them, beside I had to company my brother who already had studied in Yogya, was because of our trip to Java. The first night of staying in my aunt's home, I woke up in the early morning listening of the call of praying. I was curious to know what was going on. I sneaked out from my bed to follow the blurred light. I was so surprised that I saw my aunt who had bowed wearing a white cloth covering the whole of her body. I wactched deeply. Before she later felt being wached by someone, I had to return to my bed.
After my grandfather woke up, I told my morning observation to him. He smiled and said that my aunt, Suti was doing a pray which is called "sholat", that means pray in Arabic. He told me that as she performed sholat, as I have prayed anytime I want to talk with God. Christians pray anytime to feel closed to God as Muslims pray five times a day.
At the day, my aunt who had felt sick told my grandpa that she would like him to pray for her. My grandpa did not look surprising. He was calm. I guess because anytime we travelled to visit new families, I have seen their requests for my grandpa to pray. Then my grandpa said that he could pray only in his Christian tradition. My aunt smiled and said that the more other pray the more blessing for her healing would happen.
So my grandpa invited me to join the pray. I prayed with lots of curiousity. I closed half of my eyes to see what was happening. I showed the face of my aunt peacefully during the pray. My grandpa ended up with the blessing of God to all his offerings and asked God to heal my aunt. He asked the healing that was done by Jesus, the prophet according to Islam may return to give her a strength.
It was a wonderful morning for me as a teenager to learn how we can share our faith to strengthen our love one in the time of needs.
Thanks my grandpa for a deep feeling of love you have left for me as you did to my aunt. It always inspires me for doing the same thing with the grace of God.
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