A Catholic Sunday, and how 20 becomes 95
I never liked going to church, but the importance of the Catholic Church in Timor-Leste is too profound to miss
My eyes are crusted and regretful as my Mom knocks on my door at 7am reminding me that despite my Saturday night spent being a goober, I still need to come to church. With pain in my heart from last night’s evergreen rejection and alcohol still on my breath, I shake hands and throw on a smile for the nice people so happy to see me. This is how most Sundays were spent as a teen in America and most accurately reflects my memories of church to this day. I am happy to say that I am substantially less of a punk these days, though this doesn’t make waking up early on the weekend much easier.
On my first weekend here in Gleno, Timor-Leste, I gleefully went to church. This wasn’t out of any spiritual desire to worship. I’m not Catholic and I hardly speak enough Tetun or Latin to have any idea what is going on. I happily got up early on that first Sunday after a long and difficult week because I wanted to experience something both new and important. As much as I deeply love Catholic religious and cultural aesthetic, admiring the stained glass windows and ornate murals of the crucifix was not my main motivation.
The people of Timor-Leste overwhelmingly practice Catholicism, though most still hold traditional animistic beliefs. I grew up in an area with a very large Catholic community primarily consisting of people from Latin-American descent. I need to admit my bias that I love Catholics. Though Timor-Leste is very different than southern California. Here, the institution of the church plays a much stronger role in people’s lives. I’ve seen estimates between 93%-97% of people here are Catholic. Every Sunday the massive church on the hill is entirely full of eager worshipers. The half hour after church is over, the main street is completely pedestrianized, not with enforcement, but with a thousand people spilling over the sidewalks to take the street for themselves. It’s a vibrant affair, the kind I love nothing more than to walk with. Even though I am not really part of the group, their energy is too infectious to not embrace.
Before the parade leaving the church is the trickle turned stream to enter the church. Whereas leaving the church is a loud vibrant affair, entering the church is reverent time where masses of families slowly, proudly, yet humbly strut their finest dress to fill the seemingly endless pews. Nearly everyone walks to church. I view it as representing an unintentional egalitarian march of solidarity. The air is much quieter than it is after church is over, though the energy is just as prevalent. On the walk I ask my host sister in Tetun if she likes to go to church. I ask half tongue in cheek, thinking about my self-instilled view of going to church as a chore needed to be done rather than a privilege to enjoy. Her zealous answer reflected the latter saying how excited she was to meet Jesus Christ. I’ve never been so happy to see my subtle attempt at dry subversive humor fall flat on its face. It was a beautiful response that perfectly captured the mood of everyone walking to church on that cloudy Sunday.
The actual procedural nature of the church service was eerily familiar to back home. This is to say I spent most of my time writing in my journal and daydreaming. As previously mentioned, my lack of Latin and meager Tetun holds me back from fully participating, However, in the spaces between my off topic thoughts, I greatly appreciated the beauty abound in this room. Out of respect for the service I was not taking pictures of the nave (the interior picture below is borrowed from my buddy Shawn) but rest assured the beauty of this building found in a small low income town commands awe and admiration in line with Catholic churches found across the world. Only towards the end did I appreciate the honor it was to enter this sacred place. I now better understood my host sister’s enthusiasm.
It is easy for one to wonder, why does this half of an island in southeast Asia overwhelmingly practice Catholicism? The easy but incomplete answer is colonialism, the same answer as to why much of the world practices the two latter Abrahamic religions. For 400 years the Portuguese empire had an extractive colony on Timor-Leste. It wasn’t a settler colony like the US or Australia so Catholicism didn’t arrive by Portuguese nationals immigrating here en masse. Unlike the extractive colonies in Latin-America, there wasn’t nearly the same amount of proselytizing and forced conversion in Timor-Leste. Because of these reasons, only about 20% of Timorese considered themselves Catholic at the late stage of Portuguese colonization. Everything changed when Portugal left in 1975 and Indonesia under Suharto invaded days later.
The occupation was a brutal and traumatic twenty seven years for the Timorese where up to a third of the country was killed by occupying forces. The horrors of the time necessitated a space for light and leadership that the Catholic Church filled. Because clergy were exempt the occupier's brutality, they were able to play a major role in the resistance movement. This meant providing food, aid, and security to people devastated by the conflict. Organizations like the Red Cross were not allowed in the country during the occupation so the work of the church was especially needed. This is not meant to be an exhaustive history of the occupation or the Catholic Church's role in the resistance. This is a brief explanation as to why the share of people identifying as Catholic in Timor-Leste rose from around 20% to around 95%
The relationship between a privileged westerner and a life saving and culture defining institution in a post conflict country is not really the final story I want to write on the topic. My experience seeing the institution in practice and speaking in a limited capacity to people here about the church is currently nothing more than a starting ground. This is the inspiration for future work. As my language skills develop and my understanding of local social dynamics increases, I hope to talk to more Timorese about their experiences with the church both presently and during the occupation.
The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Timor-Leste Government.
