Nov 08/ 08- Praying with the Uigyurs

Praying with the Uigyurs
November 08, 2008

Before I start this yak, I should first thank my friends and instructors who allowed me to have this amazing experience while they were finding a hostel/hostel to stay for the night.
After leaving Urumqi in the morning, we arrived at the oasis Silk Road town of Turpan at around two. One of the reasons I wanted to come to Xinjiang was to immerse myself in the Muslim culture, and I had really wanted to attend the Muslim Friday service, which is the equivalent of the Christian Sunday service. Although Muslims pray five times a day, their Friday service is their only communal service and I had really wanted to be part of this.
As soon as we got off the bus, I asked the nearest hotel's front desk about the mosques nearby and the front desk lady told me there was one service at the Emin Minerat starting at 2. So while the group was having lunch, I skipped my meal to go to the Emin Minerat (Su-gong-ta), which was about ten minutes away from the center of the town. It was already 2:10 when I took the taxi, but my restless mind was a little soothed by the surrounding grape fields and large poplar trees lining the road running through the old town. Emin Minerat, the biggest one of its kind in China, was two-hundred-year-old brick (outside) and wood (inside) structure with intricate geometric flower pattern on it and had served as the center of the own two centuries ago.
I must have looked a little ridiculous running towards the minerat with my two massive bagpacks on back and front, but I quickly purchased the ticket, dropped off my bags, and entered the mosque. It was 2:25 when I arrived at the mosque, and all the men (no women are allowed to participate in the service) were gathered around the imam at the front. I took a seat at the back row and sat listening. I was a little bored as I sat there listening to the language I don't understand, but I was also very self conscious wearing a navy and white Northface jacket and gray sports sweatpants surrounded by Uigyur men (there were no Han people either and I stood out as Uigyur people look more Middle eastern-central Asian) all dressed in similar dark robes and suits. But I soon got over this difference (I don't know if my fellow worshipers did because some of them couldn't stop staring at me) and as I watched some worshipers perform prostrating rituals when they entered, it got me thinking about my own spirituality.
Although I had attended church almost every Sunday at home and at school, I had been off God for almost two months as it was hard to find a nearby church. Immersed in a new culture, I had spent very little time reflecting on my own spirituality. Our earlier travels in Yunnan where we visited a large Tibetan monastery had triggered my existential crisis and thirst for meaning, and I had finished a short book on Buddha. But that was brief and I was busy preoccupied with trying to improve my Chinese language, and better understand the culture, tea and TCM.
As the imam ended his sermon and another man started singing/ reciting a prayer (maybe a Quaranic passage but I couldn't tell), I began to ponder upon the nature of my own relationship with the divine. What did God mean to me? the Creator? Sustainer? Provider? Preserver? (In Hinduism these would be separate gods) the prime mover? the ultimate,? qi? infinite? light? father? At the time, all these words felt empty and distant, which scared me a little. Although I am never certain about anything, I had always had room for the ineffable and the mysterious, but did God mean nothing to me now?
Then my musing was interrupted by the guy next to me handing me a white basket-like weaving. I thought it was like an offering time and having left my wallet in my bag outside, I handed the basket to the old man sitting next to me. The old man smiled, and put the basket on my head, which made me realize that everybody around me had little hats on their heads and I remembered learning from my Islam class back at school that it was rude to expose one's head at the mosque. My heart jumped again and warm sensation spread throughout my body as I felt like I was welcomed into this Muslim community.
Then the next part of the service took me by surprise, as everybody stood up from their seats simultaneously and started performing repeatedly prostrating rituals. I did not know what to do. I was brought up in a very devout conservative Christian family (unfortunately bordering on fundamentalism) and although I was a lot more liberal and tolerant than my parents, I thought I was going to be an observer in the service, not a participant. I had thought I had sat at the back but as there were quite a large number of Muslims who trickled in late, I was surrounded by the worshippers and already standing out with my Han-like appearance and western clothing, I felt compelled to imitate what the people arounding me were doing.
Then a miracle (well, a small one) occurred as I was following their ritual. Those words that a while ago seemed meaningless to me began to make sense and become true. Perhaps I did have a relationship with God, and I became ecstatic. I had always thought the mind to affect and control the behavior, but it was amazing to experience how behavior and mind (or soul) were two way streets.
After the service, I walked out on the little garden next to the minerat. Despite the joy of glimpsing the sublime, I felt a little like a kid who broke a window playing baseball. Some of my friends and family would think I had gone whoring after foreign gods. But as I looked at the various shade of poplar trees ranging from yellow to red (which reminded me a little of the gorgeous New England fall), I realized I had followed my heart and had done the right thing. Like these trees with varying shades of colors manifesting the nutrients they absorbed from the same earth, different religions for me were various expressions of the same truth.
As I walked out of the minerat, I noticed numerous groups of Han tourists drifting in with rambunctious music blasting where other Han people were selling souvenirs. I even saw a Han man who danced right at the face of the Uigyur man walking out after the service- 'Show some respect, these people just came out of their most holy time of the week,' I thought and I wanted to throw something at the Han guy and the stereo but didn't have anything to throw in my pocket.
I also had a chance to talk to some young Uigyur man and I was surprised to discover that they don't usually let tourists, non-Uigyurs and non-muslims in during the service hours. I clearly looked non-Uigyur, touristy and non-Muslim with my massive bag packs but why did they let me in to worship with them? I would never find out, but I just felt grateful (to both these people and some guy above the clouds) and I owed these spiritual brothers one for their hospitality.
PS: As I told them I was Korean, these muslim brothers told me about their love of the Korean drama. As I dwelled upon the fact that all across from Beijing to Kunming to even this distant Uigyurland (Marco Polo's name for Xinjiang) - the entire China - was crazy about Korean dramas, I suddenly felt incredibly proud to be a Korean (I am currently struggling with my Korean nationality) and wanted to read more Korean literature and history. Apparently, we Koreans are pretty good story tellers as Korean dramas and movies are also extremely popular in Japan. My friend's dad had told me that the fact that Japanese people were uneasy about expressing their emotions made Korean dramas so popular in Japan, but I couldn't figure out why the Korean dramas appealed to the Chinese people so much. Perhaps another ISP before I leave.