About 1000 people were there, mostly kids, all in Karen traditional clothes. The chairs at one end of the large hall were mostly occupied, but that left about three quarters of the crowd to mill in and out of the 10 side doors during the ceremony - taking pictures and talking and relocating for a better view.
Among the milling mass of people were a few of the dear, rambunctious, affectionate kids who live in tents across the road from the house where I had been staying. They spent some time with me and KS and SS over the last two weeks - coloring, playing with dolls, singing, folding paper cranes. At the ceremony, they recognized me, and it wasn't long before my legs were being hugged by several grinning little friends.
During the ceremonial wrist-tying itself, L translated and explained. Tradition says that the souls of children tend to wander to dark places. Respected elders then call those spirits back to the bodies of the children they belong to. They tie threads around the kids' wrists to keep their spirits bound to their bodies, to their families, to discipline, and to culture. The act of tying somehow includes round bamboo trays full of rice, bananas, and flowers, among other things - all symbolic. If you want to learn more, you can read about the tradition here: http://www.drumpublications.org/wrist.php .
The wrist-tying ceremony is controversial among Karen Christians. Some say it is merely cultural heritage and causes no harm. Others say that because their faith is in Christ alone, it would be wrong even to appear to place trust for the well-being of their children in something like wrist-tying. My conscience was clear in attending the event as an observer, but I had no intention of participating.
After a few minutes, L took me out to the open balcony to meet some of her friends. As we stood and talked, I suddenly felt little hands fumbling with my left wrist. I looked down, and there was one of the neighbor girls, intently wrapping my wrist in red thread. She finished and smiled up at me expectantly. I gave her a hug and said the only word I know in Burmese, which is the only language she speaks: "Chezu tinbade." Thank you. Thank you for caring about me and showing it in a way you understand.
So much for not participating.
That sweet girl and her friends do get to go to church every week. They come home singing praise songs. I am praying that they hear the truth about Jesus and believe.
That day reminded me to pray another prayer as well. I don't believe in the power of incantations and string bracelets for the security of my soul. But I resonated with the heart of that ceremony - the desire to bind ourselves to what is most important.
Jesus, place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away. If one were to give all the wealth of one's house for love, it would be utterly scorned. (SOS 8:6-7)
