Central Asia: The Lamb of God

I left the big city last week and rode 6 hours through the mountains to visit a small, isolated city and the IFES work there. We rode up the switchbacks, through a tunnel, and stopped for dumplings and tea on the jailoo (mountain plateau) where a few remaining summer yurts (traditional herder's tent homes) held out against October winds. As we left the mountains for a valley filled with neighborhoods, cows stood in the road, beautiful herds of horses crossed, and chickens watched from the ditches (Why would a chicken cross the road, really?). We barreled down on a flock of sheep traveling ahead of us, led by men on horseback. The taxi driver honked wildly and multicolored sheep bounced hurriedly out of harm's way. It happened at least ten more times.

As I lay in bed that night I thought of the sheep in the symbol of the Moravian church, the conquering Lamb. I imagined that Kyrgyz must understand much better than we Jesus's role as the Lamb of God. Little did I know.

A day later my hostess, Kyrgyz IFES staff, took me to the tomb of Manas, the larger-than-life warrior who united the 40 (Kyr) tribes against the Chinese, the Russians and the Tajiks. He is celebrated in the Kyrgyz's proudest literature: an days-long epic poem, memorized by ear and chanted/rapped by Manaschi. We walked around the statues, took some cheesy pics and headed past a building my host identified as 'for shamanism.' Then we came upon a patio ringed by pavilions; each had a fireplace with a metal bowl on top. My host explained, 'Here people put sheeps and kill for Manas...hm...like Old Testament.' Sure enough a man was boiling meat; we greeted him. Another couple was skinning a hanging sheep (he) and braiding it's innards (she). Their teenage son was chopping wood in his skinny jeans. He was one of this staff's non-christian students, and as they chatted he invited us to eat when the meat was ready. 'I not eat, for my conscience,' she whispered as we left them. This staff's own family wants to come and sacrifice next year, she told me sadly. 'Yes,' I said, 'I was thinking that Jesus is our sheep for God.' 'Yes,' she said.

We wound our way up the pointed hill within which Manas's spirit is said to live. At the top, overlooking the city, she told me about Kyrgyz Christian practice. In her church, a man who can afford it gives a sheep to the church every year. They slaughter it and have a picnic feast in the mountains on Easter day. They kill a sheep to celebrate the day when God sacrificed, in place of a sheep, Himself, for us.

I am reminded of Revelation, the letter John wrote to the churches of  Turkic Asia: " I know where you live—where Satan has his throne. Yet you remain true to my name. You did not renounce your faith in me, not even in the days of Antipas, my faithful witness, who was put to death in your city—where Satan lives."
 
Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches.