INTO THE LAND OF EGYPT

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLV, Issue 21126, 27 August 1938, Page 9

INTO THE LAND OF EGYPT

By

H. V. MORTON

CHAPTER 8

A COPTIC CHRISTENING The Church of Abu Sifain, Father of the Two Swords, stands in a narrow lane in Old Cairo, with nothing to indicate its whereabouts except the smell of incense which haunts the neighbouring alleys. Several steps lead down to it, for the street level has risen since the church was built many centuries ago. I arrived there shortly after eight on a Sunday morning to attend the Coptic baptism to which I had been invited. The dark old church is Byzantine in appearance, yet overlaid with a strong Orientalism: the inlaid haikal screen, which separates the body of the church from the altar, would look equally well in a mosque, so would the rugs, and also the os* rick eggs, hanging in front of the sanctuary. Every now and then a member of the congregation entered the church, first prostrating himself at the door of the haikal screen and touching the ground with his forehead three times. The men, who wore their tar-brushes in church, stood in prayer with their hands held out, the palms upward, the elbows to the side, an ancient and beautiful attitude of intercession sometimes seen in ancient ikons but long since forgot by the kneeling Christians of the West. The women mostly sat cross-legged on the floor, shrouded in black draperies, whispering prayers in Arabic and slowly swaying their bodies as Jews and Moslems do. The priest moved in a haze of incense in the candlelight of the altar. There must always be a space round a Coptic altar for processions and censing; and as the priest moved, he was attended by a bare-footed deacon. In an hour or so the service of Morning Incense came to an end, and the priest robed for Mass. I had been told that the child would be christened during Mass, because every infant must make its first Communion after baptism. This is an unbreakable rule, and the custom goes back to antiquity. The Coptic service of baptism had been clearly drawn up for grown-up converts to Christianity, not for infants. But so unchanging is the Qpptic Church so unreasonably tenacious of old customs, that every infant baptised into it to-day must hold up its hand and swear—by proxy, of course—to forsake the worship of idols! The priest robed himself in a white

alb, or dalmatic, a straight widesleeved tunic that fell to his ankles, of a type which, I believe, the Latin Church ceased to wear 1500 years ago. He placed on his head a white mitre embroidered with gold, to which was attached a long strip of white silk that fell down his back to his heels. While he was robing, a choir of fourteen dark young men filed in and stood facing each other in two ranks at the haikal door. They wore surplices with a stole crossed over their right shoulders and hanging down in front. Two choirmen carried cymbals and one a triangle. To the sound of their plaintive Oriental chanting, to the metallic clash of their instruments, which gave a barbaric touch to the solemnities, the caretaker of the church appeared, bearing the holy bread on a tray, which he offered to the priest. In full view of the congregation the priest examined the cakes to choose the most perfect specimen. This bread, which is leavened and made of

fine wheat flour, must be baked on the morning of the Mass in a special oven on the premises. It is baked by the caretaker of the church. The cakes are round in shape, about three inches in diameter one inch in thickness, a pale brown in colour and skimped on the upper side with a sacred legend and crosses. Having selected the bread, the priest went to the altar, where the wine was brought to him in a glass phial. It is unfermented raisin wine, and until recently every church crushed its own raisins

on the premises. The use of raisin wine dates from the 10th century, when Moslems destroyed the vineyards of Egypt. As the priest walked time after time round the altar, swinging a thurible that puffed out gusts of incense, the choir increased the beat and rhythm of the chant. The cymbals clashed and, as the chant grew faster, the players hit the rims of their cymbals together. The priest then came down into the body of the church, swinging his thurible, casting a puff of incense towards each member of the congregation, and also stepping up to each person and touching him lightly on the head with his fingers. He returned to the altar. As the Mass proceeded, I listened with fascination to the three languages in which it is written: Coptic, Greek and Arabic. Nowher: else in the world will you hear the Coptic language, the last relic of the language, spoken by the Pharaohs. It is never spoken in

ordinary life, and even the priests know only the words which they are obliged to learn by heart in order to perform their office. At the end of the Mass the mother, with the child that was to be christened, entered and went to the dark little baptistry on the south side of the church. The priest, taking two lighted candles, blessed the cold water with which the font was filled, and - poured holy oil on it. The mother sat nearby, undressing her child, a sturdy little cafe-an-lait gill

about six months of age. I asked the mother what the baby was to be called: “Sabaat,” she replied. The priest came to the naked infant and breathed upon her in the form of a cross. He touched her breast, hands and back with holy oil. The child was then lifted towards the east and, with one tiny brown arm raised, was made to “cast out from her heart all that remained in it of the Worship of idols!” She was then taken in the priest’s arms for the triple immersion, which is the Coptic baptism. He grasped the now protesting infant by her left leg and arm, holding them together with his left hand, while his right hand gripped the back of the neck. He plunged the squirming little creature into the cold water up to the waist, saying in Arabic: “Sabaat is baptised in the name of the Father. Amen.” He lifted her, dripping and crying, from the font and held her ready for the second immersion. Down she went again, this time up to the neck in water: “In the name of the Son. Amen,” cried the priest. Sabaat’s cries became louder. The third time she went in over the head and emerged howling. “In the name of the Holy Ghost. Amen,” said the priest. While the mother dabbed with a towel at the little brown legs of the now Christian Sabaat, and put new clothes on her, the priest advanced with the chalice containing the Sacrament. Dipping the tip of his finger in the chalice, he placed a single drop of wine on the child’s tongue. A deacon standing beside him poured water on his hand, winch he swiftly splashed in the child’s face. This made Sabaat gasp for breath, and, in opening her mouth to cry, she took her first Communion. The Mass then concluded with an extraordinary scene. After the priest had drained the chalice and had rinsed it and dried it, he went to the haikal door and faced the people in the church. The deacon poured water from an ordinary clay gulah, or long-necked pot, over the priest’s hands, and this water the priest immediately tossed into the air to all corners of the church. The congregation rushed forward, eager to receive on their faces or bodies any drop of the water. The men even removed their tarbushes in order not to miss any that might fall on their heads. Having sprinkled the congregation, the priest retired and the haikal doer was closed-