(Dutchess Beat writer Dan Bush is currently working as a freelance journalist in South America, and he’ll be providing periodic stories on his travels here in the Beat).
The sacrificial pier of split and stacked eucalyptus trunks was so big it could have toasted a small elephant. Three temple brothers carefully arranged the sacrificial goat, bread and incense in a neat pile on the pier. The brothers wore long blue robes, wispy beards and moustaches. They worked silently, shadowed by a range of pale, dry mountains. The setting could have been Afghanistan or Tibet – it certainly did not seem native to Peru, a country famous for its colorful Andean culture and Inca architecture. But there is so much more to Peru. Besides the well-traveled Andean highlands, the country has two other distinct ecological zones: the eastern jungle and the western, coastal desert. Both, according to most Peruvians, are just as interesting and mysterious.
The sacrifice took place at Matriz Church, in the desert hill town of Cieneguilla. The church belongs to the evangelical order Israel Congregation of Jehova, but is known simply as the temple. The temple compound extends over a vast tract of land in the valley outside of Cieneguilla and up into the surrounding mountains. Outside the compound’s central gate several street vendors sold fruit, soup and soda to the congregants arriving for the Sabbath mass. Inside, the compound grounds were a desert of barren fields, pens holding sheep, goats and horses, a wood yard and a few scattered buildings. Past the buildings was an inner courtyard, enclosed by a stone wall. The name of the temple founder, Ezequiel Atacusi Gamonal, was painted on the wall in huge white letters.
Gamonal is considered a prophet by the temple followers. The prophet was born in Chorillos, a poor, lively neighborhood of pink and blue houses built into the mountains overlooking downtown Lima. He founded the temple in 1968, and it was recognized by the state the following year. In the past four decades the order has grown and now has nearly 1 million devout followers in churches all over Peru.
“A person who doesn’t know God walks a lonely life,” said Henry David Zaguirre y Quiroz. “Isiah 1:18.” David, 42, is a prominent temple brother with a kind face partially hidden behind a thick gray beard. He lives in Cieneguilla, where he works construction. Like most brothers, he comes to the temple several times a week after work. The day we met he wore a green robe with golden fringes and leather sandals. David spoke quietly and often augmented whatever he was saying with quotations from the New Testament.
Almost all of the temple followers are former Catholics, said David, who joined the temple for two reasons: to be cured of a physical ailment or to repent before God for their various sins, such as adultery, drunkenness and drug use. Everyone is guilty of some sin or another, and “God wants people to come to him and repent,” David said. “Joel 3:13.” Seventeen years ago David came to the temple with a fractured leg. A temple brother performed a spiritual operation on his leg with invisible surgical instruments. It hurt just as much as the real thing, said David, but his leg healed perfectly. Afterward, he joined the temple for good. “My life has changed completely,” since joining the temple, David said. “Now I’m a calm and passive person. God changes people.” David stared peacefully at the mountains. A bee buzzed at his leg and he shooed it away.
On Saturday the temple holds a morning and afternoon prayer session in a sanctuary, in the compound’s inner yard. The sanctuary is an open-air pavilion whose roof is made of sheet metal laid across wooden joists of eucalyptus. There are no walls or lights and the floor is earthen. The pavilion covers two sections of wooden benches, one for men and the other for women, which face a simple altar displaying the 10 Commandments.
As the afternoon service began people filled the bench rows in the sanctuary. Congregants are not required to wear robes but many do and together the temple crowd looked like a many-colored Andean poncho, or the sample paint display section at the Home Depot on Route 9. The service itself consisted of a long series of psalms sung in unison by the congregation. The followers stood or kneeled on the hard, rocky earth with their arms outstretched, palms upward. As they sang with eyes closed, everyone moved their hands back and forth as if each person were conducting a private orchestra.
I had attended a few outdoor religious ceremonies before, but never in conditions this harsh. The dirt fields adjacent to the sanctuary were strewn with boulders. Some brothers, perhaps too shy to pray with the rest, knelt beneath the boulders and sang staring fiercely at the mountains. A strong wind tunneled through the valley like a current. It whipped through the pavilion sanctuary, causing sections of the sheet metal roof to flap violently against the rafters. The place was cold, empty and ancient. Between psalms a stooped brother with a mane of silver hair delivered a very short sermon from the altar. His voice echoed over the loudspeakers as he asked God to help and forgive all those who are sick, sick, sick and in prison, prison, prison.
Nature and Christianity combined
Temple doctrine is centered on a belief in the apocalypse, a great judgment day and the return of Jesus Christ. More specifically, Jesus´ return to Peru. The evangelical order founded by the prophet Gamonal is anchored by a tremendous respect for the beauty and power of Peru’s natural world borrowed from indigenous spiritual tradition. This relationship with the earth, however, has been inextricably entwined with the Judeo-Christian worldview.
David believes, for example, that the precisely cut stones used by the Incas in the building of Machu Picchu could not have been hewn by the hands of man alone. The perfectly square, joined stones were created through divine intervention, said David, invoking the splendor of indigenous, pre-Colombian Peru and European Christianity in the same breath. In this sense, though Gamonal’s temple is part of a strict evangelical order that sends missionaries all over the Americas, it is also carrying Peru’s post-contact tradition of syncretism into the 21st century.
“Peru is a privileged place,” said Carlos Lopez Rosas, a 23-year-old taxi driver and temple brother who materialized at David’s side and quickly joined our conversation. “It has so many mysteries,” Carlos said, and went on to cite the country’s diverse natural environment, its rich history, its vibrant culture. David nodded sagely as Carlos spoke.
“God isn’t dead, he’s living, and when God will manifest himself, he’ll do so right here in Peru,” Carlos continued. “It says so in the Bible, in, in …” he faltered, trying to remember the specific passage, and looked instinctively to David for help. “Daniel 11:24,” David said, ignoring the Bible Carlos thrust in his direction. “The prophecy will be completed in Peru.” Carlos opened his Bible to the passage and insisted I read it. Afterward I asked David if it had been difficult to memorize the entire New Testament verbatim. “Not really,” David said quietly. “You can learn the Bible very quickly. You just have to read it a few times. It’s like studying anything else.” David said all the temple brothers start their studies by memorizing a selection of the prophet’s favorite psalms, which are sung at Mass.
“Does the prophet still attend any masses, or deliver sermons?” I asked. David looked confused and did not answer. Finally Carlos said, “No. The prophet is sleeping. In the carnal sense.”
“Do you mean that he’s dead?” I asked. Nobody at the temple had mentioned this yet.
“Yes. Practically,” said Carlos. “But we think dead is a bad word.”
Is there a more appropriate one?
“Sleeping,” David said. “The prophet’s body is sleeping but his soul lives in all of us.” I discovered soon that the prophet – who was succeeded by his son Jonas – was sleeping right there at the temple, in a tomb in the mountains behind the sanctuary. Later in the afternoon, I hiked up there with an older temple brother. The tomb turned out to be a small concrete mausoleum built into the mountainside. We took our shoes off and climbed a wide concrete staircase to the little concrete building, which had turrets and looked like a toy castle. The brother knelt and prayed. Then he stood up and explained that the prophet’s body was encased in a giant crystal ball. I waited for him to invite me inside the tomb, but he didn’t. Finally I asked if I could see the prophet at rest. The brother looked at me for a long time before saying no. Was it because I wasn’t a temple brother?
“No, of course not. You’re a brother, we’re all brothers in the eyes of God,” he said. “But you still can’t enter the tomb.” That seemed final. We descended the staircase, put on our shoes, and began the hike back down to the temple compound. The path curved around a ridge and the sanctuary courtyard came into sight. People had started to gather around the pier, and I could see a few dark blue figures working over the pier, preparing the sacrificial offering.