Sedangsono
Central Java, Indonesia
On the slopes of the Menoreh Mountains, 45 kilometres from Yogyakarta in Central Java, Indonesia, is situated the sacred shrine of Sendangsono. A holy place comparable to that of Lourdes in France. It is visited by thousands of Roman Catholics each week – some on a pilgrimage, whilst others seek solace. It was at Sendangsono that Fatren Van Lith first baptised and converted one of the locals to the Catholic faith.
The name Sendangsono has its roots in the Javanese language. Sendang, meaning source or spring, and Sono, meaning place of origin. It is from under a Sono tree that the spring flows in abundance. When I asked my Javanese friend Sugeng about Sedangsono, he replied, “A very beautiful place but be careful.” His warning was warranted after our vehicle turned off the main road and started making its way up the mountain road. Five kilometres of winding, narrow and pot-holed road lay ahead of us with nothing but a sheer drop to the jungle floor below. I could only pray that no other vehicles would approach from the opposite direction. The small dusty area where we parked upon our arrival was surprisingly void of vehicles. As I stepped down from the van a peaceful sense filled my body. The air was still with no sound but the light wind rustling the leaves on the trees. We asked a local where the shrine was to be found. He pointed towards a gradient path leading into the jungle and then cackled to himself.
Before we started the climb, the beginning of the path meandered through the middle of two rows of crudely constructed shacks. Each of these had a shop selling all kinds of religious material – statues, prayer books and Bibles, crucifixes and rosary beads. After running the gauntlet, we followed the path as we were told. The jungle was quiet except for the chatter of monkeys and after reaching a clearing, my breath was taken by the beauty before me. It was like walking into the medieval era. Moats (although dry), bridges leading into other paths and walls constructed and arranged almost symmetrically. We followed the cobblestone path alongside a shoulder-high wall. Every so often, we came across stone constructions upon which were placed various religious scenes, each delicately and ornately carved. Small houses, which I soon found out were retreats, were dotted here and there nestled peacefully in the jungle. Sendangsono is aesthetically beautiful and captivated my every sense.
Walking down a series of steps leading over a stone bridge, I noticed in the distance a massive Waringin tree shading an area where numerous people were gathered. The closer we came to the place, the more eerie the silence and yet it was comforting. There where the people were gathered was a huge stone cave, hand-built. Just inside the entrance was a three metre statue of the Mother Mary. In front of the statue were literally dozens of lit candles and flowers. Those who had assembled there at this holy place were silent, and as we approached, it was only an odd glance that we received. Many people were kneeling in deep prayer whilst others sat there in awe of the beauty before their eyes. We sat in silence and meditated. People came and left after praying or walked around enjoying the atmosphere. It seemed as though the jungle had covered this place in silence.
Two hours passed and we decided to wander around in search of the holy spring. We found it behind the stone constructed cave at the base of a Sono tree. There was also a glass-fronted shop selling bottles of the spring water. The shop-owner was gentle in nature and informed us that the holy spring water was blessed and would cure all illnesses and purify places from evil spirits. I bought a bottle even though I suffered from no illness or had no demons in my house. During a conversation I asked him who designed and built the sanctuary. He looked to the sky silently.
The shop-owner did inform me that there was another way up the mountain. One used by those on a pilgrimage. From the main road they had to follow a steep path through the jungle for nearly six kilometres until they reached the Promosan Church. Then they took the same path as we did for two kilometres doing the Rosary until they reached the shrine. May and October were the holy months to worship Mother Mary and so the path was well trodden. With my bottle of holy water I retraced my steps back to the dusty carpark past the shanty shops selling icons and into the noise of chattering monkeys. I sat in the van and reflected upon my experience. Never before had I felt such peace and I vowed to return to the silence one day.
