How Manipur churches are trying to curb vaccine hesitancy as ‘satanic’ rumours fly thick & fast

 Manipur has a population of 27.2 lakh (2011 Census), of which only 2.4% was fully vaccinated as of Friday, with 19.3% having taken the first dose.  

From the plains to the hills, anti-vaccine propaganda flows freely from the phones of nearly every person in Manipur. 

In one video, a young man conducting a Facebook Live tells the world, in Manipuri, “There still isn’t a cure for cancer, so how can they make a vaccine so quickly? Just exercise and stay positive. There’s no need for a vaccine.”

Another message claims the vaccine will lead to death within two years of taking the shot. Others say the vaccine will weaken the body’s immune response to other pathogens, or that it will cause metallic objects to stick to the site of the injection (a rumour that also caught on in some western nations).   

A church in Tamenglong, Manipur | Simrin Sirur | ThePrint

This misinformation has left the state government battling widespread vaccine hesitancy that seems to have taken a toll on its immunisation drive.

Manipur has a population of 27.2 lakh (2011 Census), of which only 2.4 per cent was fully vaccinated as of Friday, with 19.3 per cent having taken the first dose.  

“Manipur is a small state. When a rumour goes around, everyone catches on to it and it’s hard to shake,” said an official with the health department who did not wish to be named. 

While the government has had some success administering the vaccines in the plains, misinformation appears to have taken deeper root in the state’s hill districts — rural areas dominated by followers of Christianity. This has added to other factors — the rugged terrain of the hill districts, the difficulty one faces reaching and travelling through them, and a critical lack of infrastructure, including fewer vaccination centres — to result in much lower vaccination numbers than those of the plains. 

In the hills, for example, the district of Noney has administered 8,511 first doses (as of Friday), followed by Pherzawl with 6,635 doses, Kamjong with 4,833, and Tamenglong with 10,294. In contrast, in the plains, Imphal East has administered 1,35,249 first doses, Imphal West 1,64,005, Bishnupur 49,165, and Churachandpur 56,749. 

“There is a lot of hesitancy within the community (Christians). There are all kinds of rumours on YouTube and messages on WhatsApp, but it’s also their own interpretation of the religious texts,” Reverend S. Prim Vaiphei, president of the All Manipur Christian Organisation (AMCO), told ThePrint. 

“There is an idea that the vaccine is related to Satan, or that it will lead to death.”

The church associations of Manipur, many of which are headquartered in Imphal, are making an effort to mobilise the Christian community and encourage members to come forward and get vaccinated. That means addressing the hesitation of church leaders in remote areas, too, they say. 

“Even our leaders have some misconceptions (about the vaccine). We have suggested to the government to have some kind of sensitisation programme so everyone’s doubts can be cleared. They have agreed to do this with us. 

After that, we will use our networks to disseminate the information,” said Reverend T. Karang Maram, publicity secretary of the AMCO and Director, Peace & Development of the Manipur Baptist Convention.

Manipur’s powerful churches

The Christian community, which forms about 40 per cent of the state’s population, closely behind Hindus at 41 per cent, commands an intricate network of churches across the state. 

Manipur’s history is rife with conflict between its various ethnic and tribal groups. Its landscape is dominated by the Meiteis, most of whom are Hindu and live in the plains, and the Kuki-Chin and Naga tribes that predominantly occupy the hills (the former closer to the Mizo border and the latter closer to the Nagaland border). 

The All Manipur Christian Organisation — an association of all denominations across ethnicities formed in 1987 — comes forward in times of crisis to advocate, lobby, and assist the government. 

Each denomination of Christianity, such as the Baptists, Catholics, and Presbyterians, have their own associations with hundreds — sometimes thousands — of churches under them. This network stretches far and wide across the state. 

“In the recent past, churches in Manipur have felt the need to voice together their stand and their concerns in times of political turmoil and crisis in the state,” theological scholar L.H. Nimreila Siang wrote in an essay on church unity, published by the Oxford Centre for Mission Studies in 2016. 

“Churches have played important roles in negotiating peace in society. For instance, in the Kuki-Naga conflict (1992-95), the church negotiated with both parties to stop the killings and the burning down of houses. The churches also organised a pulpit exchange service programme so that church members would forget the trauma created by the conflict,” she wrote. 

The fear about vaccines gripping Christians in the hill districts is another opportunity for the churches to step in and help, several leaders told ThePrint, especially because some of the fear comes from misconceptions related to the Bible.

A common belief is that the vaccine is the “mark of the Beast”, or Satan, brandished upon unbelievers. 

This line of thinking is ascribed by proponents to the Book of Revelations, chapter 13:17, which says, “so that they could not buy or sell unless they had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of its name”. 

“We have been praying for a solution and now that we have a vaccine, people are sceptical and think it is the mark of the beast. Our pastors have been telling them it simply isn’t true,” said Pastor L. Thangkolet with the Kuki Christian Church. 

The Archdiocese of Imphal has set up a Covid-19 task force at all its 52 schools and parishes across the state. 

“We’ve submitted a list of 100 nurses and doctors associated with our churches, so that the state government can contact them when they go for vaccination drives. We’ve sent a circular to all our churches and parishes to encourage people to get vaccinated,” said Reverend Father Biju Lakose, head of the archdiocese’s Covid task force. 

The Manipur Baptist Association — the largest Christian association in terms of membership — will be holding an orientation session with the state government on 3 July to address any misconceptions within its own leadership. This information will then be passed on to members of each church.

The larger church associations also blame “independent” preachers, who do not follow any denomination, for spreading misleading information about the vaccines. Videos and articles dismissing the shots, by some American preachers, are also doing the rounds.

Two independent churches ThePrint reached said they neither endorsed nor renounced the vaccine. 

“North East India Baptist Missions does not have a position relating to Covid-19 vaccination. We believe this to be a matter of personal choice, and neither advise people to accept the vaccination, nor decline the vaccination,” Jim Colyn, an American who serves as director of the independent mission, wrote to ThePrint over email. Their church, Colyn said, has a following of 5,000 online. 

Pastor Mano Oinam, who runs the “International Ministry of Reconciliation Church” with over 2,000 YouTube subscribers and an average of 200 views per video, said, “When people come to me with doubts about the vaccine, I don’t tell them what to do, but tell them to pray and believe till they find clarity themselves.”

The state government’s intervention

Chief Minister N. Biren Singh has repeatedly expressed dismay over the low rates of vaccination in the state. On 2 June, he held a meeting with government officials and religious leaders to discuss ways to improve the Covid-19 situation. The religious leaders subsequently vowed to hold mass prayers, and spread awareness about Covid-19 among tribal residents of the hills.

“We held several meetings with Christian and Muslim leaders separately, who were initially difficult to convince. It has taken a long time, but the Christian community appears to be responding now,” Dr N. Shyamjai Singh, director of the National Health Mission in Manipur told ThePrint. 

“We will orient them on the present situation, warn them about the dangers of the Delta variant, and correct any misconceptions they have on the vaccine’s efficacy.”

Since Monday, Manipur’s total vaccinations have jumped from an average of 5,000 to 6,000 doses to nearly 15,000. A source in the health department said this jump happened after the chief minister “put pressure” on the department in a meeting on 25 June. District magistrates were given targets and asked to submit daily vaccination coverage figures.

Even so, this rise in vaccinations has been largely on account of the plains districts, which were already performing well. For example, according to CoWin data updated Friday, Imphal East (with 26 vaccination sites) administered 4,703 doses in a day, while the number was 7,249 for Imphal West (37), 2,809 for Bishnupur (10) and 1,226 for Churachandpur (9).  

Meanwhile, two doses were given out in Kamjong (1), 246 in Tamenglong (4), 57 in Pherzawl (2), and 285 in Noney (4), on the same day.

While the hill districts are lagging, Dr Shyamjai is confident the gap will be filled in the coming weeks. 

“Apart from getting in touch with the churches, MLAs have been asked to conduct vaccination drives in their own assembly constituencies. District magistrates in the hilly areas, where people cannot always access the healthcare centres, have started a mobile vaccination service which will target a few villages a day,” he told ThePrint.

(Source: The Print)

Looted landmarks: how Notre-Dame, Big Ben and St Mark's were stolen from the east

They are beacons of western civilisation. But, says an explosive new book, the designs of Europe’s greatest buildings were plundered from the Islamic world – twin towers, rose windows, vaulted ceilings and all

As Notre-Dame cathedral was engulfed by flames last year, thousands bewailed the loss of this great beacon of western civilisation. The ultimate symbol of French cultural identity, the very heart of the nation, was going up in smoke. But Middle East expert Diana Darke was having different thoughts. She knew that the origins of this majestic gothic pile lay not in the pure annals of European Christian history, as many have always assumed, but in the mountainous deserts of Syria, in a village just west of Aleppo to be precise.

“Notre-Dame’s architectural design, like all gothic cathedrals in Europe, comes directly from Syria’s Qalb Lozeh fifth-century church,” Darke tweeted on the morning of 16 April, as the dust was still settling in Paris. “Crusaders brought the ‘twin tower flanking the rose window’ concept back to Europe in the 12th century.”

Twin towers flanking a monumental arched entrance … the remains of Qalb Lozeh church in Syria, the inspiration behind Notre-Dame. Photograph: Bertramz

It is not only the twin towers and rose window that have their origins in the Middle East, she pointed out, but also the ribbed vaults, pointed arches and even the recipe for stained glass windows. Gothic architecture as we know it owes much more to Arab and Islamic heritage than it does to the rampaging Goths. “I was astonished at the reaction,” says Darke. “I thought more people knew, but there seems to be this great gulf of ignorance about the history of cultural appropriation. Against a backdrop of rising Islamophobia, I thought it was about time someone straightened out the narrative.”

And so she has, with Stealing from the Saracens, an exhilarating, meticulously researched book that sheds light on centuries of borrowing, tracing the roots of Europe’s major buildings – from the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey to Chartres cathedral and St Mark’s basilica in Venice – back to their Middle Eastern precedents. It is as much a story of political power, wealth and fashion as it is of religious belief, with tales of looting Crusaders, fashion-conscious bishops and globe-trotting merchants discovering new styles and techniques and bringing them home.

“Now we have this notion of east and west,” says Darke. “But back then, it wasn’t like that. There were huge cultural exchanges - and most came from the east to the west. Very little went the other way.”

Masterpiece of geometry … the exquisite interior of Córdoba’s mosque-cathedral. Photograph: Ingo Mehling

Given their prevalence in the great cathedrals of Europe, it is easy to imagine that pointed stone arches and soaring ribbed vaults are Christian in origin. But the former dates back to a seventh-century Islamic shrine in Jerusalem, while the latter began in a 10th-century mosque in Andalucia, Spain. In fact, that first known example of ribbed vaulting is still standing. Visitors to the Cordoba Mezquita can marvel at its multiple arches intersecting in a masterpiece of practical geometry and decorative structure, never needing a repair in its thousand-year existence. The vaulted maqsura – the part of the mosque reserved for the ruling caliph – was designed to cast a sacred glow across the leader. However, the official leaflet will tell you little of the building’s Islamic origin, perhaps because it has been a Catholic church since 1236.

The pointed arch, meanwhile, was a pragmatic solution to a problem encountered by masons working on the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. One of the holiest sites in the Muslim world, it was built in 691 by the ruler of Islam’s first empire. The challenge was how to line up an outer arcade of rounded arches with a smaller inner arcade, while maintaining a horizontal ceiling between them. For the openings to align, the masons had to give the inner arcade tighter arches, forcing them to become pointed. Another world first can be spotted higher up in the shrine, where encircling the dome is an arcade of trefoil arches, the three-lobed style of arch that went on to encrust practically every European cathedral, voraciously adopted as a symbol of the Holy Trinity.

Looks familiar? … from left, the interior of Jerusalem’s Dome of the Rock, and Temple Church in London. Composite: Virtutepetens/Getty Images/iStockphoto

“Again and again,” says Darke, “I am so struck by how much of this stuff that we think of as essentially Christian and European was based on ignorance and misinterpretation of much earlier Islamic forms.” She points out that the enormous influence of the Dome of the Rock was down to the Crusaders of the Middle Ages mistakenly thinking the building was the Temple of Solomon.

They used the domed, circular layout of this supposedly Christian shrine as the model for their Templar churches (like the City of London’s round Temple church), even copying the decorative Arabic inscription, which openly chastises Christians for believing in the Trinity rather than in the oneness of God. Their pseudo-Kufic calligraphic patterns went on to adorn French cathedral stonework and the borders of richly woven textiles, with no one aware of what they actually meant.

The confusion was spread further by the first printed map of Jerusalem, published in Mainz, Germany, in 1486. It not only mislabels the Dome of the Rock as the Temple of Solomon, but depicts the building with a fine onion dome – a pure orientalist fantasy from the mind of a Dutch woodcut artist named Erhard Reeuwich. The book containing the map became a bestseller, reprinted 13 times and translated into multiple languages, influencing the spread of onion-domed churches across Europe in the 16th century. It is a tale of mistaken identity and unintended consequence worthy of a Monty Python sketch.

More Arab than European … Jerusalem’s Dome of the Rock, left, and St Mark’s basilica in Venice. Composite: Godot13/Zairon

The transfer of Islamic motifs to the west wasn’t always so simple, though. The pointed arch took a more circuitous route. Darke traces how the arches first spread to Cairo, becoming sharper and more pointed under the Abbasid empire, and were in turn admired by visiting merchants from the wealthy Italian port of Amalfi, who channelled discoveries from their travels into their eclectic 10th-century basilica. This exotic building caught the eye of Abbot Desiderius, who visited Amalfi in 1065 on a shopping trip for rare luxury merchandise, and decided to take the pointed window design for his monastery at Monte Cassino.

Those windows were then copied for the Benedictine abbey at Cluny in France, the largest church in the world at the time. Abbot Suger, an adviser to kings Louis VI and VII, liked how the windows let in more light, and immediately applied the same design to his Saint-Denis basilica in Paris. Regarded as the earliest fully gothic structure, the basilica was completed in 1144 and its architect went on to work at Notre-Dame. “They all just copied it,” says Darke. “These were the most powerful churches in Europe, so the style completely took off, as all fashions do. When powerful people adopt something, everyone wants one.”

The list goes on. There are the early square minarets, found on such buildings as the Great Mosque of Damascus, that taper thinner and are crowned with a bulbous finial dome. These inspired such great Italian towers as those of Florence’s town hall and St Mark’s Campanile in Venice, prefiguring centuries of church bell-towers.

Borrowed time … from left, the now destroyed minaret of the Great Mosque in Aleppo, Syria; and Big Ben in London. Composite: Alamy/Getty Images/Dorling Kindersley

Drawing on architectural historian Deborah Howard’s research, Darke shows Venice to be more Arab than European, from its narrow winding passageways and courtyard homes with rooftop terraces, to the Islamic ornamentation of the Doge’s Palace (modelled on Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem) and the onion domes of St Mark’s. All are the fruit of trips made by Venetian merchants to Egypt, Syria, Palestine and Persia, fostering a level of influence that extended even to fashion: women in Venice were veiled in public and dressed in black from head to toe. “One cannot see their faces for all the world,” a 15th-century source commented. “They go about so completely covered up, that I do not know how they can see to go along the street.”

The book comes at a charged time, when supposedly western architecture is being mobilised by right-wing nationalist groups to bolster their idealised vision of a “pure” European identity. There are now countless social media accounts promoting messages of white supremacy disguised as heritage appreciation, while recent government edicts about tradition and beauty carry similar overtones. Darke’s work takes an eloquent sledgehammer to such ignorant, dog-whistle propaganda, revealing how the monuments idealised by the alt-right have their roots in the very culture of which they are so suspicious.

The ignorance is widespread, and perhaps the most surprising thing in Stealing from the Saracens is how much of this should not come as a surprise to the modern reader. After all, throughout the book, Darke summons the words of Christopher Wren, who was well aware of the Middle Eastern origins of gothic architecture, and of the structural techniques he was using for St Paul’s Cathedral.

“Modern gothic,” he wrote in the 1700s, “is distinguished by the lightness of its work, by the excessive boldness of its elevations … by the delicacy, profusion and extravagant fancy of its ornaments … Such productions, so airy, cannot admit the heavy Goths for their author.” Instead, he concluded, “from all the marks of the new architecture, it can only be attributed to the Moors; or what is the same thing, to the Arabians or Saracens”.

The irony is in the name itself: in Wren’s day, Saracen was a pejorative term for the Arab Muslims, against whom the Crusaders had fought their “holy war”. It originated from the Arabic word “saraqa”, meaning “to steal”, as Saracens were seen as looters and thieves. Never mind the fact that the Crusaders plundered their way across Europe, Jerusalem and Constantinople – pilfering the wonders of Islamic architecture as they went, and airbrushing the origins of their booty in the process.

• Stealing from the Saracens: How Islamic Architecture Shaped Europe by Diana Darke is published by Hurst on 20 August.

(Source: The Guardian)

Coronavirus: Covid-denying priest Father Sergei Romanov seizes Russian monastery

An ultraconservative Russian priest who denies coronavirus exists has taken over a women's monastery by force.

Father Sergei Romanov entered the Sredneuralsk convent outside the city of Yekaterinburg on Tuesday.

The mother superior and several nuns have left and armed guards are patrolling the site.

Father Sergei has stated church authorities "will have to storm the monastery" if they want him to leave.

Police visited the site on Wednesday but made no arrests.

Father Sergei Romanov has encouraged people to disobey public health orders. Getty Images

The controversial cleric was barred from preaching in April and then stripped of the right to wear a cross in May after he encouraged the faithful to disobey public health orders.

Father Sergei helped found the Sredneuralsk Convent in the early 2000s, and hundreds of supporters have flocked there over the years to hear his sermons.

Russian authorities shut churches to worshippers on 13 April amid the ongoing pandemic, and only reopened them this month.

On Thursday officials reported Russia has confirmed 7,790 new infections - its lowest daily rise in six weeks - bringing the total recorded cases to 561,091. The official death toll stands at 7,660, though critics fear the true number is far higher.

What's happening at the monastery?

Father Sergei has described the ongoing coronavirus outbreak as a "pseudo-pandemic" and accused church leaders of "working with the forerunners of the Antichrist" by closing churches.

After suspending him in May the Russian Orthodox Church organised an ecclesiastical court to determine his future.

But at the court session on Monday Father Sergei told officials his conscience was clear and declared they would have to kick him out of the Sredneuralsk monastery by force. He left the meeting, and on Tuesday seized control of the site.

Reports suggest many of the armed men now guarding it are veterans of the ongoing conflict in eastern Ukraine. Journalists are barred, though one reporter from Russian newspaper Novaya Gazeta managed to get inside past the guards and met Father Sergei.

"The diocese forbids me to serve, forbids me to speak. But I was blessed to speak," he told the journalist.

The controversial cleric has been banned from preaching. Getty Images

Father Sergei faces another session of the ecclesiastical court on 26 June.

The Yekaterinburg diocese says Mother Superior Varvara - who has led the convent since 2005 - left temporarily "to avoid unnecessary strife", and said the cleric should use the time ahead of his next court date "for correction and repentance".

Who is Father Sergei?

A former policeman, Father Sergei spent 13 years in a prison colony for murder - though his supporters deny this is the case. He was released in the late 1990s.

Legally, the priest has changed his name to Nikolai Romanov, in honour of Russia's last Tsar Nicholas II. The former emperor and his family were thought to have been buried outside Yekaterinburg after their murders in 1918, near the Sredneuralsk site, and Father Sergei is seen as the figurehead of the shadowy "tsar worshipper" movement within the church.

Father Sergei has made numerous controversial claims in the past, including suggesting the Antichrist would soon rise in Russia as a counterpart to President Vladimir Putin, and has criticised laws against domestic violence and anti-Semitic sermons. He has also ministered to several Russian sports stars and politicians.

(Source: BBC)

Churchgoers all over world ignore physical distancing advice

Services from Moscow to Rio go ahead as clerics disregard coronavirus risk

Millions of people across the world tuned into online church services on Sunday as their usual places of worship were closed, but in some places clerics insisted on their doors remaining open.

The day after Pope Francis delivered a blessing in an empty St Peter’s Square, watched on television by an estimated 11 million people, Sunday services were held at some of Russia’s largest religious sites after Orthodox church leaders said they were an expression of religious freedom.

Russian Orthodox believers receive communion in Kazan Cathedral, St Petersburg, on Sunday. Photograph: Peter Kovalev/Tass

Dozens of parishioners, many of them elderly, crowded into Kazan Cathedral in St Petersburg to receive communion. Earlier this month, the cathedral came under fire for continuing to exhibit a relic of John the Baptist despite fears that visitors kissing the exhibit could hasten the spread of coronavirus.

In virus-hit Louisiana, hundreds of worshippers attended services on Sunday, flouting a ban on large gatherings. An estimated 500 people of all ages filed inside the Life Tabernacle church in Central, a city of nearly 29,000 outside Baton Rouge

The Russian Orthodox church had insisted that mayors could not close churches and that it would continue to “fulfil its pastoral duty” unless given an order from the Kremlin.

But later on Sunday the church’s leader, Patriarch Kirill of Moscow, called on believers to refrain from visiting churches.

Speaking after the liturgy at Christ the Saviour church in Moscow, Kirill said: “I have been preaching for 51 years, calling on people to come to church, overcome the gravitation of their own ill will and external circumstances, I dedicated my entire life to this call and I hope you understand how difficult it is for me to say now: refrain from visiting churches.”

In Romania and Georgia, two countries with strongly Orthodox Christian populations, there has been consternation over the insistence of some priests on continuing to use a shared spoon for the communion ritual.

Last Sunday, the day after Romania had been put into a strict lockdown, footage emerged from the city of Cluj of priests using a shared spoon. In Georgia, while the church has told worshippers not to spend long periods of time in churches and not to come if ill, it has rejected calls to abandon the reusing of spoons, claiming that as communion is a holy ceremony it is not possible to get ill during it.

In devoutly Catholic Poland, coronavirus restrictions limited the number of churchgoers to 50 at a time, and this was reduced again last week to five. Archbishop Stanisław Gądecki, the head of the Polish episcopate, earlier in March called for more church services to accommodate worshippers, as not praying during the epidemic would be “unthinkable”. However, he has since urged faithful to use media broadcasts of services to prayer, especially over the Easter period.

In Brazil, the president, Jair Bolsonaro – who has called the coronavirus a “little flu” and attacked lockdown – included churches in a list of “public services and essential activities” essential for the “survival, health and safety” of the population, provided they followed health ministry guidelines.

Two days after Bolsonaro’s pronouncement, a judge in Rio de Janeiro state suspended his decree. Cathedrals in São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro are now closed. And while some churches are still open for prayer, mass and services have mostly moved online.

Dom Walmor Azevedo, the archbishop of Belo Horizonte and president of the National Conference of Bishops of Brazil (CNBB), last week told congregations to “stay at home”. The CNBB and other Catholic organisations called Bolsonaro’s “disinformation campaign” a “serious threat to all Brazilians”.

The liturgy in Kazan Cathedral, St Petersburg, on Sunday. Photograph: Peter Kovalev/Tass

About half of Brazilians are Catholic, but a growing number – currently 31% – belong to evangelical churches, which largely support Bolsonaro. Brazil’s biggest, the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God, said on Thursday that where services are not allowed, its churches are open for prayer. Where services are allowed, it controls numbers entering and provides soap and water.

Rio’s Assembly of God Victory in Christ church is open every day for “prayers and to attend those who need it”, said its pastor, Alexandre Camargo, but services went online even after it won a court battle to stay open. Rio’s Attitude Baptist church – frequented by Brazil’s first lady, Michelle Bolsonaro – is only holding online services.

“People are really suffering with this, because they need this spiritual, emotional and financial support,” said Pastor Josué Valandro Jr. “It is very serious to close all the churches.”

The Vatican said at the weekend that Pope Francis did not have coronavirus after testing of Holy See staff resulted in one new case. The total number of people with Covid-19 at the Vatican is now six. “I can confirm that neither the Holy Father nor his closest collaborators are involved,” a spokesperson said.

(Source: The Guardian)

Sexual assault, anarchy and depravity in churches: Sister Lucy’s tell-all autobiography

The autobiography ‘Karthaavinte Naamathil’ comes at a time when the nun rape case trial against Bishop Franco Mulakkal has just begun.

The trial in the rape case against Jalandhar Bishop, Franco Mulakkal, began in a court in Kottayam on Saturday, November 30. Even during the court proceedings, Franco seemed all smiles. However, whistleblowers and those who have been speaking against the church’s wrongdoings are likely to find strength with the publication of Sister Lucy Kalappura’s autobiography.

The revelations in the autobiography, titled Karthaavinte Naamathil (In the name of God), soon to be published by DC Books, will haunt the church even though it chooses to be unfazed.

Sister Lucy Kalappura, who has been a vocal supporter of the survivor nun in the Franco case, has continued her consistent fight from within the church despite facing brutal isolation.

The autobiography, excerpts of which were published by Malayalam weekly Samakalika Malayalam Varika, speaks about the abuse, mostly sexual, that nuns suffer at the hands of priests.

“I am aware of instances where young nuns are forcefully sent to priests in some convents. The nuns are subjected to unusual kinds of sexual depravity. The priests would watch them nude for hours. Some priests are perverts to the extent that they don’t even listen when the nuns say that they are fed up,” Sister Lucy’s autobiography says.

For the priests, the vow they took when choosing the church does not seem to stand in the way of enjoying materialistic pleasures.

“It’s with priests that a majority of nuns have a relationship, this is against the thoughts of Christ. These relationships flourish because of the status enjoyed by the clergy in all walks of life. Several of my fellow nuns have such relationships. There are several instances of priests maintaining power over nuns. I have heard stories of them having regularly engaging in sex,” an excerpt says.

The autobiography talks about numerous instances in which nuns are sexually assaulted or exploited. While some nuns are consenting, others silently suffer through it. The revelations are similar to those from the autobiography of Sister Jesmi, titled Amen: The Autobiography of a Nun, which was published in 2009.

The book also has revelations about junior nuns being sexually exploited by senior nuns.

“The story of a brother who was mentally devastated after being forced to have sexual relations with other priests is shocking. He had to go through sexual abuse in the seminary consistently for a year. He went back home with mental health issues, leaving priesthood behind. Another student complained to me about similar abuse. A priest tied him to a bed when he opposed his advances and sexually assaulted him. All the congregations of priests in Kerala are centres of sexual anarchy,” the excerpt says.

“I am fed up of talking about this over and over again to the media. What I have written is not something new, this is what I’ve been saying from the beginning,” Sister Lucy told TNM.

(Source: TNM)

Hong Kong protests: How Hallelujah to the Lord became an unofficial anthem

For the past two weeks, a Christian hymn has been cropping up in an unlikely place - the protests that have drawn millions of people on to the streets of Hong Kong.

"Hallelujah to the Lord" has become the unofficial anthem of crowds protesting against a controversial proposed law that would allow people accused of crimes in China to be extradited to the mainland.

For Christians in Hong Kong, the hymn is a sign of faith but also of their concerns that it's not only political but also religious issues that are at stake, should the bill ever pass.

Fears and uncertainty
The protests were already under way when the tune first started being sung.

But on 11 June - a day before the protests turned violent - a group of Christians holding a public prayer meeting through the night started singing Hallelujah to the Lord.

The hymn was picked up by other protesters - soon even non-Christians were singing it.

"People picked up this song as it is short and easy to remember," Edwin Chow, 19, acting president of the Hong Kong Federation of Catholic Students, told the BBC. "There's only one line: 'Sing Hallelujah to the Lord'."

Christian groups have played a significant role in the Hong Kong protests

The protesters said they sang it hoping it would have a calming effect on police, and would help diffuse tensions.

This was especially needed after police had earlier fired tear gas and shooting rubber bullets towards protesters.

The song also acted as a political shield, of sorts.

"According to the law, any religious assemblies in public areas are not considered as illegal, so if people sing hymns together, it could actually work as a protection and guarantee that [they] stay safe," said Mr Chow.

"Therefore people started to sing this song to protect themselves."

Reverend Chu Yiu-ming, one of the main Umbrella Movement leaders charged by the gov't, sings “Sing Hallelujah to the Lord” with supporters in Wan Chai. The hymn has become a symbol of peace protest over the past week.

👉 In coverage: https://t.co/kmLJLFCnSX pic.twitter.com/ATHQLt4o3S

— Hong Kong Free Press (@HongKongFP) 16 June 2019

After a long & emotional day, i hope this vid will bring you peace before going to bed.
These people, who don’t know each other before, have been singing the same hallelujah song for more than 18 hours in front of the police.
Again, only in #hongkong #extraditionbill #AntiELAB pic.twitter.com/Xo6TgEElOS

— Jeffie Lam (@jeffielam) 12 June 2019

Mr Chow said the song had spiritual meaning for Christians.

"The word Hallelujah also means to praise the Lord, so it could [also] remind Hong Kong citizens [that He] holds the future," he said.

But the religious element to the protests have further significance.

Hong Kong has been part of China since 1997 under the "one country, two systems" principle, which means it has its own judicial independence, legislature and economic system.

But people fear that if this extradition bill passes, it would bring Hong Kong closer under China's control. They fear it could be misused to target those that China considers dissidents.

China in theory, allows religious freedom, but it has repeatedly taken action against religious leaders it considers to be threatening to its authority or to the stability of the state.

Christians are pressured to join state-sanctioned churches led by approved priests, while some risk prosecution for worshipping in secret, underground churches.

Some in Hong Kong fear that the extradition bill could be used by China to attack religious as well as political opponents.

People sang songs to boost morale during the protests

When the BBC asked Mr Chow if Christians in Hong Kong were afraid, he said simply "Of course".

"There have been cases of people who [bring] Bibles to the mainland [ending up] arrested. We are very worried that once the law passes, Christians here will be affected and our freedom of religion will be suppressed."

Hong Kong has now suspended the bill, though many are still protesting, saying they will not rest until it has been completely scrapped.

Hallelujah to the Lord was still being sung on Friday, among the thousands of people surrounding the city's police headquarters.

So it looks like the tune is on the way to joining umbrellas as a symbol of the protesting spirit of Hong Kong.

(Source: BBC) 

The preachers getting rich from poor Americans

Televangelist Todd Coontz has a well-worn routine: he dresses in a suit, pulls out a Bible and urges viewers to pledge a very specific amount of money. "Don't delay, don't delay," he urges, calmly but emphatically.

It sounds simple, absurdly so, but Coontz knows his audience extremely well. He broadcasts on Christian cable channels, often late into the night, drawing in viewers who lack financial literacy and are desperate for change.

"I understand the laws that govern insurance, stocks and bonds and all that is involved with Wall Street," he once said, looking directly into the camera. "God has called me… as a financial deliverer."

Larry and Darcy Fardette donated to many televangelists

Crucially, he always refers to the money as a "seed" - a $273 seed, a $333 seed, a "turnaround" seed, depending on the broadcast. If viewers "plant" one, the amount will come back to them, multiplied, he says. It is an investment in their faith and their future.

In 2011, one of those desperate viewers was Larry Fardette, then based in California. Larry watched a lot of similar televangelists, known as prosperity preachers, who explicitly link wealth and religion. But he found Coontz particularly compelling. He assured quick returns. He seemed like a results man.

And Larry needed some fast results.

The Fardette family was going through a tough time. Larry's daughter was seriously ill and he had health problems of his own. His construction business was struggling, and to make matters worse both his van and his car broke down irreparably within the same week. When a local junkyard offered him $600 for the van, he thumbed the bills thoughtfully and remembered Coontz's rousing speech.

Maybe he should invest the sum as a "seed"?

He instantly recalled the specific number that Coontz had repeated again and again: $273. It was a figure the preacher often used. "God gave me the single greatest miracle of my lifetime in one day, and the numbers two, seven and three were involved," he once said. It is also - perhaps not coincidentally - the number of Coontz's $1.38m condo in South Carolina, paid for by his church, Rockwealth, according to local TV channel WSOC-TV.

Larry has now come to realise there was no foundation to Coontz's promises that donated cash would multiply, but at the time the stirring speeches gave him hope. He did not see any other way out.

He sent off two cheques: one for $273 and another for $333, as requested. Then he waited for his miracle.

Todd Coontz claims to be a financial expert

Televangelists are not as talked about today as they were in the 1980s and 1990s, when many rose to fame and fortune through mushrooming cable channels.

But they have never gone away. Even after numerous press exposés, the rogue elements have often bounced back. Some have got even richer. Many have taken their appeals on to social media.

A number of those making the most persistent pleas for money tap into something called the prosperity gospel, which hinges on a belief that your health and wealth are controlled by God, and God is willing you to be prosperous. Believers are encouraged to show their faith through payments, which they understand will be repaid - many times over - either in the form of wealth or healing.

For followers, it is a way to make sense of sickness and poverty. It can feel empowering and inspiring amid despair. The hard-up donors are often not oblivious to the preachers' personal wealth - though they may not know the extent of it - but they take the riches as a sign of a direct connection with God. If seed payments have worked for them, maybe they can work for you too?

And if the seeds never flourish? Some are told their faith is not strong enough, or they have hidden sin. In Larry's case, he often interpreted small pieces of good fortune - a gift of groceries from a neighbour, or the promise of a few extra hours of work for his wife, Darcy - as evidence of fruition.

He estimates he gave about $20,000 to these operators over the years. A little here, a little there. A few years ago, he started tallying it all up. The list is like a who's who of all the established players, including those who have made headlines for their lavish lifestyles - those such as Kenneth Copeland and Creflo Dollar, who have asked followers to fund their private jets.

Larry's own life could not stand in greater contrast. These days he and Darcy live in the small town of Cullman, Alabama, about an hour's drive north of Birmingham. Their spartan living room is furnished with just a desk and four dining-room chairs. The monotony of the wall's bare magnolia paint is broken only by a couple of mounted crosses and a small, framed Biblical verse. "Be anxious for nothing," it reads (Philippians 4:6).

"Life is not easy but we are blessed," says Larry, in a rasping, lived-in voice. "We have food in the refrigerator, we have two cats that love us. My wife's got part-time work in a store and I get disability benefits."

Larry's painting and remodelling business fell apart when scoliosis started twisting his spine about eight years ago - roughly the same time he scrapped his van and car and made his donation to Todd Coontz. He and Darcy still lived then in his home state, California, and employed former drug users as workers. He was an ex-addict himself, and his Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous sessions had strengthened his religious beliefs.

After deciding to "follow Christ's path", he became an avid viewer of religious channels and specifically "praisathons" - fundraising events with multiple guest speakers. He became, in his words, "hypnotised" by the hosts. He was not just a passive spectator, he felt like he knew them.

Many of these pastors also ran prayer lines - where callers would speak one-on-one with an operator and they would pray together. If a request for money followed, Larry was happy to contribute - even if he did not have much to give. He was under the impression that the money was going to worthy projects at home and abroad, and he hoped that if he were ever in a desperate position, he would be helped too.

In 2013, that moment came.

His daughter's health, which had long been poor, had become critical. Larry had promised to help her financially, but his "seeds" had not flourished. He wrote a heart-wrenching, five-page letter to several ministries he had contributed to over the years, pleading for help.

"We had been faithful to these ministries. They called us partners, friends, family," he explains today. "We thought they'd be there for us."

In the letter, he detailed how his daughter's health insurance would not cover the extensive and costly treatment she needed. One doctor had suggested they waited for her organs to fail, as only then would he be able to intervene.

"As a father, I am presently helpless," he wrote. "Would you please consider sponsorship to save our daughter's life?"

The replies drifted in. Some were instant email responses, others came through the post after prompting. All were rejections. "They said things like, 'Our ministry mandate prevents us from helping you,'" he recalls. He remembers the reaction of one specific office manager, from a ministry that had publicised its funding of medical treatments in the US: "In a haughty voice, she took a deep breath and said: 'You know we get six or seven of these calls a week and if we help you, we are going to have to help everyone.'"

By summer 2014, Larry and Darcy had exhausted all their funds. They had sold all their belongings to travel from California to Florida to be with their daughter, and ended up homeless. Wracked with guilt for having failed to provide the promised help to his daughter, Larry couldn't understand why he had been let down.

It took another year for things to become clear. In August 2015, the couple were channel-hopping in a Jacksonville motel room, when they caught an episode of John Oliver's satirical news show, Last Week Tonight.

"I never watched John Oliver. I had never even heard of the guy," says Larry. But his attention was immediately caught by a skit that ripped into money-grabbing televangelists. Larry and Darcy sat up in shock, recognising all the names.

They say they felt as though God was lifting a veil. "We had been so ignorant," Larry says, shaking his head.

The next morning they went to a local library to find out more online. In just a few clicks, they came across the Texas-based Trinity Foundation, which had assisted Last Week Tonight with its research.

Larry called the phone number, slightly apprehensively, not sure whether a friendly voice would pick up.

The man on the other end listened patiently as Larry reeled off the names of the preachers he had come to know.

He told him they knew every single one of them. Not only that, they kept files on most of them, detailing what was known of their estimated fortunes.

Stunned, Larry stayed on the line talking through his experiences, relieved to find someone who understood.

In its early days, in the 1970s, the Trinity Foundation was a wild place.

It was a home church but far from the twee set-up you might imagine. Here Bible classes were so fiery they could end in fist fights.

The dominant figure was the foundation's extraordinary creator, Ole Anthony (pronounced Oh-lee). At 6ft 4in, with penetrating blue eyes, he was a former teenage delinquent who had dabbled in arson and taken heroin - and had gone on to become an Air Force intelligence officer, a failed Republican election candidate and the owner of a PR firm, all before the age of 33. Then he underwent a sudden religious conversion, renounced wealth and devoted his life to Christ.

A friend, John Bloom, later wrote that Ole had assumed old business colleagues would join his Bible study groups. "But Ole was a little too 'out there' for most three-piece-suit North Dallas Protestants," Bloom explained. He was also based in a "fleabag office" in a rough part of town. Consequently, he mostly attracted troubled characters with nowhere else to go.

Ole Anthony on his front porch in Dallas

It was during these sessions that Ole started to note a common thread. When people were on the verge of homelessness in the heart of the Bible belt, a surprising number offered the last of their cash to televangelists who promised them financial salvation.

Ole, who always had a have-a-go approach to problem-solving, felt an urge to step in. First, he tried approaching the ministries on behalf of the penniless donors, thinking he could explain the circumstances and get the money refunded. However, like Larry, he found no-one willing to talk.

So he took it to a Christian broadcasting association - but it didn't want to get involved. Then he approached local district attorneys, who explained that many preachers were protected by the First Amendment (guaranteeing freedom of religion and free speech), so there was nothing they could do. So he turned back to the media, this time major networks and publications, which said investigations would be too time-consuming.

Ole was faced with a multibillion-dollar industry built, as he saw it, on exploiting the poor - and it was completely untouchable.

And this is how a community church became an investigations office. The Trinity Foundation felt compelled to tackle the prosperity preachers because no-one else would.

It is hard to imagine brawls at the foundation these days. Most of its members are at retirement age - Ole himself is 80, and in failing health - and the operation has moved from its "fleabag" office to two adjacent houses in a sleepy part of east Dallas. On one side is the gentrifying Junius Heights neighbourhood, on the other rows of slightly run-down bungalows.

Every day there is an early-morning Bible study session, a group dinner at 5pm, and more theology in the evening, including prayers with guitar-led hymns. The mixed bunch of devotees now includes a Mexican economist and a veteran of Desert Storm.

"Our members have taken over a whole block," says Ole incredulously, as he smokes a pipe on the front porch. Their semi-communal way of living has led to allegations that they are a cult, but he dismisses this as nonsense. "A lot of people don't like me, you know," he says, more than once.

Ole's dogged work has steered the foundation into an unusual niche, forming a bridge between the Christian world and the media. Though journalists originally pushed him away, they later found his foundation could provide the springboard for their investigations. Gradually it morphed into a watchdog, maintaining detailed files on wealthy evangelists.

"We have done a lot of weird things," Ole concedes, between hacking coughs.

Over the years, they have gained a reputation for their gung-ho approach - diving into dumpsters outside ministry offices, in search of potentially incriminating paperwork, and going undercover.

Collaborating with ABC News in the early 1990s, Ole posed as a small-scale pastor trying to learn how big-money ministries work. Accompanied by a producer with hidden cameras, he went to a mailing company working for televangelist Robert Tilton and was told how posting gimmicky gifts to potential donors had boosted returns.

It was a well-known technique - sending things such as "vial of holy water" or even dollar bills to prompt people to send a financial gift back - but it was rare to hear someone admitting it.

When the TV reports aired on Diane Sawyer's Primetime Live show in 1991, Tilton denied wrongdoing and attempted to sue the network - but he failed and his TV shows were eventually cancelled.

(Today, the Tilton ministry is still active but on a much smaller scale.)

A couple of years later, the Federal Communications Commission reportedly came close to introducing a "truth-in-advertising" clause for religious solicitations. This would have meant that any claims of boosting finances or curing disease would have to be verifiable, and Ole took various trips to Washington to lobby for it.

Ultimately the idea was dropped, which Ole puts down to the fact that the Republicans won the House of Representatives in 1994, with the help of votes from the religious right.

"We've tried a lot of things, but we haven't been very successful," he says, ruefully.

He doesn't think much will ever change, but asked if this makes him frustrated or angry, he laughs. "Why would I make myself angry? That is all there is in this world, injustice."

The Trinity Foundation office - also a home for some members

Pete Evans - a bespectacled believer with a gentle, apologetic manner - is now the foundation's lead investigator. One of his specialities is tracking the movements of private jets, aiming to discover when pastors are using them recreationally, instead of for church business.

Pete took Larry's first phone call. He remembers being moved by it, and starting a crowdfunding page for him. It raised about $2,000. "Less than what we had hoped for, but enough to tide them over," he wrote on the website at the time.

Pete says that just over a decade ago there was great excitement within the foundation, when the US Senate's Finance Committee began to question whether evangelists were taking advantage of their tax-exempt status to break Internal Revenue Service (IRS) guidelines.

While other tax-exempt organisations - notably charities - must at least fill in a basic form, known as the 990, churches don't have to. This means they are not required to detail their top employees' earnings or list how much is spent on philanthropic projects. Their inner workings can be entirely unknown.

Pete Evans joined the Trinity Foundation as a student in the 1970s

But in 2007 the Senate committee appeared to think that some ministries were abusing this privilege and violating an IRS rule that church earnings may not "unreasonably benefit" an individual.

The Trinity Foundation shared all its research with the committee, and attended meetings with its officials.

The group - led by Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley - decided to focus on six well-known figures: Joyce Meyer, Creflo Dollar, Eddie Long, Kenneth Copeland, Benny Hinn and Paula White - who is now President Trump's spiritual adviser.

All six denied wrongdoing. Four failed to co-operate satisfactorily, according to the committee (White, Copeland, Dollar and Long). Larry had donated to three of them.

"We really thought it was going to come to something," says Pete.

Yet by 2011, the investigation had lost steam. Senator Grassley drew no specific conclusions. Instead he asked an evangelical group - the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability (ECFA) - to study ways to spur "self-reform" among ministries.

"The whole thing frittered away," says Pete. He believes the 2008 economic crash played a part; the financial world suddenly had much bigger issues to deal with. "But we were extremely disappointed. After years of hanging on, it felt like they just punted the ball."

The ECFA refused a BBC request for an interview, but said it stood by past statements on its website. In 2009, it told Senator Grassley that filing full tax returns would be an "intrusion on the most intimate recesses of church administration".

The Senate committee has shown no sign of taking up the subject again, and no government agency has taken a strong interest in it.

Paid-for television channels also fall outside the remit of the national regulator, the Federal Communications Commission - unlike in the UK, where Ofcom might step in.

Meanwhile, an anonymous source at the IRS told the BBC that the service feels its hands are often tied. "We can't knock on doors because then it is 'government overreach'," he said. "And if you think someone is going to thank you for closing down their church..."

But, although it is rare, sometimes a pastor does come within the IRS's sights.

In 2013, one of Todd Coontz's neighbours called a local TV channel to complain that he was taking up too many spaces in the car park outside his luxury South Carolina apartment block.

"He was not a known name around here," says Kim Holt, who runs the investigations unit at WSOC-TV in Charlotte, North Carolina. "But the caller then started mentioning Coontz's church and the 'seed' giving. And that's when we got interested."

The channel got in touch with the Trinity Foundation, which provided background on Coontz and the prosperity gospel. The foundation also shared recordings of his TV appearances - it keeps an archive of televangelist broadcasts, taking notes on the programmes to monitor new techniques.

"There is a peculiar thing about people turning the TV on in the middle of the night," says Pete, adding that this is when many pastors broadcast their pleas for seed donations. "They are lonely or hurting. They might have medical condition or be unemployed."

When WSOC-TV's report on Coontz aired, it went far beyond the parking dispute, detailing his personal wealth and casting doubt on the legitimacy of his fundraising tactics.

Todd Coontz on his way to the courtroom

Todd Coontz is not in the same league as some of the other prosperity preachers. He does not have a megachurch, a private airfield or even his own jet. He preaches at other people's live events, rather than holding them under his own name.

But his lifestyle is certainly opulent. He has posted photos on Facebook of his stays in hotel rooms overlooking Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. He has spent tens of thousands on jewellery and diamonds. He also has, or at least had, a fleet of luxury cars, including three BMWs, two Ferraris, a Maserati and a Land Rover, plus a speed boat.

Meanwhile, he has continued to target his operations at those on the breadline. Under the title Dr Todd Coontz, he has written a series of books: Please Don't Repo My Car, Supernatural Debt Calculation, There Is Life After Debt.

In the same year as the TV report aired, a federal probe led by the IRS criminal investigation unit also began.

"That certainly does not seem like a coincidence," says Pete. "I think someone saw the report and thought, 'This is crazy. We can't let this go.' It was such a public display of the misuse of donor money."

The IRS did not delve into his "seed" operations or his tax-exempt church, Rockwealth, but into his taxes for various personal side projects.

He was making large profits from freelancing as a speaker for other ministries and his two for-profit businesses, selling his books, CDs and DVDs. For these, he had needed to file accurate tax returns.

Todd Coontz's website still encourages "seed" donations

During a four-year investigation, prosecutors dug up all sorts of irregularities, ruling that Coontz had been underreporting his income and exploiting expenses claims.

He had developed various ploys, such as flying economy but sending fake first-class invoices to the ministries he was freelancing for, so he could pocket the difference. He would also claim expenses twice, once from his own ministry and once from his client. He claimed for thousands of dollars spent on clothes (suits are not a permitted business expense) and for 400 cinema tickets, which the IRS also considered unreasonable.

On 26 January 2019, Coontz was sentenced to five years in prison for failing to pay taxes and assisting in the filing of false tax returns. He was also ordered to pay $755,669 in restitution.

He reported to jail in early April, but was freed by the judges, pending appeal.

Coontz did not respond to the BBC's request for comment, but he has previously denied wrongdoing. On his website, he also claims to have given more than $1m to charity.

His Twitter account is still posting daily (with no reference to his jail sentence) and he has taken to preaching - via the Periscope app - from the front seat of his Maserati.

"Are you calling to sow your $219 seed today?" was the immediate response when the BBC called Rockwealth's hotline. The operator was not able to share the significance of that figure and would not answer questions about how many people had called to pledge. "Not so many today, but there are several of us answering calls," she said. It is not clear whether the switchboard was serving only Rockwealth or other churches too.

The Trinity Foundation has recently filed a long report to the IRS, calling for Rockwealth to lose its status as a tax-exempt church. As always, it feels like a shot in the dark and it does not expect to hear back.

Both Ole and Pete says the work they do often falls flat - and not through a lack of effort at their end. They once helped a woman get her $1,000 donation back from a ministry, only for her to donate it all over again. "She called us afterwards, asking to get it back again," recalls Pete, saying they had to decline the second time. "My feeling is she was addicted. She just got hooked back on to the TV and believing what they said."

Ole remains disappointed that the authorities still allow the vulnerable to fall into these traps.

"We hoped for change," says Ole. "But it didn't work. I guess they didn't want change."

As for Larry and Darcy, they are also still donating, despite their meagre income, but only to their local church.

Cullman, Alabama, where Larry and Darcy Fardette now live

"Plant your investment of your time, talent and money into the local community and you are going to find people who need help," says Larry, adding that he knows his neighbourhood pastor personally.

Their daughter is alive, but, after Larry was unable to pay for her medical treatment, a rift arose between them and they now rarely talk.

The couple say they want to share their story with others to make them think twice about where their money could be going.

"We found out the hard way. These are money-making industries," says Larry vehemently.

Darcy, sitting on one of the dining room chairs in the middle of the empty room, nods in agreement. "You have got to see some of the houses they live in," she adds, pursing her lips together. "Must be nice."

(Source: BBC)