LETTER | Today, as Christians across Malaysia commemorate Good Friday, the solemn day marking the crucifixion of Jesus Christ - we are reminded that this moment of sorrow, sacrifice, and sacred silence transcends time and place.
From the historic chapels of Malacca to the forest-fringed kampungs of Sarawak, the faithful walk the “Way of the Cross” in deeply rooted, yet beautifully diverse ways.
Among the Dayak Christians of Sarawak, Good Friday is not merely observed, it is embodied in rituals steeped in tradition, language, and land.
With candlelit processions, rosaries made of seeds and shell, and prayers chanted in Bidayuh dialects, they honour the suffering Christ with quiet dignity and communal devotion.
The following poem by the author, “Jalan Salib di Bumi Kenyalang” (The Way of The Cross in the Land of the Hornbill) is a tribute to this sacred journey as experienced in the heart of Borneo.
It is a reminder that even in our local soil, the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ are lived and felt with extraordinary depth.
“Jalan Salib di Bumi Kenyalang”
The chapel stills on dusky hill,
Where bamboo groves stand calm and still.
A gong has ceased, the night draws near,
And in its hush, the Cross is here.
Along the path of packed red clay,
Old men and youths in silent way,
Hold candles bright in glass jars bare,
And whisper prayers into the air.
The priest in red, beneath the moon,
Walks solemn steps in forest gloom.
His robes like flame against the night,
A witness to the coming Light.
The girls in beads, the boys with wood,
Repeat the words they’ve understood:
“Yesus Kristus, Ampunilah,”
Their voices echo star to star.
Through jungle shade and pepper vines,
They walk the Way with sacred signs.
Each station marked by wooden post,
Where Jesus walks, a silent host.
At Station Three, He stumbles low,
An elder nods, eyes closed in woe.
A mother clutches beads of shell,
And feels the grief she knows too well.
Simon could be a brother there,
Who helped her once in harvest care.
And Veronica—a village child,
Who wiped a wound with heart so mild.
The thorn-crowned Christ upon the hill,
Feels near among the night so still.
For here, in kampung faith so strong,
They’ve known of grief, and waited long.
But even now, in lantern’s glow,
A forest breeze begins to blow-
A sign that soon, the tomb will break,
And joy will stir in hearts awake.
By Easter morn, with sun dew-bright,
The Cross will blaze with jungle light.
And Gawai songs will softly blend,
With alleluias that never end.
For in Sarawak’s sacred earth,
The Risen Christ finds second birth.
From mountain high to valley floor,
He walks with us, for evermore.
The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of Malaysiakini.
