"I can teach you how to knit", said Peter Vreeland, recently at Trinity Episcopal Church where I attend Sunday service while studying in Hartford.
Knitting seemed so complicated to me. I last saw a person knit several years ago. She did it so quickly and somehow, it terrified me. I am glad that I encouraged myself to learn to knit. Every time I remember how quickly that person knit I wondered, "Can I do that too?"
Knitting also seemed to me more complicated than crocheting. I first learned how to crochet when I was a theological student at Universitas Kristen Duta Wacana in Yogyakarta, Indonesia where I lived on campus at the dormitory. I saw some senior students were crocheting and decided to learn. I crocheted several scarves.
Peter Veerland not only gave me needles and yarn but also a book: How To Knit. In this book, published by The National Needle Art Association (TNNA), it described how the origin of knitting has been traced as far back as the fourth or fifth century BCE in the Middle East. When reading this, I realized the West learned it from the East. Just like Christianity, it was brought to the West from the (Middle) East. What has the West been bringing to the East?
Knitting Unites Us
When I got home and continued to knit, I was able to do it with relative ease. I think it is powerful when people share their knowledge and skill. Why I am saying this? I do know that in many parts of the world, the cost for formal education is so expensive that the majority of the world population cannot afford it.
Is there any guarantee that these small numbers of people who can afford going to university and obtaining high degrees can change the heart of the people to become humbler, wiser and more caring compared to those who do not go to university? I don't think so.
I know Haji Ali by reading Greg Mortenson's book: The Three Cups of Tea. Haji Ali doesn't know how to write or read but he is a person that I respect so deeply, even more than any of the best professors who have high positions in many important institutions. Tears were falling down my eyes when reading about Haji Ali. In my heart, I feel he is one of the humblest and wisest people I have ever known.
My grandmother on my father’s side doesn't know how to write or read, just like Haji Ali, but she can weave such a high beautiful artistic ulos. I don't even know how to weave. Knitting only needs two needles and yarn but weaving Batak-cloth? It requires a lot of work. My grandmother is an artist, in a sense, but we often limit our view and consideration of who artists are.
People knit the same way, they breath the same air, drink the same water, live on the same planet under the same sky, see light from the same sun, enjoy the same moon, etc. By knowing these things that we all share, is there really any need for us to be so uneasy and even hostile to each other when dealing with our religion, culture, ethnicity, gender, race, social status or political views? Which one is more important: air to breath or our religious status? I can still live without religion but cannot without air to breath. This doesn’t mean I belittle religion or religious view. It is just nice to be humble no matter what our religion or social status or nationality is since we all need to breath the same air. Air has no religion, just as knitting has no religion too. Air unites us, just as knitting can too.
For those of you who would like to know more about Ulos, the Batak cloth, you might want to consider this book by Sandra Niessen: Legacy in Cloth: Batak textiles of Indonesia.
