How Rituals Connect Us to Our Spiritual Roots
As the clock strikes seven-thirty, East Coast Park buzzes with activity, much like any other evening. Joggers clad in form-fitting lycra race by, while cyclists pedal along, their rental bikes blasting upbeat Mandopop hits. Skaters, their helmets askew, struggle to maintain their balance, and families enjoy relaxed conversations in scattered picnic clusters by the shore.
Nearby, however, a grand celebration unfolds for countless Taoist devotees: the annual send-off for the Nine Emperor Gods festival. The ceremony’s exact location is hard to pinpoint, but a mysterious yellow fabric illuminated with a soft white glow hints at the festivities taking place by the coast. Groups of devotees dressed in white watch intently as two palanquins and a neon-lit boat make their way through the crowd. The air fills with the fragrant scent of incense, mingling with a veil of grey smoke, as participants kneel, holding thick joss sticks in reverence.
Temple assistants, also clad in white, rush to release the dragon boat, which carries the divine urn of the nine gods along with salt, oil, rice, incense paper, and joss sticks. As the vessel drifts away from the shore, flames engulf its paper exterior, leaving hundreds of devotees behind with a renewed sense of peace, believing that their bad luck has been dispelled.
This dramatic spectacle is a yearly highlight for practitioners of Chinese folk religion, who revere gods and immortals associated with natural phenomena, human behavior, or ancestral lineages. The Nine Emperor Gods Festival, rooted in Chinese cosmology, symbolizes longevity and liberation from misfortunes. Over the nine-day celebration, devotees go above and beyond their daily rituals, often engaging in temple clean-ups and abstaining from meat to symbolize purity. These acts stem from a desire for protection and the reassurance that a higher power is watching over them.
Unlike organized religions, Chinese folk religion is syncretistic, meaning it transcends ethnic and religious boundaries. Its beliefs are often solidified through folklore passed down orally through generations, without a unifying scripture. While interpretations of these beliefs may vary, devotees share a common connection to the myths from which their deities arise.
One version of the festival’s origin story centers on Goddess Dou Mu, who governs the North Pole alongside her spouse and nine sons, keeping watch over the nine stars. The send-off ceremony is performed to honor their journey between Earth and Heaven. “The story is linked to astrology and the nine stars… you can find it on Google,” a devotee explains, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He adds, “In Taoism, the Mother also oversees the 28 planets, which include the star gods, and they must be careful around her.”
Despite the many interpretations circulating online, what truly matters is the devotee’s reverence for Dou Mu Niang, which amplifies the festival’s spirit. Among a sea of steadfast participants, it’s clear that even social distancing measures couldn’t deter them from fulfilling their duties.
Many devotees attribute their sense of community to the kampung culture of the past, where temples were often situated near bodies of water, facilitating the welcoming and sending off of deities. “Perhaps you don’t understand because you didn’t grow up in a kampung,” remarks another devotee. “Back then, festivals took place near water, allowing children playing on the beach to experience it, as most temples would host the events. This tradition has been carried on for years.”
Even without a single origin story to unify all devotees, they take solace in their personal beliefs. The values derived from rituals often surpass what written texts can convey, as adhering to age-old practices has become ingrained in their lives, allowing them to pass down their interpretations of these stories.
Finding Healing Through Faith As dusk settles over Chia Leng Kong Heng Kang Tian temple, a black flag is raised at the entrance. A queue forms outside a tent where devotees await their turn to confide in a prophetic deity, who will manifest through Master Tan, the temple’s spirit medium.
At 53, Master Tan offers consultations for a wide array of concerns, from a family member’s health to lottery predictions. With the help of interpreters, snippets of ancient Chinese folklore are dispensed like remedies—vague yet calming for anxious seekers.
This consultation process mirrors Western psychotherapy, albeit with its unique trance sequences and chanting. The connection established between the deity, interpreter, and devotee has become a reliable aspect of their lives. As joss sticks burn, curling smoke fills the room, and by 7:30 p.m., Master Tan’s ‘throne’ is ready. Clad in neon green polo shirts, his assistants wield rattan whips and wooden blocks for the ritual. The chanting begins, and soon Master Tan’s body shakes uncontrollably, as if swatting away invisible bees. His head spins, and he eventually gags before transforming into a child deity.
For first-time witnesses, this ritual may appear astonishing, but for Han Wei, Master Tan’s interpreter for over five years, it’s all too familiar. Initially skeptical, he has learned about spirit mediumship alongside his cybersecurity job. “I often questioned its authenticity,” he admits. “But if you choose to believe, you’ll take the first step toward understanding your faith. Once you’re in it, you’ll know.”
Whether grounded in science or not, Han Wei has embraced his role as a conduit between deities and devotees while enriching his vocabulary of Hokkien and ancient Mandarin through this practice. Even with initial doubts, he finds himself convinced after years of involvement. “It’s as if I connected with his Wi-Fi network,” he laughs. “Honestly, I can now miraculously understand what he’s saying.”
The Appeal of Direct Communication People are drawn to consultations like these because direct communication with a deity provides instant gratification in desperate times. Compared to prayers and divination lots, this direct dialogue fosters a personal connection that keeps devotees returning.
Dr. Lee Boon Ooi, a psychotherapist with over 20 years of experience, explains that when conventional medicine falls short, people often turn to spirituality to make sense of their experiences. However, the perceived ‘magic’ of mediumship may arise from a belief that the deity’s advice is inherently beneficial—similar to the placebo effect.
While some mental health professionals suggest that spirit mediums may experience dissociative identity disorder, Dr. Lee counters this notion. Mediumship is a structured practice conducted in designated spaces, with most mediums showing no signs of emotional distress or psychological impairment. “Attention is a powerful thing. Knowing that someone cares about you and understands your troubles can be profoundly therapeutic,” he explains.
Despite the unusual aspects of the ritual—Master Tan’s unpredictable bodily reactions and the persona he adopts—this practice offers a revered avenue for healing that devotees honor and respect. After experiencing positive changes in their lives, many devotees develop a routine of consulting Master Tan.
“The mechanism is rooted in hope,” Dr. Lee states. “Consulting this deity creates the expectation of healing, regardless of when it occurs. The key is the belief that it will happen because you’re engaging with a powerful god.”
Living with the Divine Mediumship is just one aspect of the spiritual lives of devotees. Lighting joss sticks, praying, and preparing offerings represent loyalty to these deities in a reciprocal relationship. In return for peace and protection, devotees uphold these rituals and celebrate annual festivities, including the deities’ birthdays.
Two widely revered deities in Singaporean homes are the kitchen god (Zaoshen) and the earth god (Tudigong). Zaoshen, known for guarding homes from evil spirits, originated from a tale of adultery, while Tudigong serves as a village protector, commonly found in roadside shrines.
For effigy makers like Ng Tze Yong, an apprentice at Say Tian Hng, a 126-year-old family business, these origin stories hold deep significance. “I don’t see them as mere statues; I see them as narratives,” he states.
These tales often depict humans with remarkable moral qualities who were deified after death to honor their contributions. “Unlike organized religion, folk religion is more fluid, driven by the common person’s sense of agency and yearning. There’s beauty in that,” Tze Yong reflects.
These stories resonate deeply, transcending generations. The monkey god, Sunwukong, has a dedicated temple in Tiong Bahru, while tree shrines marked by yellow ribbons can be found throughout Singapore, the most famous being the Toa Payoh God Tree.
Communities often interpret these deities’ origin stories in their own ways, leading to varying names and representations based on ethnic and gender preferences. For instance, Zaoshen is sometimes depicted as female, reflecting traditional domestic roles, while newer narratives portray them as male. Similarly, Tudigong is revered as a Chinese man but recognized as Datukgong by Malays, indicating a figure of status.
Interestingly, the German Girl Shrine on Pulau Ubin honors a female deity known as Datuk Nenek. The tale of the ‘German Girl,’ a doll encased in glass, captivates both locals and tourists. The shrine commemorates her tragic story, adding depth to the cultural tapestry of Singapore.
While the credibility of such stories remains debatable, the narratives serve significant purposes, with accounts once gracing the headlines of local newspapers in the 1980s and ’90s. These varying accounts reflect the rich diversity of beliefs and traditions that shape the cultural landscape.
Understanding Spirituality For devotees, the German Girl Shrine and others like it remain enigmatic spaces to explore. As myths evolve, the influence of Chinese folk religion continues to transcend cultural boundaries.
Tze Yong recounts discovering a peculiar shrine near a Japanese restaurant, where a doll-like figurine stands beside Taoist deities. After consulting a Taoism group, he learned that this figure represents baby Jesus, highlighting the inclusivity inherent in Chinese folk religion.
“We may not know how this baby Jesus figurine ended up here, but its presence among Taoist deities demonstrates the open-mindedness of Chinese folk religion,” he observes.
As joss sticks burn and offerings are made, it becomes clear that individuals are committed to maintaining these sacred spaces, honoring their beliefs as long as they can. Many age-old rituals and connections to the deities are upheld by an aging population, yet 20-year-old Krisada Virabhak is following in his grandmother’s footsteps, learning to prepare offerings and respect the deities.
Krisada’s grandmother emphasized the importance of showing respect for those making offerings at trees or along the roadside. “I realized this is a matter of basic respect. You should honor people’s beliefs, even if you don’t share them, as long as they don’t impede your path,” he explains.
Motivated to share his spiritual insights, Krisada documents his experiences during rituals, such as the Nine Emperor Gods festival, through journal entries on his Instagram account, All Things Peranakan. He recognizes that many Peranakans follow their rituals without questioning their significance.
He attributes this to the fear of offending the deities if their needs are not met, viewing them as guests in one’s home. Devotees feel pressured to uphold these rituals, often engaging in daily practices without reflecting on their significance.
“They don’t demand much; you can offer whatever you can,” he remarks. “Even if it seems irrational, these traditions are legacies worth preserving. If it’s not too burdensome, why not continue?”
Maintaining these beliefs is akin to keeping a candle burning amid gusty winds. Being part of a community enhances appreciation for the unseen connections, guided by stories that blend fiction with reality.
As a life-sized boat ignites into flames, the applause of devoted spectators echoes along the shore—a priceless moment they would not trade for anything. These ingrained beliefs, rooted in mythology, will guide them as long as they continue to seek meaning in their cherished traditions and the answers they long for. Questions about faith can wait for another day.
