Being drug down

Curious words from David recorded in Psalm 28, "Do not drag me away with the wicked, with those who do evil." They are curious because he presumes that God is doing the dragging. This challenges my idea of the God I know. Would the God I worship, the God I love, the God I follow, shown in the strong, simple face of Jesus, willingly drag our unwilling lives into place that are contrary to the Divine Will? Maybe this is what Jesus means when he instructs us to pray, "lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil." Maybe the God I love, worship, and serve is bigger than my comprehension of Him. His ways are not my ways. Clearly, I would never drag my son into situations that seperate him from me and his mother. That is, unless it is for his own good. We've heard the stories, maybe they've happened to us, where a parent lets their juvenile child sit in the "gray bar hotel" for the night to feel the consequences of poor choices in friends and activities. I've talked to parents who have done it, and they let their child suffer not with joy, but with a lot of pain. It's not what they wanted for their child, but it was what was best for him in that moment. Maybe that's it...David's not talking about being dragged away with the wicked forever. I agree with David. I don't want to face the consequences of the poor choices I make daily and weekly either. I'm glad God's forgiveness and love is much bigger than the sin I commit. In Christ I am free from fear, free from worry, and freed by forgiveness to live boldly.

Friday, January 27th

Within the ordinary activities of life, God dwells. It's almost 3:30 on a Friday afternoon as I sit here at Caribou coffee writing this blog entry. A cup of dark roast, Sumatra, sits to my left in a white ceramic mug. Jazz plays on the speaker overhead. It's a comfortable "office" for me today. Began the day at the church organizing my day, went to a meeting for over an hour, prepared for the adult forum on Sunday, had lunch, visited 3 people in the hospital, made some phone calls, sent some emails, and now here I sit, reflecting upon where God's fingerprints might be on my day. I've prayed along the way today, as I walked to lunch, as I sat waiting before entering a hospital room, and with the three people I visited. But, I haven't taken time to obeserve the classic "pastoral offices" of daily prayer. I've tried in the past to do so. I admire the intentionality and the way some people can organize their days around those certain times to pray. It just hasn't worked for me. Maybe I'm just not organized enough, or that I resist too much structure. Maybe, I like to pray on the "fly" instead of sitting still. However, I realize that my prayers don't make God act during the day. God will act beyond my prayers. However, praying for me opens me up to see the work of the Spirit and maintains my contact with the One who has called me into this ministry. Lots of days are just mundane. My prayers are less than spectacular. But, it is in this ordinaryness of praying and living that the real relationship with the living God emerges.

Lord, open my eyes and heart to experience your still presence in the everday occurances of life. Increase my awareness and deepen my love for you and others. Jesus, you say that you were hungry and you were fed, naked and you were clothed, sick and you were visited, thirsty and your thirst slaked, and in prison and received a visit. You cross my paths not in spectacular ways, but in the ordinary ways. I hope I haven't missed you in pursuit of something bigger and better. Continually slow me down to walk at a pace that experiences the joy of your presence. In the name of Christ. Amen.

Faking it

I stopped in Borders Books today for a quick break and a look around. The store phone rang and it rang, and rang, and rang and rang. I walked by it sitting next to a computer in the middle of the story, and was tempted to pick it up, answer it, and act like I know what I'm talking about as an employee of the store.

How many of us go through life faking our way through; pretending that we know what's going on, pretending that we care, pretending that we know what to do...when we really and truly don't have a clue.

People will buy our facades for a bit, but after a while people can see right through us.

Good-bye India

We leave tomorrow to begin our long jouney back to the United States. I am anticipating a long two days of travel. It has been quite the great experience to work beside the Indian people here in Andrha Pradesh. They have warmly welcomed our entire group and gone out of their way to serve. I know that when I return I will be forever changed by this experience. It will only be by hindsight that I will be able to see the change God has affected within me. I'm not sure I made a huge impact here, and I didn' expect to do so. I simply wanted to show up, do my part, and see where I could effectively serve here and be an advocate for the poor back in the United States. Honestly, I think the impact has mostly been within me. It has been an incredible experience.

I hope my blog entries from the past two weeks have accurately captured life here in Guntur, India. By no means did I capture or fully understand the complete culture of India as a whole or the area within which I sit today. India's diversity and size prohibts me from doing so. At the very least, the Lord has opened my eyes to the beautiful textures of India within it's culture and people of the state of Andrha Pradesh. To that, I am extremely grateful.

A patient India

There is a marked patience with this culture unlike I have seen anywhere in America. As I mentioned in a previous blog, we traveled to six congregations on the islands at the mouth of the Krishna River. We were late leaving our home in Guntur Saturday morning because of fog, and arrived 2 hours late to our first visit. Each visit after the first became successfully later. By the end of the evening, we visited our last congregation at 9:30pm, but they were expecting us around dinner time. However, with each visit, the churches were full of people. Nobody went home because we were late, nor did they show a bit of displeasure upon our late arrival. Instead, when we pulled up to the church in our SUV (a necessary vehicle to go over the roads here unlike in the U.S.) the entire church and pastor greeted us warmly and were glad that we arrived safely. If it had been America and we were three hours late, we would have shown up most likely to an empty church and a pastor standing, hands on hips, wondering where in the world we were. If a person is 20 minutes late in Columbus, people get anxious and start heading home to do something else.

I've also noticed the patience of drivers here. There is little road rage by anyone. That said, however, I would NEVER want to drive here. There are literally no traffic laws, at least in this area, and no lanes on the roads. It is a free for all between the massive trucks, SUVs, cars, scooters, bikes, pedestrians, motorcyles, and the occasional herd of water buffalo. It is chaos on the streets. In Guntur I have only seen two stop lights in the entire city, and one was working. Despite the chaos on the streets, I have not seen one car accident, nor have I seen a pedestrian hit by a car. I've even walked on the street and cars have zoomed past me, but I have never flinched. There is an inherent patience and trust in the people. People move into traffic patiently, trusting that they won't get hit. I've seen a bicyclist calmly weave his way through the traffic unnerved by the cars around him. However, I would never want such a driving system in America. I like the order we have on the roads. But it is interesting, after having been here nearly two weeks, I find myself almost used to the chaos on the road. At first I was unnerved by it, and now it has become quite ordinary. It will be interesting to drive in Columbus again to experience the difference. Will I display the same patient driving skills that I see here?

A thirsty India

This past weekend we visited rural villages in this part of India with no safe drinking water. The two villages are situated on islands at the mouth of the Krishna river, before the Krishna empties into the Bay of Bengal. The people there are in desperate need of a fresh water well. One village, Nachugunta (translated "mossy hole") is a town of nearly 2000 people. It takes them nearly a half of a day to get to the nearest source of drinking water, and even that is contaminated. We were served dinner in that town by the church there. As Americans, we brought our own bottled water because any of the water in India will make us sick upon drinking it. We were traveling with two Indian men, Shalem and Peter, who were able to drink the local water. They told us after the meal that even the water at Nachugunta was unfit for them to drink. At the bottom of their cups they saw what looked like moss floating as well as other things. Unfortunately, they told us this AFTER we left, otherwise we would have shared the water we had with the people there.

The other community, Ellachettladibba, of about 500 people is even more remote than Nachugunta. They too are in desperate need for fresh water. They do have a cistern that they collect rain water from the rainy season, but currently we are in the dry season and their cistern is dry.

For both villages, it will take a company to drill at least 400 feet into the ground, past a section of salt water, before getting to fresh water. Thankfully, the organization I am with these two weeks is trying to find the funding to bring fresh water wells to these areas.

This is a major issue. Contaminated drinking water negatively affects growth in children and overall health of all people.

On the return trip from the islands, we met a father whose son had broken his arm today. The boy wasn't more than 3 years old. The dad held him the entire way from the remote village as they were beginning their 100km trip to the nearest hospital, all over very rough rural roads. They didn't have a car. They would either have to walk, hire an autorickshaw, or take a bus from the island. We offered them a ride and they accepted to let us take them half of the way. They would then catch a bus from the town we dropped them off in and ride the remaining 50km to the hospital. Once we arrived in the next town, we dropped them off at the bus stop, and gave them a few hundred rupees for their trip and doctor bills. Fortunately, traveling with the father was a rural practitioner like a paramedic who set the boy's arm and gave him a sedative for the difficult journey. It broke my heart that a family would have to travel so far for such needed help.

It's just not right.

A hands-on India

This weekend we traveled to the remote congregations on the islands near the Bay of Bengal at the mouth of the Krishna River, visiting six congregations in a twenty-four hour period. On Saturday we ate three times in eight hours. Eating this weekend those meals reminded me that this is a very "hands on" society. There are no eating utensils in the rural areas. Instead, people eat with their right hand only; rice, chicken, fish, lentil paste...it's all eaten with the hands. It reminds me of Jerry Seinfeld's comment about the Chinese people, "They've seen the fork, but they're sticking with the sticks." It's the same here, "They've seen the fork, ,but they're sticking with the hand." Or as a professor at the seminary told me after I asked him at a meal if he wanted a fork to use (we had brought some along for the Americans), "No. God has given me a bigger fork," as he showed me his hand with the fingers spread apart. Sure it is messy, but you really need to slow down to eat and it, eating, involves the sensation of touch in addition to taste, sight, and smell. It is a wholistic experience.

The "hands-on" India extends to their lifestyle as well. In the rural areas especially, the people work hard all day simply to survive. As I served communion yesterday I noticed the hands of the women as they extended their palms out to receive the bread. Each woman's hands were rough and worn from hard work, very unlike the hands of American women and men whose hands are soft from office work and hand creams.

At the end of each worship service, people come forward for prayer and blessing from the pastor. I've had the priveledge of literally laying hands in prayer on hundreds of people while I've been here. While they didn't know what I was praying since I was doing so in English, the touch from my hands communicated to them in a language that crosses cultures. We all need to be touched in gentle and loving ways whether you live in India or America. In one village, a couple invited us into their home to show us their living area. When we got in their, they asked for prayer for them as a couple. So I prayed in the typical American way, head down, hands folded, eyes closed. No touching. It matters that we're all in the same room. After I prayed, the man and the woman in succession gave me a hug. Touch. Again, they had no idea what I prayed, they were just "touched" that I was willing to do so and then showed me through their spontaneous simple hug.

Last week we visited the tailor to get hand-made shirts made for us. The tailoring here is cheap and excellent. People still hand make furniture. Rice is planted and harvested by hand still. Crops are picked by hand. As I was marveling the other day about the coconut trees growing on the seminary grounds, one man said to me, "Do you want a coconut?" "Sure," I replied. He didn't run down to the supermarket to get one, nor make his way into the seminary kitchen to grab a bag of shreaded coconut for me to munch on. No, instead he summed a student to scurry up the tree to pick one of the coconuts from the tree so that they could cut it open. Once open I drank the coconut milk directly from the shell. Awesome. Hands-on.

India while progressing into the 21st century, still has a way to go. India will modernize more and more. However, while technology is great, we also lose a beautiful the "hands-on"ness of a culture. I don't think it is possible to turn back the clock on American culture a do away with technology (unless we want to become Amish), but I do think we miss something living in America 2006 that India still retains. And yet, while I admire the people of India for their working with their hands, I do love the comforts of living in American western society. I hope that technology doesn't diminish the quality of this culture in the future.

A rich India

"Is this the pastor's home?" I asked Eric with a bit of shock.
"Yep, this is it." Eric replied with a bit of non-chalance.

The home was one room, smaller than my own bedroom back in the U.S. The bed, room enough for one person, took up half of the room; no queen or king size beds here. Oh yeah, and this pastor has a wife and two children. The husband and wife would share the bed made for one and the kids would throw out some mats at night and sleep on the concrete floor, daily. And yet, the family was not lamenting the scarce accomodations. This is what they know and what is common. This is normal and allows the pastor to live in equal sized homes as many of the villagers they serve. Every church we visit while here has the same set up...the home as one room serving as kitchen, bedroom, and conversation space. It would be as if I, now married with one child, were still living in the space smaller than my first dorm room in college.

I as a visitor from the west might say in my mind, "Oh poor pastor..." but the pastor and his family don't think of themselves as poor. It is what it is. My comment could be taken as the pastor lives here because he hasn't "made it." Isn't it interesting that in America when we see the nice homes in New Albany or other places we immediately think, "Boy, they've made it. They're successful." Is this true? Are the pastor and the villagers any less successful than we who live in the U.S.? Do we allow possessions to become the symbols of success?

One thing is for sure, having such a small place to live forces people to be out in the neighborhood talking, laughing, arguing, and playing with neighbors. Instead of being holed up in a multiple room home with a TV and video games, the family actually relates with other people. In my neighborhood, it is rare to see people out talking to one another. The garage door goes up, the car pulls in, and the family, including mine, goes insided to spend the evening alone with little company besides themselves. We had a neighborhood picnic this summer and we had less than half of the people from the neighborhood show up. Are we too distracted, too busy to relate with others? Am I too distracted, to busy to relate and develop relationships? Do our possessions take possession of us? While in Western standards the people of this region of India might be considered economically poor, and this is true. What I have found, however, these people are rich in friendships, joy, and laughter. This is the true wealth that I desire too.

A religious India

Today is the beginning of a three day festival for the Hindus. All shops, banks, schools, and government offices are closed. The closings forced our host, Caruna, to rush to the store last night to get groceries for the next three days. Wednesday was a Muslim holiday and some, but not all, things were closed. School was also out on Wednesday for the children. I guess kids here take many holidays off like the "snow days" school children get in Ohio. After all, this week, the kids have only gone to school three days out of six (Saturday is a school day also).

The Hindu festival is one of gifts. They worship today the goddess of gifts by eating a special meal together as a family. They also decorate the "sidewalk" in front of their homes with a beautiful design made from chalk and they will do so through the 16th.

In such a diverse country, religious tolerance takes the day. All people, not matter what religion, are given the day off for that holiday. Hindus and Muslims are given Christmas off, and Christians are given the days off for the various Hindu and Muslim holidays. Unlike our country, Indians are also not offended when Christians offer "Merry Christmas" to one another. Actually, many had heard about our most recent the recent "Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays" debate. They found it curious and a bit foolish and unnecessary. Such a debate would not happen here. You are what you are. Interestingly, on Christmas 2005, one Lutheran pastor said that the church he served was overflowed with people; the community's Hindus came to worship with the Christians. The Christians of that congregation allowed the 100 or so Hindus to fill the worship space while they, the Christians and congregational members, sat outside the church listening and participating in the service. What a wonderful display of genuine love for the stranger and those outside the faith. Instead of taking the place of honor and the "good seats" the Christians gave them up to the non-Christian guests visiting the worship service.

More tomorrow...

A contrasting India

This is a country filled with contrasts. Last night Eric, Paul, and I ventured up to the main part of Guntur to go to a computer store and a men's clothing store and tailor. As we left the autorickshaw to enter the very nice men's store, Eric mentions to me, "We're walking into a nice store as we step over the gutter, the open sewer." Indeed. Throughout the city, the sewer system remains open to view, much like American cities used to be in the early 20th and late 19th centuries. There are parts of Guntur that sewer pipes are being laid underneath the ground, but in many areas the sewer system is in plain view. Contrast: a very nice, Western style, men's store with beautiful men's clothing but directly outside is extreme poverty and an open sewer.

Another contrast. On Monday afternoon I sat at a computer at the seminary preparing for class. The door to the office in which I was working was open. As I worked, a farmer brought into the seminary grounds three cows for milking. Here I was, using modern technology, connected to the world via the internet, while outside a primitive operation was happening...getting milk from a local cow for the seminary.

One can walk down the street and see nice cars with a wagon being pulled by an ox beside it. As India modernizes through globalization, this contrast will begin to lessen. But for now, the contrasts remain.

Beautiful India

The weather has been gorgeous, 70-80 degrees and sunshine every day. It reminds me of southern California. It has been a nice break from the clouds and cold of central Ohio in January.

I have also been struck by the vibrant colors women especially wear. When visiting the churches on Sunday, the colors of the clothing of the women and girls was beautiful; very vibrant colors.

But, beyond the colors of the clothing and the beautiful weather, the people here have shown me the beauty of the Indian people through their kindness.

Maybe it's because I am an American or at least a guest visiting this country, but the people here are the most gracious and humble people I have met in all of my life, whether they be man, woman, or child.

The last couple days when I have left the Moriah Home to walk to the seminary to teach, children will greet me with "Hi! How are you?" Or they will say, "What is your name?" Their smiles cover their entire faces. If I stand long enough talking to another adult and kids see this, they'll sneak over and wave whispering, "Hi". It almost becomes a game for them. I am amazed by their courageous welcome. Don't they know it's not good to talk to strangers? Kidding.

If we stand around long enough, graciously, someone will set out chairs for us to sit upon. At each break in the class day, one of the students gets me and the other teacher, an Indian man, something to drink: coffee or soda.

I am really taken by one young man studying in the seminary. Each day I have taught, he has made it his responsibility to carry my bag for me back to the Moriah Home. I said to him, "No, I'll carry it," but he refused to allow me to carry the bag myself. So, he and I walked back to where I am staying. When we got to the stairs, he went up with me and then went inside with me placing my bag in my room for me. I never asked the young man to carry it for me, nor do I expect him to do so. He is, out of the graciousness of his heart, willing to serve and carry my "load," my bag. During class my dry erase markers fell off the table sitting in the front of the classroom. He got up, made his way to the front, picked up the markers for me and after setting them back on the table, went back to his seat. In America, first, a person wouldn't do such a thing. Second, if he or she did, they probably would want something in return from the recipient of such a kind act: a tip, a favor, something. The only agenda I can tell from this man is grace and kindness. What a refreshing surprise. I have seen and experienced the beauty of India.

A persistant India

The stark contrast between India and the United States hit me as I left the Hyderbad airport on Saturday morning at 4a.m. After retrieving our luggage we left the terminal to find our vans to take us to our hotel. The sweet smell of spices filled my nose as I entered the early morning, pre-dawn air. A crowd of people stood in front of us behind a railing waiting for their friends. The noise of traffic, honking, and people talking was incessant. As we walked toward the cars, a woman approached me, hands cupped in front of her, 'Sir, sir, sir, sir..." she kep repeating. I made eye contact with her and shook my head telling her I had nothing to give her. She followed me to the car, "Sir, sir, sir..." When I stopped, she stopped. When I walked, she walked. There was confusion about our cars so we stood waiting, and so did the woman. "Sir, sir, sir..." Finally, an Indian woman with us who met us at the airport asked her to leave. She did. But another woman, a Muslim woman came up, "Sir, sir, sir...please sir..." She was dressed in head to toe in black, and because of her head and facial covering I could only see her eyes. I got into the van in the front seat, window rolled down. She came to the window, "Sir, sir..." Her hands now on the door frame, she reaches in to tap my arm. My eyes are fixed forward. The van starts to ease slowly into traffic and she walks along side still begging. Finally as we pick up speed I am removed from the Muslim woman. Welcome to India.
There is no judgment from me on the two women. They were doing what they do at the airport. I wonder if I have the same persistant spirit in prayer? If God doesn't answer my prayer, do I keep asking? Do I keep walking with Him?

Last night over dinner, we were talking with an Indian Lutheran pastor about how Hindu people come to convert to Christianity. He told us a story. A family came to him with their mother/wife who had been sick for sometime, and the doctor had just told her she only had a few days to live. They had been to mystics, prayed to their gods, and consulted medical professionals, but none had helped. "Pastor, you are our last resort. Will you pray for her? If she gets better, we will start coming to church." So the pastor and the church began praying for the woman...for seven weeks. One day each week people would fast and pray with the woman, in her home, from 10am-4pm. So they prayed daily for seven weeks, and fasted a total of seven days. She lives today, she and her family were baptized, and is active in the congregation in which this pastor serves. We hope to meet her while we are here. The story really has two miracles: the woman's healing and the church's persistant prayer. Would we as a church in America persist or give up? I can't even imagine praying for one person for seven hours, let alone seven days and weeks. Seven minutes, yes, but seven weeks. What a wonderful example of God at work, and of faithfulness and persistance and love for a sick woman and her family. Praise God.

To India

Tomorrow, Eric and I head off to India for a couple weeks of teaching and preaching. We are both excited about heading off half way across the world. I anticipate the experience will be life changing and that God will transform my perspective and heart. I hope this will be true. We pray for safety. I trust that as God guided Abraham safely across the deserts of the middle east safely, as God guided Paul in his missionary journeys, and as many Israelites made yearly pilgrimages to Jerusalem...that God will guide us safely to our final destination in Guntur, India to meet the fine people there, and will guide us safely home on the 21st to greet family and friends once again. Adios.