“God doesn't gratify our instinctive longings. He forgives them, and then changes what we most want.”
–David Powlison, The Therapeutic Gospel
There is a distinct difference between what we humanly crave and what we truly want. It’s funny how we seem to so easily confuse our cravings with our true desires. This holds a particular resonance with me now as I find myself in India with two battling thoughts. The first is my instinctive self-driven longing, “Lord, you must have brought me here to do something great…well, for your Kingdom, of course.” The second thought is far less attractive. Somehow it doesn’t tickle my ears and align with my personal vision the way the first thought does. But it is this second thought I can’t seem to shake—a thought that thrusts me into a discomfort but simultaneously strikes a chord deep within my heart that screams with authenticity—with what I want most. The second thought, directed at me from a loving voice, the voice of one who knows me better than myself says, “Abbie, I brought you to India to die.” A distinct uneasiness, like quickening poison, seeps into my veins at the sound of the word ‘death’. Jesus’ hard truth echoes again, “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it does, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (John 12:24-25).
Upon the awakening of this truth (which didn’t come quickly and still is in the process of reconstructing my mind) I realized what I humanely crave—to do something great for God’s Kingdom— is not what I really want. I no longer crave control, for God to “use me” for selfish gain. No, what I truly want is to die so that He might live in me.
Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies.
Until recently, I had never really thought of personifying the kernel that Jesus talks about. I just thought of it purely in inanimate plant terms. But suddenly, I put myself in the place of that kernel—falling to the ground and dying. Ultimately, being buried—probably in an unappealing heap of animal manure or muddied soil—looming beneath a blackened covering, unable to breathe, motionless with little sign of anything promising happening. When a seed is planted it doesn’t begin to grow immediately. It endures a period of waiting in darkness. Waiting in loneliness. Questioning if anything will come of its future or if it will just remain—an unidentifiable grain in a heap of dirt.
Lately, I’ve felt a bit like that kernel. Due to the heated political situation and the continued threats and persecution against believers in India, the four Americans that are here in Rameswaram (myself included) have been more or less “confined” to the campus for our personal safety. As one week fades in to the next—weeks that often times feel long and dull in nature—I remain inside the four walls of the campus. Walls that are quickly beginning to feel a bit like soil surrounding and burying me with their impeding presence. I’ve questioned God’s purpose in bringing me over the ocean and half-way across the world just to spend most of my hours behind a lap top working on website design or editing the content of a book. Where is the relational activity, the impactful moments of adventurous stories in remote Indian villages? Why would God bring me to India only to have me stay put?
I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it does, it produces many seeds.
God has every right to bring me to India only to have me remain in the same, relatively-confined space. He has every right, because He is God. After weeks of waiting in stillness and after an excessive amount of reflective moments under the stars on the roof of my bedroom, God has slowly and faithfully started to lead me to my death—complete surrender. He is teaching me that His ultimate concern has nothing to do with what I will accomplish here or what adrenaline-filled adventures I will experience. No, His ultimate concern is that I would die. That I would abandon the flesh-driven drive to have some all-significant “purpose” here or a collection of wild stories to take home—desires that center around glorifying me and discard the glory of God in Christ. Desires that are empty in their pursuit of temporal happiness. Desires that forfeit the narrow, difficult road that would bring me deep flourishing and eternal joy.
After weeks of living like a seed stewing in a pile of dirt, I am finally being humbled to see that God is more concerned with using this mundane time of stillness to shape me and make me more like Him. To lead me to my death so that I might truly live. To rewrite the anthem of my heart, to rescript my deepest desires, to show me what it is I truly want.
Instead of striving for a sense of personal significance and meaningfulness, I want to have my faith simplified, deepened and purified. To learn to endure hardship and suffering in hope. To learn to slow down, listen, worship, delight and trust. I want to be a seed that, in my death, produces many seeds. Lord, lead me to my death.
Star how beautiful you shine,
you shine more beautiful than mine.
You shine from sea to shining sea,
world-wide is your strategy.
But shinning star I hope you see—
if the whole wide world is staring straight at you,
they can’t see me.
-Jesus
(from Jason Upton’s Dying Star lyrics)
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Lead me to my death...
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Victorious
I met Jenitta three years ago in India when she took me on a “tour” of Rameswaram. We packed ourselves tightly in a motorized rickshaw, sitting side by side, our knees almost touching and her face smiling while I winced several times as we almost clipped the edge of a tree or a wandering cow sauntering carelessly in the congested road. I don’t remember Jenitta saying more than three or four words that day, and when she did speak, it was in Tamil. Unable to communicate, we exchanged superfluous amounts of smiles and laughter while she pointed out sites of interest around the island. We rarely saw one another after that day other than the moments I caught her worshipping and praying on her cushion of white sand just a short walk away from my room.
When I returned to Rameswaram for the second time just weeks ago, Jenitta’s eyes caught mine during a Sunday church service. In a soft voice filled with familiar gentility, she greeted me in English. In the three years I had been away she had learned an array of vocabulary words and phrases that carried her swiftly through our simple conversation. She welcomed me back with kisses on the cheek and squeezed both of my hands with her own until my fingertips were red from her grip. Though our interactions were few, I had developed a genuine love for this woman and a deepening admiration for her character.
My admiration only grew nights later when she showed up at my room after hearing I was sick. For three hours she hunched over me, skipping her dinner to faithfully stroke my fevered forehead like a mother, her lips continually moving in prayer. As time passed, Jenitta’s daughters moseyed in and joined, all praying out loud at once—their prayers intermingling like strands of a braid. Feeling bathed in love and care, my heart was moved by Jenitta’s relentless prayer for me, a near-stranger.
After conquering my brief sickness, I decided to visit Jenitta’s home to thank her. “Are you sure it’s not too late to barge in?” I asked Tiffany, another American serving here in Rameswaram who is dear friends with Jenitta and her family. “No, no,” Tiffany assures me, “I go over this late almost every night.” Tiffany and I linked arms as we walked barefooted to Jennita’s house, the hems of our saris just barely grazing the rock and sand beneath us. Tiffany pointed one finger forward, “Here we are,” she said, reaching her hand for the thin door. “Here?” I asked in a tone of shocked wonder, “this is Jennita’s house?” Her home was a humble hut no larger than my bedroom. The frame was covered in woven coconut leaves, browned from the heat. The door was a slim sheet of metal, bowed and contorted in areas, leaving a wavy surface in one corner and a flat finish in the other.
We entered the hut, sand spilling on to the concrete floor as we propped the door open. Tiffany explained that the floor used to be entirely sand until just recently when Body of Christ Ministries purchased cement to be poured as a floor covering. One steel bed frame stood alone in the center of the room with three or four pillows stacked on the far side. “Does your mommy sleep here?” I asked Anila, Jennita’s oldest daughter. “No, no…” Anila said quickly, “we sleep on the bed, mommy sleeps on the floor.”
Jennita asked us if we wanted coffee, and before we could say “yes”, she was squatting in the far corner of the hut, throwing a bundle of sticks on to an open flame and preparing coffee with shaved chicory root. Smoke billowed and clouded around her face as she brushed it away, batting the air with her left hand and stirring the coffee in a stainless steel bowl with her right. I looked closely at Jennita’s blackened fingertips, her skin peeling slightly around her nails from constantly cooking over heavy temperatures.
As Jennita swathed in a cocoon of soot and smoke, her four beautiful daughters sat lined against the grass wall nearest to the door, tracing shapes and Tamil letters in the sandy entrance. Each of them told me their names—Anila the oldest, followed by Abila, Daphnaya, and finally little Beulah, the youngest by five years and the only girl with a pixie-short hair cut. Beaulah smiled, her white teeth glowing in the dimly lit room like a row of little stars. “Beaulah’s the imaginative one,” Tiffany told me while laughing. “If you come out here in the afternoon you can watch her playing ‘school’ as she points a stick at the trees, pretending they’re her students.” Beaulah turned her face in embarrassment, giggling into the sleeve of her nightgown. The older girls laughed with her. Beaulah grabbed a tiny piece of chalk between two fingers and started “teaching” us how to write her name by tracing the Tamil letters on the back of their door, using it as a make-shift chalkboard.
“Beaulah,” I asked, “how did you get your name?” The older girls immediately chimed in without prompting. “Her full name is Beaulah Praise the Lord,” Abila told me. “God gave mommy her name from Isaiah 62.” Jennita walked over to finish the story, carefully holding the rims of two steaming cups of black coffee. Pulling up the hem of her nightgown slightly, Jennita cozied herself up against the back of Anila, her hand lovingly rested on Anila’s leg. “Having so many girls in India is seen as a curse,” she told me slowly, her daughters filling in any English words she stumbled on. Jenitta continued to explain that in South India, the second baby girl born is called “the daughter born to the grave”, because it is widely believed a daughter is better off dead than born to a poor family who cannot afford a dowry for her marriage. A third daughter born is an even greater travesty, and a fourth is the curse beyond all curses. “When I had my fourth daughter, everyone told me that the gods hated me and that our family was cursed,” Jenitta recalled with a tone of anguish. “My husband was an alcoholic and the entire village blamed his drinking problems on me having four female children. But I knew that Jesus loved my baby and He gave her to me for a reason. So, I named her Beaulah from Isaiah 62:4.” Tiffany pulled a Bible on her lap and began reading, “The nations will see your righteousness, and all kings your glory; you will be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will bestow. You will be a crown of splendor in the Lord's hand, a royal diadem in the hand of your God. No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called ‘The City of God’s Delight’ and your land ‘Beulah’; for the Lord will take delight in you…as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you”. Little Beaulah’s smile beamed as she looked at her mom and repeated, “Isaiah 62:4.” It was obvious she was proud of her name and story.
Moved by Jenitta’s faith, I asked her, “When did you come to know Jesus?” She gripped Anila’s leg, “When I was pregnant with my first baby, I gave my life to Christ. When I was pregnant with my second baby, I was baptized.”
“And what about your husband?” I asked, “Did he ever know the Lord?”
“My husband did not know Jesus,” she tells me. Jenitta went on to share her full story.
Jenitta’s husband, Nelson, a native Sri Lankan, was from a Hindu background. Just before their marriage, he converted to Roman Catholicism, the majority religion of her family, though he never truly followed one or the other. Soon after their wedding, Jenitta and Nelson moved in to a tiny hut on the backside of Jenitta’s parent’s house in a town just miles from Rameswaram. There, Nelson developed an excessive drinking habit and started severely beating Jenitta.
Years into her marriage, Jenitta became seriously ill and couldn’t leave her bed. She developed a lump on her chest and eventually visited a government hospital where she received free treatment, since they had no money to afford regular medical treatment. The doctor told her the lump was most likely cancer and had to be removed immediately. With no money to her name and a husband who spent all of their family funds on alcohol, Jenitta was answerless. One night after Jenitta’s husband slugged the side of her head, leaving her unconscious. Abila and Anila, the oldest of her girls remember thinking she was dead. Motionless on the floor, Jenitta distinctly remembers a vision she had, like she was dreaming. Before her, she saw a tangled forest, black with looming darkness that she was entering by foot. Filled with fear, she walked into the mangled assemblage of trees, moving deeper into the caliginous void. As she reluctantly inched into the darkened woods, she remembers hearing a loud but gentle voice saying, “You are not the only one going in to the forest. I am going with you.” Jenitta knew it was Jesus speaking to her. Perplexed, she asked back, “But once I go in, how do I return?” Jenitta thought maybe she was crossing the threshold of life and death. Just as she asked Jesus her question, she saw an image of Jesus’ giant hand shining with brilliance picking her up and placing her into the center of His effulgent palm. With one swoop of motion, Jesus removed her trembling body from the ominous forest, placing her in an area saturated in light and the presence of His comfort and blessing. It was this vision that gave Jenitta a new wave of strength and vigor to survive.
In the midst of her breast cancer, with the inability to access treatment, Jenitta stayed at home, resting and filling herself with God’s word. She watched a series of filmed lessons from a nearby Bible college, the International School of Ministry through Body of Christ Ministries in Rameswaram. One of the lessons was on the healing ministry of Jesus. Deeply moved by the words spoken, Jenitta prayed for Jesus’ healing touch on her cancer until she fell asleep. The next morning, she stood up and ran her hand over the area of pain on her chest. All of the painful pressure—and the lump itself—had disappeared! After this full healing experience, Jenitta traveled to Rameswaram to attend the Bible college and share her miraculous story, hungry to gain more knowledge and teaching on God’s word. Jenitta found a new outlet in ministry and began ministering by foot in Rameswaram during the day and attending Bible college in the evenings.
Two years later, Jenitta celebrated her graduation from Bible college. Her celebration was short-lived as it was followed with her husband becoming increasingly ill. Every night his condition worsened. Jenitta began praying over her husband while he slept. She saw a vision of an expansive mountain with a white cross in the foreground reading her husband’s name “Nelson Kumar”. Jenitta pieced the vision together. The only large mountain nearby was four hours away in Madurai, the same place where the closest hospital was. She knew in her heart her husband was dying. She prayed with desperation the same prayer Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, “My father, if it is your will let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine” (Matthew 26:39).
Jenitta faithfully brought her husband to Madurai to be hospitalized. After finding out he was suffering from liver failure due to his massive drinking habits, Jenitta prayed that God would be gracious. She asked the Lord to give her husband forty more days to live so that he would have the opportunity to give his heart to Jesus. After thirty-nine days of vigorous intercession, Jenitta’s husband prayed to receive Christ. The very next day, Nelson passed away. Jenitta recalls looking him in the eyes just before he died, his last words muttered emphatically were, “There is victory in the blood of Jesus!” Moments later, Nelson took his last breath. Before his death, Jenitta’s husband promised that if the Lord kept him alive, he would go in to full-time ministry with his wife. God had been faithful to Jenitta’s request of graciously giving her husband more time on earth, but His ultimate will didn’t include Nelson Kumar living. With full assurance in God’s will and four girls to provide for on her own, Jenitta kept moving forward.
After Nelson’s death, the entire extended family wanted to bury his body in a Roman Catholic graveyard. Part of the Roman Catholic tradition in South India is for the widowed wife to grieve, without leaving her home, for two full years. Knowing this extended time of mourning would compromise her ministry, and having a heart to see her husband buried in the Body of Christ Church she was attending in Rameswaram, Jenitta prayed fervently that her relatives would agree to Nelson’s burial in Rameswaram. The relatives agreed, but reluctantly, to Jenitta’s burial desires. After agreeing, Jenitta’s parents told her she had to transport her husband for his burial and that since he was gone, they no longer wanted her living near them. To have an unmarried daughter with four children to support was an immeasurable burden. Jenitta was asked to leave immediately.
Homeless, Jenitta, by faith, took her girls and her husband’s dead body by taxi along the four hour drive to Rameswaram, his head resting on her shoulder the entire way. There, she buried her husband near the Body of Christ church. Sarojam Paulose, “Pastor Amma”, heard of Jenitta’s desperate situation and was moved by her dire need.
“We want to build a home for you on the Body of Christ campus,” Amma told Jenitta. Jenitta was driven to tears. In overflowing thankfulness she heard Jesus’ voice quietly promise, “I care for my children. I will take care of you.”
At thirty six, Jenitta’s new life was beginning. But, as a widow with four girls in India, she felt hopelessness creeping in quickly. Thoughts began bombarding her mind—what would she do for a living, how would she support her girls, where would money come from? Just as questions were pelting her conscience, Mandri, a man working in the Body of Christ Ministries’ office, visited Jenitta’s small, thatched hut. With simplicity, he pointedly instructed her, “You have two choices. You can do nothing, or you can do something.” Moved by these direct words, Jenitta began ruminating the question through prayer, deciding she wanted to continue in the ministry and have faith that God would provide her every need if she was obedient.
Jenitta’s prayer for provision was met abundantly—with no money to pay for her daughter’s education, she waited for a miracle. Little by little, sums of money began appearing at her doorstep. Here and there people were giving financially until the exact amount was provided for schooling. God began moving the local church Believers’ hearts to give, and enough money arrived for a whole year of education for all four of Jenitta’s daughters. Ever since that first year of provision, God has continued—by one way or another—to take care of Jenitta and her family.
My glass of coffee long finished and my eyes wearied with tears, I listened to the miraculous ending of Jenitta’s story. Jenitta slowly rose from the sandy floor, gently removing her arm from Anila’s leg. Beaulah had long since fallen asleep, her body sprawled over sand and concrete. Abila and Daphnaya sat head to head, smiling as if their mother’s story was just told for the very first time. Jenitta lifted the tin coffee cup from my hand and stacked it carefully inside Tiffany’s. Carrying them to the corner kitchen area, she told us over her shoulder that Romans 8: 35-37 has been the theme of her life. “Can anything ever separate us from the love of Christ?” I opened my Bible and began to read, “Does it mean He no longer loves us if we have calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or threatened with death? No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us.”
I re-read the verse in my head several times over. Minutes later, Tiffany stood up, hugging each of the girls goodnight. Jenitta walked us through the thin metal door, our heads ducked slightly as we passed under the drooping dried coconut leaves hanging like icicles from the roof. Reaching her hands for mine, Jenitta gave my palms a final squeeze. I squeezed her fingers right back.
Tiffany and I waved at the girls huddled in the doorway until we were out of sight, then a short distance down the trail we split—Tiffany broke off at her doorstep as I walked, exhausted to my room. Tired as I was, I imagined Jenitta was still awake—probably huddled on a bank of sand somewhere outside her home, her hands clasped in a gesture of thankful prayer.
Friday, September 5, 2008
A Painful Priviledge
There is so much the girls laugh about here—from the catching of peculiar reptiles or insects to the funny way we look as foreigners trying to mimic their Indian cultural dances. From the peaking of sunrise to the moment I say my goodnights, it seems like smiles are almost permanent. But this year I feel like I have unlocked a world of insight behind each grin that I never before noticed during my first stay in India in the “Glorious Children’s Home.”
Considering the circumstances, the facility is most definitely glorious. In contrast to living on the streets, the girls receive the highest care, a quality education, ample meals, and a personal cubby to store all of their little trinkets and the things most valuable in the world to them. But for most—the absence of the most valuable thing, a family, makes living here fall very short of glorious. Though you’d never know it at first glance.
My first “awakening” occurred after daily hearing the girls quiz me on their names. Long after learning their names, they are still repeatedly asking me, “What is my name, Abbie Auntie? What is my name?” They are fully aware than I can recall their names, but somewhere embedded within each one of them is a stirring desire to be known. Hearing their name spoken over them is a glittering sign of their identity and worth. So they continue to pelt me with the question, “What is my name?” I can only imagine with forty-something girls and only two wardens that names being affectionately spoken or lovingly called is a rarity.
Two wardens is hardly a sufficient number of individuals to pour out the love, attention, counsel and care these girls need. In one sense, their situation is worlds better than the alternative of a street life, a life of prostitution, or a life of begging. In another sense, being raised in an institution—regardless of the quality—is not comparable to God’s ultimate plan: living life with a family. To have a mother and father instead of being raised by throngs of competitive peers. To have a special seat at the dinner table instead of a patch of cement floor to sit on while eating repetitive meals cooked for masses. To have a corner of the room to place your shoes or school bag instead of a three-by-three cubby that fits only the bare necessities.
And what happens when these girls grow too old to live here in the “Glorious Children’s Home” any longer? When, after years, they “age out” and have to move on? My heart is overwhelmingly burdened by the absence of options they have to move on to. There is of course, for some, the hope of marriage. But who has raised these girls to be Godly women, loving wives, and caring mothers? When motherhood is a foreign concept, why would they desire it for their own life? Two evenings ago I asked Pravina, a ten-year-old, if she wanted a family some day. Her head shook drastically as she puckered her face with a look of disgust. It seemed, to her, “mother” was the last thing she desired to be. I don’t blame her. Why would Pravina aim to be a mother when she has never experienced a truly loving touch, cradled hold, or gentle “goodnight” mother whispers in her ears before bed? I watched as Pravina’s eyes pooled with tears—a reaction she quickly buried behind a wall of exterior toughness as she grabbed a stack of my photos to divert her attention. Her internal pain was so obviously overwhelming; she had to convince herself not to feel at all. I tried to hug her, but she wouldn’t hug back. I wrapped my arms around her waistline even tighter, but her arms remained stiff at her sides—her eyes glancing up and away from me.
When Pravina left my room, I buried my face in the long scarf around my neck. I wanted to run after Pravina, but I couldn’t think of a word to say to her. How do you explain hope to an orphan? How do explain the comforting love of a Heavenly father when the reality of a father is void? I was left in my room with insurmountable pain. I couldn’t even think of a single word to pray. I wanted to cry out, but I was speechless. Overburdened. Emotionally collapsed.
My mind began to revert to the words of Kay Warren, an adoption advocate, who so beautifully stated that we have to stop questioning what is so wrong with the world and start questioning, “God, what is so wrong with me? What is so wrong with me that I am not seriously disturbed by what I see?” We must be, she says, “seriously disturbed and gloriously ruined.”
When we shed our apathy, our ignorance, our desire to remain naïve to prevent inevitable pain from ensuing, we begin to see and experience the very pain that Jesus himself is burdened by. Jesus who told us in the familiar passage in Mark 8 that, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” Jesus left Heaven to die on a cross because He was so hurt and disturbed by our pain and our lack of hope. And if we truly love Him, we would do the same. You cannot take up your cross unless you are willing to die on it. If we really belong to the Lord, we will pay whatever price it costs. We will be willing to be gloriously ruined for the Kingdom. We will be seriously disturbed by the cry of the orphan. Disturbed by the very things that disturb Jesus. We will be weary unless we “speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute” (Prov. 31:8).
How do we find ourselves gloriously ruined? How do we advocate for children half-a-world and an ocean away from us? Bono of U2 recently spoke on the absence of international boundaries the church must have. He said, “We cannot ignore the needs of our brothers and sisters overseas—not if we are Christians.” The next orphan we encounter may be in India or Malawi, Russia or China. The next orphan also might be just miles—or steps away. With 143 million orphans in the world this very moment, the sheer thought is overwhelming. The issue is vast; the problem is a tremendously large. But we can start with ceasing to ignore what disturbs us most. We can face what burdens us and start with surrender—asking the God who is shares our pain to let us be a part of His story of hope. Even when hope is so small it seems like a dimly lit half-flame fighting to stay alive. A process that, no doubt, is painful, but as a friend of mine so poignantly put it, “a painful privilege.”
Monday, September 1, 2008
Keep praying.
After two flights and a four hour train ride with girls giggling at my attempts to speak Tamil the entire way, I safely arrived in Rameswaram—an island off of the southernmost tip of India resting between the Tamil Nadu coast and Sri Lanka. During the last half-an-hour of the train ride, I gripped the steel bar covering the window and stared with increasing excitement; the familiar landscape emerging from nighttime darkness. Soon the train was suspended over an endless body of water—an eerie sight in the dark—and I knew I was nearing Rameswaram Island, my home for the next five months.
As the train station approached, I looked out of a window on the right side to see the construction of the Training Center nearing completion. The Training Center is a building that Body of Christ ministries has been building for the last ten years. When finished, it will seat 20, 000 people and be utilized as a church, conference center, Bible college and educational facility, among other things. When I was here three years ago, the building looked like cement mass beginning to take form beneath masses of bamboo scaffolding. Now it is painted white and just months away from completion. So much has changed.
The first five nights in Rameswaram, I stayed at the home of Moses and Sarojam Paulose, the founders of Body of Christ Ministries, and some of the most gentle, humble and sincere believers I have ever met. Their house was brimming with people—most of their children (and their husbands and wives) live with them, along with several grandchildren (one who is due in one week!)
As I walked in to the room I would be sleeping in, I was greeted by a cockroach running between my feet. The first reminder that, from now on, I will be living a more “authentic” Indian lifestyle compared to the surreal set-up I had in Kolkata. Instead of a washer, I will use a bucket, soap powder, and a stone to wash my clothes. I will trade in silverware to eat with my right hand. My bed will be replaced by a thin straw mat. No more toilet paper, and no more western-style toilets. The last time I was in India, these were hurdles that took weeks to get over. This time around, I sigh with a bit of relief. There is something so purifying about living a simplified life. I’ve found that in taking away all of the subtle conveniences and little luxuries I have become so accustomed to as things that I “need”, suddenly my authentic and true needs arise from within—and my need and hunger for Jesus begins to increase and deepen.
Every night I was at the Paulose’s home, we gathered at 7pm for a family prayer time. The evening I arrived, I just watched as the entire family prayed with such obvious yearning and desire for God to show up in their city, in their country, in their lives. Recently, India is facing a number of frightful circumstances. From the flooding in Bihar with a death count that is growing daily and more than 200,000 people left homeless, to the violent attacks and killings of Christian believers in Orissa, there is so much to cover in prayer. I watched as the Pauloses wept on their knees for the faces of people they had never met. I listened as they cried out loud—all at once—for God to show up in the midst of destruction, for Him to protect in the atmosphere of fear, for Him to have His way even if it doesn’t make sense right now. Israel Paulose, the second oldest son, interrupted our prayer to show us a passage about the persecution of the early church in Acts 8 that parallels the current situation of persecution in Orissa:
“And there arose in that day a great persecution against the church in Jerusalem, and they were scattered throughout the regions…Now those who were scattered went about preaching the word. Philip went down to the city of Samaria and proclaimed to them the Christ. And crowds with one accord paid attention to what was being said by Philip when they heard him and saw the signs that he did. For unclean spirits came out of many who were possessed, crying with a loud voice, and many who were paralyzed or lame were healed. So there was much joy in that city” (Acts 8:1-8).
I sat there thinking of the wonders that God could produce from the seemingly endless volatile situation in Orissa. Though thousands are being displaced in that state, they are moving to new areas to share the wonders of God’s love with whoever they are surrounded by. And now, they really have a story to tell. My faith began to grow as God gave me new eyes to see that He is great enough to produce something beautiful out of this disastrous situation. We continued to pray for Orissa late into the night.
On Saturday, the church gathered at the Training Center in Rameswaram to continue fasting and praying for Orissa. My heart is so moved by the unity of the body of Christ I have seen here in India. Christian schools across the nation were all closed down on Friday in protest of what is happening to their brothers and sisters in Orissa. The whole country is crying out to God on behalf of Orissa, and frightening as the situation is, it’s an incredible thing to see the believers operating as a body in this way.
Below, I have added an email that I sent home to the US director of Body of Christ Ministries. It’s an update on the tragic happenings in India as well as stories that are praiseworthy. I hope you have a moment to look over it and continue to pray for the nation of India:
Dear faithful friends and supporters of Body of Christ Ministries,
Across India, a great number of tragedies have occurred in the past two weeks, leaving a wake of devastation and an increasing need for prayer and intercession on behalf of this nation.
The calamity and chaos resulting from the recent massive floods in Bihar, India continue, as hundreds of thousands of people are left homeless and hungry. Officials claim that this is the worst travesty to hit the state of Bihar in over fifty years. Since the monsoon season began, over 1,000 people have been killed in South Asia—675 of them in Bihar. And the numbers are daily rising. Continued bad weather is hampering rescuing efforts from taking place and masses of people are left homeless, penniless, and hopeless. Picture families trapped and marooned in their water-soaked villages just waiting for a boat to rescue them, unsure of how long they will be left without aid. Imagine frantic villagers attempting to wade through waters as they hold on to the tails of their cattle and the few belongings they still have resting on top of their heads. Think of family members separated, homes lost forever, loved ones missing or dead. All of these pictures are striking realities in Bihar this very moment. Please uplift the state of Bihar in your prayers. Pray for divine protection from continuing floods, pray for the immediate needs of those stranded and homeless to be met, pray for intervention and relief work to come quickly to the aid of the hopeless.
Residents of Bihar are not the only ones amidst terrifying conditions. The Christian believers across the state of Orissa are also facing frightening attacks from Hindu radicals who have blamed the death of Hindu leader Swami Laxmanda Saraswatialong on the Christian population. Although these allegations are false, the Hindu BJP party (Bharathiya Janatha Party) continues to strike against the Christian community across Orissa. Currently the death toll has risen to forty believers, a number that is quickly rising as the aggression continues. Radicals armed with firearms, machetes, wooden clubs and other tools of violence are literally trapping Christians in their very villages to rape, beat and murder—a volatile situation that the Orissa state government is failing to control. In the past week, 800 churches have been burnt to the ground and 1,500 homes of Christian believers have been destroyed. Thousands of Christians, including a number of children and pregnant women, have fled into hiding in nearby jungles without provision of food or water. A great worry is that continued violence will begin to flare up in other BJP ruled states in reaction to the situation in Orissa.
In reaction to Orissa’s tragedies, the nation-wide church in India is uniting in support of their brothers and sisters in danger. Last Friday, Christian schools and colleges, including King of Kings Matriculation School here in Rameswaram, were closed in response to the current violence and attacks. The body of Christ here in Rameswaram is daily crying out to the Lord on behalf of those in Orissa. National Christian leaders are also organizing a indefinite fast beginning on September 6th that will culminate into a mass rally reaching the Parliamentary street in New Dehli in attempts to raise awareness to the dire need for Orissa’s government to control the current situation and begin to provide security for Christian believers.
The body of Christ is limitless in its geographical boundaries, and we greatly need the prayer support of other believers worldwide during this tragic time. As you are praying for Bihar and Orissa, pray that God’s will would be done here in India as it is in Heaven. God’s thoughts and ways are much higher than our own, and whether or not immediate relief comes, He is still God. Above all, pray that our great God would use this situation to bring glory to His name, to expand his kingdom, and to turn something wretched and ugly into something beautiful and praiseworthy. He alone can exchange beauty for ashes, and a garment of praise for a spirit of despair (Isaiah 61).
It’s amazing to watch how even in the midst of areas of tragedy or opposition, God provides a way for His message of love to be communicated. Two weeks ago, a team was sent out from Rameswaram to travel to Bihar and other areas of North India on an outreach trip. The trip proved to be extremely fruitful as God provided connections, opportunities and specific ways to share His gospel with many people in the northern areas. God’s presence was especially close at a market just days ago where the team was passing out New Testaments and tracts with a response of immense interest and curiosity from the people surrounding them. Local police observed the “successes” of the team and followed them back to their place of lodging that evening to tell them to “leave the area immediately.” Just as the team was packing their bags to move out, members of a Hindu radical party approached them with severe accusations and threats. “Have you heard about what is happening to Christians in Orissa?” they taunted, “if you don’t leave, the same will happen to you.” The team left abruptly in response to the opposition and fled to alternate lodging seven hours away to spend the night. They are now on a train back to Rameswaram. Even though their trip was cut short, each team member’s heart is filled with a new measure of faith and excitement for the ways God is beginning to move in north India. Tiffany, an elated team member from Bandon, Oregon, said, “I was thrilled to face the opposition…it means that things are beginning to happen. My faith has increased so much because of this experience.” Another team member from Rameswaram, Johnson, stated that, “The opposition is growing my heart for prayer. I have a new burden on my heart for the Hindus that are against us that I never had before.”
Please pray for more opportunities to share the lavish love of our great God with people across the nation of India. Pray for more victories like the team from Rameswaram just had. Pray for increased faith and joy for believers in the midst of trial. Pray that the church would reflect the ways of the early church who, in the face of persecution, scattered due to the opposition. Even though they were spread amongst many regions, the early church “went about preaching the word wherever they were” (Acts 8). Pray that God would turn this scattering of his people in India due to trial into an opportunity for even greater ministry.
Thank you for your continued prayers. Our God is awesome and mighty to save.
Psalm 60:5 “That your beloved ones may be delivered, give salvation by your right hand and answer us!”