We had a wonderful trip to Salai, Khandwa. We left on Friday night and reached Khandwa on Saturday morning. Sevak was there to receive us and we hired a car and left for the village. The roads are still bad and so the 25km journey took more than an hour to reach. The weather was extremely chilly. The train journey was difficult due to the extreme cold weather.

We were received warmly at Salai by Sevak’s family and neighbors. After a shower, we left to visit the nearby villages. We had a prayer fellowship at village Kesur – got a video with George preaching there. After that we went to other village, Debri and visited some houses where George prayed with the families. As the afternoon progressed the heat increased and we were very tired and returned back to Salai (we could not visit one village). We interacted with the Salai ladies and children who came in visiting us. The
Hindu religious group who had come to know of our visit beforehand had arranged their own program for the 8th evening and they took out a procession, singing to their Gods and moved around the village – to ensure that we do not have a get-together. We decided to sit in and meet with the women who came in and the children. The night was extremely cold too. 9th – Sunday – we had a wonderful church service near Sevak’s home. Some people attended – there were children, women and some men. Of course it was not like the 3 day meeting – because then we had a stage and lights and all the works. This was a church service which we have started and Sevak will continue every Sunday morning at 9:30am. After the church service, we distributed clothes to the children and sarees to the women. They were so very happy. The children immediately went home and changed in their new outfits and came over to show it to us. We had lunch with Sevak’s family and then around 3:30pm we left for Sevak’s wife, Maya’s hometown. It is on the other end of Khandwa. We had to journey to Khandwa and then journey further down around one and half hour. We met with her parents, brothers and sister-in-laws, neighbors etc and had a wonderful time of praying and fellowshipping.

Our return train was at 9:45pm on Sunday. We arrived at the station to find that the train was late by 8hrs. This was the 2nd time it was happening to us. The last time the train was late by 6hrs and this time the train was late by a full 11hours – because the train came in only the next morning at 9am. We reached back to Mumbai only on Monday evening 6.30pm. (that of course has put an end to my visits to Salai – I can’t possibly be bunking Monday mornings!). But it was so wonderful to be there
and meet with the people and pray with them and talk to them, especially the children.

I am going to attach photographs and videos of our trip and I do hope you will enjoy it as much as we did.

Continue praying for this village that God would work wonderfully and the people would truly accept Jesus as their saviour. There are lots of opposition, both the times we faced the opposition from the Hindu groups! Just continue to lift us up and also Sevak and his family as they continue to serve the people and preach the Word.

With much love,
Salomi

As I sit here at the Illy coffee shop in the Frankfurt airport, sipping a cappuccino Viennese, munching on a muffin, I feel a bit like a voyager returned from a far place. Even though I’m still a very long flight from my true home, Germany appears to be in the same zip code. Being back in the West has its own, particular and profound beauties. Bold, bittersweet coffee to name one! Behind me lies an exotic wilderness, “the dark side of the moon” still seems appropriate. India thrills, and devastates, an enigma of paradoxes, an awful irony full of both loveliness and horror, darkness and light. There the brightness of our Christ shines gloriously, set against the backdrop of false gods by the millions, some living and some dead. Evil stirs fears of these dreadful gods who are angry, incessantly angry.

And then there is the stunning glory of Jesus Christ, Prince of Peace, whose perfect love and unceasing mercies cast out fear. (Are you fearful? Be still! Know.)

The West has been lulled into a thousand shades of gray, the Light muted by the dusk. Must it be sunset in the West? Can we yet put our shoulders to the wheel and turn the world around, reversing the end and beginning again? That remains to be seen. If the West is a ship going down into the abyss of godlessness, no less godless than the Eastern idol-worshipers we strive to love and encourage Christward, I must go down with the ship. The West is my ever-so-temporary home, though India has stolen great, bleeding chunks of my heart. It is good to be home. It will be better by far to finally be Home. Home with the family, East and West one, finally and irrevocably one.

Bring me that horizon….

One of the great highlights of this journey out of Bombay came in very human form. He’s my carpenter. We met in his home at his village on our last visit. He was very hospitable and became quite animated when told I would speak of a Bible character named Zaccheus. He chattered away to his children, his extended family, his friends and neighbors gathered there. Apparently Zaccheus was not a new character to him, and he was delighted to be able to tell his family the story. It was such a joy to be reunited with him for only a short while. We hugged upon meeting, and during the formal gathering of the people I managed to work him into my talk. He beamed and nodded his appreciation with great vigor. His son spoke with me afterwards, and in halting English asked prayer for their upcoming trip to Goa for a work assignment. 200 or so kilometers isn’t all that big a deal, unless your mode of transportation is bicycle, in a country where bike paths are also freeways. Gladly I prayed. Just a while longer and time was spent. The people lined up to receive prayer, while George and the team sat in the car, engine idling. Onward they came, a dozen, then a second dozen. My back ached from placing hands on heads and praying these priceless souls to glory. As I finally ended, Geeni having been sent to fetch the errant, barefooted pastor, I looked up and there was my friend the carpenter. We embraced one last time. It might have been awkward in another place, another time, but we are here, and the moments are precious. We clung to each other as the brothers we are, knowing that many miles, many days will separate us until we meet again.

Farewell, my carpenter. Fare very, very well.

There is another Carpenter in my life. He has driven me lo these many miles, to a mysterious outpost, by the simplest of invitations: “Follow me.” No maps, no itinerary, no promise of success or safety or comfort. Just a clear, clarion call. Have you heard Him? And what is your answer?
The fields are ripe for harvest.
The Carpenter beckons.
The Great Adventure awaits.

Calling the children by name – Geeni, Priti, Joshua, Navin, Rani, Priya, Yeshu – each was urged to live in the light of God’s everlasting, immutable Word. What on earth were children as young as ten doing in a meeting like this? Perhaps there is something to be said for the poverty of no iPods, Playstations, PCs, and the non-stop drivel which drenches our souls otherwise known as television.

These children, and their parents, knew that this would be the final meeting between us on this particular journey. They hung around for chai tea afterwards, although Joshua refused – no sugar! Little Yeshu’s dark, bright face puckered up like he had been force-fed succulent lemons. (“Dark, bright face”? It’s an Indian thing – two contradictory opinions held constantly and simultaneously in precarious balance.)

What a joy to the heart! The clock ticks inexorably on, and its relentless beating brings submission to us all. This last time must end, and so it does. George, Sonia and I shod our feet and trudge out, away. Two children will not say farewell, but follow like I am some grand Pied Piper, touching their elder brother’s heart in a deep place. Priya, my little heroine of the train, trails in her perpetually bemused state, knowing that she has won me over, a victor with her spoils. Yeshu, a breathing reminder of my own miniature childhood – tiny even among the tiny – stubbornly presses his small mass through the parade of men, women, children, goats, chickens, dogs, bicycles, motorcycles, all hurriedly going nowhere, and everywhere. We get only a block and I feel his hand press into mine. A ten-year-old American boy would die a thousand deaths! But this is India, and it is not unusual for the best of male friends, even adult men, to walk hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm. This? This is an honor, a tribute, a gift. Gladly we marched, heads left and right scanning our hands, then up at me and down at him, large on small, elder on younger, light on dark – it amuses, amazes, betrays. You see, this is fellowship, a sweet and innocent, nonchalant harmony of hearts tender for one another. Celebrate.

Hebrews 10:25
25 Let us encourage one another–and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

Beneath that is the confessing of a horrible reality -we have sinned mightily in the eyes of an infinitely holy, pure, just God. Whether clearly observable or stealthily, we have definitely sinned. And there is even more understanding that is right on the money – we can’t atone for ourselves. Someone, something must pay the price. This is the visceral, guttural, ultimate truth. From the most savage ancients, to Israel, to the Greek and Roman pantheon, to the Aztecs and the Muslims, this we share in agreement. Yes, I said “we.” Orthodox, historical Christianity believes. Yes, we have sinned against a holy, righteous God. Yes, God must punish sin to perpetuate a just order in His world. Yes, we are wholly unable to atone for ourselves. It is here we diverge. Christians don’t rely on the blood of goats! There is One who has forevermore atoned for us, once for all, the Righteous for the unrighteous!

Hebrews 9:11-12 (NIV) 11 When Christ came as high priest of the good things that are already here, he went through the greater and more perfect tabernacle that is not man-made, that is to say, not a part of this creation. 12 He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, having obtained eternal redemption.

The words of the well-worn old standard captures this great good news, this gospel, quite eloquently:

There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Emmanuel’s veins.
And sinners plunged beneath that flood, lose all their guilty stains.
Selah

The first obstacle to tackle: transportation. George’s car is still in the shop, having broken down with a load of MCCers’ last week. The trickle-down effect has been felt. We’ve rented vehicles by the seeming score, like an unending series of test drives. On this day the chariot of choice was the ubiquitous mosquito breed known as the auto-rickshaw. Mighty in number if not horsepower, away we went. An hour’s drive swept by and we arrived at increasingly familiar territory. Away we go. Home-after-home passes under our feet. A drink in every station, a small but fully-felt hospitality of chai tea, Mangilo (a mango-based soda), juices, cola, and even the occasional Fanta orange – a welcome, recognizable old friend. A few had made home-made treats, one a late afternoon, pre-planned, well done, full and traditional meal of mutton, rice and chapatti. This latter feast was from the hand of a wonderful woman who has been with the Dahisar church from its beginning, one of its founders. It was through her good word that the budding ministry in Virar has begun as well. This Christian Lady, this slight, aging apostle, has raised all four of her children to adulthood, and not just to maturity of body and mind, but each also follows Christ. In most homes we enter our Lord Jesus remains one among many gods and gurus. I’m rather tired of seeing the adhesive stickers featuring a gentleman who for all the world looks like professional wrestler Hulk Hogan, complete with white bandana streaming around his (I suspect) balding noggin. For all I know, it may be the Hulkster himself! Nonetheless, it is a joy to walk into a home unspoiled by superstition, false priests and prophets, lifeless idols and tiny, doll-house temples for wood and stone. We come in the name of the Risen One, the living God, the One who offers mercies new, fresh every morning, not these imaginary gods who must be angry, eaten up with a child’s volatile, vengeful, vindictive, violent, whimsical temper. Bless you, good woman! May your tribe increase, and your renown grow on earth, as it is in heaven. As we depart, a gift is offered. To me?! Wrapped as neatly as any package under your tree on Christmas morn, there it is. Offered with joy and anticipation from the hand of her youngest son, a strapping, beautiful 28-year-old praying for a Christian wife. Receiving gifts is not my forte, as my bride would affirm! However, here it is, a delightfully supple, aromatic leather, rich and strong. Not just a wallet. A work of art. Thank you! Thank you! You are so kind! Too, too kind! The Lord bless you and keep you, now and always!

Such generosities are not unusual in this culture with cancerous poverty. We visited a little entrepreneurial enterprise – home on the bottom and bustling machines buzzing away above our heads. Mound upon mound of cloth, being hemmed and packed in huge bundles for wholesale. Twelve employees! Twelve life-giving jobs to offer! What a magnificent enterprise! Here, too, the offer of a package of fine kerchiefs, in a place where a mop worthy of the face is not only finery, but necessity! And a grandmother’s sweet gray hair glowed and face shone as she offered us each a stainless steel platter. Where she found the means I know not. Precious gifts? To be sure. To be sure. But not nearly the value which resides in these priceless souls of His. Amidst the madness and the chaos, here lies generous glory.

The day could not be completed. 70 homes was simply a bridge too far, the longest day not quite long enough. This trek is managed by two dedicated days per week, rotating the servant women of Hope in the Desert, Soubhagya, Sonia, and Mariya. Godspeed, ladies. Like every day, it must end in its own unique challenge. Has not Jesus warned?

Matthew 6:34 (NIV)
34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

This day’s challenge was the ride home. The mighty insect, the rickshaw, was re-entered. Drive time. An hour’s commute. Open front and sides. Four bodies in a hall closet. Heat, sweltering heat, becomes a lesser evil. Massive trucks and buses fly by left and right, ready to be reached out and touched by the same motion you would take to pick up your morning coffee cup from your desk. No real fears, for some very mysterious reason. Are not our lives in His hands? Jackson stood as a Stonewall because of this simple, profound morsel of faith. The dust is choking, but the coup de grace is exhaust. Not exhaustion, exhaust. In a text home I confessed that I sucked in enough exhaust to personally end global warming! Large exhausts, small exhausts, a sea of exhausts. The wonder here is not that people are sick, but that any are well.

Day finally ends. Another Mangilo, cool and wet, a shower, a few minutes delight with Noella and Geeni – as they explore the new glories of Facebook. A moment to rest while George is away on errand. An hour, more, later and I hear a voice, “Pastor Wayne! Pastor Wayne! You eat now? It is hot.” George has returned. I have not. The land of rest beckons. Dinner is trumped. Sleep….

Or, am I wrong? Would we also make our own, more elaborate versions of monkey gods? The more I thought – a nice distraction from dodging an assortment of cars, auto-rickshaws, bicycles, motorcycles, trucks, hand-drawn, cow-drawn and ox-drawn carts, adults, children, cows, dogs, pigs, donkeys, the occasional elephant, rubbish, and a hundred potential calamities per minute – it occurred to me that we may be guilty of even greater, though infinitely more subtle, heresies. Don’t I sometimes treat God as if I were the master and He the servant? Don’t I wish mightily that He might be strung along to follow me in servitude wherever I choose to go, collared and leashed appropriately lest He wander away, or worse yet, go running off in directions I never planned? And don’t I sometimes (often?!) treat God as if He is there to perform for my benefit, my beck and call? I believe it was Chesterton who rightly observed, “God made man in His own image, and man has returned the favor.” Perhaps, possibly, probably I, too, have created my own version of monkey gods. Heal me! Protect me! Give me! Bless me! Excuse me! Fill me! Dance for me! Entertain me! Serve me! Obey me! What a silly little man I can be, playing at faith by creating my own little idolatrous religion, my own, personal monkey gods. Lord have mercy.

Romans 1:22-23 (NIV)
22 Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools 23 and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles.

The day began with no breakfast. That would be gathered at a roadside café on the way back to Dahisar. But before that blessed beginning, we mounted a pair of auto-rickshaws for the 40-minute ride. Usually these little three-wheeled mosquitoes buzz around for shorter treks, a few blocks, perhaps as many as five kilometers. Not so this time! Kim, eat your heart out! No photo op here, but a real, sure ‘nuff roller coaster ride among the goliaths of cars, trucks, carts and, indelibly, a pachyderm! Head on, face-to-face, here he (she?!) comes. This would be startling enough in a Ram Heavy Duty truck! Here we come, with a thin layer of sheet metal, a roughly smudged windshield, and a thin Indian driver between us and what could only be a close encounter of the most unpleasant kind! One can only hope the big fellow with the long and winding nose, happily flapping wings for ears, thundering stumps for feet, had his morning chai! Our driver yields, wisely revealing discretion to be the better part of valor. Choose your battles carefully, ye fathers and mothers, ye sons and daughters! I don’t know about survival of the fittest, but survival alone is, in Indian parlance, “very nice.” And so the latest display of Indian curiosity passes to my right, dust puffing, defeated with each mighty stride of God’s magical beast.

Finally, breakfast! I order that oddly-demoted beverage known as coffee, and idli – a white rice cake of sorts, with lentils and chutney for dipping. There is also a donut-looking bread whose name I can’t quite recall. Too bad – I need to keep a cheat sheet of the foods I enjoy. This is clearly one. And Nescafe replaces Chai for the one odd duck of our traveling show. Sitting there facing me, staring me down from a frame hanging down so as to be a solo act among a great cloud of witnesses, is a fat man. An ugly fat man. An unpleasant, scowling, ugly fat man. Wearing only a wrap around his loins – Thank God for small favors! – he sits peering down with some sort of greatly mistaken regal arrogance, his ponderous, decidedly unappetizing belly flopped embarrassingly on display for each customer who exits the door to my right. Seriously, doesn’t management know this fellow’s likeness could put them out of business? As I laugh, not just to myself but in plain sight of any paying attention, a gentleman comes to the door with a lit stick of some sort, a light incense I suppose, passing it back and forth under the feet of this dead photo, acknowledging this alleged guru of some unknown season past, worshiping perhaps some demi-god who is not to be offended. For land’s sakes, treat my own passing with modesty! While our tiny dancer Geeni loves to pat my tummy, she may be the only one on God’s green earth with any affection for it! And in fairness to her, she has turned down my sincere offers to leave it behind as a parting gift! Post a likeness, if you can find one, of a man who knows who he is and who he isn’t, one with a knee bowed – however poorly – to the One who alone deserves homage. Put heaven in its place, and me in mine. Let my countenance be not fixed in arrogance, visually growling at the lesser beings “beneath” me. Are there even any to be found?! Place me on my very best day solidly with my peers, my adopted brothers and sisters in the family of God, all deeply fallen and redeemed only by God’s matchless grace and His terrible, swift mercies. It is there I belong, the only terror being to find myself among the bleating, helpless goats with no Advocate to plead my case. Ah, but there is. There is indeed. So, fat man, poor man’s Buddha wannabe, it is a fearful thing to imagine how quickly that shameless arrogance melted upon facing the One with whom we have to do. I have heard the Rumor that It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. Selah.
Romans 12:3 (NIV)
3 For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you.

Yesterday was too consumed with activities to count them all. Just standing before a monument, swimming through deep after deep humidity, haggling with a street vendor, or standing firm against the gentle assault a hundred beggars of various sizes, ages, and states of disrepair, all these are a story unto themselves. One assault alone marked a masterwork solitary example of shrewdness, winsomeness, and an intricately planned invasion of the heart. As we looked out upon the bay, the Gateway of India arch framing an Indian Navy air craft carrier, we stood unprepared amid squares of sod laid in honor of a foreign dignitary. A tiny woman and her teen-aged daughter made the stealthy approach. Strings of jasmine leaves were in their hands, and they began to motion towards us, that they might tie them around our wrists. Trying to shoo them away with a burst of quick, stout, Hindi “Nahi! Nahi! Nahi!” – No! No! No! – proved unsuccessful. In halting English and beaming sincerity they told us “No money. This is to celebrate Dawali” (The great Indian Festival of Lights just ended.). Let the relenting begin. Paula, Kim and I ended up with fragrant blossoms surrounding our arms, then the scam was played. Let the games begin. Making the motion of right hand pinching and scooping food to the mouth in the Indian way, they let it be known a munchy or two would be much appreciated, if not a little expected. Again, we stood firm. Their retort was “No money. No money. Food.” Like a great stone wall we stood solid, moving out to the next view of the harbor. Using George’s change of scenery as our smoke screen – “We have to go with him” – off we went, hoping for an end to the debate. Following us closely, they finally played their hand. “Okay, rupees” – failing to secure food, they moved on to the bottom line of our negotiations. Somewhat incredulous, I turned to the mother, a little flower of God’s beauty peddling jasmine, wrapped in her cultural niche. With a gleaming smile she plied her trade, “100 rupees.” While only a little over $2, this is an average daily wage for an Indian worker. Audacity! Most scams and beggars are happy with a score of any kind, 5 rupees alone would be a nice get. 100 rupees?! I laughed, without the slightest drip of a thing other than amusement seasoned with awe. Ask, seek and knock, eh?! A very practical variation on the biblical theme was being played out for my benefit. I raised a final hand, shaking it slightly but with vigor to let her know that I was still playing my end of the field. There would be no score against my defense. I would parry her thrust. She smiled and surrendered, as she must dozens of times daily. One baited line had been cast, a nibble taken, but our little fisher-woman had proven unable to set the hook in this exotic fish. Move on to the next cast. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

As we stood on our new perch overlooking ships in the harbor, a quick glance backwards showed the mother and daughter taking their seats next to what must have been the grandmother. Grandma was busy with a growing pile of jasmine bracelets, feeding the pile higher and higher as she strung new blossom after new blossom on yet another fragrant product for inventory. As I reflected, it was an amazing, miniature entrepreneurial enterprise, downright American. The family business. Three generations working shoulder to shoulder to prosper. There was a factory, a product, a sales force, and a business plan, a future and a hope – executed with precision and flair. What’s not to love? It was admirable and, in its own particular way, honorable. And yes, I violated the principle of “just say no.” Wooed by a stew of determination, innovation and gracious good humor, defenses came down and the pocket opened. As we headed off to the downtown shops, I dallied far enough behind to drop a 50-rupee note into a surprised, smiling hand, she the grateful, happy victor at last. Equally grateful I passed on to the next encounter, the bemused victim of a heart that had been almost completely had. Almost, but not quite at the audacious 100-rupee level!

On this day I was a student, taken for an instructive tour by a master con on earth, but also by a Master God in heaven. Can’t you hear Him? “Ask, and it will be given to you. Seek, and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened to you” (Matthew 7:7). Cannot God our Father be had with such a well-conceived plot, a child’s innocent, cunning charm, and some gracious persistence? It would seem our older Brother Jesus knew our Father could indeed be had. He loves to play this game with His beloved children! All that remains is to begin. Matthew 7:11 (NIV) 11 If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!

Your troops will soon be boarding the winged bus, after a Saturday of shopping, sightseeing, and a few precious hours more with new friends, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins. What have they learned? How have they changed? How have they effected change? How many souls have been served, lifted, encouraged, challenged, moved, comforted, secured? How well has the Lord’s name been magnified among the nations? I suspect no one this side of eternity knows the answers to these questions. Time will reveal answers that will receive credit, tests passed, corrections made, lessons learned and faithfully passed along. I am confident that the Lord has been pleased. It is, after all, Peter who belonged to the very inner circle of the Savior, spokesman for the Twelve. Yes, that great, inscrutable Peter, perfectly human, perfectly fallen and enormously flawed, yet he who stepped out of the boat at the Master’s call! The very least – and it is the least – that can be said for that saint of the living God is that he was never a spectator, slinging arrows from a safe spot among the critics, the cynics, the comfortable, the safe, the timid, the unconcerned, the inconvenienced and sometimes lukewarm souls who buy the tickets but never play the game! Like Peter, the very least – and it is only the least – that can be said for your representatives is they have gotten their feet wet – both literally and figuratively! Soaking, sopping wet! And make no mistake, much more remains to be said about every one of them! Each has left the safety of his/her comfortable perch and has chosen – an act of indomitable will – chosen I say, to respond to the very words of Jesus, “Therefore GO… to the ends of the earth!” Because of the likes of these, the long line and long gone apostles of decades, centuries and millennia past, you and I have received “the faith that was once for all entrusted to the saints” (Jude 1:3). Each has overcome his/her own doubts, anxieties, discomforts, aches, eccentricities, inabilities and phobias both large and small. The Master has called. The Master has commanded. These His soldiers have charged, running to the sounds of the guns. Give each his due, her welcome and their accumulated honor, earned garlands of obedience and faith and service and love. In the wise words of a former trailblazer, a continuing veteran serving the same Captain of the Faith, they have “gotten out of their own way” to contribute to the eternal Cause, the everlasting purposes of the infinite, intimate God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Salute!