20 December 2008, 5:00 p.m. Bangalore, Karnataka, India

On this last day as a tourist/student in India, I went to Catholic Mass. Actually, I happened upon St. Mary’s Basilica, as daily mass was commencing, and I figured that if I could do puja in a sacred Hindu city, then maybe Christian Catholic mass was okay. At the service, I was blessed by the large and devout crowd of congregants, reciting the liturgy in full voice and kneeling in prayer on floor and in pew. Once again, at a Christian service in India, I saw the ways that religious traditions cross over into each other: Indian Christians bringing marigolds to offer to Jesus and Mary, devotees folding hands in the classic Hindu style, and acceptance of the host like Sikhs and Hindus accept the prasada following prayers. The service was actually my first attendance in a Catholic mass, I’m embarrassed to say (in World Religions courses, I often require students to do so). Perhaps, on this pilgrimage journey of my own, it is appropriate that I attended the mass here.

Earlier I walked enthusiastically the few blocks from my hotel to visit the Bangalore Parsee Zoroastrian Temple. After visiting numerous Hindu shrines and temples, many Muslim mosques, some Christian churches, and after never being refused entry into a Sikh or Jain temple, I was surprised to be denied entry here, even to the porch area. Although a guard let me walk on the grounds, a priest soon emerged to lecture the guard and deny me conversation or entry. In the very security-conscious environment here in Bangalore, I will assume that language barriers, terrorism concerns, and perhaps a little theology are the bases for this abrupt refusal. Zoroastrians are known for a very strict works righteousness – God is a god who will punish fiercely, and there is no concept of mercy – as well as their reverence for their holy scriptures, the Avesta, which they deem to be the presence of God itself.

Bangalore is a large modern city, filled with buses and auto rickshaws, professional office buildings and technology firms, and several large parks. The photo is actually of a smaller neighborhood one, simply because my feet are tired of walking any more. Today I also stopped to have a shoe shine, the first on the trip (despite the incessant offerings in North India). I did have to wait about 15 minutes, as the cobbler repaired several sandals for a lady while negotiating a deal to make a new pair of dress shoes for another customer. I found his quick skilled handwork impressive, and his attitude of hard, positive work rewarding. He is one of thousands of similar shoe makers who line Indian streets with little stalls, laboring every day with an important skill. Likely there are similar workers in America, but once again I was reminded how much we do not see in the U.S., as well as how little we value the toil taken for something as simple as a pair of shoes.

The city has a large Muslim population, and I spoke with the imam at this very large Islamic center (worship mosque, community center, and educational facility). He was pleased that I could say a few Arabic phrases – Thanks be to God, In the name of God, Peace to you in the name of God – and I was pleased to hear of the community’s strong message against terrorism, as the sign reflects.



While in Amritsar early on this trip, I was introduced to the writings of Khushwant Singh, one of India’s most widely read and controversial Sikhs. He had been active in the struggles between Sikhs, Hindus, and Muslims around the time of the creation of Pakistan, and he was important to the work of Gandi and others. He has an autobiography, entitled “Truth, Love, and a Little Malice.” I suppose that is both the goal and the reality for most of us. We want to speak and know the truth, we want to love and be loved, and, alas, we admit that we share thoughts of envy and anger. This online journal began as an attempt to think aloud about my India journey – to wrestle with matters of faith and spirituality, politics and tolerance, modernity and globalism. And I suppose, as an attempt at truth, love, as well as the calming of malice.

The journey has only begun.

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20 December 2008. Bangalore.

It is early Friday morning here, following yesterday’s train travel from Hassan, through Mysore, to Bangalore. The Indian railroad system is impressive, though not always efficient. There are two major kinds of trains, coach travel and sleepers. The sleepers do provide a bed, but they are not prompt. They make long runs across the country, stopping throughout the night and day at small junctions. Yesterday’s sleeper from Hassan to Mysore was over an hour late, and the 3:30 a.m. wait on the small town platform was a bit discomforting. But the connecting coach train – an express route to Bangalore, was on schedule, comfortable, and quick.

Along the way from my window seat, I noticed several things, in no certain order:

• Flowers abound. In the north, lotus blossoms are very popular, but in the south, marigolds are the most obvious. They are used for worship offerings and to make those large flower ropes and leis.
• India’s landscape changes rapidly, from tropical paradises to something like Texas hill country to more arid regions, all within one state in south India. To be sure, there were more coconut groves and rice paddies than any other plant life, but the overall variety mirrors the great diversity of the people.

• Roadways of any sort are sparse, and anything like a major highway is rare. Rail travel is the mode of transportation, for those who must travel between towns. The lack of major roadways also preserves small town, village, or hamlet life, unlike so many dying towns along America’s interstates.
  
• Hindu temples are most often very small buildings with one central shrine, set in neighborhoods and along business streets (even in the middle of the road), and the larger temple complexes appear at sacred towns and rivers. The major temples are impressive, usually with large courtyards and multiple shrines, but the day to day religious life of Hindus centers around the small ones. This arrangement reflects the nature of Hinduism – accessible to all people, wherever they are, whatever they do.
  
• Cobra mounds dot the landscape, at least in the south. They look like giant fire ant mounds, up to two feet tall. I’m happy not to have seen a cobra.

• Indians like their cell phones, and they like to talk loudly into them. They also like fancy and long ring tones.
  
• School children wear uniforms, both for public and private schools. Everyone whom I’ve met has advocated for private schools if the families can afford them. Even for public schools, in some parts of the country, families must pay a monthly fee for school bus / rickshaw transportation.
  
• India is a veritable fruit feast. Joining the ever-present bananas are the largest mangoes I’ve ever seen, apples and oranges of all sorts, among others.
  
• Cricket is certainly the national sport. I found these energetic players taking batting practice, the Indian way, in Mysore.
  Last night I walked around the hotel area, and I watched a furniture store employee offering special puja for the business. He was praying, facing the store, and then suddenly, he took a coconut and slammed it into the steps, spreading the juice all around. A final lemon squeeze over the offering, and the service ended. Unfortunately, I did not have the camera. The owner told me that they do this every week, in preparation for Friday, asking for a good week of business.
  

Today I hope to visit a Parsee temple. Parsees are a version of Zoroastrians, whose religion developed in Persia during the 400s B.C. So I hope to have a final journal entry tomorrow, before leaving to come home.

One aspect of Zoroastrianism, which I had often attributed only to that religion, is the ubiquitous swastika, which one sees all over India – on business doors and advertisements, over home entries, and in Hindu temples. Not known by most of us is that this symbol is ancient and sacred. It signifies the cycle of life – Hindu samsara, or “turning” – that supports Hindu philosophy and ethics. Its use by Hindus is yet another kind of puja – prayer offering – for good days, successful business, and spiritual growth. I am told that the Indian version of the swastika is a reverse form of the later Nazi version. Whatever the case, the dominant takeover of this image by Nazism, and all that it implies, reminds us of the power not only of rich spiritual symbols but also of their evil distorted uses. It also cautions us against quick judgments based on assumptions and perceptions. As the wisdom writer said, there is indeed a time to speak (against evil, for example) and a time to be silent. (The biblical exegetes will forgive my probable misuse of scripture, please.)

I close this morning with a poem from R. N. Tagore, India’s great poet of the late nineteenth century:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow walls;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by Thee into every-widening thought and action –
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

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Really Really Big Statues

Thursday 18 December 2008. Hassan, Karnataka, India

It takes 620 rock-cut steps to climb this stone hill, It seems like 6200. But the treat at the top (3314 feet above sea level) is spectacular, a Jain temple and the central feature: “the largest man in the world.” He is just under 60 feet tall, carved out of grey granite somewhere around 980 A.D.

His name is Gomateshhvara, or Bahubali, son of Adinath, who was the first tirtankara (“crossing one,” or great teacher) in Jain mythology. As the story goes, Bahubali was involved in a brotherly struggle to follow their father as emperor and tirtankara, but Bahubali realized the futility of such struggles, renounced his kingdom and all of the material world, and fled to the forest to meditate until enlightenment. He is depicted in this phenomenal statue in the nude, and with vines and even a cobra around his feet, signs of his total contentment and detachment from worldly matters.

The statue is located in Sravanabelagola, a key Jain center here in South India. While most of the south has remained untouched by substantial non-Hindu presence, this particular area in Karnataka is the exception. In the 200s B.C., the first great Indian emperor Chandragupta Maurya renounced his rule and brought Jainism – a northeast Indian religion – here to Sravanabelagola. Jainism features a renunciation of the world, and one of its divisions takes this to the extreme of nude living, but most Jains are peaceful, simple people who find in the 24 tirtankaras, and especially the last one Mahavira, a model of spiritual living. The town is now a major Jain pilgrimage sight, and every twelve years thousands come here to pour milk, honey, and other signs of devotion on the great Bahubali. I was here at a less busy time, and I was thankful. On my way down the hill, I learned of a much easier way to get to the top – with dholis, strong men with a bamboo chair.

There are two other Jain temples here, a stunning older temple on a smaller nearby hill, and a “live” temple, where local Jains worship, called the Chandranatha Basti, with some of the most impressive paintings and carvings I have seen anywhere.

I was taken to Sravanabelagola by a driver, Hamid, whom I hired for the day for $20. The drive was mostly enjoyable. At one point, he said “This road is not good;” I was looking for a road. Hamid is a Muslim – who stopped twice today to pray – and he has spent his entire life in Hassan. Muslims represent a slightly larger percentage of the population in this area, about 25%. He impressed me with his knowledge of the three religions here, as well as his comfort with the three living alongside each other.

He took me later to Belur and Halebid, two dusty farm towns on the edge of a more tropical area.

Their temples represent the best examples of Hoysala Hindu culture, the dominant tribe around 1100 A.D. The temples have shorter tops and more expanse within the worship area, even having the slight appearance of an early Christian basilica. They are crammed with rock carvings of every possible god and most scenes in the great Hindu myths. They also feature a peculiar trait: no two columns are the same, with each having its own unique design.

The second of the two temples, the Hoysalesvara in Halebid, features two large granite bulls, images of Nandi, the bull of lord Shiva. Nandi symbolizes power and potency, among other things, and he can be seen throughout India. Yesterday on the way down another mountain, I found this very large Nandi, carved out of solid rock. Cattle of all sorts roam freely here, or have owners, or are viewed as common property for their fuel source. They also stop traffic, and I am told that there are very large fines for hitting a cow while driving. I’ve spoken earlier about Hinduism and cows, but seeing these bull images deserved another comment.

It is now 6:00 p.m. here, Thursday.

The sun is setting in this small town of Hassan. Cars, auto rickshaws, and trucks are honking. Construction workers are hammering. Crows are cawing. And the cool, 70 degree air is settling in. People are walking home, or to shop, or to meet friends and talk. Bicyclists negotiate for space among buses. Streetlights flicker on. This day slows down, and all is well.

All is normal. Just like in Lubbock, or wherever life moves on.
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Steps of Devotion

Tuesday & Wednesday, 16-17 December 2008. From Madurai to Mysore to Hassan.

Following a night of restful sleep, I spent most of Tuesday walking through the streets around Madurai’s Meneeksha temple complex, watching pilgrims come and go. Seeing them gather as groups of family, friends, and young priests-in-training, as they bought flowers and sweets to bring to the gods in the temple, was moving. The act of coming to Madurai seems a major trip, and a very important one, for these people. Most Hindus, I now learn, try to take at least one major pilgrimage each year. Because India is overflowing with holy sites, this goal is not difficult to attain, except for the very poor dalits (“untouchables,” as they used to be called). Train service is extremely inexpensive, especially in the unreserved coach cars, and buses are also very popular.

My overnight trip has now become a morning ride through the state of Karnataka, moving westward out from Bangalore and gently turning up toward central India. The landscape reminds me of movie scenes from African safaris, with a mixture of varieties of smaller trees, small plots of farming, and much grassland. I can imagine a tiger running across the plain, but that’s not likely to happen. I met some Australians earlier in the month who had booked a tiger safari ride, only to see no animals.

As this wandering through India reaches its final days, I am reflecting more often on what I have learned. Thus I begin some occasional “Travel Reflections.”

1. Indians do not smile a great deal, and with their practice of pushing and shoving their way onto trains and into temples, foreigners might perceive them as rude or inhospitable. But it occurs to me that I have only had one moment in the entire trip when I felt a bit unsafe, and that was during the first week (when my hosts were affirming that I had no reason to fear). In the land where a major terrorist attack occurred while I was visiting, I have felt no fear, no insecurity, no discomfort, regarding possible theft or assault. The more common actions related to “crime” that we hear about in American cities has not been a factor here. Indians indeed are tolerant.

2. India is very large and complex, in every way. Its land mass is huge and diverse; its religions run the gamut of spirituality and culture; and its people and ethnicities are multifarious. Winston Churchill once said, “India is no more a country than the equator is a country,” highlighting the impossibility of identifying any one Indian commonality. I did not realize how deeply rooted tribal identities are, and how strongly each state claims its own heritages and identities. But tolerance may be the commonality, at least over the long haul. Contemporary tensions between Pakistanis and Hindus, Bengalis and other northeastern tribes, among others, threaten to tarnish this common understanding.

2:15 p.m. After arrival in Mysore, I took at taxi up the 3,500 foot hill here to a special temple, and then walked the 1100 steps down. I was especially struck by the beauty of the walk down, and one pilgrim who dutifully was marking each step up the hill with red powder, the same that is used to mark worshippers. Her devotion is admirable, indeed.
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A Temple Surprise, and the Great Gandi

Monday, 15 December 2008, 6:00 p.m. Madurai, Tamil Nadu, India.


A few days ago, I don’t remember where or who, someone told me that if you want to understand Hinduism, go to Madurai. I was pleased that the city was already on my itinerary, and after doing the requisite preparatory reading in a few travel books, I arrived last night here for a once in a lifetime experience. Madurai is important to most Hindus for its superb temple complex which, though perhaps not as large as Trichy’s (see a recent blog) is certainly superior in its model of classical Dravidian architecture and Hindu images. Among the great worship cities in India – Varanasi, for example – Madurai stands in the top tier. It is the Banares (Varanasi) of the south. (In fact, I read a letter from Mahatma Gandi today – in his script – where he expressed pleasure on coming to Madurai to fulfill a lifelong desire.) So I came here and met the morning sun with a vibrant jaunt for the quarter mile through the streets to the West temple gate, one of some seven major towering and colorful gopuras filled with intricate carvings and images. To my good fortune, the gopuras were all covered in palm leaves and scaffolding, and several large brownish towers met my eyes.

Because the Meenakshi Temple is an active temple, it needs refurbishing every 15 years, and the project takes about 2 years. I arrived somewhere near the middle of the second year of work. “To my good fortune,” then, is a bit of ironical – I was so looking forward to seeing the colorful images on the towers – but it is more so a sincere realization. My eyes and mind were forced to focus on the internal workings of the complex rather than the elaborate gate towers that mark it.

Meenakshi is a consort (female companion goddess) of the great lord Shiva, and this temple complex features both Meenakshi and Shiva in a series of rooms and side shrines, all progressively working towards the central sanctum images. When I visited early in the day, already lines of devotees were eagerly pushing for position in long lines that led to the sanctum shrines. This temple complex is similar to the one that I described in Trichy, with several concentric walls that lead the worshipper inside, deeper into the temple’s core. I realized in recent reading that this structure is really a kind of mandala, a schematic map of the entire sacred universe. It is oriented to the four cardinal directions – north, south, east and west, as the major gopuram gates signify – and its inner walls lead one towards the sacred center of all that is, the great power of the divine. The entire place, then, is a very holy place, a kind of glimpse at heaven itself.

This might help explain the fervor of pilgrims who come here, prostrate themselves before images, bow and pray in front of numerous shrines, march symbolically around the various objects, chant hymns to the gods and goddesses, and place marks of reverence on their foreheads. It’s all very strange to most of us, I know, and some of my readers are likely tired of hearing about it all (good news: it will be over soon). But a brief word: While Hindus do worship the “idol” as a place that God has come to inhabit, they understand that God is bigger than the image, the statue, the character. And here in Madurai, they do everything possible to honor the divine. Even the construction of the scaffolding shapes the great towers, and windows are included along the way, as if to say “the gods want to see you,” or perhaps “we still want to make sure you can see the gods.” One of the great British travel journalists, William Dalyrymple, makes the keen observation that in Madurai we get a glimpse of the style of worship that was common in Greco-Roman days. You remember no doubt those stories about the Greek and Roman gods? But the evidence in the Mediterranean world is gone; only here, in southern India, do we see a living example of an ancient mythology of the gods.

Madurai is also known for its textile industry, particularly the khadi style of cloth, “home spun,” which became a trademark of the great Mohandas Gandi. While visiting here in Madurai, Gandi made the decision to wear only a simple home spun loin cloth, because that’s all most poor people had. I spent the afternoon walking very slowly through an outstanding historical museum about the life of Gandi, as well as the Indian struggle for a free nation. The latter is a 200 year struggle to work through the move from a host of tribal regions to a British controlled land and finally to a democratically elected free India. The story reminded me that (1) the tensions between tribal cultures within the land are long standing; (2) Muslims and Hindus have often been in conflict, unfortunately; (3) Western imperialism greatly stifled Indian progress towards economic and social stability; and (4) Indian calls to end the caste system and other injustices have a long history.

The museum also highlighted the commitments of Gandi, who advocated nonviolent resistance to overcome injustices, consistent simple living, and a passion to be like God. In addition to displays related to his life, the museum included interesting letters and notes he had written. There was the note to a Madurai official mentioned above, but there were also notes to world leaders. I found a letter to President Roosevelt interesting, as Gandhi explained his position for a free India. A short letter to Hitler, written at the request of many leaders, urged Hitler to consider the path of nonviolence as one uniquely placed to save the world from a terrible war. One of the panels of text in the museum stood out among the others; it was John Henry Newman’s great Christian hymn, “Lead, Kindly Light,” which I found very moving, particularly in view of my own journey in India:

• Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom, lead Thou me on!The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on!Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to seeThe distant scene; one step enough for me.
• I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou shouldst lead me on;I loved to choose and see my path; but now lead Thou me on!I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!
• So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on.O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till the night is gone,And with the morn those angel faces smile, which I Have loved long since, and lost awhile

At dinner I met Ganesh, the older waiter in the photo. His name is the name for the god of good fortune, the elephant headed god. Ganesh and I talked a good while. He does daily prayer (puja) with his family at home, in front of his puja shelf in his house, where the god Ganesh and other images reside. Once a week, he goes to a neighborhood temple. He has one daughter who is married, and one son. He was interested in talking about American politics, as have been many people whom I have met. They are all eager about Obama and the new election, which some believe is still to occur. Ganesh and the other waiters were eager to serve me a wonderful dinner of traditional Indian dahl (bean) soup, steamed rice and vegetable curry, chapatti (bread, like flour tortillas), and bottled water. It was my one meal of the day (okay, I had two bananas), and it cost a whopping $7.00, with tip. I am blessed beyond means, I know.

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14 December 2008. From Trichy to Madurai. India.2:45 p.m.

Although stated several times before, it bears repeating: India is very large and complex. Just about the time that I think I have clarity on an issue, a cultural practice, a ritual, or the Indians themselves, I learn that there is more to the picture. At the moment, I’m sitting in a sparkling clean railway waiting room, evidence of government attempts to modernize train stations and airports across the country.

This morning I visited the St. John’s Church in Trichy, one of a number of churches of the Church of South India, a denomination that is based on the Anglican tradition. Unfortunately, I arrived too late for Holy Communion, but I did hear a bit of preaching about hope, as well as some fine singing. The building itself is an old British garrison church, which was rededicated to the Church of South India in the 1800s. While on a pastoral visit, famous Anglican and hymn writer Reginald Heber died here unexpectedly, and his body is entombed here. I spoke with the husband-wife ministry team (she a convert from Hinduism) and learned that this particular congregation is one of some 18 in the area, and though it has 300 members, it is far from the largest.

I thought this might be a good chance to provide general observations about the country and its people.

• The north, west, and east are more diverse in religious population, with larger numbers of Muslims and Buddhists particularly. The south is largely Hindu, but about 20% is Christian.

• Every religion except Christianity expects visitors and worshippers to remove shoes, and usually socks, before entering their temples, gurdwaras, mosques, and sacred shrine spaces. This custom is likely rooted in theologies and commands, but it also serves a more practical function – keeping floors and holy places clean – considering the amount of dust, garbage, and other less positive wastes that are on walkways and streets. But the practical function seems a bit distorted in view of the primary foot apparel – sandals – and the rather large number of people who simply go barefoot all the time.
  

• Levels of service occupations vary in terms of delivery options. In the older parts of cities, and in entire towns in the north and west, I saw barbers who simply placed their tools on the ground, or a towel, squatted behind a customer, cut hair and shaved stubble. The prospect of a straight edge on one’s neck, in the midst of crowded walkways, does not interest me. In the North I saw dentists who worked in similar fashion, with an additional dark bottle of some presumably numbing solution, various pulling tools, and a chair or bench for the patient. Store and street cleaners work with short straw brooms, crouching over as they walk along and move dust and trash out onto streets. Garbage is collected by workers with carts, who take it to larger piles which, in some cities, is hauled away to landfill areas and burning dumps.
  

• Pollution is a large problem, as I’ve said earlier. I learned today, however, that one significant complicating element is plastic. In the past, various effluents and garbage would decompose naturally, flowing through drainage canals. But now these channels are clogged with plastic bags and bottles. In the past banana leaves were used widely for carrying small purchases – flowers, for example – or for lunchroom plates, but now bags and throw-away plates are the first choices.
  

• Women dress conservatively all over the country, though I have not seen the major technology centers of Bangalore and Bombay, where this generalization likely does not hold. Where I have been, women wear saris (about 1 x 5 meter pieces of cloth), or modified saris with pants, and rarely do they allow arms or legs to be seen. In the North headscarves are also common. Men wear traditional long topshirts and pants, as well as Western style casual dress, but many men also wear a kind of sari / skirt that may be long or short. Probably half of the people have freshly placed “dots” on their foreheads, the sign of recent worship at a temple or shrine.

• Families are important here. The evangelist in Chennai and his wife, Roy and Mercy, have been married a little over a year, and they do not have any children now or any on the way; her parents are very unhappy with Roy and his family. Everywhere I go, I see families, especially extended families. While waiting in the train station, I talked with a family of at least three generations. They were on their 27 hour journey from central India to an important pilgrimage/vacation spot near Sri Lanka, and it was clear that this was something all of the family did with resoluteness and joy.
  

• Hindus worship individually and by families, but there is no concept or reality similar to a body of believers who meet together regularly. There are trends where Hindu youth are meeting for encouragement and devotion times, but the communal nature of the Christian church is not an aspect of Hinduism, as far as I know.

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Temples, Shops, and "Silver Bells"

14 December 2008. 7:30 a.m., Trichy.

The city of Tiruchirappalli (Trichy) is best known for two quite different sites. One is a massive rock fort/temple that overlooks the city. The temple itself is housed inside the rock, carved into columned rooms and little shrines in the walls. The climb up through the temple to the top takes about a half hour, over 500 steps. At the top, a large temple for Ganesha greets pilgrims. I continue to be impressed with the amount of work taken, over years, to build these temples and sculptures out of rock.

The other site, however, is more impressive, and more interesting. The Sri Ranganathaswamy Temple complex covers an enormous 60 hectares (98 acres), built with numerous large towers called gopurams that mark entrances to different courts. The temple is built with seven concentric walled sections, all leading to a central gold-topped sanctum. These walls remind visitors of the earlier Hindu traditions that allowed poor people and beggars to enter only the first section, traders the second, higher caste Brahmins the third, and so forth. I could not help but think of the biblical Israelite temple, which had similar levels of accessibility. Even the presence of shops, selling everything including worship offerings, brought to mind the stories of Jesus at the Jewish temple in his day.

This sense of hierarchy in Hinduism is a contrast to the inherent adaptability and tolerance of Hindu theology – there is a god, or a way to attain salvation for just about everyone, no matter the caste state, gender, or even belief. But within this theology, there is clearly a marked valuation of social status, and thereby temple access. My host in Kolkata, Rupa, even noted that in some places there is a caste system approach to the gods. In some villages, for example, “lower” gods are worshipped, while upper class Brahmins look down on such worship. My hunch is that these prejudices are based more in social culture than in Hindu theologies. In fact, as early as the pre-Christian Vedas, the entire caste system was being questioned.

Following an afternoon rest, I followed a general pattern set early in the trip, to take one good meal a day at a hotel restaurant. This evening I chose a the city's largest business hotel, Breeze, and enjoyed a fine dinner of various curries and rice, all for $5.00. There was a strangeness to the place, however, as Christmas songs and Christian hymns played over the sound system. So I ate dinner to the tune of "Silver Bells," "Precious Memories," and "The Christmas Song," among others. An interesting ending to another day of learning.

In closing, I would like to say a word about this blog. There is a kind of "look at what I'm doing, and you're not here" approach that could be interpreted from all of this. I hope the readers know this is not my intention; rather, I'd like to give some sense of what life is like here, how one might work and worship here, and how the rest of us might travel here. The entire experience has taught me about the many assumptions we Westerners make and the overwhelming blessings we take for granted.
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Yes, more temples, but also Thomas...

12 December 2008. From Chennai to Tiruchirappalli

After leaving my gracious hosts in Chennai, I spent the day exploring the Egmore region, a twenty minute ride (at about 20 cents) on one of the city’s metro trains. The first stop was stunning Shiva Kapaleeshwarar Temple, which has several major towers over its entrance and important shrines. These towers feature the colorful Dravidian style, crammed with every possible image and scene from important stories of the gods. This particular temple complex is the most active in Chennai, meaning that pilgrims come here in large numbers for worship and renewal. They move from shrine to shrine, offering their flowers and asking for blessings from the priests. Music plays, with drums, bells, and festive Indian horns, announcing the various worship settings.

Generally, Hinduism is stronger in the South, not having a history of large incursions by Muslims or Buddhists. Many Hindu scholars focus here because the life of the religion shows an uninterrupted growth, and temples such as this one are gems for understanding the complexity and appeal of Hinduism.

But Christianity also has strong roots in the South. Chennai is believed to be the place that Thomas came, about 50 A.D., where he preached for twenty years before his death by persecution. The San Thome Basilica honors Thomas, and I found this church to be a peaceful respite after a substantial walk along a narrow, loud, busy street. The church makes much of its tomb of Thomas, which is described as one of only three worldwide churches where an apostle is buried. When I visited the tomb (the man’s image in the photo is a sculpture), about twenty Indian Christians were praying and soon began singing. In this chapel, as well as the other small side chapel in the church, relics from the life of Thomas are displayed, and visitors meditate on these objects.

In the evening, I boarded my train for the overnight ride to Tiruchirappalli (Trichy), which on a map looks quite close to Chennai, an awareness that speaks to the size of this country. My berth was a lower bunk, which though still a bit too short does serve its purpose. At the station prior to departure, I noticed this shrine to Mary, evidence of the Catholic presence in south India. This shrine, as well as the relics at San Thome Basilica, remind us that Hindus are not the only devotees who use images to worship. In Chennai particularly, a version of the Hindu goddess Lakshmi is often worshipped, and the careless passerby might confuse shrines to Lakshmi with those for Mary. So beneath all of the sounds and colors, images and candles, prayers and blessings, there is an amazing commonality among many, many people – seeking to personalize and identify with God, and asking for peace, hope, happiness, and forgiveness.

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Village Adventures

11 December 2008, 11:25 p.m.
Chennai, India
In a 2001 census, the population of India was listed at 1.027 billion, then 16.7% of the world’s population. Approximately 41% of these people live with families in one-room houses. Many of these houses are in old parts of the cities, but a large number are located in the rural villages. India has major cities spread throughout Andhra Pradesh to three villages. Along the way, we say numerous Hindu temples, from the elaborate Dravidian towers to highway shrines to simple cement structures.

But in some villages we also saw churches. At Paravellure, the church building stands proudly at the entrance to the village. After the Christians here began building, Hindus began to construct a temple immediately in front of the church site, just on the opposite road side. But in the early stages of Hindu work, a person died inside the unfinished temple, which now is boarded shut. This village, numbering about 300, has 40 Christians, and the local village leader – a wealthy Hindu whom I met – works closely with the church during floods and other crises to help the village. While here, two women brought babies to me for prayer, and then I was asked to bless a newborn child, with the parents who are Christians.

At Puneri, the Christians meet in more humble surroundings, inside this shack attached to one of the members’ homes. They crowd 4 services in this space on Sundays. Just up the road from the church meeting space is an old and crumbling Hindu temple. Roy, the evangelist who began his village work here, tells how his early meetings with interested villagers led to an invitation to visit with the local Hindu guru, who served him coffee. By the next day, the guru’s wife and children had developed dropsy, and the guru called for Roy, complaining that the potion he had added to Roy’s drink was intended to cast a spell on him, but that the results had reversed. “Do something!” the guru demanded, to which Roy responded that he could in fact do nothing, but that the guru could pray to Jesus, which he did. By the following day, all sicknesses were gone, and the guru and his family became Christians. The temple went empty, and a large tree now splits the temple at its base.

And finally, at a place I cannot name, somewhere really far back off of any real roads, late in the evening, we met about 100 Christians and friends for a short sermon (yes, me), prayers, and a dinner of chicken biriami. I was ready for the impromptu sermon, as well as the greetings and prayers, but not a baby-naming ceremony. The evangelist and his wife wanted to have a one-year birthday celebration for their daughter and a naming ceremony and blessing. I had the honors, including the naming. So meet the new Kristine and her family.

During these days with the evangelists, I have felt uncomfortable at the way that I have been treated. It is as if royalty has stepped into their world – flowers, shawls, and applause, handshakes, hugs, and kisses, and the everpresent pleading for prayers and blessings, all aimed at me. I’ve felt embarrassed and unprepared and unworthy, and I’ve wondered how my being an American conflates with my being a Christian from America. In any case, most of these people have never seen a fair skinned, white haired, tall (in comparison) man, and I’ve never considered how this could be possible. Americans are such a small portion of the world’s population, and our lifestyles are so unimaginable for most other people. And our Christianity, however sincere and efficient and presentable, is nothing like what I see here.

On our drive tonight, I noticed an extraordinary amount of small candles outside of homes and on buildings. They almost looked like Christmas lights. I was told that every December Hindus do this to celebrate the coming of Lord Krishna to India’s soil. Krishna is one of the avatars (something like incarnated ones) of the god Vishnu, and Krishna is very popular for his many miraculous actions, gallant and romantic character, and generous gifts for his followers.

Hmmm.

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Temples, Fishermen, and Children

Wednesday, 10 December 2008. Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India. 10:35 p.m.

South India is home to numerous towns and cities with elaborate and intricately designed Hindu temples. Here one finds the best examples in the world of what is called Dravidian architecture, developed by the Palluva people who ruled here in the 800s A.D. Dravidian temples are crowded, “busy” to the Western eye, formations with detailed carvings everywhere. They usually have central shrines, but sometimes the carvings overwhelm everything else. I was chauffeured – along with the minister, a driver, and three elders – to Mahabalipuram, about 40 miles south of Chennai, on the Bay of Bengal. Here the famous Shore Temple includes important anaconic (non-human-representational) images of the sustaining god Shiva. Mahabalipuram is a treasure trove for art, architecture, and religious lore scholars, but I found the more simple relief carvings called “Arjuna’s Penance” the most to my liking. Here, among the elephant and other figures, stands the warrior Arjuna in a pose of repentance (balancing on one leg) while the great god Shiva stands over him.

These images provide an opportune time to speak about the way Hindu art tells the great stories of the gods and goddesses. For a large population of people who could not read or write, images portraying the stories on temple buildings and rock walls make the stories accessible, and they keep the stories alive for ever new generations. (In Christian medieval Europe, a similar approach is used to tell the biblical stories, through mosaics, frescoes, and sculptures in cathedrals.) But for the Hindus, it is not simply a matter of communication. As Huston Smith says, “In Hinduism art is religion, and religion is art.” Part of what he is saying, I think, is that Hindus embrace all of life – materially, culturally, socially, and spiritually – in their religion.

In Chennai, I have been a bit frustrated, for I wanted to see and experience “real Indian religion and life,” but I’m spending almost all of the time with Church of Christ evangelists while visiting area congregations. And yet, once again my presuppositions and assumptions have been exposed: my hosts are indeed living “real Indian religion and life,” as second and third generation Christians, largely independent of American influences. They are certainly conservative, seeing themselves as separate from the denominations, but they are living a faith on their own terms in their own culture.

I’ve also been disappointed that my hosts here seem uninterested in seeing varieties of Hindu temples, and that they seem not to know much about Hinduism. But then I realized that (a) having anything to do with Hinduism connotes to them participation with idolatry, and (b) that they know about as much about Hinduism as an average Texas evangelical Christian knows about Roman Catholic rituals and saints. This has been a major discovery for me, but it does highlight the long tradition of rich religious diversity in India.

Two moments with these Christians captured my heart today. First, Roy (the Chennai evangelist) introduced me to two fishermen who had been persecutors but now were Christians; they welcomed me with this huge flower thing that I’m now told is called a samandi. Then they took me to meet Mary, the first convert in Mahabaliparum, who then brought the fishermen to Christ. We shared drinks and prayer in Mary’s home (her husband was away fishing), which also serves as the church for 14 members.

Notice in the photo: this home/church is no more than a lean-to shelter, given to the couple after the tsunami took their earlier home away. The Chennai church provided Mary with a boat, which she and the other Christians use to provide for their basic needs, giving 25% back to the church.

Mary and her husband, after they realized that they could not take care of their children, gave them up to the Chennai church’s childrens home for orphans. Most of the children there have been picked up from the street, or left at the church’s doors. The little girl I’m holding was one of two left wrapped in paper at the church building in Chennai. Our visit to the childrens home was celebratory; the children all treated me like a king, sang songs and quoted verses, and held my hands. Notice in the photos how very basic this “home” is. Simple or not, the home has helped many children for the last ten years, including one young man I met at morning prayer who had just graduated from college.

By CPS standards in America, this home would be shut down certainly, and if it wasn’t, none of us would likely want to live there loving the children. And by American freedom standards, none of us would want to call Mary’s lean-to shack a home, and we’d certainly not want it taken over by the whole church at any given moment.

We have much to learn.
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