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.

slp