Big Tests

Big Tests

Some say that life is a test. Will I flunk or pass?

Who grades the test? Maybe the grade is given when people stand by the casket and say truthfully what a fine person I am, or speak polite lies about me that everyone knows is BS.

Or maybe the Heavenly Professor is keeping records of our scores in order to compute a final grade before promoting us or demoting us.

Hindus here have a middle view. There is no one to keep score. But something in the universe makes us reap what we sow—no more, no less. So I keep coming back to re-sit the exam (maybe millions of time) until the equation of my actions comes up with the right answer: zero. “Put in all the pluses and minuses of your good and bad actions, and when it comes out zero, you’re done.” Moksha—release from the suffering at last. At that point, just when a westerner would be looking forward to the heavenly holidays in a celestial Hawaii now that he’s passed life’s test and graduated, the Hindu world says I enter an eternal coma. I’m there—but not as me. My drop is lost in the Ocean of the One, whose sound is the relentless “Om.”

Here at the college the students are studying for my exam, as from one born out of time. You see, this is the first two weeks of the term and exams should be far in the future. I am crafting my diabolical questions today! Heh, heh…! No, really – I give the questions ahead of time—they’re complex, as one expects in philosophy. No multiple choice here.

But the preaching class for seniors is taking chapels. And K.J.K. (in India people have no names, just initials) is in the back row with his grading template—sort of like speech class in college. And they speak in English with a colleague translating.

Yesterday a young man (who refused to choose a free tie from the collection Dave Walker brought in his traveling thrift shop, since he already had a tie—one—a single tie. Since he can only wear one at a time, let another student take it) in his bright shirt, tie and jacket, called on his buddies to start off with a skit. A bunch of money-grubbing guys come to the temple to cheat the backwards bumpkins. The Jesus and disciples arrive and drive them out, declaring the temple is house of prayer not a den of robbers.

Nice set-up. He goes on with an exposition of the text, closing with an object lesson. Out comes a glass of water from the back of the pulpit. In goes some chemical that makes it look yucky. Then another bromide and it turns wine color as the cleansing power of Jesus’ sacrifice starts to work. To my mind, it all broke down there, since he had no chemical to precipitate out the pollutants to make the liquid crystal clear again. I don’t know what grade KJK will give him. But it a nice try—probably an A for ingenuity anyway.

But this morning a girl (oops! I mean young woman) in a canary yellow sari has the service. She is articulate and animated and actually moves the backbenchers. That’s us
faculty—who have heard a thousand sermons. After the benediction, KJK tells me that a few months ago when her turn came to present to the class, she collapsed in tears and couldn’t do it. When she enrolled here a couple of years ago, she spoke NO English. On her second try she stumbled through pathetically. On her third try she did OK. And now today—the final exam—one would think English was her mother tongue. What skillful use of vocabulary. What animated gestures. What sincerity of heart. She will be a powerful communicator. And her text and theme was how we should rejoice when we suffer dishonor for Jesus’ name, just as the early Christians did and as many former students here are now doing in the hostile environment of north India.

Big tests, for sure.

Life is at the least, a test. Hearts need examination. Motives must be sifted. Plus and minus. Wheat and chaff. Gold and stubble.

I hope my Teacher is as pleased in the end with me as KJK is with this unlikely treasure in Public Speaking 101.