Nightmares

Apres moi, la deluge!

These famed words were uttered by the most powerful king of France when that nation was at its zenith of opulence and prestige. Le roi, Louis Quatorze. For you in Haverhill, that’s Louis XIV. As you know, within a generation heads would roll and France would never be the same.

Lying in bed when one awakens early can set free the sheep one counted as a sleep aid earlier to gambol around the fertile pastures of the mind. The issue from these sportive rams and ewes can be freakish—like the little girl in the news here last week that had 4 legs and 4 arms due to a very rare form of Siamese twinning. (She had one head and could control all her limbs. So when she awoke from the 30 hours that various teams of doctors worked on her, she looked around for her missing limbs! But she knew her jubilant parents as soon as the anesthesia wore off. Wonders never cease. But I digress.)

A Scripture came to mind in the darkness that disturbed me somewhat. When the disciples were standing in awe of Herod’s Temple in Jerusalem (they gawked like any country boys would in the “Big City”), Jesus gave an astounding prediction. “You are impressed, are you? I tell you not one stone will remain upon another—all will be reduced to rubble!” Of course the boys couldn’t believe anything like that could happen. I mean, how could it? This was the sacred Temple Mount where Solomon built a house for Yahweh, where David had taken Mount Zion a thousand years earlier, and where Abraham may have “sacrificed” Isaac. The city was protected now by the mighty power of Rome. Yet we know that within their lifetimes Jesus words would be fulfilled, resulting in the unthinkable. God would allow pagans to plow the ground up, abolishing the Mosaic sacrificial system forever.

Ho-hum! We all know this is true. But that was then; this is now.

How nearly impossible it is for us to imagine the impact of this event on the psyche of the Chosen People in Jesus’ time.

The dark thought that came to me is this. We, too, shall see an equivalent in our own time. (Now I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet. While not an orchardist like the prophet Amos, I am merely a maple-tapper. So I claim no divine inspiration here.) But still, the “signs of the times” are faintly outlining our future. And it is not reassuring.

Look at the lovely buildings we worship in—and are in danger of worshiping. Our local churches. The grand cathedrals in our great cities from Boston to New York to D.C., not to mention the empty magnificent wonders in Chartres and Cologne.

Islamic true believers boast that they intend to have the USA under Shari’a law by 2050. I’m not sure there will be a USA to dominate by then. Informed people speculate that the house of cards know as the global economy could easily collapse, either by its own weight or by some dirty bombs detonated by suicidal fanatics in a key city or two in the financial world. Or it could be a pandemic virus that wiggles out from the frantic efforts of scientists who work to control such threats, battling more resistant strains every year it seems.

Can we face a modern version of “not one stone upon another?” Gone will be the Christian mega-industries that pump out videos, music CDs, books and Bibles. Gone our comfy meeting places with those inspiring sounds systems and computer-enhanced worship experiences. No more mighty choirs supported by awesome organs and orchestras. No more grandiose mega-conferences or cruises with the Big Bugs. No more plush colleges and impressive foundations. I’m not saying that will happen. But it could happen. And possibly sooner rather than later.

How ill-prepared are we for such an event. We laugh at how in the 1960s people built backyard bomb shelters. But maybe we have just been spared so far by God’s grace. But we know from history that God will not forever strive with rebels.

Observing our counterparts here in India I realize that we can survive and even prosper when all that we take for granted is stripped away. We can meet under a tree or in a house. I imagine what would happen if we had to meet in our houses. In the USA many of our houses could easily hold 50 people. Think how much more personal and powerful the people of Christ would be in such a setting. No spectator attitude. No “What am I getting out of this Preacher?” kind of thinking. Lean and nimble will be what’s needed then. I wonder if we can start preparing our minds and hearts for such a time. The church is stagnating under the stifling affluence of the west. At the same time it is thriving in the “disadvantaged” world of China, India, Pakistan and Iran. The stories that trickle out to us here in India cause me to take heart. We do not need all the stuff we “need.” We only need the Holy Spirit.

O my! Still dark. I’ll try to go back to sleep and see if the sheep of sleep can come up with something a bit less solemn.

BLAT! BLAT! BLAAAAAAAT!

WHAT is that???!

Well, we are cheek by jowl to a Buddhist monastery here where the guesthouse is located. Some monk is blowing on a tuba, sounds like. Only he has ZERO embouchure. His lip must be a flaccid as an inner tube. This goes on and on and on. Well, it’s no worse than the monk who chanted on two low pitches all day one day last week.

Maybe I can tune it out and slip back to dreamland.

Maybe not. Toss. Turn. Toss.

There’s the morning star, slowly ascending over the mountain range. Now I know what time it is—about an hour until its light enough to see colors. I surmise that first light lasts until one can see colors. Then it is dawn. But I really have no clue how these subtleties are defined. Sunrise – that’s precise. I notice that when the sun rises over the mountain east of my window that its point of lift-off has come noticeably south—in just 15 days.

I’m up. Out for a walk up to the where the road drops by switchbacks to a river flowing down the valley. Awesome.

This day will go fast. Read some term papers, give the final, dive into grading. I guess it will be mostly nightmares all day long.

One bright spot. Babu’s wife, Lalee, is fixing a lunch for us. Some lunch! Six dishes with the best chapattis I’ve ever had, plus dessert and tea. The tea was lemon. I asked what made it different. She puts a few fresh lemon squirts into each cup. Mmmmm!

Before most of you read this blog I will be in Tunnel of Travel. After breakfast on Friday they will put me on the train to Delhi. A long wait at the airport. A long night en route to Newark.

Then dawn again in the USA and home by noon. God is good.

See you in church.