White Calvinist preaches to Pentecostal Indians.

As new friends from the USA dress in their new saris and tunics to go to the college church, I don my old suit and wait for Sooraj and Preeti to pick me up.
Some years ago, when I visited the house church across the street from the leper colony, Sooraj perched me on the back of his cycle. But now that he has a family, we go in his car.
As is typical in house churches, throw rugs have been laid down to cover the concrete floor The room about ten feet by fifteen. As people drift in they find a place to squat. I am given a plastic patio chair. Others here may look older, but I am the senior, for sure. Maybe it's courtesy. Maybe I just look awkward. No matter, I am happy to be sitting. As we start to sing, more people drift in. Some sit outside the door as the space fills. One is a small dark-skinned old man with a suit that has not seen repair or cleaning in decades. Several worshipers are from the college, well dressed by comparison. Two older women are against the back wall. Preeti wheels out a heater that looks like a radiator and plugs it in. I guess she knows that the two old crones have not much to keep them warm during the two hour service.
Young children from two years to ten sit near the front. The younger have Bible story picture books to look at. They are mostly quiet and do not seem to disturb the adults.
A student from NTC gives a 15 minute Bible exposition from Lamentations 3. Every eye is locked on him as he drives the lesson home. Then it is time for music. By now there are perhaps 35 people covering every square inch of the floor.
In the corner at the front this same NTC student has a harmonium sitting on the floor where he squats. His left hand moves a bellows back and forth, while his right plays a melody with a few alto and tenor notes thrown in. Preeti and Sooraj have tamborines. Another lad plays a bongo drum that sits in his lap. The songs are all in Hindi, of course. But a few have repeated alleluias that I catch on to. The crescendo rises to a nearly deafening pitch. Some begin to stand and clap. The little old man gets up to dance, bent at the waist, with his arms and legs moving almost like a step dance. Hands begin to rise in praise to the Lord. One father, about 40 years of age, rises and sings at the top of his voice, segueing into prayer. Others are now praying aloud, quieting only when Sooraj begins to sing out the next song.
Sooraj had told me on the ride to town that several people had just come out of Hinduism and were troubled by demons. This is very, very common. I know you may think this is unscientific. But then, you have not been here with me to do your own firsthand research. As for me, I have no doubts, I tell him.
Sure enough, one young woman of about 35, Seema, begins to pray. As she gets more excited her face begins to twist. She is standing now, very proud and agitated. She starts to leap a few inches off the floor. It seems a mixture of ecstasy and agony. Pastor Sooraj gets up and goes to her, placing his hands on her head and praying with much fervor. I cannot get the words. But I sense what he is doing. I lift my hands in their direction and call on the name of Jesus to cover this woman with his blood and deliver her from her torment. In a minute or two she calms, melts to the floor, extending backward until she is horizontal between two ladies squatting nearby.
Prayer requests are next. At least eight go on at some length about their needs. One older woman next to me is in tears. I learn later that there is sickness and trouble in her family. More singing. An offering bag is taken around by a beautiful 10 year old girl with a sweet smile—the kind you want to take back home with you.
Sooraj introduces me. I have preached here two previous years. I will sit while speaking, as they will all have their eyes on Sooraj anyway, since most will not understand my words. Besides, I am closer to their level, and that is important for eye contact.
I take my text from Romans 8. Once we were all untouchable to our Holy God. But He found a way to come to us, cleanse us, and call us his dear children. Paul went through all kinds of trials, just as these people do. Many have been rejected by their families or ostracized by caste and disease. Many have lost dear ones to premature death. India has untold misery almost everywhere you look. And Hinduism is a dark demon-ridden religion. But God has a future for us all. The sentences roll forth. God is helping me, I know it. Sooraj and I hit a rhythm. I started at 11:30. Now it is after noon. No one is restless.
I end by telling of a father who had one son, who feels the call to ministry at an early age. Family responsibilities prevent him from starting his ministry until he is about thirty. A powerful preacher, many miracles attend his ministry. But people turn against him and his work is cut down after three short years. Enemies kill him in his prime, breaking his father’s heart. His name? Jesus—the one whom the Father raised from the dead and has seated on the throne. He enables us to be children of his Father. He will wipe away every tear. We, like Paul, will consider all our pain and suffering as nothing—slight momentary afflictions—not worthy to be compared with the glory he has prepared for us.
Sooraj closes in prayer.
After the service Sooraj is counseling the young woman under oppression. We lay hands on her and pray again. I put my arm on her shoulder and she lays her head on mine and squeezes me real hard. I learn the details later. She came to Jesus and her family tossed her out, along with three children, ages 6-13. She has a sister who believes and was with her today. Her husband has nothing to do with her. She must fend for herself. And the Hindu spirits come from time to time to oppress and torment her. No psychological therapy is going to help this woman. Only the delivering power of Jesus can set her free. And she is coming more and more to peace of mind. She is not going back into the darkness, come what may.
This week we observe the 500th birthday of John Calvin. Some of his disciples today say miracles died with the apostles. Yeah—right!
“The prince of darkness grim, we tremble not for him. His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure. One little word shall fell him.” Luther got it right in this Reformation hymn.
Today we saw the Prince of Peace drive back the darkness in one woman’s life.