Take Care of That Cat—and That’s That! A Parable. Workmen were busy building a wall in an urban neighborhood. An intricate design with stunning tile. Imported—very expensive. The masons were up to the task—highly skilled. A canteen truck pulled to the curb, honking its horn loudly so the workers would turn to see its gleaming presence. Tony laid down his trowel. Wiping his face, he sauntered over to get his usual coffee and Danish. A cat, nosing around as cats do, crawled into a space in the block work behind the tiles, probably looking for a snack, too. Or at least something interesting to sniff. Tony didn’t notice the cat. The lunch wagon drove off. The men went back to work. Tony’s experienced hands seemed to fly, setting tile after tile. He liked this job. These tiles were worthy of his skill, made by the best craftsmen abroad. He came back to start another row. Tony heard a sound. He cocked his ear this way and that trying to figure out where it was coming from. Then it stopped. He grabbed another tile and trowel of mix. There it was again. Inside the wall. “Hey,” he called to Jellani. “Come check this out.” “Sounds like an animal in there.” “No way,” said Tony. Soon other workers drifted over to see what was going on. As they speculated and argued, a kid piped up. “There’s a cat in there. I seen him go up when you guys were on break.” How to get the cat out. They used their cleverest tricks to coax the cat out. No Luck. “Get Kathy over here,” someone suggested. So Kathy, taking off her hard hat, tried to reach her slender arm up into the cracks but couldn’t bend at the right place. “I don’t think there’s enough room for it to get back out,” she worried. By now most of the crew were standing around making jokes and giving advice. Passersby, too. Finally the boss came over. “Whose cat is it?” asked the boss, hoping the owner could be found to get him out. “Nobody’s,” said the kid. “He’s homeless.” "Just forget him," said one—probably a cat-hater. “If he’s too dumb to come out—serves him right.” “O sure,” quipped another. “If he starves to death in there, the smell will be just great—and think of the wildlife that will come to pick at the parts. Good thinking!” “We could knock out a couple of rows of tile,” someone suggested. “Yeah,” said a bystander. “I’d take the poor thing.” “Are you nuts?” the boss asked. “You know how much those tiles go for? And how long it would take to get more from Italy or where-ever-the-hell they come from? Besides, the next batch wouldn’t match color. That’s out. We’re not gonna wreck the job for some goddam stray cat!” By now it was closing in on quitting time. Nobody seemed to have an answer. The Kevin edged over. “Leave it to me, boss. I got an idea. I’ll take care of it.” Kevin—a guy who can figure out a way to do most anything. Very resourceful. “Give me till morning.” “Good,” said the boss. “I don’t give a damn. Take care of that cat—and that’s that!” He fancied himself a poet because he could rhyme like that sometimes. Early next day Kevin and a couple of his buddies came back. Kevin had borrowed some tools from a plumber friend. One of them you used to look down drain lines to see if there was a blockage. He poked it up to where the cat was. “Tony, hold it for me.” Watching a TV monitor, Kevin reached up with a flexible rod. He grabbed the cat by the head, squeezed the rod hard and crushed its skull. In a few minutes pieces of cat were in a bucket. Kevin shoved a hose up and flushed the hiding place clean. As the crew gathered, hands in pockets against the morning cold, Jellani asked about the cat. “We got him out,” Kevin said matter-of-factly. “Good!” said the boss. “I’ll remember that. Now,” he growled at the others, “what’re you all staring at? Let’s get this job finished.”

The Seven First Words of Christ

The Seven First Words of Christ: From Crèche to Cross Hebrews 10:7 I Have Come to Do Your Will. A Body You Have Prepared for Me. God always gives the very best—even when it is costly: Blood, sweat, and tears - himself – born to die! His Cross. Our cross. A Body – cells multiply like crazy in Mary’s womb. Thousands every minute. A Body…. God gave his self – as a gift to you, to us, to all. We then give our self – as a gift to God, to the body (church), to the world around us. This is costly in terms of blood, sweat, and tears. His cross. Our cross. Daily. The Crèche tableau turns to the Cross tableau. His entry via a stranger’s home His exit via a stranger’s tomb John 1:10-13 He came to the world he created, but the world did not recognize him; (Crèche) born into his own people, but they rejected him (Cross). BUT – to all who receive him he gives the right to become children of God! We are reborn: a birth from God. (St. John chapter 3) BUT: to all who do recognize who he is, who do receive him, he makes the children of God! This is the Mass of Christ! Christ-mas. MASS C HR I S T Friend, meditate on this: a Cross in His future - and in the end, a Crown. A cross is in your present and - in your future, a crown. Look up the words of the classic hymn: Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne and Thy Kingly Crown.

Justice: it's not fair!

Justice In the Bible the book of Job presents a profound commentary on human life’s most vexing philosophical issue—why do good people suffer so much injustice? This question never goes away. Most of us find this troubling our minds all too frequently. What is justice, anyway? Socrates argues about this with Thrasymachus—a man who concedes the brute fact that if you are stronger you come out on top. That’s just the way it is. More muscle, more money, more craftiness makes you a winner. The rest are losers. Justice, then, is whatever promotes the interest of the winners. Socrates will not cave into this cynicism. Justice arises when each person does what he or she is suited for—for the good of the whole. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker; lawyer, doctor, teacher—do your job well for the good of the whole rather than for selfish advancement. Do it even though you are misunderstood and suffer for it. Hence the parallel between the death of Socrates and of Jesus—the good get punished while the bad prosper. Job maintains his innocence—so why is God punishing him by taking away his family, his enormous wealth, and even his health? His pals say he must be hiding sin, since God does not punish good people. In the end God speaks. But God does not really give an answer, asking us to trust that he knows what he is doing—that everything will be fair in the end and that there will be amazing surprises that will delight us. There is a mystery afoot in the world. Wait and see. Do not give up no matter how bad things get. There is meanwhile the deep turmoil of the sufferer. As adults we echo our childhood complaint—it’s not fair! And God does not come to rescue us. It is not over yet. So hang on. Socrates said virtue (suffering evil rather than committing evil) is its own reward. Your inner conscience is intact—and that is a satisfaction. Socrates accepted death rather than caving in to save himself. Jesus took it a step further. He walked boldly to execution. He did not just keep his integrity intact. He did more than make a heroic statement. He took on himself the cynicism of Thrasymachus, the stubbornness of Socrates, and the quiet desperation of mankind. Jesus brought the philosophical issue of Job and Plato to its gritty end by embracing the cruelty of injustice. He died, as St. Paul says, the just for the unjust. The glorious result is that we expect an end commensurate with the means. In fact, the end will be more glorious than that. We will forget all of the trauma as we are swept into the glorious redemption God has in store. As he drank the cup of poison Socrates comforted himself that he had not compromised his convictions. For Jesus the outcome is infinitely more profound, for Jesus saw the transformation of all existence through his travail. The writer of Hebrews puts it this way. Jesus, ”for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross, despising the pain.” Everything that has gone wrong on the planet will not only be made right but will be made glorious beyond our craziest imagination. Job’s comforter, Elihu, reminds his friends of the wonders of God’s creation. God is great and we should come clean and confess our wrongdoing. In the end, God does not contradict this. But God reserves to himself the final word. That word is that what he has in mind cannot be fathomed by our minds. We are living in between. Between things we think we know and things that cannot be known in our present condition. Between things that crush us with perplexity and things that will explode our categories of understanding. Between the things we know all too well and the things that eye has not seen nor ear heard—that we cannot even imagine about what God has in store for those who love him. And all this converges into the man on the cross and explodes from the man whose tomb could not constrain him nor the universe contain him. Socrates died for his principles. Justice denied. Jesus died for the world. Justice for Job. Justice for all.

I Can do It Myself! Sean wasn’t feeling too well. Pain was wracking him in several places—but seemed to be coming mostly from his chest. He knew he needed an operation. He tried to ignore it. Sometimes he felt good for a few days. But it kept coming back. Sean was afraid of surgeons who would cut him—maybe kill him. He had no time for being confined to a hospital and being forced into a long therapy regimen—maybe for life. So he decided he would take care of it himself. Should he meditate twice a day until the pain went away? Maybe some psychoactive drug would give him relief. He went through several New Age and Alternative Medicine websites looking for his own way out. When others heard of his choice of therapy they were in his face. Your life is at risk, they protested. You could die! But Sean said he didn’t believe in traditional medicine anymore. He saw too many people who either didn’t make it or who were left with weakness and had to go on a tough medical maintenance program for the rest of their lives. Some of the doctors were crooks or quacks, he complained. “I can do it myself,” he kept repeating. Sean was typical of his generation. It was the age of individualism. Sean would do everything his way. One of the sad things for Sean and many others like him is that he was mostly alone. No group therapies where people with similar problems supported each other face-to-face. Lack of community closeness, as psychologists and sociologists keep pointing out, leaves Sean at more risk. And philosophers say that Sean can believe all he wants in the reality he is creating for himself, but the bleak realities of life are going to rule in the end. And Sean will lose the battle. Like Narcissus, we can stare into any pool of water we choose but we are only going to fall in love with ourselves. “My way works for me,” he keeps saying. He is only fooling himself. It will not work because the harsh laws of this world do not bend to our prejudices, no matter how sincere we may be. Reality is what it is. It is not what I imagine it is or wish it is. He who doctors himself has a fool for a physician, they say. He who psychoanalyzes himself has a charlatan for a shrink, say I. And he who creates his own spiritual truth has a crackpot for his Pope. Self-delusion can do as much damage as self-surgery. Why would we want a “do-it-yourself” spiritual belief system?

Urgent: Ideas Have Consequences

Philosophy—what about it?

It can make you pull your hair out. Or tie your mind in knots. Or shed light on your path.

Some say philosophy is over. These are the post-modernists of our time. There is no truth, they say. We all just grab some ideas that we like or that comfort us until we croak and that’s about it. No truth can be found.

Some say philosophy can give insights into what is really going on in the world and help us to shape a flourishing life.

Key Question One: what is the basis for any conclusions we adopt? For many the basis is no more than this. “What makes me feel good today?” The truth doesn’t matter. To each his own. The only “sin”—being critical of someone else’s ideas.

For philosophers like me the basis is what stands up to tough questioning. Are my ideas about things logically defensible (coherent). Are they inclusive (comprehensive)? Are they workable (pragmatic)?

Key Question Two: is there a reality beyond my own imaginings that I should pay attention to? Or is the universe whatever I would like it to be?

Examples. “I truly believe I’m not high and can drive home.” Result: sincere, but dead on the road.

“I truly believe I can cheat on my spouse and not hurt anyone.” Result: devastation for myself and my kids.

“I sincerely believe that when I die there is nothing more to it.” Result: Hmmmm….

“I truly think that if I am a good person, I’ll be OK if there is a final exam after death.” Result: Hmmmm….

Dr. Gus’s viewpoint: I had better examine everything with rigor, because the world/ the universe/reality is what it is, and my thinking either helps me to get in line with forces bigger than myself or I could be crushed. I could be sincere but fatally wrong. That would not be good.

Key Question Three: what is the nature of what is? I am in a universe that blows my mind when I think about it. I am going to die, that’s for sure. What is the wisest plan I can come up with for my life?

I suppose I could ignore it all. “Who knows the answer?”

But maybe that’s too big a risk. I, for one, want to think about the meaning of my life as a whole; about the value of my life when all is said and done and the lid of the coffin closes over me. About the purpose that I choose for myself: why am I here and why am I doing what I am doing? At my age I could be playing golf in Arizona or fishing in Florida every day.

Let’s call these big questions the MVP. Meaning. Value. Purpose.

Some say there is no MVP that is based in what’s out there. The universe has no MVP. That means there is no MVP to be discovered. Make up your own MVP. If this is the truth, then philosophy comes to a stop sign—a Dead End. Do what you want and hope you luck out by not being born in Bangladesh or Baghdad and not getting Dengue Fever or lung cancer or taken out by a drunk or a terrorist.

Others say the ultimate reality out there is packed with MVP. We are not just going, we are all going Somewhere. The meaning of life is to do whatever it takes to get in line with a Grand Reality that promises a hope and future. Values either support this quest or de-rail it. There is a purpose for my existence, for our existence. So what we embrace has eternal implications.

This is the big debate in philosophy. Not every answer can be correct. Either the universe is much ado about nothing (in the end when the galaxies run out of gas) or it is pregnant with endless life and value for us.

What clues, what evidence can we find in what little we have to work with here on planet Earth?

Science cannot resolve this, because science rests on philosophical assumptions that may or may not be true. Sorry—but that’s the way it is.

The Bottom Line: we need to think long and carefully despite our busy and often frenetic lives. That is philosophy in terms of the quest for truth and quest for MVP.

Give and It Will Be Given Unto You

Each year in Kenya, I room with another happy bachelor (temporarily so and not by desire), Reverend George Mitchell, PhD. Many a Baptist Union church he has served in Scotland over the decades and is a man of God whom to know is to love.
One token of his esteem is that he does over 60 funerals a year. You see, George grew up with the toughs of Glasgow and he loves the common man and they turn to him, especially if they have not been the church-going type. They know he understands the edgier side of life and can speak fearlessly yet with compassion to those who have lost their way and need a Pilot of the Soul. And we all know Who that is.
We love him here at Scott Theological College. He is a silver-tongued smithy of words, often now enhanced by power point slides. He writes booklets that he sells to a small market of those he comes in contact with wherever he goes.
But the most endearing thing about George—did I mention also that he plays a respectable trumpet and has a fine voice—is that he does works of compassion all the time. It’s in his blood.
As he goes about Scotland, where he is a popular speaker, he advocates for the poor in Kenya. And people give him money and clothing to stuff in his bags and wallet for the needy when he comes each January.
Not that he’s perfect. Without his wife, Jean, he’d be at sixes and sevens most of the time. I know, I live with guy for three weeks every other year.
But he has a wonderful sense of humor and can tell stories without taking a breath for hours on end. It’s a fine tonic just to pal around with him.
Here’s what he did the last few days of this week.
He went off with Vundi to talk to the leaders of a local Anglican diocese about the biblical work ethic. You see people here just pray for rain when they could be developing local irrigation that could lessen starvation. At the end of his seminar he hands over 250,000 Ksh for an agricultural project Dr. Vundi is spear-heading to help the rural folk grow more food. George has touted this when people back home want to reward George for his ministry to them.
George goes down to visit the gatemen morning and often evening. He has a bag. Take some socks – or maybe a shirt. Here’s a bit o’dosh for you. “O thank you—I’ll be buying food with it today for my family.”
He goes out to the town football pitch (soccer field) to meet the coach and cheer the local kids. “Could you use some uniforms?” So he goes with the coach downtown and buys shirts, shorts, socks in bright colors like that of the Brazil team. “Now could you cut and collect some of the grass here to improve your field and feed some cows the college keeps?” “O sure, Dr. Mitchell, we’ll do just that.” Their eyes are big. They never dreamed they could have uniforms! “You look like Brazil now,” says George, “go play like them then!”
George has bags of ties and scarves to sprinkle about among the students and faculty and staff here. And some shirts and pencils, and dresses and even a suit or two. Whatever he can gather from folk or buy in the thrift.
Each afternoon a tap on the door signals the kids have come looking for a balloon from George’s pocket. “What do you say?” he asks with a broad grin. “Thank you!” they whisper.
Here is a man who teaches Hebrew and Greek, New Testament and numerous other courses in a college in Glasgow, now retired, who knows from his youth what it is to be in want and is doing all he can about it for others in need. He’s not wealthy himself. But people trust him to deliver the goods to the poorest of the poor as well as to needs of all kinds.
There’s a story about a guy in Wisconsin who was a fabulous fisherman. When others were skunked he always came home with something—every time. The local game warden asked how he did it. “Come on out with me and I’ll show you.” So on a day they put out into the middle of the little lake and let down the anchor. The man pulls out a stick of dynamite, lights it, and hands it toward his companion. “You can’t do that! The warden screams. Fishing by stunning them is against the law!!!” “Look,” says the other, still holding out the sizzling TNT, “are you going talk or fish?”
George is a guy who is always fishing. He is a wonderful talker you can listen to all day. But he walks the walk. For Jesus. For the least of these…. For those who are easily invisible as they stand to the side in the shadows while we fly on by on our important errands.
You will be fishers of men, Someone once promised. Are we talking? Or are we fishing? He’s holding out the sizzling stick to me—yes to me.

Going Home

It is time to go home. One of my students, Suraj Lepcha, offers to ride along as Anil drives me to the Dehradun airport over an hour away. I am glad for the offer, since Anil knows about 25 words of English and I know 3 words in Hindi. Lepcha by contrast speaks good English.
Lepcha is one of the students who sat in the front row for 36 hours of lecture with his eyes bugging out and writing down every word, it seemed. He tells me how my style captured him, and the content filled his heart as well as mind. I have seen the philosophy bug bite a student here and there in my adjunct teaching experience.
So I ask him to tell me his story. Bu now we are choking on the smoggiest air since I arrived on October 22. Anil is dodging dogs, cows, bikes, trucks, and pedestrians in downtown Dehradun—as usual.
Lepcha tells me he is from Nepal. Obviously, he is oriental—but then several eastern states in India nestle against Myanmar. So he could be Indian.
How did he get to this college? Well, it is actually not that far in miles, since Nepal borders India and Tibet. He has a sponsor—a woman in Germany. He calls her Mum.
My curiosity goes up a notch. Tell me more.
Actually, I am technically an orphan. My father was an alcoholic and took his own life when I was three years of age. My mother then abandoned me. A teacher in a Catholic school gave me shelter and helped me go to school. But my mind was messed up. I started doing drugs and ruining my life as a young teen.
There are churches near where I live. Christians from Germany came to hold some meetings for youth. That’s how I became a Christian. But it was still very hard. Everyone always wants to know your family—who are your parents? What could I say? If I say I am with the teacher, they would say bad things, for they know he is not married. And obviously, my parents are not from Germany.
So I was lonely—almost an outcast. Then the Lord called me to serve him, and I came to this college. Mum pays my fees, but it is hard with no one near to belong to. I told Mum I want to study and get to the top.
She is so wise. She said that is OK, but pray for the Lord to show you what he wants for you. So I realized I was being driven to get recognized, and with that, acceptance and love. But now God is showing me a way. I want to go back to Nepal to the poor area I come from and start a school, since kids out there have little chance to get and education.
That’s so great, I say. Because that is a way to get a church started here in north India. Will that work in Nepal?
O yes. Buddhists and Hindus—and Muslims, too—want their kids to get ahead so they will not always live hand to mouth.
Lepcha is musical—playing by ear. He plays bass guitar in the NTC praise team. Lots of talent. He knows that music is a way to build a base. Most of the Christians in Nepal are young people—not too many of their parents have come to faith.
Lepcha has a keen mind, too. He says the course opened up something he had been yearning for, even though he didn’t know what his mind was craving. He is persistent, too. He asked good questions of me. And if I did not hit the target he kept on asking. In fact, he tells me he is like that, and some of his friends get tired of his persistence in their dorm sessions. He keeps pressing until his mind is satisfied.
By now we are well out in the country and the air is easier to breathe. I see a small control tower ahead on the left. The hour has flown by—except for Anil, who has to watch everything like a hawk. He has to pass slow traffic on this narrow, busy road—always a white knuckler for me. So I am glad to be distracted by conversation.
I am eager to have Lepcha stay in touch. I can perhaps encourage his potential. I think he will make an impact in Nepal in areas not yet touched by the Gospel.
I give him my card with the email contact. “I will have an email waiting for you when get to the USA tomorrow!”
We park at the terminal—if you can call it that. Just a low building with a scanner for bags and one check-in desk. Kingfisher Air has only two flights a day.
Just before I go past the officer guarding the entrance, I have Anil take a photo of Lepcha and me, my only Nepalese student so far.
Well, it’s time to go. I will trust myself to the worldwide airlines system, expecting it to deliver me to Logan in Boston in about 24 transit hours.
This is what is significant: A week before I left for India in October, I struggled with the feeling that I really did not want to go. But I was committed, so there was no question of not making the journey.
Looking back, I realize that something did not want me to come here—derailing this mission that seems, to my surprise, to have touched more students in a significant way than was true of my previous six stints at New Theological College.
But God helped me not to listen to that temptation.
So now I keep giving God a “smile offering.” I cannot get over the things he is doing here that he has shown me.
With a joyous heart, I’m going home.

A Marriage Made in Heaven

The couple that has the house church in Dehradun (see earlier blog White Calvinist Preaches to Pentecoatal Indians) had me for dinner last night. We ate a bit early for them—8 PM. I told Sooraj that at home I would be thinking of stoking the fire and going up to bed about now.
His wife, Preeti, fixed a great meal. And this for a guy who struggles with most Indian food—not enough raw veggies and always pepper and curry a bit too hot in most dishes. But this was really good. The only thing that burned my virgin lips was some chicken bought at a market. Sooraj had asked that they hold back on the spice. They said OK. But it still left my lips tingling—a sensation not often felt since my younger days—but then let’s not go there.
So I felt really at home with these friends of several years now. I was teasing everyone. Sooraj said, “I like your sense of humor.” I don’t hear that much anymore.
We got talking about our families. I mentioned how I have three granddaughters in their mid-twenties and none yet married. Maybe I should put a marriage ad in the newpapers here and see if I can find someone. They need some help. The papers here have 4 pages with about 200 ads hawking the age, looks, caste, education and religion of women—and a few men, too. I guess the matchmakers here are not keeping up with their family responsibilities.
“Really? You have that in USA?” Sooraj asks. No – but we do have online match-making. Even one of my friends found a Christian soul mate wife that way—and they are very happy.
“Do you know any nice Indian guys who are Christians who might take a wife from the USA?”
He laughed.
But since we were on the subject, Preeti came in (wives serve during the meal, so she was not at table with us and the two kids), sat down and started bubbling over with her story.
She is a native of Dehradun, while Sooraj hails from 200 miles south.
She was getting into her mid-twenties. That’s when families do a full-court press to get their girls to the goal-line.
One prospect was a guy from a well-connected family. His mother was a politician and her father successful in his career. So they had means. Negotiations got under way.
Preeti’s parents said there was one obstacle—they had no money for the usual dowry. This is a constant concern in India. The girl should bring assets to the guy’s family.
But they were told that would not be necessary. Preeti would make a fine wife for their son. They need not anti-up with a dowry. Your daughter has a degree as well as advanced computer skills. She is a fine match for him.
So the engagement was announced. A wedding date set. And the couple were to start getting to know each other.
Now one must realize that an engagement here is much like in Bible times. Do you recall how Joseph, betrothed to Mary, actually had to take a public action when he wanted out due to her pregnancy? He resolved to do it privately—showing the kind heart he had toward her.
But in Preeti’s case there proved to be no kind hearts. The parents suddenly started making demands. Preeti’s folks would pay for the wedding and the huge feast that goes with it. They were to provide all the furnishings for the newlyweds’ house. When there was some hesitation over the turn of expectations the mother of the guy would call repeatedly and yell and scream why they were not willing to do as custom requires. Preeti’s parents were crushed—but had no way out since the engagement had been published abroad.
As Preeti, meanwhile, was getting to know her intended better, she began to have reservations—not just for her parents position but for herself. Her intuition sent up warnings. She found he was an alcoholic, for one thing. The future father-in-law is from Punjab—an area notorious for “accidental” burnings of young wives over dowry displeasure. She began to become depressed. Telling her parents her feelings she asked for them to break off the arrangement.
They did so. And all hell broke loose. Her relatives were shamed—how could you do this to our family name? And the guy’s parents loosed a torrent of false accusations about Preeti to the gossip mills. Preeti now crawled into a dark hole of despair. She thought, maybe I should just end my life.
At the time, Preeti was a Roman Catholic, so she knew where the answer lay although she was not truly converted. She began to call to Jesus for help. She had a Bible in the house that her father used to read from to the family. Only God can take her through this darkness. She starts to attend a brethren church nearby, with a pastor who preaches the Gospel. She is somewhat confused still and has the cloud of suicide in her mind.
The pastor’s wife senses her distress and invites her to come their home. The floodgates open in this safe place. She weeps for nearly an hour while the pastor’s wife just holds her and prays for her. Consolation and counsel follow. She gives it all to Jesus—whatever he has for her, even if she never marries.
In time she goes to work at the complex where the lepers have a cottage industry to support themselves, established by the Catholic church years ago. There is a young man who comes regularly to do outreach ministry to the people there—who have little contact and no hope for integration into society. He is soon to start a church next door where they can easily come. This is Sooraj, studying for ministry at New Theological College. They of course talk over lunch breaks and so on.
Some of their mutual friends see a match here. So one arranges for them to come to their home and meet in a proper way. Preeti is skittish, but agrees to come. Her parents even say it is OK for him to take her for coffee and talk there.
But Sooraj is extremely shy talking with a girl. “No—we’ll meet here,” he says.
So they share each other’s testimony. Preeti is careful to tell all the sorry business about her disgraced engagement fiasco. He expresses interest in her.
But Preeti has been burned—badly—by her ordeal. She is not sure. The trauma is still with her. She prays, asking for guidance. Sooraj is a believer. She will accept if God indicates. God seems to be saying “Yes.” Uncle George and Auntie Leela of NTC encourage the couple. “They will be right for each other.”
So the decision is made and a date set for nuptials.
Now preparation must go forward. Preeti’s parents will have to get everything ready. Lots of shopping for their daughter, lots of planning.
But Preeti cannot find it in her to take part. No shopping for her. She starts going to her room and reading the Psalms. She lights a candle to remind her of her need for light from above. For ten days she sequesters herself. She reads all 150 Psalms ten times during that fortnight. The candle burns out every time.
Wedding bells ring. She is putting on her veil. Still unsure, she keeps saying, “Lord, I am in your hands.”
And then it happens. As she and Sooraj start exchanging vows and rings, the joy of the Lord sweeps into her heart. A peace pushes all the darkness away. She is ecstatic. This is right!
Beaming now with animation, she has come home to the safe place in her Heavenly Father’s provision and in Sooraj’s love.
As Preeti finishes her story she is radiant before us. She is a beautiful woman, with a boy of 5 and a girl of 3. And they love the Lord so deeply and serve the poor and lowly with such devotion. He was 27 when they married, she 26. While they work on the campus now, they still minister to the people in and around the lepers’ home downtown, where I have preached several times over the last few years.
Sooraj asks me to pray for them before I leave.
As I walk the hundred paces back to the guest house, my heart is elated. God brings his people through their dark hours. She needed this trauma to get serious with Jesus. Once again, God brings good from the bad.
The heavenly Father arranged this union when earthly parents could not find a way. What a beautiful couple.
The meal was scrumptious, to be sure. But we feasted mostly on a heavenly food that nourishes not bodies but souls.

Give Thanks in All Circumstances.

This admonition from the Apostle sounds well and good. But is it realistic, one is tempted to ask? Terrible things can happen for which one cannot be thankful.
True, but the command says to give thanks to God, not to be thankful for the situation per se. And we have to admit—St. Paul actually did this despite the incredible hardships he endured. It is not cheap advice that he is giving us.
Professor Solomon Bison invited me to tea today, where his wife, Ruby, told me of her bout with ovarian cancer. She was eager to tell me, since she knows I am a cancer survivor myself, having had prostate surgery in 1999.
She was diagnosed on June 17, the day before her birthday and scheduled for treatment the next day. Her friends unexpectedly came that same day with her gifts and they were able to celebrate before she had to leave on the train next morning.
But she was apprehensive, naturally, as I had been, praying, “Lord will I be OK or is this my time?” But in a dream that night God indicated he would be with her and she would survive. Something similar had comforted me ten years ago.
Tests soon showed that she had ovarian cancer. They would operate and take her ovary, several surrounding lymph nodes, and part of her stomach lining.
However as she went for the testing, she and Solomon were worrying about the expenses. If she had to stay in Delhi for tests and then surgery and recovery they would never be able to meet the costs. They decided to trust God for that and go forward.
She met a Christian nurse who told her about an experienced surgeon who was local and who made a fast track for her to see him ahead of four others waiting for a consultation. He assured her that her condition was treatable and he could do it more locally at half the cost—about 100,000 rupees.
Friends at the college here, even students, hearing of her need had contributed 50,000 rupees. They needed double that. They were encouraged that God would supply the finances.
A pastor came to pray with them and left an envelope with Solomon with the warning not to lose it or let the children find it since it had some money in it. After leaving the pastor phoned and asked, “Did you guard the envelope?” “O yes, but I have not had time to count yet.” The next day he got an email asking the same question. Expecting a small gift from the pastor, he opened the seal and counted. To his astonishment it came to 55,000 rupees, meeting their immediate need with 5,000 extra! God was taking care as promised.
She was set for an MRI. But as she was being prepped she coughed. The doctors asked about that. When she told them her condition, they canceled the MRI since if she should have a coughing fit during the procedure it would have be done again later, doubling the expense. Once again, the expenses were cut down for her.
The doctors operated to remove the ovary, some lymph nodes and adjacent parts of her stomach. Lab tests would later show cancer only in the ovary—very good news.
But as she was being brought out of anesthesia suddenly her pulse went to zero and her breathing stopped. The doctors rushed in to get her to a room with oxygen and so forth. Solomon was panicking. The doctors ordered him to leave the theatre.
During this time she was in a lot of pain, since she could not tolerate the usual painkillers. She was so exhausted from the long ordeal. Then a most unusual experience came to her.
When her heart stopped beating she saw a table with a line down the middle. Her body lay on the other side of this line while she was on the other. A voice called to her. “If you are tired, just come to me.” She knew it was Jesus speaking to her. “O, that would be so nice to rest and go into your presence in heaven.”
“Just come, then.”
She could see a long line of funeral cars leaving the West Gate of the college.
“But the people at the college will be so sad! And my husband and young children—who will care for them? God, I need to go back…!” She was shouting now.
Someone placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Ruby! You are back—you are going to be OK.” The doctor was gently shaking her shoulder as she opened her eyes.
The doctor said she was “dead” for several minutes—no pulse, no breathing. And then she got a weak pulse that gradually got stronger. In a short time she was out of danger.
The next day in the ward recovering, she could not sleep. Nurses urged her to get some rest. But there was a child in the ward who would not eat. His father was in tears, expecting the worst. Ruby motioned would the child like a piece of her banana. For some reason the boy nodded Yes. So he took a piece of banana and ate it. Then he asked for more fruit. “Don’t worry about your son,” Ruby said. “I have been praying and God has showed me he will be OK.”
A woman in the ward heard this and spoke to Ruby. “I have been so ill and prayed constantly to our gods and all they do is taunt me and make fun of me!” There was much anger in her voice. “The true God can heal you,” Ruby said. “Do you want me to pray?” “O Yes!” “I will ask my husband for a New Testament for you to read about the love of Jesus if you like.” So the next day a friend came with the Testament to give to her. She was so happy as Ruby shared with her about the One who cares enough to have given his life for us.
The time came for her and Solomon to take the train back home. By mistake, the one who ordered the ticket got the wrong day—the train leaving just at midnight. He felt so bad. But they went to the station anyway, hoping something could be worked out.
There was a car for invalids on this run. They asked the train guard if they could find a seat now in that car.
“You have cancer? I say yes, and your husband too since you need his help.” God was opening the way.
As Ruby went to the toilet she looked into the next car. There were two empty seats. “Come, we can sit here!” she exclaimed. Solomon was unsure, since this was a car reserved for women only. But somehow no one objected when they sat down.
As Ruby engaged the woman next to her in conversation, she began to recite all that Jesus was doing for her. The entire car was silent, listening in. Several wanted to have a New Testament to learn about this God who touches his children so tenderly yet so powerfully. So Ruby got to witness to a number of Hindus during the train ride. Hindu gods are demanding and often cruel.
“In all your ways—good and bad—acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths.” This is Ruby’s way.
Having cancer is not fun.
But Ruby is beaming as she recites her experience. She and Solomon have seen God’s hand again and again.
They keep giving thanks in all things.

Life as a Board Game

In the Hindu worldview, all is One. Philosophers call this metaphysical monism of a double kind. All existence is both one in kind and one in number. All distinctions are merely aspects of the One.
As an analogy consider your own person. You are a single human being, not a conglomerate of several humans. Your playful side and your sober side are not two humans that take turns taking over your consciousness. They are two aspects of a single but complex being—namely, yourself.
But eastern worldviews emphasize the one and downplay the many. They hold that there is one ultimate being—Brahman—a world Soul, if you will. That means that, while indescribable in itself, it is helpful for us to think of Brahman as a non-material being, having no size or shape or location.
Human souls are understood as Atman. It appears to us that there are many such souls. But in the end all human souls are one soul—Atman. And Atman, in the end, is identical with Brahman. Hence Brahman is the only existing reality.
This is difficult for westerners to grasp. We tend to think there is a huge multiplicity of things that are distinct—related only by loose associations.
The task of each human being is to return to the One. We live now as fragmented beings, under the illusion that we are separate entities. And that brings suffering to us. Suffering arises when the individual person has desires that conflict with reality. If we could only achieve enlightenment, realizing that all is one, then would we would find release from this world of shadows and be lost in the One forever. The World Soul and our soul would be united. Our soul would not exist as such and our sufferings would end.
Each person, then, must work out his own salvation in his own way. All paths of redemption lead to the same destination—the One. When each of us takes a chosen path and follows faithfully, we will arrive at the same End. It is like getting to the top of the mountain by whatever path and the stepping off the summit and vanishing into thin air never to return—thank the gods! Atman in us has been united with Brahman. We as individuals are no more.
That explains the caste system. Each soul is struggling on the path of human life because it has not yet gotten to the top. And to come in touch with others who are lower on the path than you only means you go back five spaces. So those who are near the top do not want to touch those below as it means they have to start all over again from the bottom—or at least from a few spaces back.
Jesus taught an entirely different worldview. Each soul is a distinct entity created by God that will exist forever. Each person is forever unique. Each is related to God personally.
God, unlike Brahman, knows we are here and cares about us. God is able to give grace to those who want it and ask for it.
Life is like a board game, where the goal is to get to Heaven. When we land on the square of “Salvation” we are allowed to go directly into God’s presence, all debts cancelled. No more rolls of the dice are needed.
At that point we do not vanish into thin air. We find ourselves in the midst of a feast ringing with singing and dancing and the joy of relationships—first with our loving heavenly Father and then with each other. This takes place not in some vacuous cloud of nothingness but in a new heaven and new earth like the one we know now—only purged of sin and evil.
This is the meaning of grace—the unmerited favor of a God who loves us and wants us to enjoy His presence forever.
I, for one, am so glad that the ultimate being—God—is not disgusted with me because I am polluted with sin and unfit for his presence. I am so thankful that I do not have come back a million times to work off every sin that stains my soul. He is giving me an extreme makeover fit for His holy presence.
My board game faith says, Do not pay a fine, Do not pass go again and again, Do not bury yourself in houses and lands. Go directly to the Banquet Hall where the redeemed are celebrating the victory of the Lamb.

Hindu women and girls

Two Roads Diverging

In the Hindu worldview, all is One. Philosophers call this metaphysical monism of a double kind. All existence is both one in kind and one in number. All distinctions are merely aspects of the One.
As an analogy consider your own person. You are a single human being, not a conglomerate of several humans. Your playful side and your sober side are not two humans that have turns taking over your consciousness. They are two aspects of a single but complex being—namely, yourself.
But eastern worldviews emphasize the one and downplay the many. They hold that there is one ultimate being—Brahman—a World Soul, if you will. This means that, while indescribable in itself, it is helpful for us to think of Brahman as a non-material being, having no size or shape or location.
Human souls are understood as Atman. It appears to us that there are many such souls. But in the end all human souls are one soul—Atman. And Atman, in the end, is identical with Brahman. Hence Brahman is the only existing reality.
This is difficult for westerners to grasp. We tend to think there is a huge multiplicity of things that are distinct—related only by loose associations.
The task of each human being is to return to the One. We live now as fragmented beings, under the illusion that we are separate entities. And that brings suffering to us. Suffering arises when the individual person has desires that conflict with reality. If we could only achieve enlightenment, realizing that all is one, then would we would find release from this world of shadows and be lost in the One forever. The World Soul and our soul would be united. Our soul would not exist as such and our sufferings would end.
Each person, then, must work out his own salvation in his own way. All paths of redemption lead to the same destination—the One. When each of us takes a chosen path and follows faithfully, we will arrive at the same End. It is like getting to the top of the mountain by whatever path and then stepping off the summit and vanishing into thin air never to return—thank the gods! Atman in us has been united with Brahman. We as individuals are no more.
In Hinduism, however, the One can manifest itself to us in many forms, including gods who are demanding and often angry with us. As one woman said to Ruby, a faculty wife here who is having cancer treatments, the gods are making fun of us in our sufferings.
Thankfully the God who came to us in Jesus Messiah is not an abstract featureless being. He is one who knows us and cares about us and about all of his creation.
Suppose there is a house in your town that is rundown—an eyesore. The people in it are on drugs day and night and what goes on there is despicable. The neighbors want it demolished as it affecting their property values and is blot on the area. How can they have a safe and pleasant place to live with this squalor just around the corner?
Suppose that that house goes on the market and you find the money to purchase it. It is now yours. Now everything takes on a new prospect. It is now your mess. The stink and filth is still abhorrent. However you can now do something with it. It has possibilities. You start making plans for its future. You begin to delight in it—not for what it is but for what it will be when you are done with reclaiming it.
This is what God is up to. He has published his architectural design for what we will become.
I am so glad God is not disgusted with me due to the pollution of my sins, making fun of my misery. God delights in me—not for what I am now but for what he will make of me once his transforming plans are complete. I have a hope and a future. He is transforming me one step and a time.
God is disgusted, even angry, with those who are unrepentant, who want to continue in their ways, who are rebelling against the renovations called for in the plans. They choose degradation and delight in depravity.
But I have signed up for the new neighborhood and submit to what I must change to meet the entrance requirements. My personal therapy is paid for by the New Owner—as it is for all who choose to undergo the extreme makeover. There are two roads and I have chosen the one less traveled. But its narrow track leads to the Father's House.
The contrast between the ultimate destiny of those who walk in the dark ways of eastern philosophy and religion and those whose delight is to walk in the light with Jesus is striking.
In India the contrasts are starkly obvious. There is little grey area here. Darkness and light. The difference is unmistakable. God has called us out of our darkness and into his marvelous light.

Flunko, Flunkere, Flunki, Flunktus

Herewith I cause my Latin teacher of yore to spin in his grave as I create a bit of Latin doggerel that I think expresses a mood that overtakes one when an exam has been a disaster. I do not recall if this came from the subterranean vaults of my deep (yea! now very, very deep) mind or if it was a byword of my mates at Roxbury Latin School (where I spent six very long years), whose motto is “Mortui Vivos Docent.” “The Dead Teach the Living.” (Now there’s a slogan for you!)
Lacrimosa. Another fitting word from the Romans. Yes—tears are threatening to overflow the dam that males have at the shores of their eyes. Lacrimossissima.
I gave a midterm yesterday and 90% of the class FLUNKED!
Incredible mishmash of clichéd concepts from mushy minds. If I had hair to spare I would sacrifice some to assuage my grief.
Any professor knows that a failure of that magnitude is a failure of the teacher as well.
I must consult my never-failing books of Helpful Advice. Two volumes in this set—What to Do and Don’t Do It.
Looking up What to Do I find an entry that says berate them roundly and apply the heat of public humiliation. Don’t Do It warns against rash remedies designed to merely make the teacher feel better. Hmm….
WTD suggests making them all come in the evening and re-sit the exam. DDI mentions that doing the same thing again expecting different results is the first step toward insanity. Hmm….
These volumes of advice are not going anywhere. As a sagacious philosopher, I can grasp that the two volumes are designed to negate one another on every point.
Thrown upon my own devises, then.

I know, I will tear down my exam morgue and build a bigger one, then say to myself, "Well done, you now have a superfluity of exam questions. Sit back, lay it on them again, and take your ease."
Yipes! That means I’ll have to grade another set of exams. Who am I punishing here?
Time for some deeper thinking….
Aha! I will cancel the second reading report (it tends to be meaningless copying of ideas from the textbook) and have them research answers to the mid-term and hand that in instead. That way they will correct their own mistakes, prepare themselves for the final exam, and make it easy for me see improvements. I will tell them that at least two of the questions will re-appear on the final. That should motivate them with a carrot instead of a stick.
Meanwhile, I will give a lecture on how to write ideas that form a logical argument, thereby helping to drain the mush from their swampy minds and harden some dialectical bedrock as they climb the hills of higher learning.
I am smiling now, wiping the tears away, and looking for better things.
As Gilbert and Sullivan once put it in an operetta: A Professor’s Lot Is Not a Happy One.
This marathon (a whole course in 12 days) is approaching Heart-break Hill. Take courage, my soul. There are many more tears ready to overflow the brim and wash your optimism away.
I’d give anything to stop that conjugation that keeps tormenting me….
Flunko, flunkere, flunki, flunktus….

JWG with Python

The Sudheer Family

J Gustafson preaching at rural church in India

Rural church in India

Rural church in India

New Theological College

To see where these blogs are coming from, check out the NTC website.

http://www.ntcdoon.org/

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.