The Essence of Christianity

I'm reading through the 28 fundamental beliefs of the Seventh-day Adventist church and came upon the  15th: The Lord's Supper.

Being a 5th generation Adventist, I'm quite familiar with the once-a-quarter communion service.  So familiar, that I sometimes feel like I'm just going through the motions.

But not anymore.

Read this story that I came across:

A Buddhist monk once asked a missionary to suggest a scene that would represent Christianity.  Artists were to decorate a hall on the monastery grounds with murals and reliefs that depicted major world religions.  After some reflection the missionary began to share the account in John 13.  The monk "said nothing as I read," the missionary recounted, "but I felt a strange, awesome quietness and power as the passage described Jesus' act of washing the disciples' feet."  In that culture, discussing in public anything having to do with matters of the feet is considered very poor etiquette.


"When I finished reading, there was a moment of silence.  He looked at me with incredulity and said, 'Do you mean to say that the Founder of your religion washed His students' feet?'


"'Yes,' I replied.  The usually placid moon face with shaved eyebrows and head wrinkled up in shock and amazement.  He was speechless, and so was I.  I swallowed very hard several times, and we were both caught up in the drama of the scene.  As I gazed at him, the look of incredulity on his face changed to a reverent awe.  Jesus, the Founder of Christianity, had touched and washed dirty fishermen's feet!  After a few moments he gained control of himself and rose to his feet.  'I see now the essence of Christianity.'"


Do you see it?

God Used Me

Who would’ve thought we could get so close and love each other so intensely in only a short 3 ½ weeks?  I find it hard to believe.  Yet, I could see the proof.

  A program just for me.  A poem written with me in mind.  Special musics done by the shiest of the girls.  Words of gratitude from young and old.  Gifts given lovingly.  Tears shed.

  I didn't know they had all this in mind.  I didn't even know the girls and staff all felt this way about my leaving.  Yet, looking around the group, I could see tear stained faces.  One was even bawling with her head in her hands.  All because of me?

  I wondered what was going on when I was told we were going to the church for worship that evening.  We usually had staff worship in the kitchen.  And why did all the staff come trotting giddily up behind me as I entered the church building?  Then I found out.  This is what I saw.

Singing

Tears sprung to my eyes especially after reading the first one.  I turned around and faced the girls, who sat there looking at me with expectant faces.  I called them to come give me a group hug.  The tears started flowing, falling on the heads of each girl I hugged and it started mingling with their own tears.

  "Of course, I want to come back," I said with trembling lips.  Funny thing is, I never really felt that way until that moment.  But at that moment, I realized that I would give the world to come back and see each girl.

Sandra Miss giving her appreciation

  I was then asked to sit at the front of the church as they gave their program planned just for me.  I couldn't stop the tears that kept falling down my cheeks.  I noticed several in the same predicament.  A special music was sung about the 6 seasons of India, which they all knew I had been intrigued about.  A poem was given that, through translation, said something about how amazing it was that we had grown so close over such a short period of time and that we were sad to say goodbye yet we knew that we would meet again.

Poem by Namuna

  Testimonies were given.  First it was Sandra Miss.  Then it was Bipana, the shy girl who would erupt in hysterical laughter with even the lightest touch because of her overly ticklishness.  Then Mrs. Horner spoke.  Then Chandrakala, the girl who arrived only a few days before my leaving.  Then Joseph (the only guy there that night).  Although not all of them could speak English, I caught bits and pieces (through translation)... you won our hearts... you have such an infectious smile... you encouraged me to be cheerful and always smile... thank you for cleaning my teeth... thank you for teaching me how to clean my teeth... thank you for teaching me how to lead VBS... thank you for teaching English... you were so helpful...I will miss you... we love you.

Special music by the shy Assamese girls

  Who wouldn't cry?  I realized that I was loved.   I realized that these people were more than friends... they had become a part of me.  I realized that I would miss them and I also realized that I didn't want to leave.  I let my tears flow.

Receiving my gift

  Another special music, then I was asked to sit back at the front of the church in my special spot.  I was then given two gifts.  One, Sandra Miss carried behind her back.  All the girls giggled excitedly.  A beautiful black lacy scarf was placed around my neck and then Sandra hugged me.  My next gift was carried by two girls (Rebica and Sajanna) and placed carefully on my lap.  It turned out to be a gorgeous picture that the girls said was my "home."  I felt like laughing and crying, so I did both.

The picture

  What had happened during these past 3 1/2 weeks?  Where had time gone?  How had I drawn so incredibly close to these girls in only a short time that would cause them to put on a whole program for me?

"God be with you till we meet again..."

  And I can't help but think, what if I had stayed longer?  What if I hadn't stayed 3 1/2 weeks but 3 1/2 months... or years?  How much would I affect them then?  If I could affect them this much in only 3 1/2 weeks, what could happen in a longer period of time?  What amazing bonding had taken place in these short weeks!

  And God used me.  Me.  Tall, blond, awkward, humorous, clumsy me.  If God could use me to create an impact on these girls' lives, then what can He do with you?

God used me.

  

Falling in Love With India

Unusual birds that I haven’t ever heard before are warbling their sweet morning melodies.  A man is making some sort of clanking noise.  A woman is arguing with one of the sale’s people at the town store.  An unusually white dog is running around making friends with everyone.  A huge truck rolls by, blaring its horn to announce its arrival.  The sun’s warm rays are slowly melting the frigid morning air, making the temperature bearable and lightening the cold landscape.  Some Indian music is playing its haunting tune in someone’s home.

Welcome to Mungpoo, India. 

   Tucked in the Himalaya Mountains of northern India, up a narrow winding road, you’ll find the town of Mungpoo.  It reminds me of a village you’d find in the Swiss Alps.  Large, towering trees provide more shade then anyone desires.  Poinsettias dot the landscape.  Majestic mountains surround this tiny village, nestling the town in their shadow.  It’s a serene scene, one that demands my awe and respect.

  The only thing that keeps me from running barefoot and shouting down the dirt path to the school is the bone chilling cold.  It’s really not that cold (only about 50°F)… it’s just that you can’t escape it.  It’s like camping without a fire. Plus, it’s humid here.  That means we’re fighting a wet cold, which makes everything feel ten times colder.  Gloves, a scarf and wool socks are going to be my best friends.

  Yet, through all this cold, I feel a strange warmth emanating from the smiling faces of the students here at the school and suddenly, I don’t notice the cold anymore.  The girls stare at me.  When I look at them and smile, they turn away and giggle among themselves.  They’re probably about my age.  Most of them can’t speak English, but the ones who do try to talk to me.  It’s hard to understand their broken English covered by their strong Nepali accent.  But they do communicate.

  I’m not as tired as I thought I’d be.  I was probably asleep within the first minute I was in bed.  Cuddled up to my Nalgene bottle, I slept like a log. When I awoke, I came to the realization that there’s nothing comfortable about my bed.  It’s a mattress, maybe 2 inches thick, on top of a wooden board.  But it sure felt like a cloud when I hit it the night before.  I’ve been told there’s nothing comfortable about India.

  And I think they’re right.  Taking a bath in less than 40° weather isn’t the most pleasant.  And when you're told to end your semi-hot bath with cold water... brrr.  But hey!  At least you feel on top of the world when you step out of the bathroom/shower room.  I find it easier to end with the cold if I let out a series of hoots and hollers when I pour the freezing water on my head.  Makes the girls talking outside the door giggle and talk wildly.  

  Also worth mentioning is riding in a small car, with six other people, trying to share a seat with four of them, sitting on the edge, being jolted around for 3 or so hours.  Yet, I threw the window open and sucked in the air.  Sure it smelt of burning trash, cow dung and car exhaust.  To me, it smelt like Guatemala and Bolivia.  I reveled in it!  Who cares if I'm cramped and squished?

  I've realized, that my attitude changes everything.  I could look at all these things, the bathroom, the traveling, the cold, the bed, and every other inconvenience, and be miserable.  Yet, as I try to find beauty in my surrounding, something in me changes.  I just make tea when I'm cold.  I holler when I take a bath and end with cold water.  I just cuddle close to my hot Nalgene when my bed seems uncomfortable.  I marvel at the skill my driver has in maneuvering the roads.  And I'm not cold anymore.  I'm not tired and cramped driving.  I'm not sleeplessly tossing and turning.  I'm not miserably forcing my way through another bath.  

  And I realize... I'm learning gratitude and contentment.  What an amazing quality to gain!  Rather than gripe and groan, I can learn to enjoy being here!  I can learn to love the people!  What freedom!