Paroikos

July 17, 2008 - Chennai, IndiaLast night shortly before midnight, I had already brushed my teeth and was just about to change for bed, when the faintest knock occurred on my door. Reminiscent of Poe’s dolefully dramatic but wonderful rhythmatic The Raven. ” . . . suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more . . .” Unlike Poe unfortunate character I was correct, no raven, only two boys. One of them the neighbor from across the hallway. There is maybe three feet that separate my doorway from his, yet this was the first time that he came over to say hello, and this time only late at night. He was afraid of his parents who apparently do not approve of him mixing with foreigners. I should mention that when I call them boys, I mean they are somewhere in their early twenties, one maybe slightly younger, the other slightly older. He came late at night and asked me not to let his parents know that he had come.

Beyond that I also learned what I already suspected and mentioned before namely that a large portion of the Hindu population of India, although they might have a problem with “Christians” have no problem with Christianity, or Christ. In fact he was telling me how many Hindus prefer the churches and the Christian religious service, because there is time and place for quiet meditation and prayer. When they go to Hindu temple, it is loud and there is no place where they can worship in peace. But they like to come to our worship service where it is peaceful. Nevertheless there are still many who are faithful and convicted and true to the Lord in their service and their lives.

July 16, 2008 - Chennai, India GMT +5:30Today I was on my way to teach at our Bible school in Nagalapuram, when the car broke down. Actually I was taking a nap in the back of the car, from which I awoke after my body sense that we were stopped for some unknown reason. The car wouldn’t start and the driver thought it was the alternator. I got out and pushed and we got the car started again, but immediatley smoke started billowing out of the engine. We shut it off again. We weren’t that far along on our journey, only about 30 kilometers from my flat. I left Kumar with the car and returned by auto rickshaw to my home.

My flat as many of you may know sits practically right on the beach, the ocean and sky stretch away indefinitely from the roof of my building, and when I go for a walk my glasses are often covered with salt by the time I return. On this particular day driving back to my flat in the late hours of the morning, we were riding along almost due East, straight towards the ocean. We came over a small rise in the road and I could see, down the road between houses and trees, a glimpse of that same sea. It wasn’t so much that I could see the sea, as I filled it in. When I think back on it now, I am almost positive that I saw nothing of sand or foam, or gently rolling blue. The road was a narrow one, there was a great amount of overhanging foliage, people, cars, and general traffic and the end of the road and the beginning the peaceful was still 1/4 of a mile away. There was a small gap and through it could be seen not deep blue, but empty blue, not sea but sky, not something but nothing. It was a gap, a hole, that was it but in that hole I saw the sea. My brain, my eyes, my body knew it was there, despite the fact that it could not be seen. If you had asked me the second after that moment, “Can you see the sea from here?” My answer would have been a smile, a point, a consternation as I suddenly realized that no you could not in fact quite see it. It was there certainly in my brain, filled in in full color, like that one spot your eye can’t see, and yet there is no hole in your vision. Even if I had never been to that part of town before, never come down that road, never before set my eyes to skim over tar and under leaf towards that single opening, I’m still sure I would have seen in that opening the sea. Who knows what small signs assist the mind in such a calculation, a slight drop in temperature, a tiny shift in breeze, the taste of salt on the tongue as the breath flows through your body, the faint hint of a sea gulls cry, all too small too be grasped by conscience thought, but nevertheless all noted, calculated and filed. Small numbers which signal deep blue and sand white.

So is our God, or rather our knowledge of our God. I have deep respect and a great appreciation for those who labor in the field of apologetics. I appreciate very much their intense understanding, their calculated and reasoned defense of the Word of God. My own mind often seeks for just such answers. But in the end all they can do is describe what isn’t there. They can look down the road and see the endless sky, the open emptiness where there ought to be buildings and trees, but to fill it in takes something else something more. Not because the proof isn’t there, not because the clues aren’t there but because they are beyond our ability to cope with, to quantify and to categorize. Nevertheless we know it to be true, we know it to be certain. The Word adds what our minds cannot quite grasp. Faith, given by the grace of God, reaches beyond the emptiness, below vacancy. There filling the void is the Lord God. And then grasping what cannot be grasped, understanding what we do not want to know, faith fills not only fills in the gap, but colors it to. We know the color of the Lord, how to fill Him in. Not all, not completely, but partly. We know because we have seen Him.

While you are driving through Chennai  you will often see signs reading, “If It’s not Hindu it not Indian” For a while I just assumed this was some sort of promotion for the Hindu religion. Until someone, I think it was Todd, pointed out that it is probably an an advertisement for the local newspaper here in Chennai, which is called “The Hindu”.

In that same newspaper I found the following advertisement, and thought I woudl share it with all of you. It puts a whole new twist on personal ads. (If you can’t read the smaller print, click on the picture it will bring it up in  a seperate window, then click again and it will enlarge it)

I spent most of the day without any power. It went off late last night at some point, was on briefly this morning, but other than that left me alone. Which in one sense turned out to be good since my freezer badly needed to be defrosted and is now currently free of ice. Around 6:00pm the sky began to darken and I was a little afraid that soon I would have to give up studying since I would have no more light. But then I stepped outside for a minute and when I came back the power was back on, praise the Lord.

On a totally different note what I really wanted to mention today was the latest issue of Time Magazine. The June 30 - July 7th issue has a large section on games played aroud the world. They take a number of popular international sports and briefly talk about how these sports affect the lives and cultures of people in different areas of the world. I found some of these articles extremely interesting.  For example one article speaks of how families in Cameroon will often sell everything they have including their business and only means of livilihood just to pay for a son to go to Europe to train in football (soccer). Many of the young men end up penniless in Europe with no way to get home. Meanwhile their families have enormous debts (to them anyway) with little chance of ever paying them back. Often these situations are intiated by hucksters who make big promises take the money and abadon the boys once they get to Europe. Another article informed me that Polo was not originally a British game but had its roots over here in Tibet as an exercise for Calvary. Or how South Korea has turned computer gaming, I’m sorry e-games, into a national past time to the extent that the top players are treated in much the same way we revere Brett Favre or Michael Jordan. The articles are short only a page or two and yet give a good deal of insight into understanding both the sport and the lives and culture of some of the people that play them. I thought I would mention them in case anyone else was interested in reading them.

- Matt