In November 1992, I took my first mission trip to India. Since then, the Lord has given me the privilege of going back many times, allowing me to introduce the tribal people I have come to love to many others. I thank God that He has enabled me to become their teacher, pastor, and friend. Recently, I was reminded of my first night in India, back in 1992, so I re-read my old trip diary, from which these memories were vividly recalled. 

MY FIRST NIGHT IN INDIA 

   I had been asking Jesus for about two years to take me on an adventure with Him. I had longed to go someplace where they didn't take credit cards and where I did not know anyone. I wanted to be completely dependant upon the Lord. I wanted to experience His power in my life and to know His companionship more deeply than my circumstances allowed in my pastorate in northern New York. I daydreamed about going to places like Costa Rica or the Dominican Republic. I never once considered going to India, yet when the invitation came, I knew that Jesus was finally answering my prayer. 

THE INVITATION 

   I had been teaching for a week at a Bible School and noticed that one of the students, a young brother from India, named Hemant, had started growing a beard. I tried to joke with him about it, because of the obvious change in climate and the fact that he was away from his wife, but his eyes saddened and he just looked away. Later that day, I went to his room to see what was the matter. He was surprised to see me at his door, saying that I was the first person to ever come to his room to check on him. It was then that I discovered that he did not have any more razor blades or much of anything else either. He was also desperately homesick. When I went back home, our church put together a “care-package” for him with lots of supplies and goodies in it and my family invited him to come to our home for the month-long Christmas break.

    It was fun having Hemant around. We took him skating and sledding and the kids often hiked him around in the knee-deep snow. We introduced him to Christmas-time food and enjoyed sitting around the table at night, telling stories. He added another whole dimension to this by telling us stories about India. He told us about a primitive tribe that he had visited in the mountains of northern India. He said they lived deep in the forest surviving off the land the way people lived thousands of years ago. They were called “untouchables” and were virtually unrecognized by their government. Hemant told us how some young men he knew had gone into the jungle to tell them about Jesus, and had even planted churches among them, even though they were stoned and were refused food or shelter. He said they desperately needed Bible teaching and asked me if I would come to India to help them. This was an idea which I had never considered before. The prospect of it was both exciting and frightening. Little did I realize that this invitation would lead to one of the richest experiences of my life.   

DESCENDING INTO DARKNESS 

     About a year later, as my plane descended into Calcutta late at night, the implications of what I was doing suddenly hit me. I had to fight off panic as I thought of being detained at immigration for entering the country as a missionary; I was even unnerved at the prospect of having to find a hotel for the night. Stories I had heard about other ministers who came to Calcutta and refused to leave the airport came to mind. They were so frightened that they begged to be put on the next plane home. I reproved myself for being so reckless in not really thinking this through. But had I, I would never have left home in the first place.

     The soldiers with antique rifles who guarded the old airport treated the passengers roughly as they lined us up in what looked like an old concrete warehouse. I grew nervous as I watched them shout at people for not having their papers filled out properly. Some soldiers were going through luggage; others were pulling people out of line to question them. I knew that you could not do missionary work in India, and wondered if the big Bible in my briefcase would betray my real purpose for being there. I prayed as I stood before an angry immigration officer. “Where are you going?” he demanded to know. “Orissa.” I replied, as casually as I could. “Orissa! Nobody goes there! What are you going to do there?” I told him I was going to visit a friend... a former student. He looked at my paperwork and noted the mistakes I had made. I expected him to kick me out of line like he had the others, but an unusual kindness came over him. He helped me fill it out properly right there and welcomed me to India. I noted this with thanksgiving because I felt the good hand of God upon me. I was one of the few people who went easily through all the layers of immigration and customs, while others were being hassled or having their bags emptied out on the floor. 

THE LONGEST NIGHT 

  As I walked out of the immigration area and into the main concourse, I was engulfed by a crowd of young men who tugged at my bags, insisting on helping me. All were speaking at the same time. I moved purposely towards the exit, but I really did not know where I was going. One man insisted on helping me get a taxi to find a room and was eager to exchange my dollars into rupees. As I stepped through the main doors into the thick humid night air, many more people began waving at me, calling to me with out-stretched hands.

     I reversed myself, pushing against the brown tide and hauled my bags down the main concourse again. At this point, I passed an elderly couple who were also surrounded by a crowd of desperate young men. They did not even glance at me, but looked straight ahead, wide-eyed, their faces strained. I felt sorry for them, until I caught my own reflection in a window.  I looked about the same as them.

     One insistent fellow held my elbow and continued his steady stream of "Sirs" in my ear, offering anything I needed. I asked about a phone and no sooner had I said this than the entire crowd turned, and the tide carried me to a row of public phones. I stood there, with no Indian coins and no idea who to call. The whispering man gave me a handful of dirty coins, wagging his head from side to side, saying, "No problem, no problem." I had no hotel numbers, could not speak Hindi or understand the operators even if they spoke English. There was no such thing as a phone book. I gave the man back his coins and pushed my way through the crowd, moving back to the main concourse where I first entered. I stood there hopelessly surrounded, exhausted from not having slept for nearly 30 hours, and prayed for help. At that moment a face seemed to stand out from all the rest. The young man smiled knowingly, stepped toward me and said, “Follow me, I will help you.” 

SWEET TEA 

     He turned and walked away, and my heart told me I could trust him. I clutched my bags, fending off many helpful hands, and once again pushed through the noisy crowd. Suddenly I found myself at a courtesy desk, which had a list of hotels written on a board behind a group of nice men in nice suits.  They told me that they provided a free service to assist tourists and assured me they could get me a room for the night.  They made a number of phone calls while my crowd waited for me at a distance. The young man handed me a small glass of hot sweet tea, which tasted so good. I asked his name and he smiled and said, “Dadu, and I have a taxi which will take you to your hotel and pick you up in the morning to bring you back to the airport in time for your flight.” The men behind the desk calmly confirmed this to be true. Then I was told that there were no hotels available nearby, but that a reservation could be made at a hotel across from Mother Theresa's hospice, which was almost an hour away. I was so tired that I would accept anything they offered. We left the sanity of the desk and moved back out into the concourse again, but this time Dadu cleared the way and the crowd parted for him. We passed through the groping hands at the entrance and moved quickly towards a parking lot with my familiar crowd in tow. Instead of getting into one of the cars in the first parking lot, we continued to walk to another lot, then another, and finally, through a field of tall dry grass, way out of range of the airport and the security of its lights. As I wondered aloud about this, Dadu assured me that his car was just ahead.  Finally, we came to a row of old cars. I could see that one was occupied from the glow of a cigarette in the front seat. This was our car. Dadu spoke something with authority. The man quickly jumped out and opened the back door for me. I was reluctant to get in the car, "I thought you said you had a taxi, Dadu?"  He said, “Yes, this is my car and Sadu is my driver.” Sadu looked like a criminal. 

YOU HAVE A VISITOR 

      I began to lose confidence in my new friend, but took my place on the overstuffed seat in the back of the very old sedan. After they put my stuff in the trunk, the ancient car roared to life, but just as suddenly, Sadu turned off the ignition and turned around. The crowd had surrounded the vehicle. "Why are you stopping?”  I said, “Let's go!" Sadu took a drag on his cigarette and said, "You have a visitor." I didn’t know what he could possibly mean. Then he pointed to my window where the man who had been at my elbow whispering in my ear, stood smiling at me. In disbelief, I rolled down the window to see what he wanted.  “Sir,” he said with a broad smile, “you did not give me a tip.” "For what?" I said incredulously. "For helping you at the phone booth.” I told him I did not have any money. His smile quickly disappeared as he firmly demanded that I exchange my money with him right there. Suddenly, I heard something scratching at the trunk of the car.  It occurred to me that he might be distracting me while the others got into my bags. I jumped out of the car, causing them to scurry back. Sadu followed me and tried to help me back into the car while I demanded that he lock the trunk. He slammed it several times, but it just bounced each time. I got back in the car but he would not start the engine. Again I spoke firmly that we must go, "Now!" The whisperer leaned into my window. I told him to leave me alone or I would call the police. He laughed and said that they would not help me. I believed him and began to pray about what to do. Finally I said, as calmly as I could, that my plane left the next day at five o’clock. I would arrive at the airport at four. If he would meet me then, I would give him a tip. He cocked his head from side to side while he studied my face, and declared with a smile "Sir, honesty is the best policy!" And with that he stepped back and nodded to Sadu for us to go.  My driver fired up the old engine and ground the gears until the car lurched forward, startling the crowd. Less than two car-lengths ahead, another car pulled in front of us to cut us off.  I insisted that we keep moving, so Sadu swerved onto the grass and we roared off into the night. 

FIRST VIEW OF CALCUTTA 

     After a minute or two, I realized we were driving down the road without our headlights on.  When I told Sadu to put them on, I was shocked to suddenly see the number of people walking on the road, not to mention the cattle and streams of bicycles moving in every direction. Then I noticed a curious thing about Sadu's car. When he tried to turn, he would spin the steering wheel, like a roulette wheel, but the car would not move. Then suddenly, it would jerk to the side where he would quickly spin it back the other way. This was especially exhilarating because we were just narrowly missing people and cattle Sadu lay on the horn, dodging everything and just missing their backsides.

     Calcutta was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was late at night, yet there was so much activity; so many people and all kinds of animals moving about. I wondered where they all could possibly be going. I saw people huddled around small fires on the street. I saw families sitting in boxes, the light of a kerosene lamp their only comfort. There was garbage everywhere.

     At one point during the ride to the hotel, it occurred to me that the two men were under no obligation to take me anywhere. They could pull over and tell me to get out, driving away with my bags.  I continued to pray, and this thought hit me. “What if my bags are already gone? What if they had been snatched in the parking lot before I got out of the car?” This thought chilled me, despite the heat of the night. If it were true, it would mean being alone in Calcutta without my money, passport, or tickets. All I could do was breathe a prayer, “Lord, help me.” Then His peace came over my heart and mind, assuring me that everything would be all right. I began to praise Him as I sensed that He was with me in the backseat of that old car.

     Finally after a long ride we pulled up to the hotel, which I was surprised to see. “They actually brought me here!” I thought. We all jumped out and Sadu flipped open the trunk and there were my dusty bags. I could have done a jig right there on the spot. Little did I realize that my darkest night was just beginning.   

THE DARKEST NIGHT 

     The hotel looked nice on the outside, but my room was filthy. Pictures of idols hung on the walls; the elevator creaked and moaned just outside my door; the toilet had not been flushed in ages, and filled the room with the odor of stale urine. My bed was so filthy that I could not sleep on it. I had brought a sheet with me, which I put on top of the blankets so I could lie down. Before I could finally get to sleep I needed to use the toilet, so I crawled out of bed and staggered to the door. Just as I opened it, something long, gray, and furry darted toward my feet. I slammed the bathroom door on its neck, making a crunching sound. I did not know what it was, but as I eased off the door, it jumped back into the bathroom. It was a cat. As it tried to get back out the partially opened window, it fell into the toilet, filling the room with the most horrible smell. With each repeated attempt, it splashed more old urine all over the walls and floor. It became weaker with each attempt and I became more nauseated. Finally I closed the door and went back to bed. The smell was so bad I sprinkled some after-shave lotion on a handkerchief and held it next to my nose while I tried to sleep. It was useless. 

I WILL NEVER FORGET 

     As I lay there, it occurred to me that I had to go through the same thing all over again in the morning. I had to go back to the airport, ride in the same car, face the same crowd, and deal with the whisperer.  I felt like I couldn’t face it again. I began to slip into a depression. This was my first night. I had weeks of travel ahead of me and the place I was going to was supposed to be worse than this. How could I survive? I just wanted to go home. I missed my family and I was sure I had made a mistake in coming here. I sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, which completely filled the room.

     Finally, I sat on the edge of the bed and forced myself to praise the Lord. My voice sounded so small and weak. I sang, “I love you Lord, and I lift my voice…” I did not get much further than this when my Companion came into the room. I felt His sweet presence.  He reminded me that He, too, had left His home to come to earth.  He knew what I was going through. I had never thought about how He left the splendor and cleanliness of Heaven to come to the squalor of this planet. I knew that my coming from Beaver Falls was nothing in comparison to what He had done, but I knew He meant to identify with what I was going through, not to make comparisons.

     He went on to tell me that He was pleased that I was willing to come to India to minister.  He said, "I will never forget your willingness to come here and minister in My name, and the love and hope you will share with My people."

     All I could do was weep. I realized that I did not have any love for India. I was ashamed of my fears and the fact that I was so concerned about my stuff, but had no concern for the needs of the people who lived here. I was surprised, and moved, that He commended me at all. He also assured me that in the morning everything would be fine and that it would be nothing like last night. He said that He would be with me throughout my travels in India. 

JOY COMES IN THE MORNING 

    I got up a short time later and went outside, while men came to clean my bathroom. It did not matter much, though, because when I took a shower, my hair was harder and dirtier after I washed it than it was before.

    I was surprised as I stood on the sidewalk in the sunshine, to hear laughter and singing on the streets. I didn’t expect this in Calcutta, but such is the human spirit. My hotel was across the street from Mother Teresa’s center. As I looked down the street I saw two native Sisters walking my way, their crisp white saris standing out in sharp contrast to the muted earth tones of everything else around, their faces full of deep serenity.  You could actually see God’s love shining upon them. What a beautiful thing to behold. I simply could not help but stare and marvel. Soon my driver came, but it was not Sadu. He had sent an older man to pick me up in a nice, new van. We drove slowly through the streets on a bright sunny day, not hitting anyone. When we arrived at the airport, it was peaceful and not crowded at all. I walked around unmolested. Strangers did come up to me, but only to greet me, asking if it was my first visit to India, and if I liked it. Two men offered me tea, and engaged in friendly conversation. As I awaited my flight, I was given a newspaper, which had a story in it about a man who had the same kind of experience I had the night before. Apparently there was a taxi strike in Calcutta, which made the drivers more aggressive in getting passengers.

    As I read the paper, I heard someone say,  “Are you Penn Clark?” I was shocked to hear my name in the airport. I looked up and there was a well-dressed man looking at me. “Yes, yes I am.” I stammered. He smiled, “I was told to look out for you. I will be traveling with you to Orissa.” This brother, a New Zealander named John, was a missionary in Singapore. He was part of a team that David Wallis, a missionary to India, had assembled from all over the world in order to conduct a weeklong pastors’ seminar in Orissa. When David learned that Hemant had invited me, he written and asked if I would join his team during my first week in India. David was supposed to meet me in Calcutta when I first arrived, but had to change his plans at the last minute. He asked John to look out for me and see that I arrived safely at the seminar. This day was nothing like the night before. Praise the Lord! 

CO-LABORERS TOGETHER 

    "I will never forget your willingness to come here and minister in My name, and the love and hope you will share with My people." These words would replay in my mind often, as I traveled from jungle village to jungle village. They would bring me to tears, reminding me of His love for “His people.” I needed this encouragement as we made our way by motorcycle through the herds of buffalo; faced the threat of wild elephants; or walked into a leper colony for the first time. I needed it when I drove through the night on a dilapidated old bus, which had been taken over by a gang of young men that we had stopped to pick up in the middle of the night. I needed it when I walked down into water the color of green pea soup, to baptize new converts. I needed it to continue preaching in spite of the angry faces and demon possessed people in almost every crowd. There is a wonderful truth in all this. He cares about His co-laborers. He knows our frame and supplies us with whatever we need on every level, if we are even half willing to go in His name.  He not only ministers through us, but to us.  

Mark 16:19,20  "So then, after the Lord had spoken to them, He was received up into heaven, and sat down at the right hand of God. And they went out and preached everywhere, the Lord working with them and confirming the word through the accompanying signs.  Amen."