In November1992, 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 trip back in 1992, so I re-read my old trip diary, from which these memories were recalled.                                               

 MY FIRST CHURCH SERVICE

    My first church service in India was a disappointment. I had been asked to preach an evening meeting at the church where Hemant and his brother-in-law pastored. It was a small building sitting on top of a granite hill, overlooking a small village. Large speakers protruded from the roof, from which loud music blared at the villagers below. I wondered if it attracted them or annoyed them. I noticed the young people playing soccer outside rather than coming to church.

     The drums began, but there was no sense of worship, just noise. One woman, I believe she was an elder’s wife, began moving rhythmically to the music; soon she collapsed on the ground, foaming at the mouth. Everyone seemed to take this in stride as if this was a regular part of the service. I caught sight of a rat walking boldly out on the beam just above my head. It sat looking at me, and I kept an eye on him while I did my best to get through the meeting. I preached, but my words seemed to fall to the floor. As soon as the service was over, by the light of the moon, we made our way back down the root-covered path to the pastor’s home. In time, as I got to know this man better, I understood why his church was in the condition it was. He was one of the most corrupt men I met in India.  

THE RESTORATION OF CALEB’S FAITH 

     The only good thing that came out of that meeting happened the next day. I had been asked to return to the in-laws house. The mother of the family, who was perhaps the only member of the family with a real close walk with the Lord, had asked if I would pray for her youngest son. He was a young man named Caleb who was in a serious backslidden condition and had become a drunk. He often beat his mother and treated her shamefully. When I came into the room where we gathered to pray, I recognized him as one of the soccer players from the night before.

    He later told me that when I began to preach, the rest of the young people came in and took a seat on the floor, but he stood outside and listened at the window. Now he was asking for prayer. He said his heart was lonely for Jesus. It was obvious that he was in deep distress, so I led him through the initial steps of repentance, asking for forgiveness and cleansing. He prayed as if he were in agony. I could hardly make out a word he was saying, but I knew he was praying as he should because his dear old mother was laid prostrate on the floor, giving thanks to God. We were on holy ground.

    I was surprised to hear the Lord ask me to lay hands on him for the Baptism with the Spirit. I asked him if I could pray for him to receive the Holy Spirit and he immediately said yes.  I laid hands on him and he began to shake violently. I studied his face, not knowing what was going to happen. He had his eyes shut tight and his lips were trembling, when suddenly, he erupted in unknown tongues. After some time, he stopped and hugged me, crying softly. Later I learned that within a couple of days of this time of prayer, he headed off to Bible School. 

THE CHURCH IN THE JUNGLE 

     Finally the day came for Hemant and I to travel by motorcycle into the jungle. It looked more like a well-groomed forest than any jungle I had seen on television. The natives cut down almost anything they can sell for firewood. Some of the hills were altogether bare. A typical village would consist of a cluster of rust-colored huts made of mud and thatch. Some have clay tile roofs. There is usually a community well from which to draw water for cooking and you see people bathing or washing their clothes anytime you pass a stream or river. These tribal people live in the mountain forest much the same way they have for hundreds of years. They are not Hindus. They are animists who, much like American Indians, believe in a Great Spirit and in the reality of good spirits and evil spirits. They are also called “Untouchables”, but God has touched them and, in recent years, many have begun to turn to Christianity. It is an amazing thing to travel deep into the jungle and come to a village where the believers greet you in English, saying, "Praise the Lord!!"

    Upon our arrival in a village, men wearing long skirts and women wrapped in brightly colored cloth, called saris, would surround us. In general, the people are handsome, but the women tattoo their faces and pierce their noses with jewelry. Their upper ears droop from the weight of the dozens of silver rings that cover the outside cartilage of the ear. The first tribal women that greeted me looked pretty wild. They were older women, missing all their teeth, except for their canines. It was all I could do to hold still as they came closer to kiss me. At the last moment they swerved, only touching their cheek to mine, while making a clucking sound in my ear.

    Whenever we arrived, it was exciting just to see their excitement. In some places, I was the first white person they had ever seen. This was most evident by the reaction of the small children who panicked, climbing up the side of their mother’s head, screaming at the top of their lungs.

   After the initial greeting was over, we would make our way to where church would be held, which was usually nothing more than poles stuck into the ground, with leaves or saris laying across the top to provide some shade. Sometimes, it is nothing more than packed earth under a large tree. I felt as if I were in a National Geographic magazine, except for the fact that everyone was seeking the Lord.

     Hemant had arranged a number of day-long seminars in various locations so we could minister to the maximum number of people in each area. It is difficult for them to travel around. This was also the harvest time, but they would stop working in the fields and walk for miles to gather for this rare celebration. Everyone would sit on the bare ground or a clump of straw. The drums would begin and they would sing their lively songs and clap their hands, but there would be no real worship directed to God. When it was time to preach, my interpreter, Hemant would take his place beside me and I would teach, but I was never sure of their level of comprehension. Then we would pray for people. They needed no urging to come forward, but crowded near the front; hands raised to God, crying aloud to Him for the help they needed. After the first meeting, we would provide a midday meal of rice and seasoned meat so people would stay for the afternoon session before heading back to their homes or fields.    

HEAVY CONVICTION 

    In total, I preached in about six remote churches and we prayed for the sick everywhere we went. Some responded to the invitation to confess Christ for the first time. What became obvious was that God wanted to strengthen and restore His church. I preached God's grace and mercy, but surprisingly, a heavy Hand would come upon the believers causing intense conviction. The first meeting where this occurred, I was somewhat shaken to hear the way they wailed and cried out to God. They were in agony as they sought repentance with tears. I saw one man who was under so much pressure that his tears squirted straight out, rather than just running down his cheeks. Some people threw themselves on the ground while others beat their chests. I had never seen anything like this before. I let it go on for about twenty minutes, not wanting to interfere with whatever God was doing. Finally, I calmed them down and comforted them with God’s promises. This happened to various degrees wherever we preached. These dear people had so little teaching. Many of them still drank brew or had continued in their old ways.

    When all was said and done, it seemed like a powerful strengthening from the Lord had begun. It was obviously from the Lord, because I have not seen this kind of backslidden condition among these people since. They now enter into genuine worship during their meetings. 

GREAT EXPECTATION 

     As we traveled through the mountains and valleys, we often had to stop to let the engine of our motorcycle cool. One time, no sooner had we stopped in a busy market of a remote village, when a tall Indian man stepped out of the crowd to shake my hand. I thought he said, “You are Penn Clark”, which was a shock. He quickly added that he was a pastor of a church in this village and had been at the seminar in Bhubaneswar. He asked me to come to his house to pray for his sick mother. I looked at Hemant, who indicated that I should go. The man said the house was just nearby and that he would bring me back right away. I followed him through the busy street, past giant Brahman bulls, leaving the business district. We walked for about a mile. It was not as nearby as I thought. When we arrived at his house, I was introduced to his sick mother and I prayed for her. Then he placed each of his children in front of me so I could pray for them. Finally, he asked that he and his wife be prayed for. It marveled at his openness and expectancy, which seemed to me to be unjustified. Then he told me that he had seen me greeting the people at the seminar and that I prayed for those in need. This simple thing had helped create a kind of expectation everywhere I went. Another thing that helped was that some of the brothers would walk to the next village ahead of us, creating an expectation for prayer and healing. One older man did not even wait for me to finish the sermon. He just marched right into church, holding his loins, asking for prayer. The young men tried to stop him, but he pushed past them. I prayed for him, and later learned that he said he had cancer. He left happy, but I never saw him again. Healing was not something I was promoting or teaching, but it happened everywhere we went. Even now, whenever I return to these places, frequently people come up to tell me how they were healed during those first meetings. It was just God confirming His mercy. 

LEPERS 

      One of the things that Hemant had been trying to do since he returned from the Bible School in New York, was reach out to a leper colony near his home. It had been part of an old mission, abandoned long ago, before all missionaries were removed from India. He would bring medicine and food to them, but most of all he became one of the few outsiders who took the time just to visit them.

      As we walked part way into the colony, leaving our motorcycle when the path became too difficult to navigate anymore, we heard people hollering in the distance. They were calling others who were working in the field to come to see the visitors. As we waited for everyone to assemble, we stood in a courtyard between two rows of low mud huts with bamboo roofs. At the other end, there was a small white church, which had been built by the faithful missionaries who once served here. You rarely see a church in India, but that is not what stood out to me. Its heavy doors were chained shut indicating that it was not used, even though Hemant told me it was a Christian village. Its whitewash had faded long ago, and green stains spread out from the corners. The windows were dark and, if such a thing were possible, the building looked as if didn’t have a soul. It’s light and life was gone. Somehow I sensed that this typified the faith of the lepers, too.

      Finally the last person came, along with a couple of curious pigs, and we stood facing each other. It was a bit awkward. Then they began to argue among themselves about me, as if I were not even there.  I listened to try to follow what was happening, noticing how many of them did not have any fingers or toes. Some only had a couple of fingers, with deformed fingernails. The old people looked pretty rough, but I was surprised to see normal looking young people living among them. Hemant told me that these were their children and grandchildren who would not leave their parents, even though it exposed them to leprosy. I finally asked what they were arguing about. Hemant said, “They are arguing over how they are going to love you.” I did not understand this. He explained further that they were not used to visitors and they did not know how to show their love to me, seeing they could not touch me or offer me anything. My visit created a whole new dilemma for them.

     Finally, I broke the ice by raising my voice to greet them, with Hemant interpreting. This seemed to move things along. Someone placed a split-bamboo bench under a large shade tree for us. We walked over and sat down, while everyone gathered on the ground in front of us. Up until this moment I had not thought much about what I would teach them. Again, I was not sure I could say anything that they would relate to or be edified by. Under my breath, I asked Jesus to help me and I opened my mouth. I found myself talking about what life was like in Heaven. I described it as a real place, with trees and grass, and buildings, but without pain or sorrow, cold or hunger. I had shared this concept with my kids many times before, and made it more of a tour than a theology lesson. They seemed to approve of what I was saying.  I tried to build their hope for a life to come, where, unlike here, I could promise they would be happy. One older lady was a great encouragement to me during this talk. She not only leaned into the sermon, assuring me with her expression that she was really getting it, but from time to time she would tell the rest of the group something that helped them get it, too. When I asked who in the group were Christians, they all put up their hands, though some with hesitation. I didn’t want to let them know of my doubts about them, but I worked at this point from every angle in order to ensure that they understood what it was that made them eligible for heaven.

       This is how we spent a beautiful afternoon. Before we left, one old man said something to Hemant and indicated that he wanted us to go into his house. I hesitated, but Hemant said he wanted us to look at the condition of his roof, which leaked terribly during the rainy seasons. I stooped to get through the little opening and once inside I stood up cautiously, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. I could see daylight through the bamboo in the roof, but what struck me was the total lack of furniture. It was just a soot-covered room with a few rags and some rope hanging on pegs that were stuck in the old plastered walls. We talked, but I don’t remember breathing again until we went back outside.

     As we parted, they invited me to return and I promised I would. I also asked Hemant if we could buy them some blankets to help them through the winter, which had just begun. We walked to the motorcycle, and heard them calling at a distance. We turned around and saw the entire village gathered together on a ridge nearby, waving goodbye. We went further, and in a few minutes, found them again on another ridge calling out to us. They did this until we got on the main highway and finally headed for home.  

GOD’S MERCY 

      We arrived at one small village where I was to preach that evening. The pastor greeted us and offered to show us the church. It was a small building about twenty by twenty, made of mud with a tile roof. Nothing distinguished it as a church, except that inside there was a clay pulpit, which was joined to the clay floor. The tour only lasted a minute and as we were about to leave, a group of people brought a young boy into the church. He had no strength of his own and could barely stand for prayer. His hair hung in front of his pale face, his eyes were partly closed, his limp shoulders were draped with a coarse fabric, like a bran sack wrap. They said, “Please, pastor, pray for him”. I did not feel particularly spiritual, but could hear the earnestness in their request, so I laid hands on him, asking God to heal him. When I finished, he took a couple of steps backward, and slid down the wall, without any change of expression. He just sat there, with his arms hanging limply on his knees. My heart sank. Not only for him, but also for myself.  I was supposed to preach that night and we’ve begun with what seemed like an obvious failure of faith on my part.

     I was indicating that we should go, when another group of people brought in another boy identical to the first one, only smaller. I looked around thinking, “Didn’t any of you see what just happened? Nothing! Now you want me to pray again?”  Nevertheless, I placed my hands on his head and implored God to be merciful to him. This boy also stumbled aside, untouched by my prayer.

     I was taken to a house nearby where I could rest until the people gathered for the service. As I lay on the bench, I talked this whole thing over with the Lord. I confessed my disappointment and asked Him to help me become more yielded to Him and His power.

    In time, Hemant came for me and we went to church. I stood near the clay pulpit, watching as people came in taking their places on the floor. A young boy, with a warm smile and bright eyes, came in and shook my hand. He looked a little familiar and as I searched his face, he said, “Thank you for praying for me this afternoon. Jesus healed me.” This did not have time to register before the younger boy came in and did the same thing. I wept and blessed the Lord as I watched them bow before Him, with their foreheads touching the ground. I could see their lips forming the words, “Thank you, Jesus, thank you, Jesus.”

     We had a worship time that night! In fact, this was the first church that I had been in where the heavy conviction was not present. The young pastor loved his people and taught them well. It was a good example of what the church in Orissa could be like. The next time I preached in that place, they had built a temporary tabernacle that could seat a thousand people, and God moved again in a powerful way. As for those young boys, they are now young men and whenever I go back to this area, they come to where I am preaching just to bring greetings. 

THE INCARNATION 

     Since having gone to India for the first time in 1991, we have sent between 60 and 80 people overseas each year on short-term mission trips. From time to time we are challenged by the question, "Why not just send this money to those who are already over there?" I listen to this question and try to discern where it is coming from. Does it come from someone who is challenged by all the hard work of short-term missions, and is looking for a more convenient way to reach out? Does it come from a missionary who is short on support? Is it someone being frugal, who would rather see the money go to the nationals rather than the airlines? Believe me, I have thought about all of the above. I do not entertain the question for long, however, as I reflect on the effect our being there has had on our brethren. We have often seen our brethren weep when they realize that we have come halfway around the world just to be with them. They say things like, "God has not forgotten us!" Knowing that they have someone standing with them gives a profound boost to their morale. It says something that money cannot say. Without a doubt, there has been an exchange of hearts, which no one can put a dollar figure on. This can only come from working together time and time again. We see them getting the same burden for the poor around them. They are reaching out with the gospel and sharing the goods we give them as never before. They want what is in our hearts, not our wallets!

    I am more confident in answering this question with a question of my own; "Aren’t you glad God didn’t just send money?" He could have looked down on our condition and said, "Just send them more money". Instead, He came in the flesh in order to touch us at our point of need. In theological terms, this is called `the incarnation’, which comes from an old Greek expression that means "in the flesh". It describes God’s effort to get as close to us as He could. He wants to be with us.  

A SIGN –A STATEMENT THAT WORDS CANNOT SAY 

    The apostle Paul told Timothy that the incarnation was a great mystery: "And without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifested in the flesh, Justified in the Spirit, seen by angels, preached among the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up in glory." (1 Timothy 3:6)

    One reason it is such a mystery is that the idea is too big to get our heads around. The incarnation is perhaps the single most significant act of God since the creation. Yet Isaiah prophesied it in a simple manner:

"Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Emmanuel." (Isaiah 7:14)

     It was fulfilled in Jesus birth: "Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Emmanuel," which is translated, "God with us." (Matthew 1:23)  

     Jesus was never called Emmanuel by anyone; He was Emmanuel, "God with us". As He walked among us, He was able to say, "If you had known Me, you would have known My Father also; and from now on you know Him and have seen Him." (John 14:7-11)

 IF YOU HAVE SEEN ME… YOU HAVE SEEN THE FATHER 

     People today, even in the most remote jungle, are wondering what God is really like. Even believers get the wrong impression of Him. To hear some describe Him, you would think He is old, short-tempered, stingy, and half-mean. As you read the four gospels to see what Jesus was like, you find Him going from village to village, doing good and healing the sick. You can see He cares about our children, our fears, our food, our total well being…and He didn’t go around making anyone sick! He answered all of their questions, and taught them a way of life that was more fulfilling. He also sat with people right where they were, accepting them as they were. He showed the same intolerance we have for those religious bodies that add a burden to people rather than relieve them. He also spoke against the same hypocritical offenses we all disdain, which keeps sincere seekers from entering into the Kingdom. From this, you can see what God is really like because Jesus is God in the flesh. If you were with the young disciples when they asked Him to show them the Father, you would have been surprised by how straightforward His answer was: Jesus said, “…He who has seen Me has seen the Father...”(John 14:9) 

WHAT A STRETCH 

     It is hard for us to imagine how great a distance Jesus traversed in coming to us. First, being born as a man was quite a stoop. Not just any man, but He was born among the poor. Mary was so poor she offered a dove at His dedication, which was a sacrifice reserved only for the poorest in Israel. Jesus was not born in a palace nor did He wear purple silk. In fact, He could not have been born any lower-- he was born in a stable. No one would be able to ever say, “Jesus could not identify with my condition.” (Philippians 2:5-8) 

MY FIRST AWARENESS OF INCARNATION 

     I began to become more aware of the amazing distance God has come toward us, on my first trip to India. After spending my first night alone in Calcutta, I was ready to go home. I found it so difficult that the idea of having to spend another three weeks in India was almost more than I could bear. It was at this point that the Presence of the Lord came to my hotel room. Although I did not see Him with my eyes or hear Him with my ears, He was there with me. The first thing He communicated to me was that He, too, had left His home to come to such a place. I knew that He wasn’t minimizing what I was doing by comparison, yet, I could not miss that fact that what I was doing by leaving Beaver Falls, New York, was nothing compared to His leaving that peace-filled place to come into this dark sphere. I had never thought about how far His condescension went until that moment.

    He told me that He was pleased I willingly came to India to minister. He said, "I will never forget your willingness to come and minister in My name, and to share love and hope with My people".

    All I could do was weep as I considered His love for me and for the people of India. As I went from one jungle village to another, these words replayed in my mind. They would continue to bring me to tears throughout my stay. I was mindful of it as I walked into a village of lepers or stood to preach before primitive tribal people. His encouragement helped me face every obstacle with more joy and determination.  

THE FIRST TIME I SAW A MANGER 

    One time I was in a remote jungle village that only had a few really poor huts facing each other on both sides of a path. The people all sat in the path. We were partway through preaching when a boy began to drive his cows toward us. Everyone had to get up and get out of the way to let them pass. As we waited for things to settle back down, I watched the cows climb up bamboo ramps into their stalls where they would spend the night. It suddenly hit me that Jesus was born in a stable. The picture books I read to my children always made the stables look nice and warm. The mangers we use for the Christmas plays are always well built and clean. But you wouldn’t set your baby in one of these real mangers. It occurred to me that no one takes time to build a stable. They don’t use their best materials nor do they take care to keep them really clean. Again, it dawned on me how far God came for us, leaving the splendor of Heaven and being born in a stable.  

WE ARE INVITED TO BE INCARNATE 

    Jesus came and identified with us. Now we are asked to follow His example in order to be there for others. (1 Peter 4:1-2) People can tell if you are really with them or not. They can sense it. They can feel it when a pastor is speaking from the pulpit as one of them, or as someone who thinks he is above them. Unbelievers wonder if we really want them in our lives, or are we just trying to get another notch in our "gospel gun-belt".

    The alternative to identifying with people in their need is to spend the rest of our lives serving our selves and our own desires. I have asked myself many times, “Would you be willing to be discomforted so that others can be comforted?” Would you be willing to suffer so that others can be relieved of their suffering? Would you be willing to become financially inconvenienced so that others may be better off? I don’t live at this level of commitment all the time, but I want to visit there more often. 

MY FELLOWS LEPERS 

    There have been a number of Christ-like people who have inspired me. One is Joseph Damien, a missionary in the nineteenth century, who ministered to the lepers in Hawaii. Each morning Joseph led a time of worship with the lepers. One day he was pouring some hot water into a cup and it splashed onto his bare foot. It took him a moment to realize that he was not feeling any pain. He was gripped by the sudden fear of what this meant. He poured more hot water on his foot to confirm the fact that he had no feeling in it whatsoever. He went to the Bible Study and instead of beginning the sermon with, "Good morning my fellow believers", he began with, "My fellow lepers." Even though he had always identified with the people he was serving, that morning he had become more incarnate than ever before. (Adopted from Ravi Zacharias in "Deliver us From Evil")  

I WANTED TO BE WITH THEM 

    I have a French-Canadian brother who takes short-term trips to Romania several times a year, where he stays in the homes of some of the poorest believers. When I asked him what the conditions were like for him there, he quietly told me that it was hard. When pressed for an example, he began, with some reluctance, to say that once he was in a home and happened to walk past the kitchen where the women were preparing a simple meal. He said he was shocked to see them squeezing the undigested cud from the intestines of a freshly killed lamb into the soup. I curled up my nose and asked him if he ate it. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes searching my face to see if it was safe to answer or not. He did not want to boast, nor did he want to minimize the sacrificial hospitality that he had been shown. He was obviously searching for a way to let me know that food was not the issue with him. After a minute he finally blurted out, "Penn, I wanted to be with them!"

     I rocked back in my chair, hit by the force of his passion for the poor and by a revelation. "Jean-Claude," I exclaimed, "That’s the incarnation." He leaned forward with his eyes widened as he took in the idea, and said, "Yes! That’s the word. I remember it from my days in seminary. That’s the word exactly! I wanted to be incarnate".  

THE BOWELS OF CHRIST 

     I have read the following verse many times, not taking the time to understand what it meant. Then as the concept of the incarnation began to grow in me, I caught a glimpse of what Paul was experiencing when he wrote: "For God is my record, how greatly I long after you all in the bowels of Jesus Christ." (Philippians 1:8)

     I believe the apostle was saying, "I feel something of what Jesus must feel inside Him about you." This verse convicts me about my shallow heart condition as a pastor and missionary. It is a rare internal discomfort that I wish I suffered from more. This condition is a goal I strive toward as I reach out to the lost. It also answers the question, "Aren’t you glad God didn’t just send money?"