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. 

     I have seen a variety of wild life in India, such as jackals and many different kinds of monkeys. Some of the little ones are cute. The larger ones are hard to get a good look at as they bound through the forest with amazing speed and agility. Once I came across a 25-foot long whale shark that had been beached, along with a dozen sea turtles that had been upturned. One of the most awe-inspiring things I have seen was a flock of green parrots lifting off in unison from the jungle floor. Once we had a peacock walk into a church where we were preaching.      

     You often see lizards in the houses, darting about, cleaning up the mosquitoes. The mosquitoes may be one of the deadliest creatures in India, spreading disease from person to person. Once, in my room, I found a spider as big as the bottom of a soda can. The largest ones are brightly colored, red, blue, or yellow, and as big as a child’s hand. They spin their webs across the trails, which make walking jungle trails interesting.

     The area that we travel in is known for its tigers. I have only seen one tiger so far, and that was crossing the road at night, but I have been to villages that were on edge because they had recently lost some of their cattle to tigers. Once, while visiting a really remote village, I asked if they had seen any tigers that far back. One brother told us that recently they were coming out of church after an evening service and thought a calf was lying in the grass nearby. When it got up and slowly walked away, they realized that it was a tiger, which had been listening to them sing to the Lord.

     Hemant wrote to me soon after I had returned home, saying that he had been traveling late one evening by motorcycle when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something come out of the forest. It was a tiger, loping along beside him. It ran beside him for some distance before veering off into the forest, because of the roar of a truck coming around the corner.

     You have to be careful about snakes in India, watching everywhere you walk. It seems like the smaller the snake, the more venomous it is. Even at the orphanage, I saw photos of the ladies holding up various size snakes that had been killed in the compound. David Wallis told me how he and another brother were passing some time in Calcutta. As they walked through the market place, they came upon a snake charmer who was handling a large cobra. As the two missionaries passed, the big snake turned it’s head and looked straight at them. In a flash, it leapt toward their heads. If it had not been for the quick reflexes of the handler, who caught it and put it back in a basket, the missionaries would have had to contend with a very evil snake. 

ELEPHANTS 

     Once, while we were walking the trail, we were joined by a couple of tribal women who answered all of our questions about what it was like to live in the jungle. I asked which animal they were most afraid of. Without hesitation, they said the elephant. Apparently elephants come into an area and destroy the rice fields with their extensive appetites. One man tried to scare some elephants away by banging on pots. The elephants returned, sneaked up behind the man and trampled him into the ground. The tribal women said there was nothing left of him but a bloody spot where he once stood.

     I had been in one village that had been visited by a group of elephants that wanted the bales of rice that the people kept in their houses. They surrounded the village and trumpeted for a long time, causing pure panic. When everyone ran away, the elephants simply pulled back the thatched roofs with their trunks, reached in, and lifted out the bales of rice.

     Hemant also told me that one time as he left his in-law’s home late at night, he saw something odd. The headlights from an oncoming vehicle were partly obstructed by something in the road. He said it seemed like trees in the road, but that was impossible. As he got closer, he saw more definition from the headlights behind and he realized that it was an elephant standing in the middle of the road. It lifted its trunk and roared. Hemant lowered the cycle down on its side and skidded off the road and down the embankment. He was not hurt, but was clearly shaken, even when he told me the story a year later.      

WILD ELEPHANTS COULDN’T KEEP ME AWAY 

      I had been away from home about three weeks when Hemant suggested that I call Heather. I asked him where the nearest phone was. He said it was about 50 kilometers away, in a small city at the base of the mountains. I was reluctant to put him through so much trouble, but he insisted. Off we went, with the motorcycle sputtering and stalling along the way. It had developed an exhaust problem, which made it noisier, and it also had developed a nasty habit of stalling out every now and then. Once, it stalled just as we came upon a herd of water buffalo walking down the road. Passing through herds of animals is common on the roads of India, but usually you just move along slowly and they part to let you through. This time, the motorcycle quit just as we entered the herd, causing us to be enveloped by a sea of these docile creatures, their horns scraping against us as they plodded past.

     We were weaving our way down the road when the driver of an oncoming jeep motioned for us to stop. He seemed quite anxious and told us that there were two wild elephants up ahead. After he left, we debated whether or not we should continue. We had come too far to go back, but did not want to take any unnecessary chances. Hemant reminded me that elephants were sneaky, unpredictable, and very vengeful. He said sometimes they got drunk on rice and this makes them a particular hazard to humans. We sat on the motorcycle and prayed for a moment and we both felt we should continue. As we started off, Hemant turned his head and added one more elephant fact. Motorcycles annoyed them. Suddenly, the loud exhaust seemed much louder to me.

     A little further down the road there was another man in a field waving at us, holding up two fingers, indicating two elephants in the direction we were headed. We continued until we saw another man, standing near the edge of a field. This time I held up two fingers. He understood and motioned that the elephants had entered the forest. We were relieved and continued towards the city, but I had already begun to worry about the return trip we would have to make later that night.

      Finally, we arrived at the store that had a microwave telephone. It had a meter on it that told you how much you must pay after you hang up. The man who operated the phone stood right behind me, listening unashamedly to everything I said. It was awkward to say much more to Heather than that I loved her. Today, I would not give this a second thought because it is so common in India, but at that time I could not think of much to say that I wanted them to hear. I only spoke for a few minutes, finding out that all was well at home and letting Heather know that I was safe and being blessed by the Lord. Heather was pleased that she finally heard from me and told me that lots of people were praying for me. It was not until I got home that I explained what I meant when I told her that wild elephants could not keep me from phoning.   

TIME FOR A BATH 

     It is common to see people bathing in India. The first time I saw this was my first day in Calcutta. I watched in utter fascination as a man bathed on the street, squatting down close to a broken pipe from which water spilled out onto the dusty street. In time, you get used to it because you can hardly pass a stream, lake, or well, any time of day, without seeing someone bathing. They do this discreetly by keeping some clothes on at all times, unless you are in the jungle, where they just keep their backs to the road.

    Once when spending a night in a village, I was offered a bath between meetings. This sounded great. The man of the house gave some orders to his sons to get things in motion. When all was ready, I was taken to the back of the house where I found that they had erected a stall made of corn stalks stuck into the ground to give me some privacy. They were also thoughtful enough to place a flat rock in it for me to stand on so I would not get dirty. They gave me a steaming kettle of hot water with a smaller pail to use to pour water over myself. I began to scrub in the open air, which was very refreshing, until I noticed the neighborhood had come to peak through the cornstalks. I think they were trying to see if I was white all over. Finally, the man of the house came out and shooed most of them away.    

WONDERFUL FOOD  

      One evening, while I was sitting in Hemant’s house, a stranger came through the kitchen with a knife in his hand, walking purposefully to the back porch. I was surprised to hear this followed by an awful racket-- lots of panicking, thumping, and clanging. Hemant could see the concern on my face and told me that it was just the chicken man. Apparently, he comes to your house and kills and cleans your chickens for you. It is an actual job. So I went back to watch him work. After he plucked the chicken, he hunched over the bird, holding it with his toes. Then, starting at the bird’s feet, he worked his way up to the head, cutting it into small chunks with a double-handled cleaver. The small chunks of meat included the bones. Nothing went to waste.

     I had noticed that when I would reach into a bowl of meat, I would find lots of bones with some meat, concealed in a dark, spicy sauce. Sometimes I had no idea what I held in my fingers until it got into my mouth. Then I could tell whether it was innards or meat. Once I retrieved half a chicken beak out of my mouth. Another time, I set aside half a smooth skull, with the brains still attached. The natives suck the bones before setting them aside, making it a noisy dinner. Everyone sits cross-legged on the ground, hunched over a plate of stitched leaves piled high with boiled rice. Dal, which is a thin, yellow sauce, is poured on top, which you then work into the rice with your fingers. You roll the rice into a small ball, and flip it into your mouth with your thumb. After the meal, the host will come with a pitcher of warm water, so you can wash your right hand. The trick is to wash yourself as they pour, using only your right hand.

     I love Indian food, and even now I find that I crave it. Once, after a long trip where I think I had curried chicken and rice for every meal, I came back home and Heather and I went to the food court at the mall. She went one way and I went the other, and when we sat down together, I was surprised that I had bought chicken and rice. 

MEETING GABRIEL 

    The first time I met Gabriel was at a seminar that Hemant had arranged. The people that gathered together for these meetings were largely from the tribal churches Gabriel had started. At first glance, he did not look very impressive. He is a very small, wiry man, without much self-confidence. He had a shy smile and was friendly and gracious toward me, but not someone who liked to chat. Most of what I learned about him came from others. I probably would not have even connected with him had he not been my interpreter for these meetings. Hemant could not speak the local tribal language. Gabriel had been asked to preach and while I did not understand anything he said, it was obvious that the people were listening intently and responding to his passionate preaching. You could sense a moral authority and the respect of the people. By comparison, Hemant had no authority with these people; nor did anyone else that traveled with us.

     In time, I learned the story of how Gabriel came to live in the jungle. He had left his village after he was baptized with the Holy Spirit, because he wanted to live among the tribal people so he could win them to Christ. This was something that few people had ever considered doing before. He was a childhood friend of Hemant’s wife, which was how Hemant had come to meet him. Initially, he suffered much in the forest. No one would help him in any way, lest it encouraged him to stay. They refused to share their food with him, so he lived on wild nuts and ground fruit. One time when we were walking the trail, Gabriel stopped to show me some of the nuts he used to boil for food. They looked like beech nuts. He even ate the seed inside.

      After a church had been built, the witch doctors burned him out. He had no outside support and very little incentive to stay. Eventually, Gabriel married into a family that lived in a jungle village called Manga Panga. It was here that his work really took hold. His church became a model for others and soon he was helping other young men start churches. Together they worked to evangelize their District.

   One thing Gabriel does enjoy talking about is Jesus and when he does, you can hear the heart of someone who is totally committed to Christ. Of all the people I had met in India, he was the only one I wanted to get to know better. I had been invited to come back to all the places I had been so far, but when Gabriel asked if I would return, I knew it came out of burden for his people. He said they were desperate for teaching. Although we worked together each time I went to India, it would be about five years before we fully became partners. In time, I found out that he was the only one I could completely trust. 

THE BAPTISM WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT 

    Everywhere I went I preached a simple message about God’s mercy.  The church needed all the basics and this became my focus. So I was surprised when, in one meeting, a young tribal woman began to cry, shake all over, and speak aloud in tongues. It was obvious that the Holy Spirit was doing something unusual. She spoke with tears streaming down her face. I had noticed that there were rows of men at the back, who stood with their arms locked across their chests. Now they leaned forward listening to what she was saying. It seemed to be a new experience for everyone, including the woman. None of us knew what to do. Finally, after she stopped, I asked those who wanted the Holy Spirit to come forward. About forty or fifty people immediately moved to the front, including the men in the back.

     I asked the tribal pastors to join me as I waded in among the crowd, laying hands on as many as I could.  The people were visibly moved as the Holy Spirit descended upon them. It was a wonder to behold!  When we finished praying for them, I stood back and watched as these beautiful native people raised their hands to God. With wet faces and warm smiles, they worshipped the Lord in a wave of glory and one voice. It was a powerful sight that I will never forget.

     Some have asked me since how I knew it was tongues. The pastors who went among the people listened to them and said they had never heard this language before. They were as amazed as I was. Gabriel grinned and said that they were speaking in tongues, just like in the Book of Acts. Whatever the language they were praying in, their faces said it all. It was obvious that they were experiencing some inner splendor that could only come from the Lord.

    From that time on, wherever we went, we understood that God wanted these people baptized with the Spirit. With little or no instruction, we made it a point to invite those forward who wanted the Holy Spirit. In every meeting, some people came forward for this essential time of ministry while others remained seated. Hemant told me that once he counted seventy-five people being prayed for, but usually we had about thirty or forty people at a time.  

THE WATERS OF BAPTISM 

     I was told that there was going to be a baptism at one village and was asked if I would do the baptizing. This is a great honor, and I was glad to be asked, until I saw the pond. 

     Those being baptized were paraded through the village, obviously going the long way around to the pond, so everyone could see who was being baptized. There was a lot of music, clapping, and singing as we wove our way past curious bystanders, who were looking over their fences. Finally we came to the pond, which was the same color as green pea soup. I would never have gone in such water back home, but the Lord helped me do what He would do. I watched as one of the elders made his way down the steps into the water, moving about slowly, splashing tentatively with his hands, and searching the bottom with his feet. I asked Hemant what he was doing. “He is just making sure there is not something in there.” I didn’t ask what that “something” might be.

    It was my turn. I stepped down into the water, my bare feet also carefully feeling along the smooth clay bottom for a good footing. Then, one by one, the young candidates waded in and stood in front on me. I was surprised to see them trembling with the fear of the Lord. It was then that it occurred to me that this was a deeply holy time for each one. They had prepared and waited a long time. In India, you are not really considered to be a Christian until you are baptized. I placed my hands on their heads and they bent their knees, lowering themselves straight down into the water. Then they came up slowly, with joy on their faces, and the crowd on the bank burst into songs of praise. I think I baptized about seven young men and women in all, and I seemed to get more liberty as I went along. When we were finished, I called out to some Hindus who were on the other bank watching, telling them if they would believe in Jesus, we would baptize them too. They stood up to leave, shaking their fists.

     I love baptism anyway, but this was an amazing experience, each of us fully aware of the presence of the Lord. 

THE WIDOW’S HOUSE 

     One night we stayed in the home of a widow. Her children were all grown, but she had one daughter who still lived at home. The house was a low building; just one of many in a long row, but it had its own beauty, which came from the hospitality within.

     Her back yard was completely covered with flowers and plants, all arranged in a way that created little paths everywhere. This stuck me as unusual. As we visited, she served us fruit and nuts and brewed a special spiced tea unlike anything I had ever tasted before. Her youngest son was traveling with us so it was decided that we would spend the night. We talked late into the night by kerosene lantern. When it was time to sleep, I wondered where my room was. I could only see two rooms, the one we were sitting in and the other, where they prepared the food. When they placed blankets on the wooden benches we were using, I realized that we were already in the bedroom. The three men would sleep in this little room, while the mother and daughter would sleep out on the concrete porch, wrapped in blankets and shawls. It was so cold out that night. I could hardly believe they could be comfortable at all. All I could do was pray for them. I also remembered Jesus saying that when we were traveling with the Gospel, we could ask God and He would bless the house we stayed in with prosperity. The next time I visited this home, they were just finishing construction on a new two-story house with plenty of rooms. When I greeted the widow, I marveled, saying, “God has blessed you!” She just beamed, humbly smiling and saying, “I know.” 

HITCH-HIKING HOME 

     Getting into India was difficult, but getting out was almost as hard. First, there was lots of confusion about when we should leave for the capital city. They told me the bus came at a certain time, but when I insisted on checking to make sure, we found it came at another time. Nothing was “for sure” and I hated the thought of missing my flights or any of my connections home. 

     Finally the morning arrived for us to leave. At four in the morning we stood under a street light with my bags watching the old women sweeping the streets with their feather-like brooms. After a while Hemant found someone that he could ask about the bus, only to find that we had been standing in the wrong place all along. We hauled my bags to another street and stood there for a while, in the early darkness, but someone said the bus would not be coming after all. Hemant said we would have to hitch-hike. This seemed impossible to me, but after a short time, on yet another road, a truck driver agreed to give us a ride to a place where we might catch another bus.

    The next thing I knew, the man next to me was shifting against my leg, as the three of us were crammed into the cab with my bags. We slowly made our way down the mountains. The view was obstructed by the demonic decals that covered the windshield. Hanging beads and smoke from the incense burning in the holder on the dash further obstructed it. The road was steep and narrow and, at one point, we met another truck grinding it’s way up the hill. Both of our loads were wider at the top so, as we crept past each other, we touched. While the drivers got out to study the dilemma, our bus came up behind us. They let us board and when the trucks became untangled, and the road became wide enough to pass, we felt like we were finally under way. We drove most of the day to Bhubaneswar and from there I flew on to Calcutta.  

BACK IN CALCUTTA 

    When I arrived at the airport in Calcutta, many young men accosted me again, but this time it hardly fazed me. I must have grown thicker skin since I first came through this airport, which seemed like years ago.

    One young man pressed me to let him be my taxi driver. I was looking for Sadu, and showed him Sadu’s card, which he had given me so he could be my driver any time I was in Calcutta. The young man brightened and said that he worked for Sadu, so I agreed to go with him. Then in the parking lot, we walked right into Sadu. I told him that one of his men was taking me to a hotel. He said the man did not work for him and took my bags to his taxi. The other driver became irate and argued with Sadu all the way to the car Sadu simply ignored him.

    After my bags were placed in the car, Sadu and the other driver had it out. The battle lasted for about thirty minutes. I saw the vicious side of Sadu, which made me uncomfortable being in the taxi alone with him. I realized again how it was survival of the fittest here.

    I stayed in a nice guesthouse near the airport and the next day went to the airport to go through a barrage of security checks. I had prayed my way into this country, but now found that I had to pray just as hard to get out. The guards were really rough on everyone. One of the officers took me into a booth and drew the curtains closed behind us. As he frisked me, he quietly asked if I had any rupees. I told him I had, but needed it for tea. He looked at me, with his hand outstretched, and said, “Leave your rupees with me. You will not need them.” There was no way around him, so I reached into one pocket and found a few crumpled bills I had put there to answer the endless demands for tips. I gave them to him, leaving a neatly folded pile in my other pocket.

     Then I followed the line into another room where they were searching everyone’s suitcases. It was total chaos everywhere. Bags were being dumped out on the counters, their contents being lifted up for everyone to see. Irate travelers were yelling; security guards hollering directives over them. One old Indian man had a bran sack full of corn, which an angry guard took and threw to the floor, scattering the seeds everywhere. I did not want my briefcase inspected because it had my bible and teaching notes in it. I just didn’t want a hassle at this end, either. A well-traveled Englishman was ahead of me. He began fighting with a guard over whether or not he would allow his camera to be x-rayed. As he argued, I stepped back and allowed another traveler between us, so no one would think I was with the Brit. Then I was called over to another line and told to open my bag. I did this quickly and then closed it, without revealing the contents to the distracted guard. Then I just walked off as if I had been cleared, pretending to not understand his protest. I went through several other checks points, everyone stamping some part of me, before finally being allowed to walk across the tarmac and up the stairs to the plane. Once on board, a friendly stewardess gave me a flower and sweetly welcomed me. I wondered if it was a way of rewarding those who made it through the gauntlet. I sat in one of the first seats, and as we prepared for takeoff, the door was closed and I realized that, in the end, the Brit had not made it on board. 

COMING BACK HOME 

    The long flight home was uneventful. I was exhausted and grateful for the row of seats I had to myself. I was able to sleep most of the way to Vancouver. When Heather and a few friends met me at the airport in Toronto, I told them one story after another all the way home, making that leg of the journey go by like minutes.

    I couldn’t explain all that I had seen, still can’t for that matter. Nor have I told all the stories of what I experienced. Even now, I can easily recall this first trip better than some of the subsequent ones. It is often the subtle things that bring it to mind, like a faint smell of diesel, moldy burlap, or curry.

     I longed to be surrounded again by the landscape and ancient way of life that seemed to be right out of the Old Testament. I wanted to taste their amazing hospitality again, which seemed to confirm the idea that it is often the poorest people who are the most generous. I also saw the power of God and felt His nearness in ways I had not felt since I was a new believer. 

     All of this resulted in a bout with depression that lasted a few weeks after I came back to the States. I think it was a result of the change of altitude; from being on “a mountain top”, then having to come back to yard work that needed to be done before winter arrived. As a Bible teacher, I missed the eager faces, wanting to be taught. People were willing to sit on packed earth all day, just to learn about Jesus. I longed for the times when I forgot that I had a body because I was so aware of His nearness “just under my skin”. I could feel His heart in mine; feel Him lean forward with compassion towards someone in need. Now my old familiar flesh was back strong as ever. I liked the spiritual me that I met over there more than the one I saw here everyday.

     I had the adventure that I was asking Him for, even though I still don't see myself as being especially adventuresome. I long to go back again and again, wanting to see if there is any real fruit remaining from my first trip or if was just a wonderful memory. It seems like everyone I have taken with me to India since, says that it has the same amazing affect on them. 

EPILOGUE 

     I have returned to India about ten times since that first trip and continue to work with Gabriel. In 1996, we helped established Word of Grace Fellowship, which is an indigenous network of about fifty-five tribal churches that we oversee. The natives built a house there for us so we can be based in the jungle and comfortably bring in teams to do relief work. At this writing, they are building a five hundred-seat church and orphanage in our base village. From this center, they also do relief work year round. Persecution from radical Hindus and witch doctors has also increased dramatically in recent years. They do not pray that it stops, but that they would grow because of it and that it would result in the salvation of the people of Orissa. This may be one of the best indicators of the spiritual growth of the church there.

     After my second trip, I began to see things in Hemant that deeply troubled me. He admitted to misappropriating funds intended for the lepers. We were able to talk openly about this and he had asked for forgiveness from those who entrusted him with the money. Eventually, this and other discrepancies impaired my ability to trust him. His brother-in-laws also became more brazen in their greed. They always insisted that I support their “ministries”, but I did not want my association with them to hurt any standing I have with the pastors and tribal people, who had known about their corruption for a long time. When I told them that I would not work with them in any way, one of them threatened to kill me. 

    I tried to continue a relationship with Hemant, without actually working with him, but this was too difficult for him to accept. He now works as a guide for western groups and his ministry is supported by the donations they leave to relieve the poor conditions in his area. 

   Word of Grace Outreach normally leads teams to Indiatwice a year, both spring and fall. If you are interested in going, there is a team being assembled now.