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Mixed Emotions

Today has been a strange, strange day. We began very early this morning by
preaching in a Punjabi church in a village outside Ludhiana. It was very
full and very traditionally Punjabi. After the preaching service had ended they insisted on putting many different garlands around our necks and photographing us with literally everybody in the church.

That was hard - coming as a preacher to serve, then having to stand at the front and be the centre of attention. To be honest, it was my worst nightmare - the sort of situation that I hate and would seek on every occasion to avoid. It went on forever. They then presented us with Gold Preaching Awards - weird trophy things that everyone again wanted to be photographed while we held it smilingly with them. I am humbled by their generosity, but may have difficulty fitting it in my case.

We then went on to an afternoon thanksgiving meeting in the home of one of
the elders. His son has been restored to faith, and they wished publicly to
acknowledge that, and so a good 50 - 60 of the church turned up in the land
at the rear of his house. This was even harder than the church, because they
wanted to wash our feet. Not only was that totally unhygienic for the brother who was doing it, but it was extremely humbling. After washing the feet of four westerners, the brother insisted on kissing them, placing them on his head, and then drinking the water that he had used to wash the feet with.

Apparently it is an act of great humility carried over from Sikhism when they would wash their gods and then drink the water. I understand that there is a precedent for foot washing in the NT, but I'm not sure that this is quite it, and I didn't like it much. I felt very humbled and not a little tearful. I found it difficult to preach after such an overwhelming display, but sought to do so in a way that honoured the Lord.

We then went to the founding service of a Nepalese church in one of the
poorest areas of Ludhiana, and one of the more 'unsafe' areas for Western preachers to be found.

We have seen some poverty so far - people living under binbag shelters, sleeping under trees and in gutters, in houses made from rubbish - but this was just filthy. 50 Nepalese believers singing with such joy in total filth. The smell was rank, but they seemed to have a great deal of joy. The pastor came from Nepal two years ago with his whole family, knowing nothing and no-one, with 200 rupees in his pocket (three pounds). Amazing.

Even more amazing was the response to the preaching. All around the meeting were pagans with their idols and statues listening to the singing and testimonies of the grace of God in the lives of that small fellowship, and when the preaching had drawn to a close, there was a spontaneous, totally unplanned occurrence. 11 men and women who had never heard the gospel in their lives before coming to the front of the meeting where we were standing. I admit that I was a little afraid – here we were in an area where hostility and persecution were very, very real – as Westerners we had been slipped inside so as to make as little disturbance and draw as little attention as possible. I thought they were coming to disrupt the meeting or to cause trouble – but they had come to commit their lives to Jesus Christ.

All they wanted was the Jesus of this gospel. All they wanted was to identify with these Nepalese believers – Hindus who had heard the Hindi translation from where they were listening on the edges of the room, and who couldn’t help but come to ask how they too could be born again. It was a solemn and startling experience.

When the meeting drew to a complete close though, we were again asked to pray for lines and lines of people - primarily for bodily healings and deliverance from demons. It was now healing, lying down and blowing on people time. Not initiated by our British counterparts, but by our Punjabi hosts. Our British friends were only to glad to help with the subsequent wuffing and mooing. As we stood to the side to watch, it struck me that perhaps purgatory is real after all.

I so love all of that Benny Hinn style 'Fire, fire, fire' and falling and blowing and laughing.