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Okay, So I'm Feeling Melancholy and Overwhelmed in the Middle of the Night
Posted by Ronnie Worsham
I'm sitting here at 2:30 a.m., local time, Sunday morning in India. Let's see, that would make it 3:00 p.m., Dallas time. Now you know why I'm wide awake. So, I was trying to read a meaningless novel to take my mind OFF of things serious, but it wasn't working. My mind is on things that are most serious.
What I'm thinking about is how does a preacher and a church in Dallas, Texas get a grip on what's going on in a ministry network in Chennai, India. I'm a complete foreigner here. Everything screams at me, “What are you doing here, foreigner?!” It's a completely different world—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the people, the architecture, the culture—you name it is a vastly different world than that which I come from.
I listen and I hear, but I do not understand. Tamil is their native tongue in this part of India. There is nothing familiar about it. Even their English sounds Tamil to me at times. And, clearly, even those that speak English have trouble understanding me as well, let alone those who just speak Tamil. Trying to speak to them through a translator negates much of my approach as a teacher. I cannot read their faces for understanding. For crying out loud, I don't even know what the translator said to them and how it was communicated so how do I ever know where to go in my message or what to say next?
Who are these people? Why did God bring Pastor P. B. Sugumar to our church building some three years ago now? Did God even bring Sugumar to us? Or, was it all just a coincidence that he walked into a church that was apparently ripe with the anticipation of God's next “deal" for us? Am I just a sucker for another willing to be so bold as to walk into a church building over 5000 miles away to ask for help for his own personal interests, or am I a man of faith willing to ask a loving, caring church to consider following what seemingly is the guidance of the Spirit in his mysterious ways of connecting those who have not with those that have.
We are filthy rich. We are staggeringly filthy rich. Our pores ooze with comforts. Our lives drip with lavishness. Every place I look here reminds me of some possession, some opportunity, some comfort, some privilege, or some amenity that we possess that is rare here or even nonexistent. I mean, I see people living in thatched huts with dirt floors. Lots of them. Everywhere. Their middle class lives lower than our lower class, at least where I am. And, I hear it's much, much worse elsewhere in India. Our preachers and pastors in America live in luxury, often more affluent than their own American members. Their preachers and pastors must choose the life of beggars in order to do ministry here. In America, the epicenter of the prosperity gospel has to be Dallas, Texas. Yeah, it's very, very different here.
This is a culture where no one really trusts anyone else. And, perhaps it's because they can't. Treachery exists here. Terrorism exists on the streets here. This is a bartering and bribing country. This is a place where people apparently just mostly do what they do "expecting something in return." Even the Christians. It's accepted as “just the way it is.”
I live in a bubble of people that I trust, often more than I trust myself. I cannot imagine feeling toward my friends how these seem to feel toward their own. I cannot imagine the realities that Sugumar faces in his daily life and ministry. And, he's such a kind, sweet man of God. He cannot even drive. I live my life driving. But, I'm not sure I'd drive either if I lived here. This is a madhouse. Brandon, Brad, and Joe recounted their riding experiences here, but we Americans cannot possibly get a mental handle on what it is like without sitting in it. Pictures and videos can't begin to capture it. It is habituated chaos. They are oblivious to it. But their traffic seems to be reflective of their culture. The people are only outnumbered by trash and mosquitoes. People are everywhere. How could these not live and breathe chaos when their everyday life is like something Americans could only relate to at home in something as extreme and unusual as the evacuation of New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina?!
There are trucks of all kinds, cars of all kinds and sizes, buses of all kinds and sizes, bikes and buggies, and countless pedestrians, many seemingly standing somewhere for no reason or going no particular place, all contending for their place on the roadways. Cars pass alarmingly close to pedestrians and no one seems to care or notice. Their streets cannot even begin to approximate our alleys. They go in seemingly mindless directions with often only a few feet clearance from the houses or apartments on either side. There are no street signs. Small shops are mixed among houses and huts and buildings. The walkways are trodden dirt paths beside roads which are pitted with dirty, putrefied water, mosquitoes teeming across the surfaces. There are no trash cans and garbage is simply thrown down wherever. There are mounds of garbage and all kinds of other debris pushed to the side of the road or to the side of the front door of shops, houses, apartments and huts. Honking is essential for maintaining any sense of safety, which no American can really feel here. I have several times had to close my street-side car door quickly to keep from being struck by a vehicle speeding quickly and very near the car, horn blaring. No one uses seat belts. They're not readily available in the cars. Women ride side-saddle on the backs of motor cycles, scooters, and mopeds, seemingly not even hanging on and in the middle of such traffic chaos. Small children ride on scooters between parents. At Sugumar's daycare, I saw eight kids and a woman get out of one of the little open-air, no-door rickshaw autos, proabably designed for three. Horns are constantly blaring and it is loud. Traffic jams are very common, but the Indians are actually able to unsnarl much more quickly than in America, because it is the norm here. Whoever gets there first goes first and that's just the way it is. They seem fairly numb to it and I have only noticed one instance of anger on the the roads. They squeeze and shove and move in front of each other with an amazing coordinated chaos. People are everywhere. Men urinate on the sides of the roads and streets only with their backs turned as best they can to the traffic. It's staggering and it's unbelievable.
And, just now as I compose in the dark, Casey asleep in the bed in front of me, I take a moment to swing away at a mosquito that flew between my face and the computer screen. I wasn't lucky enough to strike it in the dark though. It's on the loose and I must anticipate its next attempt to extract blood from me, leave it's stinging anticoagulant to cause an allergic sting and itch, and possibly even leave me with some parasite to try set up housekeeping in my body. And, I was swinging with a mosquito zapper shaped like a tennis racket (foreigner!). It's just a smaller-powered, portable version of what we see in America. Yeah, it fries they li'l bodies! Yes! Last night, I just went through the whole room swinging away like a crazy man and probably got ten zaps. I never saw any of them. But, they were obviously there. Normally, one wouldn't be that concerned about a few mosquitoes. But, these can carry malaria and dengue fever. And, we Americans have no immunity to most of the diseases here. Even though we are taking antimalarial medicine, there's no vaccine available. I have trouble spelling dengue fever, let alone knowing what it might be able to do to my body. I can only imagine the joy!
So, I sit thinking and composing in the middle of the night, listening to the sound of a window air conditioning unit and the whirring of the ceiling fan (God is good even in a foreign land!!) and the strange night sounds of birds or monkeys or something (the windows are covered with bars and the windows are the kind you can't see out of) ever wary for the lurking mosquito, and, I'm wishing to be home with all of you. There are vicious dogs in the yard area to keep out thieves, and we have to go outside to go downstairs to where Sugumar and his family are. So, we can't even leave our room without calling them to come and get us. We're prisoners here! And, so is everyone else, I suppose. Yes, I'd love to be home with my wife right now and near all of you. Home, where I'm comfortable and feel safe. Home, where the crazy world at least makes a little more sense. Home, where there is order and the kind of cleanliness that I'm used to. Home, where I don't have to worry about rinsing my toothbrush in the tap water. Home, where I can find Diet Dr. Pepper and the ice is safe for me to pour it over. Home, where toilets are “normal,” and showers are plentiful and work and don't just drain into the middle of the bathroom floor. Home, where mosquitoes only carry West Nile Virus and where I know my doctor's first name. Home, where I live around people I know and can read and can trust. Home, where I could talk to you and get you to help me have a clue what to think. Home, where I don't have to feel the burden of millions of people who hate the name of Jesus Christ and hate those of us who wear it. Home, where I can numb myself against the squalor and the hurt and the poverty and the ignorance and the filth and the hate and the unbelievable magnitude of it all.
I've always wished to be more sanguine. I've always wished not to feel so melancholy. I've always wished not to care so much or love so much. Gosh, I went to the airplane toilet just to cry for the poor deaf, French lady sitting next to me who was traveling to India to serve as an au pair (nanny) for a family in a southern Indian resort town. She was deaf and flying alone and she looked so lost. And, I couldn't communicate except by pointing and motioning. And, she just lit up with this happy, sweet smile when she saw me try to reach out to her. I can only imagine how helpless and lost she must feel in such situations. And, I even felt a little embarrassed to be sitting next to her because she didn't look so moral-American and she smelled of some heavy French perfume and I knew people would think I was "with" her. I had to fight my own sinful, judgmental nature that wanted to excuse and dismiss and marginalize and feel better than she.
I could hardly hold back the tears sitting in on the hard floor of a one-room daycare center that would not even get to first-base trying to open in America; which would be immediately shut down back there. The room is the size of a normal American bedroom. The playground is the size of a small alley drive-way. There are no toys or equipment to play with. The room has a counter and sink on one end and a shelf above that and another in the corner. Their cook stove is a little flame hooked to a small propane bottle under a small porch on the back side. And, the goal is to make sure each child gets two eggs a week in order to have enough protein! And, these kids seem happier than many of ours. They're like innocent, unaware people on a train loaded with a terrorist bomb set to go off soon. The Hindus here are very religious and flaunt their pagan gods and worship them in unbelievable ways on the roadsides. Sugumar tells many stories of the Hindu persecution of Christians here—both institutionalized as well as incidental.
I could hardly hold back the tears as I sat on that little improvised stage of the thatched-hut tsunami village, a mighty guest of honor, here to save the day, I guess. This was something out of the movies. Unbelievable. They marched us up like dignitaries. Seriously, it's hilarious and tragic at the same time. How could we not laugh? How could we not cry? They are desperate and willing to do whatever—even court a lowly Christian preacher in order to try to get money for fishing nets so they can eat tomorrow. Bring out the band. Put on the ritz. Literally. I felt a deep sense of humiliation. Not sure why. Incompetent? For sure. Unworthy? Certainly. Powerless? Well, not really, but sadly my faith often lets me down.
So what is the role of a little guy from Tussy, Oklahoma in all of this? Is it because God thought maybe a boy that grew up on a dirt road, and at times feels sorry for himself over a lot of that, needed to see what a real dirt road looks like? What is the role in all of this for a modest little church family that meets in Garland, Texas? Did God pick Northeast out of a hat to try to help these weary, beleaguered Christians in the Chennai region of India? Did Sugumar just happen to get a hit on a soft-hearted church? Or, do I have visions of missions grandeur to make a name for myself and our church? Do I just want you to think I care about the poor and the lost more than the next preacher? Or, was this planned all along? Have the eyes of the Lord literally roamed the earth and chosen to strengthen our hearts because we are fully devoted to him and he has thus called us here and placed this staggering burden on my heart, our hearts, to get us to help? Is he answering our weekly prayers to give us hearts for the poor and to help us help them? Do we take the money that could otherwise be spent to help our children and teens or our campus ministries or our Spanish ministry or the poor in our area and send it to a place most of us can't adequately imagine and will likely never visit?
All I know at this moment is that I'm here feeling very small and very alone in the middle of the night and wondering where this leads (Thank God my little buddy, Casey is with me! “Dad, what are you doing up? Are you blogging or what?” Well, dah? He still thinks I'm a big somebody:). I really don't hear the Spirit telling me anything just yet, just only what I came here with. Maybe my present painful night watch is His leading. Oh, I long for and covet your prayers and your spiritual wisdom and insight. I long for and covet the security of your faith and your belief. Tana where are you? Leslie, where are you? Mark and Brandon and Kale and JVR and Jack and Kris and John and Dannye and Bob and Scott and Kole, where are you right now?! Where is the comfort of my sweet little Brianna right now? I wish this were only a tourist excursion and that I could just look at and enjoy the historic sights and not try keep my senses from noticing and feeling the pain of the gnarled-handed lady moaning and begging near me or the unrelenting pressure of the street vendors selling items most of us wouldn't have.
Yes, I'm feeling melancholy. And, most of you are getting a glimpse of me that only my closest and most intimate friends ever see. But, this is not a momentary feeling of depression in the middle of the night. This is what brought me here. This is real-world reality meeting modern American surrealism and decadence. And, I feel caught between the colliding bumpers of the two freight trains. The reality is that what the Christians seem to need from us most here is simply money. We really can't do much here. We're too white, we're too American, and we're too foreign. The “sons of men are shrewder in dealing with their own than the sons of God are.” So, the Indians are shrewder in dealing with their own that we Americans are. But, what opens Hindu ears to the gospel here is food and provisions. And, I doubt any of us would be any nobler under the same circumstances.
I'll be fine, but please be with Casey and me in the Spirit here. Please know that this is a “we” deal. Whatever is to be done is something we'll all have to agree to and contribute to. Certainly, in this instance, our little church is less than a David in the face of what is much more than a Goliath. This Goliath, more than just taunting the people of God, has his foot on the throat of God's “David” here. The 95% Hindu army has the 2.3% Christian army in a centuries-old stranglehold in India and we better have a lot of confidence in our little “sling shot” in the hands of God or we're already toast here. And, I don't even feel a sling shot in my back pocket just this minute.
Posted August 09, 2008
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Reader's Comments
thank you.
Posted by Brad on August 10 2008, 08:56 AM
Hi Ronnie & Casey!! Thank-you for blogging so we can get a view of what your experiencing. I look forward to reading your sobering yet inspiring words daily. Of course, it brings tears to my eyes and cheeks! (big shocker, I know!!) ;-) Thank-you for taking this journey on behalf of our Lord and our church. We're praying for you and the people of India. Love~ Shannon & John
Posted by Shannon Ganster on August 09 2008, 09:52 PM
I am right here... praying. God keeps impressing on me "Fix your eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." Being melancholy myself, what an understatement, I totally get how overwhelming what you are seeing must be. However, I believe God is showing us something eternal....something unseen. Only the Spirit can reveal that. Thank you for suffering through this for all of us! Praying!!! Love you both! Leslie
Posted by Leslie Rowe on August 09 2008, 09:16 PM
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