Rufus picked me up in Chennai for the drive up to Nellore, the home of ALMA ministries. He couldn’t wait to get started and, even though he was sick and vomited on the side of the road (a bit of role reversal), we stopped at a village and preached to 40 evangelists and their wives. I took stock of the tiny church, the large crowd, and the sweat stinging my eyes, and asked if we could move outdoors. They readily agreed and we had a rockin’ good time under the stars.
I am sooooo glad for your prayers; I wish you were here to experience the results. An anointing falls on my inert preaching, the believers get fired up, and we worship with drums, wild clapping, and dancing. My guess is Jesus wants North Americans to be as free and uninhibited before him as these simple village Christians; but then we have our public-image to maintain don’t we?
There has not been a dull moment here in the Nellore District. We have hit so many villages they run together in my mind: Kapuluru, Gonupalli, Gandavaram, Busa Goddi Palem, Rama Teeydam, Dandigunta, Otukur, Narukuru, and Rama Puram. You have to drag your tongue around your mouth to pronounce them. A few highlights are on order.
We go out by motorcycle or car in the morning or evenings to avoid the heat—40 to 45, what is that in Fahrenheit?; I just know it is hot enough to turn this pale-skin into a potato chip. The evenings are better. You can’t see the garbage and the colored tea lights make everything festive.
There is no greater joy than to encourage these simple Christians, look into their faces, and see the joy of the Holy Spirit send out sparks. You cannot believe how beautiful they are. I have been preaching how we are God’s temple, and the shrines in every village are not. Many are recent converts from Hinduism and they are hungry to learn more of the God of love they have discovered.
Last night we dedicated a church constructed of palm branches. It is right across from a major Hindu temple. The believers are snatching souls away from Satan under his nose. It is exciting to think of how many more this new church will reach in the months to come.
After the ribbon cutting, Rufus asked me to give new names to a half dozen believers who were recently baptized. Often, their birth names come from Hindu gods or goddesses, so we give them Biblical names.
Oh Lord, what do I tell them. The congregation waited for my pronouncements. I pulled names out of the air: Sarah, Eunice, Bibleama, Mary Rani, Jacob, Joseph Raja. It is a good thing the book of Revelation says we will get new names in heaven or these poor people would be stuck for eternity with names assigned by a clueless missionary with a bad memory for Bible characters.
Kind’a the same thing happened at a baby dedication. We pulled up to the venue beside a thatched house. Tarps were laid on the dirt and shaded overhead. A loudspeaker and bright colored saris marked a special occasion.
I try to not ask too many American questions, but I didn’t know where we were going, what time, who the people were, or what my part would be. As we sat at the table of honor, Rufus flipped the pages of his Bible, so I figured I was off the hook. I relaxed and enjoyed the music, took a few pictures, and smiled at babies.
When my impatience got the better of me, I whispered, “Do you want me to pray over the baby or something?”
“Oh no, you are going to preach and dedicate the baby.”
Ooookay. Come up with a sermon. Humm, I like to use illustrations and I have a piece of red string, so let’s improvise.
Thanks to your prayers, it all worked out. Every time this happens they tell me how blessed they were by the message, but I wonder if Rufus doesn’t ignore my English and translate a more appropriate sermon. I have no idea what he says in Telugue. Whatever…we do our best and it is all on the Holy Spirit anyway.
After the sermon about babies, life, eternal temples and the like, the mother and 11-day old baby appeared out of the house. We prayed over the baby, then Rufus whispered, “What is its name?”
Oh no, here it was again. People agonize for months over their children’s names and whatever I say in the next 12 seconds is going to haunt this kid for life.
“Is it a boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“Um, I pronounce this special, holy temple of the living God,” I stalled, “his name will be, a Bible name from the important person in the old Testament, the one who told God’s people what to do. He will be…Jeremiah.”
As Rufus wrapped up, the usual delay in my brain caught up. Wasn’t Jeremiah the prophet who was beat up and tossed into a well? Ugh oh, sorry kid.
On Sunday we hit four churches, or shall I call them ovens? The idea was to give a fifteen-minute sermon at each but how can you go all that way, see those wonderful faces, and dash out after fifteen minutes? At one church a group of young men attended because of the American and his magic tricks. Hereunto, the pastor had not been able to get the boys to set foot inside so, after I did my thing, he gave them the full gospel treatment.
“Search the world, and you will not find anybody else who has died for you,” the pastor spoke and the boys listened. “In all of history people only come to live for themselves, but Jesus came to die for you.”
The sermon hit the mark.
Afterwards, we chugged three coconuts each to replenish our liquids. Those little gems are filled with natural electrolytes.
Tonight I am staying out in a village—not even taking a toothbrush. I’ll let you know how that works out.
Praying back at you,
JDC--
More photos are at: http://gallery.me.com/don_goulding#100131
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