A couple of days after the pastor's conference, Johnson said, in his rapid fire manner, "Come! Get in the car. Let's go visit a village."
Sounded interesting, another opportunity to see something we hadn't seen before. So, Coty, Kathy and I joined him and drove about 20 minutes past rice fields, around buffalo drawn wagons, past palm frond huts, along bumpy sandy roads to a small, rural village. (Johnson drives like he talks, with passion and urgency and honks the horn incessantly. It's bumpy and sometimes you just have to close your eyes).
Anyway, when we arrived at the village, we took a walk and shortly arrived at the home of one of the pastors who had attended the conference. He eagerly welcomed us, pulled up chairs, brought out sodas and bottled water and we sat on his concrete landing and visited. As we sat, people began to gather. About 15 minutes later, a group of almost 25 women, men and children were seated on mats on the landing, a drum was produced and the group began to sing.
Turns out, it was almost the whole congregation of this pastor's church. We listened and clapped as they sang in Telegu. Then each of us visitors "greeted" the assembly. When you are a guest in India, particularly in a rural area, you cannot be shy.
Sounded interesting, another opportunity to see something we hadn't seen before. So, Coty, Kathy and I joined him and drove about 20 minutes past rice fields, around buffalo drawn wagons, past palm frond huts, along bumpy sandy roads to a small, rural village. (Johnson drives like he talks, with passion and urgency and honks the horn incessantly. It's bumpy and sometimes you just have to close your eyes).
Anyway, when we arrived at the village, we took a walk and shortly arrived at the home of one of the pastors who had attended the conference. He eagerly welcomed us, pulled up chairs, brought out sodas and bottled water and we sat on his concrete landing and visited. As we sat, people began to gather. About 15 minutes later, a group of almost 25 women, men and children were seated on mats on the landing, a drum was produced and the group began to sing.
Turns out, it was almost the whole congregation of this pastor's church. We listened and clapped as they sang in Telegu. Then each of us visitors "greeted" the assembly. When you are a guest in India, particularly in a rural area, you cannot be shy.
Then they asked Coty, once again, to speak. Thinking we were only going on a sightseeing sort of ride, he hadn't even brought his Bible. So, he spoke on a scripture passage he has memorized, Psalm 1. The pastor's wife pulled out her Telegu Bible and read it aloud.
Sunday before last, when Earl stood up and recited verses from Psalm 1 in church, I thought of those Christians in India seated in the dimming light of the early evening listening to an explanation of that psalm. Thought of the lined face of the oldest of the women, the rapt attention of the little boy in the front row, the smile that lit up the face of the woman drumming, the prayers at the end of our time, the conversation with the pastor and his family afterwards. Truly, as the old hymn says, in Christ, there is no east or west.
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