The squared edges of concrete buildings create remarkably well defined juxtapositions of gray shadows and pinkish orange hues against neighboring walls and surfaces as the sun recedes behind the grand mountain ridge west of the city. The mountain itself lays idle in a single shade of dark brown, made hazy by the rich smog that so ominously blankets this heavily populated region of India. It is impossible to tell where the blue sky fades into gray smog. This conflation of something so beautiful as God’s own Sun splashing its color upon the uncouth developments of Navi Mumbai sends me into an almost cataleptic state as I sit in a plastic chair on the rooftop of our housing unit. The concrete walls and parapet are covered in mold and the mosaic tile rooftop is nothing short of filthy, but in the midst of all these sights, of all the sounds of construction in the distance and of talking that echoes through the alleys and of the ongoing cricket game on the adjacent street, there is peace. God is here, working, listening, providing.
This month is moving with incredible speed, and my body has trouble keeping up. It’s certainly unrelated to any sort of caloric deficit, as eating more of this delicious Indian cuisine only seems to encourage this lassitude, and increase my waist circumference. As my fiancée seeks an appropriate means of sending me a quarterly supply of Juice Plus+ for a physical recharge, I seek a spiritual recharge by means of quiet time. It’s hard to come by this month, but the rooftop seems to provide an adequate environment for such quiet time. Incidentally, it may also be good for thrusting one’s self into deep periods of contemplation (not that I find myself in that state; tis merely an observation.)
What does this do to a believer like me, being in Navi Mumbai with regular sightings of rangy destitute people, garbage covered streets and waterways, and perpetual construction of empty concrete buildings that look like dormant sentinels standing guard over a struggling population? Exposure to this kind of living is more than eye-opening. It’s heart softening. As a testament to this, let me give a brief description of the cause of movement in my own heart. I spend some of my days helping in the red light district. As I wandered around the alleyways and dirt roads with one of the older boys who renders assistance at the help center, I viewed those help captive by poverty eagerly awaiting the gate of a dump truck to open and spill its contents onto the polluted ground of the local garbage site. They almost dove into the pile of rubbish like a child rips open a gift on Christmas morning, likely hoping to find something of value that can be sold, or perhaps seeking a morsel of unspoiled food to allay the grumble of their bellies. Children and adults alike are seen defecating on the rocks because they don’t have bathrooms or running water in many of the slum buildings or tin & tarp shacks. A cesspool of toxic water rests on the backside of the dump, the filthiness of which keeps even the mangiest of dogs at a safe distance. A short hike to the top of the hill reveals kilometer after kilometer of physical need. My heart is roughly the size of my fist, but that day it stretched from one horizon to the next.
During our walk back to the center, my young guide pulled me away from the left side of the road, cautioning me not to walk in that way. My apparent look of confusion prompted him to point out the prostitution house and the ‘dirty girls’ loitering in front of it. He said I should keep away from it and avoid all contact with such women. Before my mind could fully comprehend what he had just told me, God’s Living Word shouted inside my head. From an increasing understanding of His word, my spirit inquired of my soul, ‘How could I dare possess a heart hardened against those women? Yes they are outright sinners, but I do not know their circumstances, and I do not know the pain of their hearts, nor do I know the physical discomfort or disease they’re subjected to. And they have likely have not ever experienced the love that God calls His Christians to practice.’ And it hit me (more so right now as I write this than when I was in that moment); I have endless opportunities to explore the Gospel, to read my Bible, and to converse with God in prayer, and those women have likely never enjoyed any of those privileges. Yet there they were, feet away from me and all that is on my heart and living in my spirit. And thus the calling on my life is made abundantly clear. Share the Gospel. At all costs, share the Gospel.
“Well, wait a minute. Brian, I thought that’s why you were on this trip: to share the good news.?!” Yes, the reason I signed up was out of conviction to do just that, and in light of the knowledge that evangelism is a calling on every Christian’s life. But I’m describing something different. It’s like knowing that a million dollars exists, but never actually seeing it. I’ve never seen a million dollars, but I know it’s there. I know lots of people have millions of dollars. I’m a fool if I think otherwise. I knew about God’s request for His followers to share the love, but this moment made that need quite palpable. It was me seeing the million dollars (metaphorically speaking).
Does this change my outlook on the Race or my sense of obligation to any particular spiritual duties? No. What it does is increase my aptitude for seeing need and responding to it. It deepens my prayers when I rub oil on a diabetic man’s swollen leg and ask God for healing hands. It connects my heart to the heart of a girl who needs mental rejuvenation and for her family and community to stop abusing her verbally and physically. It allows me to grasp more firmly the pastor’s idea that effective ministry requires a sacrificial attitude.
I want to end this blog post with an update regarding fundraising: I am approximately 90% funded. I am required to raise another $2000 in order to meet the last deadline of March 1. I am blown away that God has provided the resources that have kept me on this trip thus far.
Thank you for your continued support and prayers.
