Today I wanted to share a walk-through of my day and let you have a glimpse into what life on the field can often look like. I hope you enjoy this overview of my Palm Sunday in Manipur, Northeast India.
Here in India, Palm Sunday begins at 4 in the morning, when the children of Sielmat, the village we’re staying in, walk the streets yelling (and I mean yelling) “Hosanna! Hosanna in the Highest!!” A beautiful tradition—unfortunately, though, we don’t speak the same language, so many of my team members wake up under the impression that there’s some sort of riot in the streets.
After my morning cup of Chai and some puri (fried bread) dipped in curry for breakfast, my team has the opportunity to go down and visit a church in the village. We wait at the seminary where we live until our liaison is able to come pick us up. It’s about a 30-40 minute walk to church, and we pass several street vendors and beautiful spring flowers just in bloom.
Northeast India, located to the east of Bangladesh and just barely connected to mainland India, is not the India you see in movies, and neither are the people. It’s not 110 degrees here, and the atmosphere is surprisingly peaceful. The food doesn’t melt your face off by being too spicy, and a surprising amount of locals speak English. As far as the people, they are descended from Mongolian and Chinese people groups, and look as if they could be from Central or Southeast Asia. They’re incredibly kind and welcoming, and love to say hello to us as we walk down the streets.
Scarcely over 100 years ago, every one of these people would have lived in tribes in the nearby mountains. At the start of the 1900s, they were renowned as fierce head hunters. They had their own religions, seeking meaning and hope in imagining some sort of afterlife. Each tribe’s leader was the man who had won the most heads in battle, and the chief was honored with a dance after every victory.
However, when the Gospel came through a British missionary in 1910, their entire world was turned on its head. One of the tribes of the Hmar people received a copy of John’s gospel in a neighboring language to theirs, and the chief was one of the first five converts to Christianity. Today, 108 years later, due to the fierce evangelistic effort of the chief’s son Rochunga and all the Christians in these villages, nearly all of these tribes are predominantly Christian. There are over 20 churches just in Sielmat, and even the Hindi people of the valleys are converting to the faith. The grandson of the chief, John, is continuing his and his father’s ministry here in Northeast India, and even in Colorado Springs, CO—and he’s currently hosting Gap L!
These are the people we’re living with, whose church I’m going to this morning. My team enjoys talking as we walk, and we cross over a suspension bridge built with wooden planks above a river. The boards creak and stretch beneath our feet as we cross, and as I step around a large gap in the planks I’m reminded of the scene in Shrek, and am amazed at what a unique Palm Sunday this is.
We arrive at church, which is largely empty at first. It’s the first Evangelical Free church I’ve been to since attending Ridgeline in CO—and yet, their service is so radically different from our own! Here, the women sit in pews on the left side of the sanctuary (the only room in this concrete building, the men on the right, and youth sit in the center. Men wear collared shirts and parts, while the women wear brightly dyed, embroidered, and flowery skirts and dressed. Some wear scarves and shawls to cover their heads. All face forward, even those who lead the singing.
My team sits together at the front of the sanctuary for worship. The only instrument traditionally used in churches here is the drum, which beats out a regular rhythm in every song. How funny that would seem to most American churchgoers, where the debate is always whether or not to allow drums in church!
After several minutes, the pastor invites us to come forward and share. We’re prepared for this, and so we sing “In Christ Alone,” and my friend Sam gives a short, encouraging testimony. We all sit. Of course, the pastor next looks at us and asks, “Which of you will share next?” This isn’t the first time this has happened; it’s pretty typical overseas to show up intending to sit in church, only to find they expect you to lead church.
At this point the only options are running with what he says, or refusing and offending the entire church body. Thankfully, my buddy Alec is quick to jump to his feet, and he shares the story of how he came to know Christ with the church. He sits, and the pastor doesn’t ask for another testimony.
We stand for the offering, and I recognize the melody as “I Surrender All.” Another man, one of the church elders, stands and delivers a sermon. There’s no translator, so I have plenty of time to think, read my Bible, and write. Melanie and I take bets on how long the service will continue (you never really know when it’s not in your language), and I pull out my journal.
I’d be lying if I said my mind didn’t still drift back home so frequently, even after 7 months away. I think of my parents, my family, of Colorado in the snow and spring. It’s nearly Palm Sunday back home, and everyone is sleeping, just before Midnight on Saturday. In just a few short hours, they’ll be waking up and heading to church themselves. It’s certainly no joke that today is the first day I’ve been to an EFC church since home—now I can still celebrate Palm Sunday here, just as I always have. In a way, I think, I’m still with my parents in spirit.
After a few minutes, the pastor stands and thanks us in English for joining them, and invites us to come again for their Easter service. We sing, and the congregation rises to greet each other and disperse. We shake hands with the 45 people attending, and are invited back to the home of one of the elders for refreshments.
On our way there, I meet the man who had pastored this church since 1979. He’s now retired, but still teaches Sunday School, and has watched the 20 other EFC churches be planted since he began here. He’s from the Chothe tribe, but says the rest of his congregation are converts from Hindi communities. We sit and share more Chai and cookies, and I enjoy hearing stories from more of the people who’ve accompanied us.
It amazes me again and again how the Lord can refresh our spirits in an instant. This week has been difficult and I’ve missed home greatly. But today…today is different. Today I am thankful for the chance to be a missionary, amazed at the chance I get to meet so many different people and hear their stories. Today I’m excited to see a vibrant new culture and experience a way of life that’s unlike any I’ve been a part of. Today I am filled up and grateful for the life I have, and for a Palm Sunday I know I’ll never forget.
~Joel
