|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
Print By Katy Collins The first thing you notice when you step off the plane in India is the crush of people. Faces everywhere surround and press into your personal space, unidentifiable smells fill your nose, and the body heat is makes it hard to breathe. The sounds in New Delhi are constant; this city stops for nothing and no one. At all hours of the day and night people are bargaining for a deal at the local fruit cart, swerving and honking in their small rickshaws, and chatting with friends at the side of the dusty streets. Beggars and sweet-faced children thrust their dirty hands into your face and tug at your shirt. It is impossible to escape the reminders of poverty. At first glance, it is hard to see Jesus here. The mass of humanity is just a blur, and the needs are overwhelming. The message of the love of God seems too small to stand against the reality of life in India.
Astonishing Sacrifice I came here to Scism Christian Institute in late November, an eager AIMer ready to jump into the ministry here at the Bible College. I have found opportunities in abundance. Because I have my degree in teaching, most of my duties here are centered around that in some way. I have taught several courses here at the Bible College, including Youth Ministry and Teaching a Home Bible Study. I also teach a Friday night Bible study in a house church, and Sunday school at a church on the other side of Delhi. When I get the time, I am writing a Sunday school curriculum that will be circulated in India, Nepal, and Bhutan. But it is the faces and the stories that have changed me, as I’ve found more than meets the eye. There was the young minister from the church where I teach Sunday school. He took me out to eat after I spoke at their church. I’m still not sure what caused him to open up, but the food became uninteresting and tasteless as he talked. He and his whole church are refugees from the country of Burma. He told me of the time that the militant government came and forced his family to surrender their entire year’s crop of rice. With tears in his eyes and a breaking voice he described the look on his grandmother’s face as the soldiers carried off the food they had just worked so hard to harvest. Later, he was put in a labor camp, tortured, and finally released, allowing him to escape to India. I sat with a lump in my throat, staring at the food that he had bought me. I admitted to him that I didn’t even know Burma still existed until I came to India, let alone the atrocities that occur there daily. My heart wrenched for him. Then there was the small congregation in Agra, filled with former Hindu women. To get to the small church building you have to walk through narrow streets, careful where you step because of the waste that covers the streets. The ladies there were dressed in dingy saris, and their bodies were hunched with age and labor. The pastor explained to me that they are all illiterate. When they found out that I am a teacher, they begged and pleaded with me to come back and teach them and to help their children learn to read. After the worship service, they clung to me as I climbed in the taxi, and my heart broke again.
Teaching or Being Taught? And there are the 27 students here at the Bible College. They have sacrificed jobs and family to come here for three and a half months and learn God’s Word. I have never seen such eagerness and sincerity as I see in these young people. They sit attentively for long hours in the cold and drafty classroom. I know they are exhausted, but I never hear a complaint. Instead they are filled with laughter, jokes, and smiling. You can’t help but love them. Someone once said that India changes you. I have found that to be true in every way possible. Here I have seen the worst of the worst. I have mingled with those the world would dismiss as useless, and I have been touched by their hearts and personalities and uniqueness. Each one is so special. Each one has the same needs as me: love, acceptance, and purpose, and they are just as valuable in the eyes of God as the most successful American businessmen, the most famous musicians, and the leaders of great nations. Jesus had the one billion people of India in mind when He inspired Isaiah to pen the words about the value of people: “Since thou wast precious in my sight, thou hast been honorable, and I have loved thee…for I have created him for my glory, I have formed him; yea, I have made him” (Isaiah 43:4, 7). I see the caring fingerprints of a holy and loving God on these people. I want so desperately to bridge the gap between us, to erase the differences so I can minister. I want to tell them about a God that loved them so much He actually died for them. I want them to know that there is One that sees all their pain, their difficulties, and their hopelessness. I want to tell them of a Comforter that still reaches out to the world, saying, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). And so, in the midst of circumstances that are beyond horrible, I see potential. I see hope in the lifeless eyes and lined faces. Not because of my efforts or the efforts of those that work beside me, but because Jesus is here. I have seen Him in the eyes of a young Burmese refugee, in the worship of born-again believers in Agra, and in the diligent study of the future ministers at the Bible College. Jesus is doing an amazing thing here, one soul at a time. The power of God is gently swaying hearts to open to the message of love, and allowing me to watch the transformation. Not only my eyes have been opened by the people of India; my heart is changed for good. I encourage you to embark on this journey, if you ever have the chance. It is surprising, sometimes, where you find Jesus.
ninetyandnine.com © 2006, Katy Collins ---------- Katy Collins graduated from the University of Arkansas in 2005 with a Master of Arts in Teaching. She is currently serving as an Associate in Missions at Scism Christian Institute in New Delhi, India. She is planning to return to the States in March if her life is not dramatically cut short by a collision with a rickshaw, camel, bus, or bike in the busy streets of her neighborhood. |
|
|
