Pastor Dale Sabbatical 2007
Letters from the Edge
December 4, 07
4 December 2007
Yes, I'm back in Minnesota. Yes, I'm freezing! And, yes, the cyclone trapped me in Dhaka for 24 hours. That all seems further away than the several weeks that have actually passed. That all seems to have happened last night.
I am still looking out the windows of my ninth floor room at the Dhaka Sheraton, at 3 a.m., watching the rain pound on the windows across the garden and on the pavement below, as bits of debris fly past. My thoughts focus on those who dwell in make-shift plastic hovels set on the swampy land between the road and the railway tracks. We passed them repeatedly on our trips to and from the airport, to and from Dumki, to and from the College of Christian Theology. They certainly have been swept away! How (and why?) am I safe and secure in this international four-star hotel while they struggle to live? When Dragonair correctly decided not to fly into this storm (but keep the equipment in Hong Kong), their agents took me (and the other passengers) in a heated van from the airport to this hotel. I've called Susan. Eaten. Showered. Have a warm bed in which to sleep. And I can watch the storm from safety. (Yes, we lost power and water for several hours. They have lost everything . . . for how long?) How can I account for this? Grace? How do I respond? A part of me feels bad that I left Bangladesh when I did. Can I be of more help here than there?
Those of you who attended the excellent Mission Bangladesh! brunch on Saturday saw pictures of the damage to our Dumki Hospital. The cyclone blew down several large trees and took apart the metal shed on the roof of the main building, but no serious, structural damage seems to have occurred. Bijoy assures us that the new staff housing, under construction, suffered no ill effect. Nonetheless, LHCB will be handling $30,000 of the $50,000 in ELCA aid going to Action by Churches Together. We are indeed in the thick of this tragedy. Know, when you look into the Bangla faces on CNN reports, that they are faces of people we know and love and serve. LHCB web
I had a very long next day, leaving Bangladesh at 2 a.m., barely making a substitute connection in Hong Kong to get to Tokyo, and having to work out a way to fly that night from Tokyo to Honolulu, where Susan had already landed. (I was to have reached there before her. Some day I'll tell you about the weird conversations with Northwest Airlines. I flew JAL.) Everything worked out, though. When I arrived at the hotel, the receptionist connected me with one of their rooms . . . and Susan answered! We very much enjoyed a relaxed week on Kaua'i.
And now, from walking on the beach in the dark of morning, waiting for the sun to rise over the Pacific, I'm shovelling snow. And almost everyone around me is white. Seems odd.
14 November 2007
I'm still at CCTB this Thursday morning. A major collision of 2 busses closed the highway last night, so Bijoy turned back to his meeting site. He intends to pick me up about 10 a.m. (an hour from now) and we'll return to Viator, Dhaka.
Meanwhile, I'm sure you're hearing that a major cyclone approaches Bangladesh from the Bay of Bengal. The meteorologists here predict it will hit the coast about noon, including Barisal and Patuakhali districts. Our team should have left Dumki this morning and now be on their way to Dhaka. I have no idea whether I'll be able to fly out tonight (scheduled for 2 a.m. tomorrow morning, actually). We'll just have to take what comes, with God's grace, as always.
I'll keep in the best touch I can. Love, dale
Bangladesh November 14, 2007
I'm in the CCTB library (College of Christian Theology Bangladesh) on a beautiful Wednesday morning, knowing that my time here in Bangladesh comes rapidly to a close. I arrived here Sunday evening. Bijoy dropped me off as he went to a three-day meeting nearby. He'll pick me up this evening, so I'll have a final night at Viator House, Dhaka, tonight. I fly out tomorrow (Thursday night/Friday morning). The team will come back from Dumki tomorrow, and they'll stop here on their way. The original plan had them picking me up, but I decided I needed more time before getting back on the planes..
Bijoy, Joe Chu, members of the LHCB board, and I returned to Dhaka on Saturday after the Ten-Year Anniversary Celebration, which went very well, although only LHCB folk attended (that is, although Bijoy had wanted to invite local dignitaries, the current government won't allow such connections, or something of the sort). We had the usual welcome speeches, Joe Chu preached well, plaques handed out to deserving LHCB personnel, and then USA plaques to Dr. Dewan for the hospital, Bijoy for the Dhaka office. Terry also had 10-year pins. Then Dr. Shubrota orchestrated a little "cultural" program with singing and dancing, mostly from the kids. I'll let the team say more. I have video on my cell phone that I hope we can download in US.
Our trip back to Dhaka included a good stop at Barrister Baroi's home Catholic parish for tea (with cake, Digestives, and ras milai, so I thought of Chenar as I had 2 and 1/2 of them!). What I'd never before experienced, however, was a speedboat ride up the Meghna River in the dark! They said it would save us about 3 hours, and we were all for it, but only the faintest light of dusk still let us distinguish between river, shore, and sky as we boarded. About 5 minutes into the 20-minute ride, I could see only mist. We plowed ahead, without lights! In fact, only the large launches and ferries have lights, and not running lights, but only what's on their decks. They do have spotlights, which they would shine on us as we passed. How our young pilot saw and avoided other speedboats, fishing craft, and the usual Bangla barges, I don't know! I do know that my life was in God's and his hands . . . and that I enjoyed the ride.
We were met by a van for the final hour to Viator House, a decent night's sleep, and then several very important meetings Sunday before Bijoy dropped me off here. So that brings you up-to-date.
I've had a very good respite here, to write, think, reflect, and turn some attention back to life at Normandale. I have a number of reflections, but I'm going to send this off and start another, insofar as we cannot trust this system to stay running.
Trust all goes well. I often try to send text messages, but the system here won't take them.
Love, dale
13 November 2007, no. 2
I just sent off an e-mail about the past several days. This CCTB system says it took it, and I hope so. They have to use their mobile connections for Internet, so it's dicey at best.
I do want to write some reflections on several topics, and I hope that readers will find them worth their time to consider.
1. Liturgy. I may already have commented on this, but I think repetition good. Liturgy in worship provides a unifying force, not only across the centuries to the early church (and beyond, to the synagogue) but also across cultural and national and language barriers. The Christmas 2002 Team will remember Christmas Day worship in a Catholic church near Sagor's Christian village. We could follow the Bangla service since it followed the familiar liturgy. So, too, in the Lutheran churches of Japan and India in which I worshipped. I could enter into worship, feel a part of the worshipping community, because we shared the rhythm of liturgical worship.
2. Setting. Of course, I encourage indigenous settings to the liturgy. The words may be of scripture, but the music can certainly be from the culture of the worshippers. Chants, harmonium, drumming, folk tunes seem very good to me! I was somewhat dismayed, however, that every youth-led worship in different places I visited featured our western "Praise Band" offerings to the usual guitars and drum set. On the one hand, I have no right to judge; it's their choice. On the other, I want to encourage them to explore their own heritage. But, they want to be "American." So be it. This too shall pass.
3. Invitations. Of course I've invited pastors and key lay people from all over the place to visit Normandale should they ever find themselves in the US. We'll see.
4. Tokyo Buddhist Worship. The several temples we visited, we experienced clouds of incense and ritual washing (people dipping water out of fountain pools and pouring it over their hands, washing their faces). Near the main image, people chose fortune sticks, each person following the number of the one they picked to open the corresponding drawer to take out and read the fortune deposited there. If they liked the fortune, they gave thanks (buying gifts). If they didn't, they tied it to nearby racks, where (I suppose) the spirit wind could blow it away. I'm sure you've seen pictures of such, and I know I need to learn more about it, but I'm deeply concerned with people living their lives according to such chance. Need to ask Jim and Carol Sack to tell us more about this.
As in Hindu temples, people could purchase various levels of priestly service, from a stick of incense the priest would take from them, light in the "chancel" fire, and deposit closer to the main image than lay people could go, to a full service of prayers, chants, and homily. For the latter, the lay members were invited past the railing into the "chancel" area. So, the rich afford spiritual favor, the poor live on hope.
5. Gitanjali. I mentioned Tagore's spiritual song-poems collected in the volume Gitanjali to Carol Sack when we were talking about her search for material for her classes. She became excited by the ways in which they could reinforce her search for spiritual development in her students. I wonder whether she will put some of them to music for use with the dying. That would be an enriching, dynamic cross-cultural event. I'm grateful that I can (perhaps) be a link among cultures. (Tagore, of course, was the Bengali poet, novelist, and playwright who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1910 or so.)
6. Changes I Noticed in India. I've already mentioned the greatly increased numbers of Hindu temples, and their increasing extravagance. Similar ostentatious displays in new mosques and gurudwaras, though little by comparison. What was striking from only 7 years ago was the number of young couples out together, a boy and girl alone AND holding hands in public, with nary an eye lifted toward them. I saw them in every place we visited. Just 7 years ago, we would see couples only occasionally in restaurant booths or on park benches. AND then, Ii saw many, many young women driving scooters in the midst of city traffic. Some of them had another young woman riding on the back. I saw women driving alone to stores, parking and locking their scooter, going into the store to shop, returning with packages, and getting back on their scooter to rush away down the street. Never saw that 7 years ago, as far as I recall. Woman driving scooters have become so common that young men complained to me about them. "They drive like crazy people, and they cause accidents, which of course cannot be their fault! It's not right!" The world of Indian traffic is no longer the male's oyster.
7. Paying Porters/Coolies. When we arrive at railroad stations, we are of course met by red-coated and licensed (brass plates as armbands) porters. In the old days, they would literally fight over your luggage to get the work. Now they seem to be fewer and organized (perhaps given a base salary by the railroad? I don't know). They do still jump onto moving trains as they near a station and come down the corridors soliciting work. In any case, when we arrived in Dehra Dun, 4 in the morning, I grabbed both Dad's and my suitcases, as usual, and started down the platform and up the stairs over the other set of tracks to the main station where a car waited for us. A porter asked to take our "saman." He offered to do so for only 30 rupees. I knew that 100 rupees was a pretty fair going rate, but I said (Hindi), "No, thanks, I can manage them myself," and off I went. That's almost a reflex from my youth.
Thinking about it later, however, I wondered why I wouldn't use him. 30 rupees (75 cents) doesn't mean much to me, but to him it's a good sum. Should I not give him (and the others) work, even when I'm perfectly able to take care of it myself? Isn't this a moral issue? On the return trip I not only used a porter, I gave him 200 rupees, which he acknowledged to be very generous. OK burra sahib (Big Man), how is it that God gave you the position to manipulate others' lives like this? I really don't know how to think about all this.
8. Servants in General. I found it relatively easy to return to a life with servants, people watching and waiting on you, taking your teacup the minute you emptied it, opening doors, handing you a towel in the washroom. I grew up with 3 servants in our house: a cook, a gardener, and a "houseboy" who dusted, ran errands, and helped where needed. (To this day I consider our cook, Jaffra Ali, a special member of the family. He's one Muslim I fully expect to meet in heaven! I can't imagine heaven without him.) At times they can even annoy you with their ever-present willingness to aid your every move. The buffet breakfast in our New Delhi hotel had several waiters hovering over you, helping you dish up, bringing you tea. You could hardly serve yourself. Your dirty dishes disappeared almost before you finished eating from them. And then, at an evening outdoor dinner in the hills above Bhim Tal lake, when I went to the pitcher and washbasin to wash my hands, the servant insisted on taking the pitcher from me and poring water over my hands! He wouldn't let me do it myself. This was his duty, his responsibility, his function, and not mine. Such expectations and functions and levels seem permanently built into Indian society. What do you think about that? And the church attempts to gather everyone, whatever their station in life, to worship and live and work together in community. Well, in most churches where I worshipped, men and women still sat on opposite sides. That's the culture. Shall it remain so, or do we, in the name of the Gospel, attempt transformation?
I can write much more about my experiences with servants, and reflect on times when my own classism (racism?) emerged and expressed itself. I wonder how conscious we are about the ways in which we treat those who serve us each day in America?
9. Cold Coffee & Ice Cream. When reviewing our expenditures, I realized that Dad and I had almost lived on cold coffee with ice cream. Neither one of us drinks coffee at home, but in the heat and humidity and dust of India, cold coffee and ice cream saves lives.
10. Shawls. I've mentioned that we received bouquets of gladiolas and garlands of orange flowers (marigolds) wherever people greeted us. During welcoming ceremonies, hosts would also place shawls around our necks. I don't remember this being a practice before (but perhaps I never experienced such exalted events . . . good to be with Dad!).
11. Dad's Students. Among the best of events was the lunch at the National Institute of Sports. I informed Dad that after his address to the student athletes and coaches (he talked for maybe 20 minutes to half an hour to about 300 of them), we would be eating with students. "Great," he replied, "I love eating with students." What I didn't tell him was that Mr. J. S. Saini, the national coach after Dad and our main host, had arranged lunch with as many of Dad's students from his first NIS class as he could find. We entered the private dining hall to ovations from almost a dozen large Sikh gentlemen. Dad recognized many as Mr. Saini reintroduced them. And as others arrived, they hugged and laughed and welcomed each other. Lunch turned out to be a wonderful reunion of the NIS class of 1961 or 62. These men had been India's best coaches after being her best shot putters, discus throwers, distance runners, and so forth. And then, at the end, they started to kid me about things I had done when I lived at Motibagh Palace for winter vacation and accompanied Dad when he bicycled to Yadavindra Stadium to teach. I felt I was 12-years old again, with these huge, bearded Sikhs laughing good-naturedly with me, and at one point I actually blushed! I haven't done that since, when? What a blessed time!
Saini had included the shoemaker from Patiala that Dad had helped design track shoes. Mohan has built quite an international business now, and they delighted in seeing each other again.
And you already know about Dad's lunch with Milkha Singh, his and India's best athlete, from the newspaper reports on the website.
12. New Friends. I'm unsure that I ever wrote about the young couple we met in the Residency cemetery in Lucknow. I want only to mention that we have already exchanged e-mail letters, and established an important connection between an American Lutheran pastor and a searching Christian wife married to a wonderful but skeptical Hindu husband. I pray for God's guidance and wisdom as such relationships develop.
A dozen bits of reflection enough? I think so, for now. I have written extensively in my journal about LHCB, the Dumki Lutheran Church, and Normandale's relationships with them, but that's material for our face-to-face conversations.
As you see, Normandale, you've given me more blessings than you could ever have imagined. You've enriched my life, spirit, intellect. And I think I've lost several pounds I didn't need.
God bless. See you soon,
P.dale
Bangladesh November 13, 2007 no. 1
I'm in the CCTB library (College of Christian Theology Bangladesh) on a beautiful Wednesday morning, knowing that my time here in Bangladesh comes rapidly to a close. I arrived here Sunday evening. Bijoy dropped me off as he went to a three-day meeting nearby. He'll pick me up this evening, so I'll have a final night at Viator House, Dhaka, tonight. I fly out tomorrow (Thursday night/Friday morning). The team will come back from Dumki tomorrow, and they'll stop here on their way. The original plan had them picking me up, but I decided I needed more time before getting back on the planes.
Bijoy, Joe Chu, members of the LHCB board, and I returned to Dhaka on Saturday after the Ten-Year Anniversary Celebration, which went very well, although only LHCB folk attended (that is, although Bijoy had wanted to invite local dignitaries, the current government won't allow such connections, or something of the sort). We had the usual welcome speeches, Joe Chu preached well, plaques handed out to deserving LHCB personnel, and then USA plaques to Dr. Dewan for the hospital, Bijoy for the Dhaka office. Terry also had 10-year pins. Then Dr. Shubrota orchestrated a little "cultural" program with singing and dancing, mostly from the kids. I'll let the team say more. I have video on my cell phone that I hope we can download in US.
Our trip back to Dhaka included a good stop at Barrister Baroi's home Catholic parish for tea (with cake, Digestives, and ras milai, so I thought of Chenar as I had 2 and 1/2 of them!). What I'd never before experienced, however, was a speedboat ride up the Meghna River in the dark! They said it would save us about 3 hours, and we were all for it, but only the faintest light of dusk still let us distinguish between river, shore, and sky as we boarded. About 5 minutes into the 20-minute ride, I could see only mist. We plowed ahead, without lights! In fact, only the large launches and ferries have lights, and not running lights, but only what's on their decks. They do have spotlights, which they would shine on us as we passed. How our young pilot saw and avoided other speedboats, fishing craft, and the usual Bangla barges, I don't know! I do know that my life was in God's and his hands . . . and that I enjoyed the ride.
We were met by a van for the final hour to Viator House, a decent night's sleep, and then several very important meetings Sunday before Bijoy dropped me off here. So that brings you up-to-date.
I've had a very good respite here, to write, think, reflect, and turn some attention back to life at Normandale. I have a number of reflections, but I'm going to send this off and start another, insofar as we cannot trust this system to stay running.
Trust all goes well. I often try to send text messages, but the system here won't take them.
Love, dale
November 10, 2007
Dear Ones,
I'm back in Dhaka at Viator House, with about a half hour to write this e-mail before I again leave. This time Joe Chu and I have a noon meeting (lunch?) with Kajal, and then he'll be dropped at the airport and I at the Christian College of Theology Bangladesh, where I'll spend the final 5 days of this odyssey. AND THEN I GET TO BE WITH SUSAN!
I received the text message that snow flurries had begun, and shared the news with the team in Dumki, but I couldn't get a return message back from the LHCB hospital
Everyone does well! The team finally arrived here at Viator about 4:00 Thursday morning. We had to leave at 8:00 to drive to Dumki because GMG no longer flies there! It's a long drive, but the roads have improved. We arrived in Dumki about 7:00 p.m., well after dark, though we stopped several times for toilets and over an hour at the new Madaripur Development Center for lunch. Nonetheless, many of the head staff were there with bouquets to greet us. What joy for me to again be with so many friends after these 3 years!
Of course, the team was dead tired, and after the brief welcome and outline of activities (Tarun) at Calvary House, we ate dinner and went to bed.
Friday morning church began at 8:30 a.m.. Bijoy (and then Tarun) had asked me to lead, and I went to Bethlehem Hall (second floor American) and the "sacristy" about 8:00, while the doctors and Karin accompanied Dr. Shubrota on morning rounds. Pastor Prince and James were preparing communion. Pastor handed me an order of worship, which I promptly altered to include Confession/.Absolution before the first song, Scripture reading before the "Words of God," and a benediction. I asked Steve and Karin to read epistle and psalm, and wanted to have Bangla members read them in Bangla. No such luck! Bijoy read them as well as translating. I did, however, have Pastor read the Gospel in Bangla.
In any case, we began with those wonderful Bangla gathering songs, harmonium, and drumming. Then Tarun did his greetings . . . and promptly went to the "first song" even though we had asked that confession go before it. No matter. We still confessed. I preached and presided despite having nearly lost my voice (Delhi crud and air conditioning finally beat me). Pastor Prince was to have repeated the Words of Insitution in Bangla after my English, but again, Bijoy translated them phrase by phrase. We just have to go with the flow despite our plans. I'm never quite sure what's been communicated nor how well. I do know that we never seem to have enough time together to plan.
Nonetheless, the saints of the church gathered for worship, shared the gospel, shared the Lord's Supper, and rejoiced in the presence of the Holy Spirit.
After worship, Pastor Prince and I were able to talk quietly together (after cleaning up communion). I value such times, as you know.
Lunch and a sleepy afternoon while waiting for LHCB Board members to arrive. The board meeting didn't actually get started till evening, but chairman Dewan, Barrister Baroi, and Kajal Sengupta did make it! Steve, Karin, Diane (Terry's wife), and I read, wrote, talked, while we waited for the meeting to end . . . after 9:00 p.m. as I remember.
From all accounts, they had a fruitful board meeting. Karna simply told me that we had a lot of work ahead of us. We'll find out what that means in December.
The big news, however, is that the Japanese Embassy has made a substantial grant ($85,000 I believe) to LHCB, which they intend to use to put on a second story over the women's ward for a male ward.
I believe we have many questions to ask about vision, planning, direction, support, but I'm heartened by the more open communication within the board and by the quality of its members. I'm deeply appreciative of Terry Dinovo and the gifts he brings to this ministry. And I'm delighted that two more Normandale members now have hands-on experience of Bangladesh and Dumki. We have much for which to praise God.
I also have an entire page of random notes, but my half hour has expired and I need to eat breakfast in the next half hour and be ready to travel (a little) again.
God's blessings,
dale
Bangladesh November 7
I'm virtually alone at Viator House, which means that
Niyon and I decide when and what I'll eat. He's a good
cook, and he speaks Hindi, having worked for some time
in India (not unusual for Bangladeshis, many of whom go
to the Middle East to work, too).
First, however, my thoughts and prayers go to Chris and
Carrie Enstad. God surround them and the child Carrie
now carries with love, hope, protection. I continue
always to pray for Normandale.
Now for some random thoughts. I'm not sure what comes
from my head, my journal, or previous e-mails (which
I've not the time nor computer to reread!).
1. Trains. I absolutely love travelling by Indian train.
What else is so comforting as to be in the top berth of
a Second Class A/C Sleeper being rocked by the rails? I
reread my memo to the Church Council to see that, when
questioned about not having enough time for rest and
renewal in my sabbatical plans, I noted overnights on
Indian trains as the best form of relaxation I could
imagine. Just so. Before, we had a sort of canvas
bedroll covering, called a bhister, into which we put
bedding for the journey. Once on the train, you
unstrapped and unrolled it on a berth to have your bed.
Now the railroad provides a paper sack with blanket, 2
sheets, 1 pillow, and 1 pillowcase, on each berth. Quite
nice.
Of course, I loved the steam engines that used to pull
the bogies. You arrived at your destination with soot in
every crevice and cranny, hair and eyes, but the
choo-choo was wonderful. (When in High School, we used
to bribe the engineer and fireman with tea and beedhis
to let us ride in the engine and shovel coal. They'd
sometime let us do so between two station stops, however
illegal it was.) Now no conductors wave green flags to
start the ride, red to stop it. No switching attendants
lean out of their second story windows with similar
flags to indicate that the track ahead is clear.
Computers rule. And the diesel and electric engines just
start to glide you away from the station without any
effort at all. I miss the huffing and puffing. But the
ride's still great.
(One of the great mysteries of Indian women is how they
always arrive at their destinations in clean, colorful
saris, hair nicely oiled, looking like fashion models.
This even in the steam-locomotive days.)
I used to stand, one foot on the running board, the
other in the open doorway, arm hooked around the
handrail running up the side of the train doorway,
leaning out to look for Lucknow's Char Bagh Station and
home. This time, in the hazy yellow morning, I sat on a
lower berth and watched the familiar landscape and
villages pass by. It still felt like I was coming home.
Indian stations present a cross-section of Indian life,
crowded with people of every description, some sleeping
on the platform, some hawking wares, some begging, a
circle of gypsies eating, high-class women holding their
saris over their noses, soldiers going on leave, guards
providing security screening, pushing and shoving to get
onto bogies, or off, some people pushing others onto or
off of the train, chai wallahs, red-coated porters (who
know exactly where your compartment will be when the
train comes into the station), and . . . and . . . and.
. . . I tried to take some video, but couldn't when
caught in the real crunch.
2. Bathrooms. Indian bathrooms, even those in good
hotels with tubs and showers, sinks and hot water, have
a (now usually plastic) bucket and pouring pitcher in
them. Indians prefer to take their baths by pouring
water from the bucket over themselves with the pitcher.
Often, also, you'll see a tap (faucet) by the toilet,
since Indians (and many Middle Easterners and Orientals)
use water instead of toilet paper. I noticed that the
classy hotels now have a small pipe running up to the
rear of the toilet, a handle on the wall to control the
water. Sort of an Indian bidet. (OK, so that's more than
you wanted to know from your Mission Pastor, but now
you'll know what to expect when you get here.)
Dad really enjoyed his morning cold-water bath from the
tin bucket in our Ashram bathroom. I did it, too, but
was not unhappy when we moved to the Ashram Center where
water flowed through a small heater. If nothing else, it
made my doing our laundry easier.
3. Beds and Doors. I knew I was back in India the first
night when I got into bed and my feet overhung the foot
of the bed by several inches. Ever since I turned 16 and
grew 5 inches when on furlough in America, my Indian
beds have been too short. And I keep hitting my head on
car doors along with other too-low openings. Stupid
American!
In Ranchi, we slept under mosquito nets. (No need in the
mountains, of course.) I hadn't slept under a net for
ages. The nights became cool enough so that I'd turn off
the fan about 4 in the morning. I always remembered the
net, so I didn't have a tangle when getting out of bed,
but I remember bringing the whole contraption down when
I forgot once when a child in Lucknow and needed to get
up in the middle of the night.
We had a huge thunderstorm one night in the Mussoorie
mountains, complete with driving rain and hail. I've
never forgotten the sense of security on being awakened
by such a storm, hearing the rain pound on the tin roof,
snuggling lower into the warm bed. Still the same!
4. Monkeys and languars. Of course, monkeys continue to
be everywhere. Some of our friends complained that
they're getting worse, the Hindu authorities protecting
them because of Hanuman, the monkey god who actually was
the general of the monkey tribe that aided Ram and his
brother Laksman in their search for the abducted Sita.
(You'll have to read the Ramayana. The world has 4 major
epics: The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Mahabharata [which
includes the Bhagavad Gita, among the most sacred of
Hindu scriptures], and The Ramayana. We in the West
usually know only about the Greek Iliad and Odyssey. I
think it's safe to say that the Indian epics continue to
be a major cultural and religious force, unlike the
Greek ones. Of course, the Bible has had a powerful
impact on our western culture.) We saw a huge, I mean
HUGE, statue of Hanuman in New Delhi that turned out to
contain an entire temple complex. (I think I noted in a
prior e-mail that we certainly noticed many more, and
many more elaborate, Hindu temples all over the
landscape, rural, mountain, urban.) So, monkeys all
around.
In the mountains, languars come and go. I once made the
mistake of throwing stones at them. All of a sudden a
stone came whipping by my head! Yup, they were throwing
them back at me! Dad recalls monkeys stealing my
babyclothes off the washline at the hospital where I was
born. They took them up into the trees and were
examining them carefully. The nurses threw various
things at them . . . and the monkeys returned their
volleys by throwing my clothes back down at them.
You may not know that I was born in a hospital for
Muslim women, behind zenana, behind purdah: no men
allowed. My father would have to come to the back wall,
wait for the "all clear" signal, and then sprint into my
mother's hospital room to see her and me. The process
repeated to get him back out without creating a messy
situation.
5. Indian Theology. In my second writing on long-term
missionaries, I noted the current trend (which I
support) to train people from other countries to go back
to their own cultures where they already know the
language and can (we trust) be more effective witnesses
than foreigners. Neeraj and Nijhar Ekka provide the
highest model of the success of this. I note, however,
two conversations I've had.
In Chennai, I spoke with Dr. Monica Melanchthon (at Gurukul Lutheran Seminary) for about an hour. She's an internationally known theologian who focusses on dalit
(outcaste) and gender issues. She talked about her (Christian theological) students, who know the biblical creation stories BUT not their own Hindu or tribal ones!
"I assign them to discover and read and learn these," she said: "How can we develop an genuine indigenous Indian theology if we don't know our own culture? How can we foster a theological dialogue between our faith and our tradition
if we don't know our own tradition?"
I found that a fascinating comment. I do know, however, that the Christian community tends to isolate itself, keeping to its own, schooling in its own institutions, and then working in them later.
Roland Miller made a similar comment when I asked him
about bringing a Bangladeshi pastor to Minnesota while I
was away this fall. Should I have him take some courses
at Luther Seminary?
"Yes," said Roland, "a certificate in Islamic Studies!"
"But he comes from a Muslim nation!" I replied. "He's been living among Muslims all of his life!" "Yes, but the Christians in Bangladesh really don't know the faith tenets of their Muslim
neighbors."
So, life continues to be complicated, and we
can't assume that because someone is X, Y, or Z, they
know their own culture and surroundings. (That shouldn't
be surprising. How many Americans know our own history?
How, for example, did Thanksgiving come about as a
national day?)
Well, I'm overfull of too many experiences, images,
thoughts, and reflections. I hope you're not tired of my
ramblings. I look forward to sharing them, with
pictures, in person. For now, I await the arrival
(tomorrow, I think) of our medical team. Joe Chu should
be talking with Bijoy right now, and I'll join them at
noon. I'm actually very grateful for these several days
alone. As you can read, I've much to reflect upon, and,
fortunately, this computer has been firing up a lot
facter this morning.
Love to all,
P.dale
PS As Susan knows, we've been able to send and receive
text messages from Dhaka. I've had no success using the
telephone directly. Bijoy can be reached should
something need to be said
Bangladesh November 6, 2007
I'm back at the Viator Guest House, Banani, Dhaka, just across the street from the LHCB offices. Curious that I'm alone, having arrived before the delayed team. I'm delighted to be in Bangladesh again, although for the 7th time, I've left my beloved India. Of course, I wrote an e-mail in Ranchi that I think never went to you. It was a timed affair in a hole-in-the-wall "Cyber Cafe" and I tried to hit Send just as the screen went blank on me. Now I'm in the corner of the Sitting Room on the 4th floor on a VERY slow computer.
I was very blessed by my time with Nijhar and Neeraj in Ranchi. They are gracious hosts and committed Christians. And, I've been working a bit. I arrived in Ranchi more than 2 hours late on 31 Oct. The next day Neeraj took me to their small Theological Learning (named after Navin Doman, an early convert) and Multi-Purpose Training and Research Center. They have a vision of wholistic service: health, economic, as well as spiritual. I was welcomed by 17 of the 18 students, one having gone back to his village ill. They formed 2 lines, with a drummer at the rear with the two-sided tribal drum. They welcomed me with song and drumming, the traditional handwashing (to take the place of the footwashing that actually comes from tribal tradition), marigold garland and flowers. Bishop Minz beside me also received a garland. Then he and I led a stately procession to the church, pausing at the doorway to remove our shoes. We went to the chairs at the front, the students taking seats on the benches facing us. I'm humbled!
After a welcoming speech and some more songs (I tried to record several), we had prayers and creed, scripture and my sermon. I noted that they had greatly honored me, but that I knew the honor was not mine but because I represented Christ and shared the Gospel with them. I then preached on All Saints Day, pointing out the many saints of the church who we know only by a single reference (see the final chapter of Romans, for example). Nonetheless, they kept the faith, built the church, carried the Gospel. We also hear of many nameless saints. Who took the Gospel to Corinth? To Rome, for that matter! Besides this record, we share faith because of saints in our own lives who taught us the faith or brought the Gospel to us. And, finally, I noted the gathering of the Ashram servants for prayer and scripture. In this small Gossner Evangelical Lutheran Church many saints now carry on the faith, build the church, share the Gospel. I always mention that we at Normandale know that we are only a small part of the universal church, and that we cherish our connections in the faith with them (Japan, Hong Kong, Peru, Nigeria, and so forth).
We ate lunch with the students, 10 of whom study for a Bachelor of Theology, the other 8 for a certificate in evangelism. As in many other places where the church explodes with members, evangelists lead worship, Bible study, visitation, and every other pastoral function except baptis
m and communion.
We shared 90 minutes of question, answers, personal stories. Students told of amazing healings, many of which brought them to faith. They also themselves engage in a lively ministry of healing by prayer and the laying on of hands. Yes, we've preached and taught, but mostly left healing to the "professionals." I'm grateful that Normandale has regular Services of Healing.
I experienced the warm welcome of these people again on Sunday, when I was invited to preach at a small congregation of day laborers. Again, I was greeted by song, garland, bouquet . . . and a wizened ancient woman 
who washed my hands, pouring water from a brass container into a brass bowl. The Evangelist led worship with strength and competence. She should be in seminary, but the current facilities will not allow for women students, though several have applied for entrance. Neeraj was with me, translating my words on Matthew 10:5-10. Yes, this was their mission Sunday. They took 3 offerings. The first, where people came to the altar with their gifts, was for mission. The second was for the congregation. The third, for churchwide. Those with nothing, give of their poverty!
At the close of the service (which began, incidentally, with a small boy calling everyone to church by beating away on a gong), another older woman approached me, took my hands in hers, and (yes, I could understand most of what she said) thanked me for honoring them with my presence, expressed gratitude to God for my words and work, and promised that she would pray for me and Normandale. I became so deeply moved I could hardly respond, expressing my gratitude for her greeting, prayers, and congregation. Yes, I will pray for them. Please do, too!
On Saturday, between these two worship services, Neeraj and Nijhar took me to the site of the new seminary. Just one building, which will house servants, now reaches some kind of completion (for a dedication this next weekend). I have a copy of the plan for the grounds: chapel in the center of housing, library, classrooms, and center for teaching job skills, and center for medical (and spiritual) healing. Impressive. And expecially that Neeraj and Nijhar plan to move their family out there as soon as the first hostel has been completed. Again, their faith, witness, and compassion overwhelm.
I'll send this off now, knowing that the computer will take 5 or 10 minutes to get it on its way. More in the next e-mail.
P.dale
November 6, 07
I should temper my glowing words about India with some other parts of the reality. A basic level of crud (how else to say it?) continues to cover India. This includes the dust that settles everywhere and the dirt that's just thrown out of the houses. And it's absolutely scandalous that the toilets on India's trains continue to empty directly onto the tracks. (Of course, a sign above the commode advises you not to use it or flush at stations!) When floods come, it all spreads around. So, of course, we have disease.
Then, something new has been added: plastic trash. Everywhere along the tracks and roads, in alleys, on streets, and even on the mountain paths and in the lakes (but not Punna on the Ashram Estate, where we swam), you find plastic bottles, packaging, wraps. This isn't unique to India, of course. I've seen the wind blowing trash like this across the Nigerian bush. We saw it in the streams that come down from the Andes in Peru. Here's another global problem: we're drowning in plastic trash! I've heard that biodegradable packaging exists. We've got to make it economically viable! everywhere!
And then, above these two layers, we have the new industrial pollution. India's aware of it, but (like China and other rapidly developing economies) cannot control it. And they look to the US as the largest source of CO2 and say, you first, we'll follow.
So, you do find breathing sometimes a bit heavy on the plains, and you can develop the India cough (although I had it bad for only about a day).
Now, for something completely different: To continue thoughts about long-term "walking together" . . . the necessity of missionaries knowing intimately the culture and language of the "other" . . . I note what Cherian of AGORA and Luther Seminary and others are doing, which is to train people/students in theology and evangelism and send them back to their own countries. That's very promising, for these Christians already know the culture and language of the people they will serve, since they're members. Because of their US living and training, they can act as interpreters and connectors from their culture to ours. I support such efforts. What I would like to see more of, however, is training in life and economic skills, and medical, too, so that we can make an impact in every area of life. Give a dose of Lutheran theology, of course, with emphasis on vocation. If ELCA Global Mission does such training, I'm unaware of it. Enlighten me, please!
And, finally, some in the ELCA need to abandon taking shots at the "straw man" of former missionary errors. Some of this ideology seems to result from historical myopia if not ignorance. Were some actions "colonialist" or "imperialistic"? Sure, but a whole lot else was going on, too. We need to remember such facts as that the British East India Company wanted to keep missionaries out of India, precisely because they knew the missionaries would educate, provide medical resources to, and develop institutions for the indigenous people, who (knowing their rights and possibilities) would cease being so compliant to the economic desires of the company. Good fear! That's just what happened! You don't think that the freedom movement came only from the Bhagavad Gita, do you? I was struck by several Christian leaders who noted that the tremendous contributions of the missionaries to developing India needs desperately to be told. "It will help the Christian community now!" I was told. How many of the early leaders came out of mission schools? Most.
Enough polemics. That's just some of the thoughts roiling around in my head. I've others to share later, as I keep promising.
P.dale
Oct 30, 07
I again have only a few minutes in this hotel lobby to write to you. Our trip together nears an end: tomorrow I fly on to Ranchi and Dad returns to the US. God has richly, richly blessed our time together. Yesterday the Chandigarh papers features Dad and his star athlete, Milkha Singh, with photos in the sports pages. This was the apex of the trip.
Now, for an article:
You can read how Manmohan Singh, when Minister of Finance in a previous government (he's now Prime Minister as the Congress Party rules), opened India from a socialist planned economy to a free-enterprise, market-driven one. India's economy now grows between 8 and 10 percent a year and attracts international investment. You really see it on the streets! Heavy traffic with many, many fine Toyotas, Hondas, Marutis, Mercedes, and fine Fords swirl around tempos, rickshaws, scooters, motorcycles, busses, pedestrians, and (this still is India) cows, dogs, beggars. Hugh signs advertise everything from underwear to airline vacations.
Television cable offers well over 100 channels (some duplicates), with talk shows, game shows, and as many ads as US television. But with the Indian twist: at least a third of the channels offer religious programming. You can hear Hindu gurus leading you into spiritual discourse; work with yogic instructors; listen to Sikhs chanting from the Adi Granth to harmonium and tabla; hear the call to prayer; and even get several "evangelical" preachers from the U.S. You also hear Hinglish a lot! That is, young broadcasters (especially on youth call-in music programs) using Hindi and English interchangeably and within the same sentence. They'll say things like, "He's a bahut atcha singer; very khubsurat handsome too!" And then, about a third of the channels are Bollywood cinema music videos: lots, and lots of singing, dancing, drumming, emotion, boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-finds-better-girl themes. Most of the rest in cricket, with some international news channels here and there.
Another obvious change in the Indian landscape: a plethora of new Hindu temples. They've sprouted up everywhere, and more and more elaborate, rich, large, ostentatious, even. We see them in the city streets, by country highways, in the mountains, by rivers, you name it. You cannot miss the Hindu push for a Hindu India. We also see new Sikh gurudwaras and Muslim mosques. (Remember that more Muslims live in India than in Pakistan!) Clearly India remains a religious nation, and its religions remain visibly on the street. Piety obvious, too. As we drove with our host in Patiala, he always did "namaskar" (folding his hands and bowing briefly) as we passed a major temple. He touched the earth when we entered his place of work. And every taxi has a picture or small idol of a god on the dashboard. Spirituality literally in the air!
And always the smells and sounds of religion: incense, flowers, sweets, and the Muslim morning call to prayer, temple bells, chanting over loudspeakers. And here and there a spire lifting a cross above the amazing land and people of India. I will have much more to say on this when I return, but for now know that here, too, God has raised up faithful witnesses. Please keep them in your prayers, too.
We have lunch today with my childhood friend and her husband. Final shopping, and the final night. Again, God has blessed this journey richly, and I look forward to my remaining weeks. I keep all of you in my prayers. P.dale
Oct 23, 07
Dear Patty and Normandale Lutheran Church,
Of course I'm behind, but I find myself at a computer infrequently. Last long letters were about Japan, and I believe they may be on the church website. Could add pictures of Jack and Carol, and the beautiful one of the flowering trees along the "runway" leading up to the main college building, and so forth.
Today Dad and I attended worship at Lal Bagh Methodist Church, our "home" congregation here in Lucknow (founded in 1830). Dad took a picture of the plaque to William Taylor, the founding missionary of Methodism in North India, under which he first worshipped in this church in 1945! That's 62 years ago, for heaven's sake! Of course pastor requested that we sit up front. Dad did; I remained in the congregation until asked to come forward for a greeting. I also blessed the offering, prayed, and gave the benediction. (So, Normandale, I'm still working!) Blessed to worship here as I did when growing up. I do understand when people (youth especially) return to Normandale as their home congregation; something special, indeed. Mom has founded the Sunday School, which still thrives. Old organ and choir long gone, though, replaced by typical praise band.
For Chenar: Yes, I talked with Angie Moses after the service, a very good talk, too. Sundar's away doing evangelism. Of course she remembers you and sends her greetings. We'll continue to keep in touch.
When we arrived Friday at Char Bagh station (after a wonderful morning drinking tea while watching the orange sun rise over the Gangetic Plains of north India . . . and noticing villages that I well remember from such mornings when I'd travel down from Woodstock School back home for the winter holidays and strain to see the domes of Char Bagh, home), in any case, when we arrived, we took a tempo (motorcycle rickshaw) to the Park Inn hotel, not the way we'd go to our home in Christian College. That and the many changes and especially the vicious traffic disoriented Dad. That afternoon we walked up and down Hazrat Ganj, the main "western" shopping avenue when we lived here. Dad was turned around, but began to reorient as we stopped in various known shops: the Kashmiri shop by the Hindu temple at the end of the ganj (Chenar and Susan have both been there); the General Post office; the sporting goods store from which Dad ordered much equipment (the photo of the current proprieter's grandfather seemed familiar); and finally down the other end to Lal Bagh street. We continued on to the church, Nur Munzil Psychriatric Center (don't say anything!), founded by E. Stanley Jones, to Kaiser Bagh circus (that's a roundabout, not a carnival), and back to the Central Methodist Church where Jones was pastor and where he had his life-saving experience.
Yesterday we were tourists. Took leisurely walks in, through, and around the Bara Imambara (which features, among other things, a labyrinth, a maze constructed by the Nawab Asaf-ud-duala above the main hall of the imambara where he could chase women of the harem, he knowing the way around as they did not . . . something like 26 identical doorways).
I've a picture of the main building (from the outside) as part of my computer's screen saver.
I'm absolutely delighted that Lucknow (Husainabad Trust) has been doing extensive renovation, repair, gardening of these wonderful nawabi buildings! This was all ruin when Dad first came here . . . and was able to run around the maze without a guide (or girls, for that matter). The Rumi Darwaza (Great Three-in-One) Gate also repaired.
Parks now lining the Gomti River, surrounding the tombs of Saadat Ali Khan and his begum, 
and inside the Chhota Imambara, which contiunes to be lovely indeed.
Again, pictures currently on my screen saver.
We spent the afternoon at the Residency, site of the British defense against rebelliing sepoys (native troops) and the local tulaqdars (Muslim landowners, each of whom had armed retainers). Grass, gardens, flowers adorn the old ruins, many of which still show the holes where cannon balls hit. But toward the back, behind my great banyan tree (at least, I always thought it was mine until I read Kim and realized that Mr. Kipling had given it to his hero), junglee growth still prevails, all the way past the La Matiniere boys' post to the back wall. Looking through the locked back gate that we used to come through, we could see the back wall of Lucknow Christian College. I talked through the bars with a servant woman, telling her that I used to jump over the walls to get to the Residency, but no longer (I'm now too old, or at least that's what I told her). We had a good laugh. I'm delighted that my Hindi comes back enough that I can converse well enough with shop-keepers, rickshaw drivers, street folk, and so forth. Not great, but adequate. These encounters form the true gems of my sabbatical.
One incident especially stands out. When in a back, domed hall of the Bara Imambara, a guide brought in a group of Muslim "pilgrim" tourists to surround a tazia
(a miniature replica of Husain’s tomb in Karbala, which terrorists have tried to bomb as part of the Sunni-Shia bloodshed in Iraq). They parade these tazias on the anniversary of Husain’s death. This one, however, stays in the imambara since it's made of metal (brass, I think); the papier mache ones travel. In any case, the guide roughly told me that they wanted to pray. But I stayed quietly in the corner, bowed during their prayers. I silently prayed for them, for the light of Christ in their lives, as they mouthed their prayers to Allah. We exited the front door to retrieve our shoes left outside (one rupee to be looked after) just after the pilgrims. As I went for the door, the guide asked me whether I were Muslim.
"No," I replied, "I'm a Lutheran Christian. I follow Esa, whom the Qu'ran features often. Why do you ask?"
"Because I saw you praying reverently back there."
"Yes, I want to respect your sprituality, your piety, even if I see Allah through Esa."
I have no idea what comes of such moments, but I am blessed by them and trust that the Holy Spirit takes what little I can offer and transforms lives.
I also had some interesting talks with our tempo driver, a devout Hindu who put off our leaving a half hour (no problem) so that he could attend temple with his wife. It's Durga Puja, an 8-day festival of the goddess Kali-Durga, and especially big celebration for Bengali Hindus, big in Bangladesh. I'll say more about that some other time, since I think I should send this off.
Of course, I'd intended to tell all about the Sat Tal Ashram. Sometime.
Bless one and all. Forgive typos.
P.dale
Oct 22.07
I've a few memonts to write before we have to pack up and check out of this Lucknow hotel. We'll visit the college campus where Dad taught and we lived for so many years, and perhaps some other parts of the city, before taking the overnight train to Delhi and a flight to Chennai.
The world-famous evangelist, author, statesman, E. Stanley Jones founded the Christian Ashram at Sat Tal in the Kumaon Hills of North India with an Indian pastor and retired English missionary in 1930. The ashram (spiritual retreat center) sits in the middle of an extensive, wooded, mountain estate that includes a lovely small lake, Punna. (Jones used to fish in it every morning when he was here, and rows of stone seats face a large white cross across the lake where Vespers took place each evening.) The estate was once owned by a British planter (indigo, I'm told), and the main house dates to 1860. Other cottages around the property date were built sometime later, but all over 100 years ago. The main building, now ashram center, is called Mid Lakes since it sits between Punna and the double lakes, Ram and Sita, which lie below the ridge of the ashram. (My father's camp, Koh-i-Noor, lies across those lakes. We would look up to the ashram ridge and chapel from our front porch.)
You may know that the International Christian Ashram Movement continues. Check the website. You may also know that Pastor Bill Berg of Augustana Church, Mpls, was one of the Big Four who sat on Jones's governing board.
The first week we were in Sat Tal, we participated in the Winter Ashram. Our routine: up at ^ a.m. for a cold bath out of a bucket. A servant brought tea at 6:30 . . . wonderful hot thick sweet Indian tea! At 7:30 we gathered in the front room for Dhayan (Bible Meditation and Prayer). We would all silently read and meditate on a chapter of I John, and then share reflections about it before joining in group prayer. Breakfast at 8:30. At 9:30 Bishop Stanley Downes gave lectures on The Kingdom of God, one of Jones's key concepts. Morning Tea at 11:00. Second lecture, on Christianity in the India Context, took place at 11:30. Lunch at 1:00. Then Dad and I would take off, hiking around the hills to places we knew, until 4:00 p.m. afternoon "high tea." Vespers began at 4:30. Dinner at 7:30, followed by fellowship sharing. Bed at 10:00. A good way to spend a week!
Dad and I hiked to the top of the opposite mountain, overlooking the double lakes, trying to find the route he would walk up from the train station, Kathgodam, on the plains. We had a good 8 hour walk, finding some landmarks but missing others. On other days we went to the old church, Koh-i-noor Camp (where a lovely young couple, Noel and Sunitha Philips, from the Delhi YMCA, work to restore, renovate, and protect the camp. Dad was greatly heartened to discover how pristine this area continues to be, despite tourist hotels and shops and boating.
Before we left, we went swimming in Punna. How's that for a 95-year-old missionary? Dad and I used to swim together in Punna when I was in high school. Certainly I never thought we'd again be floating on our backs, looking up at the clear blue sky through the wonderful mountain pines, talking together. Normandale, you've no idea what you've done for me!
After the Winter Ashram ended, a group of 60 Naga Christian Youth came for the next week. They were simply great to have around. We went to some of their worship services, ate with them, and talked with the leaders. Naga can sing! I planted the idea of a Naga Youth Choir touring the US, to raise awareness of the Naga (former head-hunters and long-time converts) and some funding, too. More about this when I return, but I believe this has real potential.
The Naga youth sang "The Lord Bless You and Keep You" with the 7-fold amen, for Dad's birthday, about as well as I've ever heard it! Then, of course, Happy Birthday. I'd ordered Indian sweets, and a retired missionary friend, Lillian Wallace, got a cake for Naini Tal. Dad said he had the best birthday he could remember . . . and he can certainly remember a whole lot!
I'll share more about the ashram when I return. Certainly it's something that I would consider bringing a group from Normandale to experience. Well, I know that I've also got to stay at home a bit, too. But . . . .
Love to one and all, especially Meta and the Eighth Graders. All in my prayers.
P.dale
October 17, 2007
Patty, I hope you've received my two columns from Japan. I've not had a chance at a computer for this long until now.
Woodstock School has been embarrassingly gracious to us! Our guest room offers a superb view of the Swaliks (foothills of the Himalayas), the Doon Valley, and the lights of Dehra Dun at night. Spectacular! We've visited Eastwood Estate where we lived most of the time here, the Landour and Kulri bazaars, most of the school, and various other places of memories.
Curiously enough, we arrived on the Saturday of "Sports Day" (track and field) and spent the day with the school at Hansen Field. They had Dad and me hand out some of the awards . . . and (loud huzzahs, please), I still hold the shot putt and discus records!
Sunday Dad and I went to the top of the hill to Kellogg Memorial Church where we sometimes worshipped. Before service we wandered around the "chukkar"--the road that circles the top of the mountain. The eternal snows gleamed through the clear, crisp air from the north. Deodars offered elegant frames for our photographs. Where else can you worship in such created splendor? We worshipped in Hindi and English, and the sermon, an exposition of Psalm 121, was excellent. I'm blessed to receive.
This morning we went to the cemetery, and Dad remembered the location of my grandmothers' grave! (Using his directions, I found it.) Only the very top of the scroll upon which her name and dates were carved could be seen poking out of the encroaching jungle foliage. The chowkidar (watchman), his wife, and their two sons worked hard to uncover the entire grave. I'm unable now to tell you my emotions, but I have yearned for this moment for many months, certainly since being at my mother's deathbed. "Yea, we have a goodly heritage; the lines have fallen to us in pleasant places." Florence N. Herrmann lies on a lush, fern-filled terrace, beneath towering deodars (God's Wood; the Himalayan cedar), facing the eternal snows of the high Himalayas. I believe that we own the plot next to her; grandfather Carl Christian Herrmann purchased it at the same time. It would be a wonderful place to finally find rest, but (for me) not for many, many years (Inch'Allah): I've too much yet to see and do and share. And grandchildren of my own to whom to pass the heritage.
My prayers turn to Normandale daily. We're in great health, doing well. Lucknow in 2 days.
dale
Woodstock School, Mussoorie, Uttarakhand, India; 16 October 2007
Last night a horrendous mountain storm thundered across the school, a final reminder of monsoon power. This afternoon hail, rain, wind, mist, and sun have taken turns moving up the valleys and over the hills. Till now we've had only clear, sunny, sometimes quite warm days. Now presents a good time to write. (I'm on an unfamiliar computer, of course, so errors will occur . . . just help me out, as usual!)
TOKYO works like a gargantuan microchip: busses, trains, people, cars coming and going with electronic precision in, through, over, under interweaving roads and rails. I'm amazed that Jim and Carol Sack, my gracious hosts, know exactly how to reach their desired destinations. More than once Jim joked that they'd abandon me to see if I could find my own way back to the Lutheran seminary campus. (Not a chance!)
I had several objectives: by visiting Jim and Carol to get a sense of their lives and ministries. to attend the All-Japan Lutheran Church One-Day Seminary, and to accompany Carol as she ministers with harp and voice to the dying. I experienced all this and MUCH more, including worship both at a Japanese church and the church assembly. Introduced each time as a pastor from the Sack's home church, I brought g\reetings from Normandale to everyone. Incidentally, choirs and handbell choir were just superb--but Bach reigns.
Jim gave me a tour of the Personal Growth and Counselling Center where he works, and at various times I was able to chat with Kazuhiro Ishikawa, President of the Japan Luthheran College Graduate School; George Oshiba, pastor of the large Musashino Church; faculty members and students. All deeply appreciate the work Jim and Carol do. Clearly, Jim brings a unique, original ministry into the Japanese context. Equally as clear, he could not do so without his long-term commitment to learning the Japanese language, culture, context, thought-processes, and needs--and developing deep relationships with colleagues and patients.
Our ELCA Global Mission stresses "accompaniment"--that we as American Christians no longer lead but walk with our brothers and sister in Christ. We do not send and they just receive; we both give and receive the gifts each other has to offer. I believe this is a critical distinction and the correct concept for our current world. But I also wonder how we can at all adequately "accompany" other Christians without such competences that only long-term commitment to missionary life and work can bring. Two weeks--two years--just can't cut it. I'm reminded of Miss Robins, one of those dedicated, single missionary women of years gone by who lived way out in the bush with only a jeep and a generator. She stated that only after 20 years did the villagers begin to confide in her, and she began to understand them. (Another long-term missionary told how the villagers would joke about the stories [lies] they'd tell visiting researchers.) We need to balance our short-term "mission trips" with long-term committed servants.
More in the next e-mail: you and Janet can use them as you will
dale
October 2, 07
Sunday we had a wonderful day visiting India Gate and the 4 kilometers of Raj Path on either side of it. That's a very long parade avenue with greenery and water on each side. (The water on the south side offers paddleboats for families taking the afternoon for recreation together.) It's where the Republic Day and Independence Day parades occur. At one end is the President's House; at the other, the former National Stadium where Dad used to coach India's best athletes. He would get them up in the morning to run (and walk) from the stadium to the Secretariate on either side of the President's House. (He doesn't remember it being quite so long, though!)
On Monday, we walked all around the stadium, which is now the headquarters of India (Field) Hockey. We had no luck talking with people until, by chance, the head man drove up. He's a Superintendent of Punjab Police (CID and Security), and was immediately gracious to us.
We proceeded on to the new Nehru Stadium being refurbished for the 2010 Asian Games. There we went into the offices of the secretary of the Athletic Federation of India, Dr. Bhanot, who graciously received us. We sat in his office as meetings, phone calls, dictation, photocopying, friends dropping in, and all sorts of activity swirled around us. The highpoint, though, was his asking whether Dad knew a still-active coach, Mr. Sani. Yes, they had coached together: "Is he here?" "No, but I'll ring him up." Bhanot called Sani on his cell phone, and I overheard a wonderful phone reunion. It turns out that Sani is at the National Institute of Sports in Patiala, the one place we hadn't been able to confirm. He'll take care of our visit there, and try to assemble some of Dad's former athletes and students.
Bhanot then asked whether we'd like lunch, which he ordered for us. We enjoyed the best curry, dahi, parathas, we've had, eating (about 3 p.m.) in the conference room with Bhanot and his VP. We left about an hour later.
Bhanot set up an interview with a newspaper reporter for this morning (Tuesday), which went well. The reporter may well try to continue the interview later in our India visit.
I'm so very grateful that Dad has been recognized, honored, with more to come toward the end of our journey, when we go to Patiala. I've been privileged to go with him to places of his work and hear the memories pour forth. That's deeply meanigful.
Tonight we take the train to Kathgodam; tomorrow, a taxi to the Sat Tal ashram. I'm unsure about e-mail capabilities there, but I'll keep in touch as best I can.
I'm delighted that the MB! dinner went well (as far as I can tell). Good speaker!
Please keep me in your prayers.
Dale
Oh, I've bought a cell phone that takes pictures. If I can figure it out, I'll try to send some to you, though I'm unsure about compatibility of technology.
September 28, 07
Greetings one and all!
I've had a marvelous time with ELCA missionary friends Ted and Janey
Zimmerman who serve the Lutheran Theological Seminary here in Hong Kong, a
vibrant, modern, technologically sophisticated city of the first order, as
you know. The work of the seminary continues to be exciting, wide-ranging,
and important. 335 day students and 235 night students take classes, with
the day students coming from many different countries and churches: Laos,
Cambodia, China, Thailand, India, Bangladesh, and western countries, as well
as Hong Kong. They're studying for various degrees in theology. The night
students come mostly from HK Chinese background; they simply have a keen
interest in learning about Christian thought.
Ted also goes into China
weekly to teach Bible in the comparative religion section under the
Philosophy Department of Jung Shan University in Canton (Guanjzhou). And the
course in in English (though Ted speaks fluently in both Cantonese and
Mandarin . . . and his English is pretty good, too). Again, people have
thirst to learn about religion, Christianity, and the west. This is amazing
witness without direct "evangelism" (which isn't, of course, allowed), but
the government also seems to be willing to consider registering "home
churches." Keep watch. (New Paragraph) I had a routine flight here to Hong
Kong. Wonderful tour of the seminary, chapel, and lunch with the students on
Thursday. Yesterday, Friday, went to Lantau island and climbed Sunset Peak
(an all day affair) to where missionaries used to vacation in stone and
concrete houses high in the mountain breezes. I'm just a bit sore, but in
pretty good shape now for the Himalayas. I'll fly to New Delhi this evening
to meet Dad and begin the India adventure. I've had very good discussions
about the church, mission, future . . . much to ponder. Please continue to
keep me/us in your prayers. I've been privileged to represent Normandale to
the churches and seminaries in Japan and Hong Kong.
God bless,
Pr. dale
September 23, 07
I have only a quick minute before we need to leave for the All-Day Seminary.
Everything has gone smoothly. Jim and Carol are gracious hosts. I was able
to visit the Hope House hospice with them yesterday and be with Carol as she
ministered to a dying man with her voice and harp. Very, very moving. The
work they do here remains innovative for japanese society, appreciated,
vital. We need such long-term missionaries who can master the language, much
of the nuances of the culture, and make a real difference for Christ. Also
worshipped with a Japanese congregation that received me graciously. I was
able to bring them greetings from Normandale. God continues to bless me
richly. Take care. MB! menu looks good . . . almost worth coming back for!
Serving Christ with you, P.dale
From My Journal:
Sunday 23 September, my first day in Tokyo
What of the day was most imprtant, though, was going to the hospice Hope House where Carol ministers with harp and voice/song to the dying. Crammed into a typical cramped Tokyo street across the tracks from the nearest station (the only staircase & walkway I saw with trash, cigarette butts, on the ground), Hope House offers narrow, narrow hallways to narrow, narrow rooms, each with a single bed, smnall bureau, sink, toilet, a/c in the window, TV overhead. Up to the fourth gloor small common room where Carol tuned her harp (after the usual bows and greetings, of course). Carol thrilled that her earlier phone call resulted in "I have a patient." Then led to the roof chapel for The Prayer of St. Francis that she always \recites before ministering to a patient. (The prayer also on a plaque at the entrance, which welcomed and signaled Carol at her first meeting with the founder, Mr. Yamamoto.) Photographs of the deceased sit on a side lege; ashes in white-clothed boxes lie behind the small altar (where else can they be placed?). Icons on the walls. A profound place for meditation.
Hope House lies in a neighborhood of flophouses for day laborers, each "Hotel" advertizing the (miniscule) size and cost of its rooms-for-a-night, by DKs, which Jim later tells me are tatami dimensions: so a 6-DK room will hold 6 tatami mats [look up the dimensions, about 5x7, I think]. Day laborers, of course, have no benefits, pension, savings. When age and illness come, they have nowhere to go. Most, obviously, without homes or families. So, when death approaches, they can find themselves in a room of their own, often for the first time, at Hope House.
The harp and Carol barely fit between bed and bureau. Harp and chair had to be lifted up over the end of the bed. Jim and I sat on charis at the foot of the bed--no way the door from the narrow hallway could open once we sat down. Also present, a young woman who turned out to be a Catholic volunteer (she recognized Ubitas Caritas [sp?]). The harp so relaxed the dying man that he drifted into deep sleep. The young woman sat with closed eyes and later admitted to (nearly) drifting off, too. I sat as still as I could, as did Jim beside me, perspiration soaking our clothes, the small window a/c unable to cope with 5 persons in the tiny room
What a moving, deep, profound, spiritual time! I did not feel an observer, an intruder, but a participant in a holy moment. (Not a tourist; but a pilgrim.)
Carol takes her rhythm from the movements (especially breathing) of the patients--slows as they slow, deepens tone as they slow, a unity of breath/movement/sound. Truly astounding.
Difficult to get us, chairs, Carol, harp, volunteer, out of the room without many bumps and bangs, but we managed to extricate ourselves without waking the patient.
And now Carol has Japanese students taking a two-year course to learn to minister in this way to the dying, new to Japanese culture. And the Lutheran College Graduate School considers making her course part of their curriculum offerings. Hers truly represents cutting edge ministry . . . and, again, she can do it because of fluent Japanese, deep understanding of the people and their culture, a flowing spirituality, and a compassionate heart.
I'm greatly enriched by being here. I'm proud to represent her home church. I'm humbled that we can in a small way contribute to her minstry.
P.dale
Monday - Friday