Resolved

If you are extremely claustrophobic I wouldn’t recommend a train ride in India. I think I have found the origin of the phrase “packed like sardines.” It is the 9:30ish train from Mavelikara to Kottayam on Monday morning. I left for a marriage of a friend’s “uncle’s” son. (You’re lucky if you know that much about the bride or the groom). Now, keep in mind, I am wearing a sari. And walking. And boarding a train. I generally attract attention, “Madama, madama (white lady). But how about a madama in a sari? That’s just asking for the stares, waves, honks and laughs that so often come my way. So, I head for the back of the train designated as the lady’s compartment. There is hardly room for both my feet to touch the floor and I am hanging on to the handle bar of the train door. But, alas that doesn’t stop half a dozen others from getting on. It was like playing the game twister with this car full of women. Right hand on blue. Hey, now; that’s my rear end! Left foot on yellow. And that is my foot! I had a grandmother learning on my shoulder and the young girl next to me was heaving her breakfast onto the tracks below. Then, heaven forbid, someone needed to get to the bathroom! As she wove under our arms and I found my body contorted into something like a pretzel. To put it frankly, I wanted to scream or push someone. But so often in these times when I am on the train I begin to stare out the window and have a word with God. It’s one of my favorite times to pray. I am normally by myself and in a reflective mood while journeying. So I got to thinking about the new year. I have certainly had my share of resolutions. We all know what they are typically composed of--and how often these desires become realities. Lucky for us, we are a ‘new creation.’ We have a fresh start over and over again, not simply at the beginning of a calendar year. I saw my quickness to anger and frustration on the train. It made me question how I handle each situation and the emotions that arise…how I cope with the smallest challenges, like a crowded train. The two young ladies in front of me were encouraging and helpful in every way possible when you are on a crowded train. Surely, I too, can find the strength to live the life of a new creation- to react to others with grace and love.

Side Note:

Christmas in India. Oh, how can one begin to describe it? I took part in many a Christmas program in which I learned some very important details that until now have been void from my own Christmas traditions. First and foremost, in case you thought otherwise, Christmas Father was present at the birth of Jesus. And it is essential that he wears balloons at the top of his hat and carries a staff reminiscent of the shepherd hovering over the cradle. Angels should like pageant children and a “candle dance” parallels a 1980’s aerobic video. With candles and pompoms. Naturally. All choir songs should be sung with a keyboard synthesizer. Next, when it comes to decorating the tree, the more the better. Especially if it has neon hues. And have you ever thought to decorate with balloons and streamers? Don’t have a fir tree? A branch from the papaya tree will do just fine.

PILGRIM

On Christmas Day, I embarked on a twenty-four hour train journey to the east India state of Andhra Pradesh. The journey was spent surrounded by Hindu pilgrims making their annual pilgrimage to Sabrimala Temple. This was my own pilgrimage. It gave a new perspective on the journey of Mary and Joseph. They were far from home, away from family. While they were more than likely surrounded by a multitude of other “passengers” on the journey, maybe they felt lonely. They certainly stuck out- possibly even a spectacle! Mary was very heavy with child and they were scrutinized for conceiving a child out of wedlock.

I spent the week at the Parakal Missions Home of Love. Here is a place where boys come when their parents have perished or can no longer afford to keep them. The surrounding villages are mostly composed of straw-roofed huts, echoing the picture I formulated as a child of the manger scene. Old men and children sit atop ox and donkey carts teeming with hay or cotton. I met the shepherds. And the day laborers. And the farmers. They still remain on the fringes of their society after some 2000 years. They continue to be exploited. But who were the first to receive the Good News? Who saw the star and were the first to greet the child? These are the times when I throw up my hands and ask, “Where is God? What is fair about any of this?” These people have next to nothing. These boys have no family, nothing of their own and live in a place that barely meets its day-to day financial needs. And, God! These are the lucky ones. At the boys’ home they have a roof and people that take care for them. And food to eat. Tears creep down my face. But, as I sit among the boys and take a deep look around, I know that God is here. He is in this place. These are the hungry, the fatherless, the widowed. The ‘least of these.’ And He is with them. Suffering with them. I have not experienced such love and hospitality as I did with these boys and the staff of the home. I see that they are loved and in the hands
I missed the Christmas season spent surrounded by my family and friends celebrating a myriad of traditions. But, this year my simple celebrations were spent with new friends and the people that welcomed me in. Maybe this Christmas was the closest I’ve been to the nativity. Never before have I hovered so closely to the trough and peered into the eyes of the Baby that came to show the world a radical way to live.