TODAY I MET PAPAI
Don’s Diary, January 9, 2008
It was another day on the campaign trail in India. I boarded the hired van along with ten preacher training students from the Nagapattinam School of Preaching. This city was the most devastated of all tsunami areas in India. In their soul-winning work, the students are now venturing out into even more remote areas. We traveled about twenty miles, first by two-lane, pot-hole-filled highways, then by one-lane dirt roads. The vibrant green rice fields lined both sides of the road and stretched as far as the eye could see. Workers carried bundles of grain on their heads, making their way to crudely fabricated thrashing machines parked in the middle of the road. Often, we had to wait patiently as the thrasher was halted, coupled it to a tractor, and cleared from our pathway. The twenty-mile journey took about 1 hour and the van eventually reached a point where it became necessary for us to get out and walk.
Soon we all separated, two-by-two (or more) and headed in different directions towards different villages. We gave out tracts to those who could read, walking carefully, chasing chickens and baby goats from beneath our feet. Our eyes were on constant alert for numerous piles of cow dung. These people are very poor by my standards. They live in mud huts with a roof crudely crafted from palm tree leaves. Every house is fenced by a hedge of carefully woven thorns. Even the gates are made of thorn bushes. Standing by the door of one house was a frail older lady who would soon be my sister in Christ. Her name was Papai.
One of the brothers had passed this way earlier. He explained that this woman wanted to be baptized. We were surprised that she would even know of such a need. Who was teaching her, I asked? The brothers did not know. As we opened her gate, Papai motioned for us to come into her house. As is customary, I removed my boots and me and Santhanaraj entered the dark room. We sat on the only piece of furniture, a bed made of wood; no mattress of course. Papai sat cross-legged in front of us on a mat on the floor.
After exchanging the usual greetings and small talk and I quickly turned our conversation to spiritual things. “Why do you want to be baptized?” I asked. I misunderstood Papai’s reply as she explained that she had been sick. Observing her little fifty-pound body I had no doubt about her physical condition. I inquired to know her age but she did not know. “I am between fifty and sixty,” she said. I explained to Papai that physical sickness was not the purpose for baptism but that such removed our sins, bringing us into contact with Jesus’ blood. Preparing to exit I told her that our brothers would continue to study with her. “Where are you going?” she asked. “I know that baptism is for the remission of sins. I have been waiting.” Pointing, she explained that there was one pond on this side and another on that side. “Where do you want to baptize me? My clothing is ready and I have been waiting.”
Santhanaraj questioned her for some time and then turned to explain to me that she already knew very well what the scriptures taught. We looked at one another, puzzled and amazed. Papai was ready to obey the Lord and I asked the brothers to take care of baptizing her. As I knelt on her floor to lead prayer she stopped me. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I said I want to be baptized. We can pray afterwards!” We prayed anyway, and the last I saw of Papai she was on her way to the pond with my brothers. I couldn’t help but think of Lydia (Acts 16) and the beginning of the church in Philippi. This sweet soul reminded me of the persistence of Bartimaeus in Mark 10. This is the beginning of a new work among these villages.
We studied house to house and preached publicly when given the opportunity. The sun was setting as we gathered in the second to the last village where we worked on this day. About fifty souls sat on the dirt road waiting to hear the gospel. I walked away with my camera to get a more permanent image of the moment. I stopped to soak it all in. Standing before the crowd were ten evangelists, leading singing, praying and reading scriptures. I remembered back, three years earlier. Jim Waldron and I came here in the chaos of the tsunami aftermath. I wondered where each of these men was on that exact day, three years ago. Nagapattinam was filled with darkness and we had no brethren in this place. Hope was so distant for these coastal people. Just a little more than one week ago more than three hundred saints gathered on the night of New Year’s Eve to celebrate. There is light. There is joy. There is hope. A smile crossed my face and my heart swelled with emotion as I whispered in my mind, “God is so great!”
It was another day on the campaign trail in India. I boarded the hired van along with ten preacher training students from the Nagapattinam School of Preaching. This city was the most devastated of all tsunami areas in India. In their soul-winning work, the students are now venturing out into even more remote areas. We traveled about twenty miles, first by two-lane, pot-hole-filled highways, then by one-lane dirt roads. The vibrant green rice fields lined both sides of the road and stretched as far as the eye could see. Workers carried bundles of grain on their heads, making their way to crudely fabricated thrashing machines parked in the middle of the road. Often, we had to wait patiently as the thrasher was halted, coupled it to a tractor, and cleared from our pathway. The twenty-mile journey took about 1 hour and the van eventually reached a point where it became necessary for us to get out and walk.
Soon we all separated, two-by-two (or more) and headed in different directions towards different villages. We gave out tracts to those who could read, walking carefully, chasing chickens and baby goats from beneath our feet. Our eyes were on constant alert for numerous piles of cow dung. These people are very poor by my standards. They live in mud huts with a roof crudely crafted from palm tree leaves. Every house is fenced by a hedge of carefully woven thorns. Even the gates are made of thorn bushes. Standing by the door of one house was a frail older lady who would soon be my sister in Christ. Her name was Papai.
One of the brothers had passed this way earlier. He explained that this woman wanted to be baptized. We were surprised that she would even know of such a need. Who was teaching her, I asked? The brothers did not know. As we opened her gate, Papai motioned for us to come into her house. As is customary, I removed my boots and me and Santhanaraj entered the dark room. We sat on the only piece of furniture, a bed made of wood; no mattress of course. Papai sat cross-legged in front of us on a mat on the floor.
After exchanging the usual greetings and small talk and I quickly turned our conversation to spiritual things. “Why do you want to be baptized?” I asked. I misunderstood Papai’s reply as she explained that she had been sick. Observing her little fifty-pound body I had no doubt about her physical condition. I inquired to know her age but she did not know. “I am between fifty and sixty,” she said. I explained to Papai that physical sickness was not the purpose for baptism but that such removed our sins, bringing us into contact with Jesus’ blood. Preparing to exit I told her that our brothers would continue to study with her. “Where are you going?” she asked. “I know that baptism is for the remission of sins. I have been waiting.” Pointing, she explained that there was one pond on this side and another on that side. “Where do you want to baptize me? My clothing is ready and I have been waiting.”
Santhanaraj questioned her for some time and then turned to explain to me that she already knew very well what the scriptures taught. We looked at one another, puzzled and amazed. Papai was ready to obey the Lord and I asked the brothers to take care of baptizing her. As I knelt on her floor to lead prayer she stopped me. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I said I want to be baptized. We can pray afterwards!” We prayed anyway, and the last I saw of Papai she was on her way to the pond with my brothers. I couldn’t help but think of Lydia (Acts 16) and the beginning of the church in Philippi. This sweet soul reminded me of the persistence of Bartimaeus in Mark 10. This is the beginning of a new work among these villages.
We studied house to house and preached publicly when given the opportunity. The sun was setting as we gathered in the second to the last village where we worked on this day. About fifty souls sat on the dirt road waiting to hear the gospel. I walked away with my camera to get a more permanent image of the moment. I stopped to soak it all in. Standing before the crowd were ten evangelists, leading singing, praying and reading scriptures. I remembered back, three years earlier. Jim Waldron and I came here in the chaos of the tsunami aftermath. I wondered where each of these men was on that exact day, three years ago. Nagapattinam was filled with darkness and we had no brethren in this place. Hope was so distant for these coastal people. Just a little more than one week ago more than three hundred saints gathered on the night of New Year’s Eve to celebrate. There is light. There is joy. There is hope. A smile crossed my face and my heart swelled with emotion as I whispered in my mind, “God is so great!”
posted by J. Keith Maxwell @ 9:13 AM
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