Day 5 – Genital Fragments

By comparison, being rattled and told to grab your things in a hurry while on a train, was a very calming way to start the day.  At about 4 AM, we gathered our things and made our way to the front of the train to await our stop.  The trains don’t really announce the stops or hang out for a long time while you decide whether or not to get off, so you have to be prepared when your stop comes close.  We ended up standing around in the squatty potty lobby for about an hour. 

Once off the bus we exchanged greeting with a bunch of the REDACTED, received a bunch of flowers, and then took a short bus ride to our destination.  An uneventful few hours of finding our rooms, eating breakfast, etc. followed.  Then we were off to chapel.

It’s worth noting here that advanced notice isn’t really a thing that is part of the culture.  While eating breakfast, you can expect to then be told what is happening 15 minutes later.  At no point in our days here has it been known by the group at large what to expect throughout the day with the exception of travel.  So that being said, the day was spent mostly hour by hour waiting to find out what’s next.

The events were not breathtaking, but mostly consisted of a tour of the campus for a children’s home and visiting with a few key members of our host organization.  Though one in particular really stuck with me, not because the story was overwhelming in any way, but because it is what I would love to do.  We spoke with someone who is from the United States, came to India as an adult, and now has a highly important role within the organization.  He has overcome barriers in language, culture, and color of skin to succeed in a role that he would have had every good excuse to fail in. 

That is specifically motivating to me.  I have a passionate heart for international missions, India specifically.  I’m not passionate about this country because I came here on a trip, rather, I came on this trip because I’m passionate about this country.  As a general rule, I’m actually against most short term mission trips.  For the price of me coming on this trip, I could provide substantial funding to indigenous people to further the ministry here in more powerful ways.  I’m here because I’m trying to find out if God has a calling for me permanently in foreign countries, and I believed leaving home at least once to see could be achievable for me is essential to find the answer to that question.

I know undoubtedly, that supporting foreign missions, whether by working in the field, or assisting in the states, is something I need to be a large part of whatever ministry role I end up in.  I’ve always been very resistant to pursue though for several reasons.  Chief among them is that I believe that the most qualified people to minister to foreign people are people from that culture.  I don’t speak the language, and I’m not a particularly quick learner, so I couldn’t for a while.  I’m open about being a pretty soft individual.  I don’t handle illness, poor conditions, or general physical challenges well.  My skin is nearly transparent, and there’s really no unreached population I could ever be a part of without it being immediately visibly apparent that I’m a foreigner.  Those barriers matter, and they’ve caused me to believe in the past that overseas missions could not be an option for me. 

This man helped me see that it’s not an impossibility to have an effective role with those same hurdles, and that was a great inspiration to me, I’m going to try to talk with him more this week about his transition and recommendations for further pursuing a similar path.

That was my inspiration during the day, with the night came inspiration of a different sort.

In the evening we packed into the van in order to visit the temple of Lord Shiva, the god of destruction.  We had visited a Baha’i temple last week, which was visually stunning, but experience-wise ended up being quite dull.  This was a radial contrast.  From the outside, the temple looks like nothing.  The architecture is unique, at least by western standards, but it’s not pretty.  The temple looks and feels old, it’s run down, and there are street vendors and markets leading literally right up to the doorstep.  There’s not a maintained set of grounds around it like you’d find at a mosque or at the Baha’i temple, it’s just crammed into town like another building. 

Our guide (more on him later) walked us through the outer area of the temple, and it affirmed the feeling of the outside, overwhelmingly unspectacular.  There were altars to lesser gods and goddess everywhere.  All of them were behind a dingy gate that could be opened and closed to provide a better view.  The idols were larger than the ones around town, but not really much nicer, just in a better setting, they seemed a little dingy, albeit cared for.  The temple is open air, with the exception of the main area housing Shiva, so when it rains the floor, both walkways and tiles alike get drenched and slick.  There are bugs crawling around everywhere, and at one point a member of our group wandered a bit behind an exhibit to find a rabid dog that proceeded to growl at us for several minutes after we had left its eye sight.  That is the feel of the temple.  It’s as dark, dirty, and sad as most of the country, it just doesn’t have the litter.

Before we get to Shiva’s altar, I have to share with you the story of Shiva himself.  Lord Shiva is the Hindu god of destruction.  His image is not an ornate person, elephant, monkey, etc. like the other Hindu idols you’ve likely seen before.  His image is based around a rather unique origin story. 

A long time ago somewhere of in the unknown space where Hindu gods roam the universe, Shiva was feeling a bit frisky one day.  He went to his wife and was ready to do some marital stuff.  

Unfortunately for Shiva, his wife wasn’t having it.  Unwilling to give up after the first pass, Shiva was all like “come on baby, I’m seriously needing this right now, I’ll buy you a drink.”  Despite his great offer, the wife was still all like “naw man, ain’t feeling it.”  Shiva then did what a god of destruction tends to do when he’s told he can’t get what he wants: he gets a little Jameis Winstony with it.  Shiva’s wife is legit though, she’s been through self defense classes, and grabs a knife.  You’d probably expect that in the story, she’d use the knife to kill Shiva or simply ward him off.  She doesn’t, rather, she decides to start slicing at his endowment like she’s chopping up a carrot for a stew. 

The fragments that are chopped off, called shivlings (that part is not a joke), fall to earth.  The shivling is the image that is the temple, and in case you’re wondering what it looks like, it’s just a black rock that someone has made a face on with flower petals.  A face with a slick handlebar mustache.  That story is not made up.  It really is the Hindu mythology behind this god. 

It is also, despite its ridiculous back-story and appearance, the most evil thing I have ever encountered.  In my preparations for this trip, I had read a book on the essentials of Hinduism, so I had a decent idea what I’d be walking into.  What I didn’t realize is that these gods of theirs had real religious ceremonies for worship, wherein large groups of people gathered.  I thought that people just kind of popped into the temple whenever, made their sacrifices and someone just cleaned up once and a while. 

Nope.  There is full on worship services, and they aren’t like the ones in the church I’m used to.  There is no singing of praise, there are no smiles, no warmth whatsoever.  We entered into the inner part of the temple, just a few feet from the altar, apparently they give guests positions of honor in the temple, and others stood outside to observe through the opening to the altar.  At 8 PM, worship began.  Two men started to bang on gongs rapidly and the mood immediately changed from one of laughter at that mustache someone put on a rock, to one of darkness and intimidation.  Two more joined in banging on loud drums, and the noise was deafening.  We were in a small space with stone walls, so the echoes were everywhere and contained.

Priests lit incense and stoically waved them around the altar, then carrying them outside for the other viewers to see.  A woman in front of me came close to the altar and bowed low in complete submission and reverence to a rock.  I turned to look outside as the drummers walked past me out of the inner temple area.  I was surprised to see not a few other white tourists, or a smattering of people there to pay respects, but probably 100 people looking on with as much reverence as the woman in front of me, and as much anger as the priests both at the same time. They were completely under the control of whatever force was in that temple.  Desperate to please it, fearing they may not. 

My stomach turned.  I know it’s just a stupid rock, but a stupid rock can’t possibly create fear in people like that, and it was obvious that was what this worship was: fear.  I locked eyes with that rock and began to pray to the only God that matters, cursing Shiva and asking God to destroy the demonic power that was clearly controlling these people.  Our guide walked us around the backside of the altar and explained a few other things about Shiva, and we left before the ceremony ended.  I was never scared of what I encountered in there, but I was depressed by it.  I know that this is not isolated.  What I saw is characteristic of 900 million people in this country, and while the idol may look different, the fear and hopelessness of the people worshiping it does not. 

The temple guide talked to us about Jesus.  He spoke English, but had never been taught the language.  He states that Jesus gave him English, and our hosts who have been to see him many times before told us that because of this, he has added Jesus to the list of gods he worships.  He had apparently been telling visitors this story for years, he loves Jesus.

Today though, I didn’t meet that guide.  His English seemed rather broken, it had been described to me by previous visitors as “perfect.”  Today he did not acknowledge Jesus as one of the gods, he actually specifically stated that he was not a god at all, but that he was his “good friend.”  He then acknowledged that he was having problems with his English and asked me to pray for him.  I will, but not for his English.

That guide, is in essence, the Hindu faith.  Living life in service to a god, seeking their rewards and approval, living in sacrifice and fear when those rewards stop, and seeking to earn that approval back.  There is no room for love, just merely trying to add up.  Our guide no longer looked at Jesus as a god, because his gift was weakened, Jesus was never truly a god to him, just a genie in a bottle.  That stuck with me the entire drive home and throughout the rest of the night.  As laid in bed that night, it wasn’t my inspiring conversation earlier in the day that plagued my thoughts, but just sorrow for the people wasting their lives in slavery to demonic, mustached rock.