JOURNEY INTO SMALL-TOWN SOUTH INDIA

With furniture quotes for our yet unfurnished Hyderabad rental home sent off to the ELCA Global Missions offices, there suddenly was not so much to do at this point other than wait. So, when my brother-in-law Sam suggested that we trade our hostel room for a few days for a room in his family's new home in the nearby town of Tenali (located in the adjacent state of Andhra Pradesh) we gladly accepted.

But now the problem of transportation arose. Most people do not own cars; so trains and buses are the primary long-distance modes of travel. I quickly learned that there's no way to book seats on an AC train compartment at a day's notice. Non-AC travel - with its crowded and unhygienic conditions -  wasn't an option, I had learned from past experience. Bus travel - for reasons that I do not understand - got ruled out as well. This is when a friend of my in-laws offered to drive us in his car. Could you imagine this in the US to happen? Someone dropping all  of his work commitments to drive people whom he hardly knew for some 6-7 hours, then returning home, so that he would make it back home in time for a very important business meeting the next day? I am still overwhelmed by the warmth and kindness we keep encountering. Ties of friendship and kinship are strong here; in fact, they often are the only thing that helps things function in a context of heavy demand, yet limited resources. 

For about half of the distance, we traveled on pleasant highways with -  thanks to many toll road stretches - fairly light traffic. Had it not been for the car's manual transmission, even I might have managed driving the car. Once we descended from the Deccan Plateau, we drove amongst small towns and farmland. We must have passed at least 1/2 million of sheep and goats, some of which shared the highway with us. There were the obligatory cows, non-perturbed by the traffic and contently munching on plants growing on the elevated road divider. Green fields, fertile soil, and the occasional outcroppings of massive rock flew by. Eventually, urban traffic congestion caught up with us again in the city of Vijayavada. 

Finally, we arrived in Tenali, where, off and on over the past 17 years, I have spent many weeks combined, as this is where my late mother-in-law resided. Tenali - with its mere 200,000+ residents, is considered a small town by Indian standards. I saw some familiar sights - familiar market stalls and the obligatory statues of political leaders. While Hyderabad is working on a new metro system in time for the next statewide elections, in Tenali bicycle rickshaws still to exist and continue to serve as important means of local commercial and passenger transportation. 

AELC Pastor, Rev. Mary Virginia, presiding at house blessing in Tenali, India

Once we arrived at our destination, I was informed that a neighboring Lutheran pastor and his young wife had moved into his new apartment earlier that day. They were getting ready for a house blessing ... and Anna and I were invited to attend. When we got there, the small living room was filled to capacity by guests sitting in a circle of plastic chairs who were singing Telugu hymns. Their leader was an AELC (Andhra Evangelical Lutheran Church) pastor, clad in a white alb, who had been among the first group of AELC women ordained to the pastoral ministry some 12 years ago. Now, I learned, there are 14 AELC "lady pastors," called mostly to specialized ministries and expected to remain unmarried. 

I had met Pr. Mary Virginia previously, but never seen her function in a liturgical context. We quickly made eye contact and the connection between us two women clergy seemed palpable. There were prayers and speeches, references to my late mother-in-law, her deep faith, and her exemplary spiritual leadership. Occasionally I was able to catch a word or phrase of Telugu or a familiar name - for instance when one of the guests reminisced about having taught my husband in Sunday school class. When all else failed, body language or giggles sufficed to convey meaning. As might have been expected, this guest from faraway lands got asked to say a few words, to which I happily complied. The event concluded with the Lord's Prayer (in Telugu), a benediction, and a pot of milk made to boil over on the kitchen stove ... symbolizing the blessings for which we had asked in prayer before.

Everywhere I went since my arrival in India, expressions of faith seem to abound. Many organized religious groups in the U.S. ponder the rising numbers of "nones," those who declared "no religious affiliation" during the latest US census. In stark contrast, "nones" appear to be in short supply here in India. I participated in conversations among other HMI hostel guests about this topic. To the people that I talked with, a life devoid of worship or god makes little sense. Some expressed their utter astonishment at poorly-attended worship services in grand historic European and North American sanctuaries and the conversion of sacred church properties to cultural centers or  commercial real estate. 

In contrast, here in India religion is everywhere. It is in the cows that claim their space on highways, intersections, market stalls, and even train platforms. To Hindus they are imbued with divine qualities. Religion is in the noisy Hindu processions that hold up traffic and blast chants over loudspeakers. Religion is in the ubiquitous Muslim calls for prayer. Muslims make up around 10 percent of India's population (much, much more in certain Hyderabad neighborhoods), but mosques are everywhere. Religion is in Christian hospitals, schools, and house-church prayer gatherings. Religion is in ways of dressing, in colorful powdery marks adorning foreheads and hair partings. Religion, faith, and worship are what appears to make life bearable, what offers solace and hope in the face of scarcity, uncertainty, or despair. Religion is what gives personal and collective identity and meaning to one's existence. Yet, it is also the source of conflict and violence, as we know just all too well. 

More than ever, this excursion into small-town life is making me curious how Henry Martin Institute and its motto ("The goal peace. The lens justice. The instrument reconciliation") do fit into this culture and how I might accompany the organization in its mission and be of service in a small way.