September 19, 2011 by Andrew Clark 0 comments

Posted in: Mission

Introductory note: This is a reflection of my recent trip to India with ten other members of my home church, Epic Faith, in San Rafael, CA. As many people have been asking me how my trip was, I thought the best way to share with many people would be for me to sit down and actually write out my thoughts for others to read. We spent ten days traveling, about two in New Delhi and the rest in Andhra Pradesh, in a small village called Puritigadda. During our time we helped in medical clinics that we aided in funding, visited children in schools, and helped with some basic construction of a church in this village, which we helped to fund as well. We were blessed to visit some of the churches in the region as well; the two pastors on our trip got to teach through a translator, our good friend Raj Nadella, who is a native of Puritigadda. As a group we were able to serve the churches through prayer and other means.

I feel led to start this reflection with a bit of honest confession. I have seen many friends and acquaintances leave on trips, either to serve Christ or for other reasons, and come back home beaming, gushing over how incredible their time was.

Let me be straight: I believe them. I really do. What bothers me most, however, is how easily I get bored of their stories. I rejoice in their joy and what God is doing in the region they just left, but in general I just don’t want to hear about what happened. There are a few exceptions, but generally I don’t have the patience to hear about the trip. I generally find the comments of these travelers clichéd and oversimplified. This is not something I’m proud of, and as I’ve been home from India for about a month, I’ve found myself convicted in two main ways.

First of all, it is so easy to forget completely the ways you were impacted by what you saw and experienced. I went from being incredibly moved by the poverty and disease I saw to being home, worrying over and striving for the most trivial of things; I was sucked instantly back into feeding my ever-hungry flesh. Second, as people asked me how my trip was, I began to understand why words like “amazing” “incredible” “unbelievable” are all we tend to hear when we ask how such a trip went. These word shot out of my mouth with such ease. Sadly, we use these same adjectives to describe things like sports plays and movies, and when they are used to describe some of the deepest realities I have ever witnessed, it is no wonder that my words sound sickeningly trite to me as they leave my lips.

And yet, we resort to them, because in passing or at a social event, it is really all we have time for. The only way to best share how this trip went would be for me to sit someone down for an hour or two and take them through the whole ten days, to share how the things I saw and the people I met changed my thinking over the week and half we were there, to share the ways the Holy Spirit wrenched at my heart and convicted me in ways I didn’t even think possible. A few short days after returning, I was overwhelmed as I reflected on my past and the ways in which, while asking others to share their stories, I had forced them to use only a few syllables to describe what might have been one of the most convicting and eye-opening experiences of their life. They don’t use simple words and phrases because the trip didn’t impact them. They choose these means of communication because I changed the subject after a few sentences, or they sensed in some other way, through body language or inference, that I didn’t want more than a manageable sound bite, as I wouldn’t have the patience to hear anything more. And so, all I get is what I hint that I can handle: “Oh, it was unbelieveable. How was your summer?” Conviction. Painful, yet sweet. I write this not to judge others if this is their tendency is well, but as a simple confession of a personal conviction.

As I sit to write a readable reflection of what this trip has meant and what I took from it, I’ve found that my experience, in its most concise manner, comes down to three main lessons. I have been constantly coming back to these for the past month, and I hope and pray that as you read them, they may be edifying to you as well.

1. We think far too highly of ourselves.

The last thing I want to do here is go on an anti-America rampage, writing repetitive paragraphs about our consumerism, blah-blah, etc. Part of that is absolutely true, but it is not the point. The point, instead, is this: we are very narcissistic. I find it amazing that, in an age where I have constant, easy access to information on anything happening in the world today, my mind drifts so much to myself and to the details of my life. We traveled halfway across the world, into a land that looks and even feels completely different than ours, full of people. I was blown away by the obvious but very real fact that, while I’m busying myself with whatever my day holds, they are doing the exact same elsewhere. It is one thing to have the knowledge that a place exists and that there are real people there, but to see these people in their everyday life provides flesh, bone, and spirit to these mental images of individuals. These are real people. Not people in a book or on TV. I’m standing next to them. They are real. Again, I knew this, but now I know it. 

With this framework, the suffering we saw became very real. At one point we were walking through a crowded marketplace, absolutely full of people selling, buying, and loitering. In the middle of the street was a young boy, lying completely still. One of his feet was gone, and there was a bandage over the stump where his foot should have been; at his head was a small pile of money, the only acknowledgement by anyone that he was even there. People bustled by him, carts drove around him, but nobody stopped to help. For all I know, he could have been dead. He was one of many like him that I saw, unknown to the world as he laid suffering. 

As I saw these people, I was deeply convicted by the fact that Jesus Christ died for that boy. He died for the people who ignored that boy. He died for the men next to him on the street trying to sell children’s toys to other adults. He died for the mother and her child sleeping on the side of the road, only a few feet from motor vehicles going around 40mph, simply because there is nowhere else to go. I think so much about myself, thanking God that He sent his son to die for me, and considering the implications it has for my life and how my life is going to fit into some bigger plan. What am I going to do? How am I going to do great things with my life? This is not inherently bad, and it certainly has its place, but it is not meant to dominate my thinking. I am just one man among billions. I am dust among dust. I am of no more worth to God than the men sleeping in filth on the side of the road. My life, however, speaks a different message, and this is something I am seeking the Lord on.

2. There are deeper joys.

Ever since I spent a month backpacking through Alaska in the summer of 2009, I have wrestled with this. What I had on that trip was community with thirteen other peers, three leaders, and a common goal: finish the journey with everyone safe and sound and with a better knowledge of how to live in the wilderness. Simple, right? And yet, outside of Christ (I was saved shortly thereafter), I have yet to replicate that joy. We are experts at submersing ourselves in entertainment, yet we are bored out of our minds. I can count on two hands the people I truly know for whom this is not applicable, and I am not one of them. I too get bored far too easily.

I was reminded of this joy in spending time with my team. Here we were: united for a common goal, to help this village in any way we could, to humbly serve alongside them, and to make much of Christ through our words and actions. Distractions were limited, and the time we spent in fellowship was sweet and real. Practically no television (used only to look for a news report of a clinic we were a part of the previous day), little internet (used primarily for keeping in touch with people back home and for ministry), and lots of time doing life together. And there was contentment in my soul. There was purpose. There was community. There was joy. 

Simplicity does not equate contentment, nor is it the means to sanctification. I would, however, press you to seek the deeper joys in life. The internet is not bad, television is not bad, Facebook is not bad. But too often we seek these things for joy or comfort, although you might never say that out loud or share it with someone. I share this with you because this is a struggle of mine, and I say it also to free you to consider your tendencies. When life is hard, where do you turn? To be filled, where do you turn? To find happiness, where do you turn? Alcohol? Men or women? Relationships? Money? Status? There are deeper joys, I promise you. I promise. The deepest of them are found in Christ. There is also great joy in authentic community with his people who are actually living out what the bible calls us to as his people. 

3. The gospel is enough.

I don’t know about you, but at times my heart uses the gospel as a platform for my other desires. Although these are generally good desires, like that for a family and a life of great ministry, I take these things and desire them more than Christ Himself. This is idolatry. This is using good things to bring myself joy, all the while ignoring the only One who made it possible (I had a great talk with my brother and our two pastors about the frustration that comes from taking a good thing, like humility, and making it a sinful thing when we place our identity in it. I’d love to talk with you about it as well!).

Jesus saw my sin before I even existed. Knowing I would turn from Him and follow the desires of my flesh, He went to the cross anyway, died in my place, and absorbed the wrath of God on my behalf. Now that I believe in Him and acknowledge Him as Lord of my life, I have right standing with the Father. Not only can I look forward to glory in heaven, but God has sent the Holy Spirit to live inside of me and empower a life that is glorifying to God until He calls me home. This alone should be my reason for rejoicing. All other joy is a shadow of this ultimate joy. I long to be a great husband, a great father, and a man obedient to wherever God would have me, but if I am not rooted in the deepest reality and who I am in Christ, all of my efforts will be in vain and there is a good chance I will ruin it all.

I was convicted of this idolatry and deeply humbled as I saw the immediate implications for the gospel in the lives of the Christians who live in India. For many of them, it is impossible to aspire to the same things we do here in America. They are trapped in poverty and abuse, likely to know little else than the world they were born into, and it is in this that Christ is made so very beautiful. They can’t be distracted by many of the things we are, simply because they don’t have access to them. There is hopelessness to the lives of many, and the gospel has such deep implications here. They are saved to a better kingdom, one without a caste system, one without social stratification, one without poverty, disease, or abuse. They have their eyes, hearts, and souls inclined sharply to this end, with the Holy Spirit helping along the way. 

One church we visited met at around eight or nine at night. After one of our pastors preached, we left a while later, and were home by ten-thirty or eleven. The service went until around five in the morning the next day. No great worship band, no coffee, no padded seats, and no hip graphics - just genuine worship through prayer, singing, and preaching, all while sitting on a hard tile floor. These are not bad things, in fact I enjoy them quite a lot, and I know many of you do too. However, the question must be asked: what role do they play in your selection and attendance of a church? Why do you even go to church? Would you go if you had to sit on tile for hours? Would I go?

The gospel is enough.

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As we return from wherever our summers took us, whether to other countries, mountaintops of knowing and loving God, or darker seasons where he felt incredibly distant, I challenge all of you to practice the ministry of listening. When you see people, try to really listen to them. Invite them to share, and then share your own stories and struggles. Pray together. If the social event you are at doesn’t lend itself to any of this, set aside some time to grab coffee or something if at all possible. You might find a story edifying in a way you never imagined. Even if you don’t say much, just having someone to listen and process verbally with can be a huge blessing. There are deep joys in sharing life with one another in this way, and I hope you try to explore them in the coming months.

Thank you all for your prayers, support, and friendship. Each one of you played a role in shaping and preparing me for this trip, and I experienced so much because of it. God is doing a great thing in this village, and I invite you to pray for the strength of the believers, that they would persist in what they believe in the face of a culture that so oppresses Christ. Pray that the church would rise up in unprecedented ways, pray for the leadership, and pray for the people. God is saving people halfway across the world, and it is truly a blessing that we can all play a part in that, however small. 

I’d love to share more about the trip in general, so please, let’s meet. I can’t wait to see many of you in the coming weeks and months. Thanks, love, and blessings to all of you!