Our day started today at the ‘Goldan Manor’ Hotel in Jaipur (real spelling).  After our night at the bazzar, no one slept particularly well.  Most of the team reported sleeping intermittently after midnight and being very awake at about 4:00, presumably as a result of jet lag.  One of the team felt ill in the airport and we prayed for him in the airport.
 
We boarded a plane for Chennai (on the Indian Ocean in Southern India), and after a “bus stop” in Ahmenebad, we arrived in Chennai mid-afternoon.  I read Psalm 119, “Your word is lamp into my feet…,” and 1 John on the flight.  1 John 2:6 was convicting… ”whoever says he abides in [Christ] ought to walk in in the same way in which he walked.” 
 
Both the physical and spiritual atmosphere are different in Chennai.  A balmy wintertime temperature of 85 degrees Fahrenheit, palm trees, rice paddies,  and high humidity were an abrupt change from cool Jaipur.  As we left the airport, it was immediately apparent that the infrastructure here was better – still India, mind you—but better.  My heart leapt as we drove away from the airport and right by a catholic church, complete with stucco walls and a steeple reminiscent of those in the American Southwest.  I felt home again for a moment as we drove by. It was a momentary oasis after the spiritual desert of Jaipur.
 
I learned that though Christians are still persecuted in Southern India, there are established churches that meet openly.  It is still a crime to “convert” a person to Christianity, but existing church members are at least theoretically free to attend their local services.  In practice, those converting to Christianity lose important social benefits like employment and rice subsidies, and are ostracized from their families.  The situation can be particularly difficult for teenagers, who face rejection by the families they rely upon for support.
 
After a 2 hour bus ride, we arrived at our lodging for the night – a hotel in a small resort town on the Indian Ocean.  We had a little time before our evening activities, so I swam in the Indian Ocean and had a cup of tea.
 
After dark, we loaded into our van and headed to see the second childrens’ home and to attend a crusade.  The home is located in what is known as a “tribal area,” -  a location that is the home of a distinct people group that share language and customs.  We left the main road and bumped down an increasingly narrow track into the forrest for about 45 minutes until we came into a small village.  Driving down the alleys between the houses, we were surprised to see 300 or 400 yards of the alley lined with vertical fluorescent lights tied to poles, lit up by a generator noisily churning away in the back yard of one of the homes.
 
We had arrived at the location of the second childrens’ home. The place seemed strangely deserted as we disembarked and were ushered into the home, which consists of three large rooms similar the home we saw in the North several days earlier.   The home was clean and well kept, painted in bright colors with shining tile floors.  The director of the home, a pastor of the local church, greeted us along with his wife.   
 
The place was deserted because all of the children were across the alley along with 300 adults in the fenced yard that serves as the meeting place for the church pastored by the home’s director.  The church had scheduled a “New Year’s Festival” for this evening, and asked church families to invite their unchurched neighbors.  As we approached, they were singing worship songs in their native tongue, led by worship leaders standing on a concrete platform at one end of the space.  The ushers at the door bowed to us politely, welcoming us into the enclosure.

The children were in front sitting on a large tarp, 40 dark, shining faces with toothy grins turned attentively towards the speaker.   The rest of the attendees were seated in plastic chairs arranged in the lot, except for a lucky few who had great seats on a concrete platform opposite the main stage.  We walked in, all eyes upon us, and made our way towards our seats.  A Hindu official, invited both to hear the gospel but also to serve as protection against trouble from Hindu extremists, was seated in front of us.  The most striking members of the audience were the women dressed on colorful saris, many of them interwoven with gold that flashed in the lights. 
 
The worship service continued. At first, the appearance of the attendees was so different that it all seemed very foreign.  However, it did not take long before we were all worshipping together – us clapping and singing the words we could understand (like “hallelujah”).  Members of the audience began to raise their hands in the same way we do at our church.  The image of an elderly woman dressed in an elaborate sari raising her hands to heaven, eyes closed in worship, is fixed in my mind - the thought struck me that people look the same worshipping the one true God anywhere you are, regardless of their outward appearance – I could have just as well been one of the women from our church.
 
I felt connected to this body, at home.  The Apostle Paul’s words in Ephesians 4 – “there is one body and one Spirit…one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all in all” – sunk deeply into my soul.  Just as the Lord has plans for our local body and loves us deeply, so too He is at work here, with the same affection.  I was overcome by a God’s deep love for the Indian people -  the feeling was like witnessing a father tenderly caring for his children. 
 
The children broke into a spontaneous dance on their tarp, gyrating and jerking wildly to the music, one eye on their supervisors, and one eye on us to gauge our reaction.  The worship leader sang so loud that he overloaded the speakers, sending them buzzing and ears in the audience ringing.  The clapping went faster and faster, and then, worship was over. 
 
The Hindu official was invited to the stage, and one of the pastors in our group blessed him by putting a blanket over his shoulders and praying for him.  Then, another pastor in our group presented the gospel, speaking through an interpreter. At the conclusion of the message, 65+ people rose to receive Christ.   Praise God! “My word will not return empty…”   
 
The service was dismissed, and adults and children alike approached us to shake hands and receive prayer.  At the local pastor’s urging, we retreated to the children’s home, where we had dinner with the children seated on the floor of one of their rooms.  The director of the home and his staff were very hospitable; the children clean, healthy and all smiles.  I took it all in, reflecting on the fact that these very children, who had been  destined for deplorable abuse, were now rehabilitated and approaching the date for their adoptions.  What a remarkable turn of events in these young lives!  It is the light of the gospel that does this—glory be to God.  Surely, this is a “good work, prepared beforehand.” 
 
I was impressed by the church body in this place.  It appeared to be a healthy, vibrant, growing congregation with a real enthusiasm for the gospel.  The Pastor and his wife worked tirelessly behind the scenes to arrange and carry out this grand event,  laboring at all of the administrative tasks.  It is a blessing to see the Church working as God intended in Asia.  In the United States, we sometimes feel as if we are the Church, but the reality is that the majority of the world’s population lives in places like Southern India.  In order for the Church universal to grow and remain vital, it is essential that it thrive in these locations.