The alarm went off at 2:00 am.  We needed to be up and ready to board the bus by 3:00.  It is actually not that difficult to get up early here or function with little sleep- I think it is the jet lag – it just hits you later in the day when it becomes nearly impossible to stay awake.  We have a French press, starbucks extra bold French roast, and a travel water heater from REI, which definitely help with managing jet lag.
 
We gathered in the hotel lobby in the dark.  The clerk was hunched over his keyboard, asleep, and did not rouse as we filled the lobby.  We waited, and waited, and waited.  Apparently the bus driver’s alarm did not go off.  We finally departed at almost 6 am.  Indian Stretchable Time strikes again. 
 
We stopped in a gas station on our way out of town.  As the bus driver opened the door to get out, I could hear a muslim call to prayer blaring from the loudspeakers in a nearby mosque.  In an instant, the oppressive spiritual nature of this place, the crushing poverty and environmental damage we viewed at every turn, and the lack of sleep all came bearing down on me in wave of discouragement and anxiety.  What was I doing here?  What did I hope to accomplish?  My grand hopes of spiritual insight and conquest generated in quiet times back home seemed far off.  Seeing an opening, the enemy pressed his attack, viciously challenging my identity in Christ and my ability to complete the race set before me.  
 
Previous posts have focused on positive things happening in the churches and childrens’ homes, but there is much that is troubling in India I have not described.  Sanitation and running water are poor or non-existent in many locations.  Trash is discarded wherever it is generated.   Large masses of people live in deplorable conditions, scratching for survival in the best way they can.  Idols are not a metaphor, they are worshipped, generating a spiritual atmosphere of oppression and fear.  
 
Social caste systems, officially outlawed, are still very much relevant, painfully separating the have’s from the have-nots in a way that is incomprehensible to western ideals of equality and opportunity.   “Holy” cows wander the roads, unhindered, cared for by the community better than the children.  Infrastructure in large cities can be good, but in rural areas it is poor or nonexistent.  Road travel consists of hour upon hour of ramshackle villages, trash, and countless multitudes of people engaged in the business of daily life, but apparently without joy.  One of the most distinct differences between Christians and non-Christians here is that Christians smile. 
 
Physically shaken but determined not to give in to this line of thinking, I put my earbuds in, started a Hillsong worship album, and opened my bible to Romans 5.  I did not have any particular reason to turn to this passage, other than I did not want to fall behind in my reading for our Romans Sunday school class.  The apostle Paul’s words were exactly what I needed to hear:
 
 Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.  Romans 5: 3-5
 
I regained my composure as I meditated on the fact that my suffering was not without cause, but would produce in me a harvest of hope if I persisted.  Again and again I turned over the phrase “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit” in my mind.  God has a purpose for me, for you.  He has filled us with His own Love in the form of the Holy Spirit.  The enemy retreated from view, knowing he had been overcome.  Praise God for his mercy and tender love towards each one of us!
 
My mood improved as the sun rose.  We climbed from the flat expanse of homes into the mountains, up a hairpin road into and through a tiger sanctuary.  The air was clean and cool as we made our way through the jungle, sunlight filtering through the trees.  Occasionally, we would see a group of monkeys sitting on the median.  We later learned that the busses do not slow down for photos because the monkeys will try to climb into the bus.  The views of a large reservoir and the plain we had climbed from were stunning. 
 
At the summit, we passed into a region of tea plantations.  This area was very un-Indian.  Acres and acres of manicured tea bushes, green and luxuriant, spread below trees interspersed for shade.  There was no trash.  The only people we saw were neatly uniformed school children waiting for the bus to take them to a catholic school, and workers traversing the paths between the tea plants.  The elevation (about 5000 feet) and the hilly topography made me feel quite at home, like being in the mountains back home. Quaint painted houses and roadside teas stands were the only buildings.  Occasionally we passed the entrance to a “tea estate.”  Out Indian guide told us that the area was owned by large corporations, and that the workers labor in a kind of indentured servitude, but even this news of social injustice could not undo the feeling of peace and tranquility.
 
After a drive of 5 hours, we arrived at the town where the crusade was to be held, a collection of colorful houses, temples and churches set on hilly terrain.  Exiting the bus, we descended down an alley and were led into a large concrete building filled with plastic chairs.  The conference was scheduled to begin at 9:00.  We arrived at 9:30—I was concerned that we were late, but none of the Pastors had arrived.  Indian standard time.  They trickled in over the next hour and half, and the conference started at 11:00, when it felt like we had a quorum.  About 50 pastors attended. 
 
We started with worship- a keyboard, three singers, amazing harmony, and words we could not understand.  The service was very very loud, but this seems to be a standard practice here.  The three pastors on our team were scheduled to speak, and I did not have any duties in the conference, so I decided to sit just outside and pray.  I prayed for protection, for our speakers, and for the pastor attendees.  I prayed Psalms, particularly Psalm 16, which I felt the Lord had put on my heart for this group of Pastors.  I later learned that the local police had approached with a threat to shut down the conference and arrest the attendees, but had taken a bribe instead. 
 
The topic of the conference was marriage and family, and our team pastors did a terrific job challenging and encouraging the local pastors to excel in their relationships inside the home.  After lunch, I came and watched the final presentation, in which our pastor urged the pastors to “finish their race.”  At the conclusion of the day, he invited any pastors with special needs for prayer to approach our team.  Almost every pastor came forward, and many of their wives.  It was an incredible time of the Holy Spirit working as we prayed over them as the Spirit led.  One image that is stuck in my mind is that of a diminutive woman who came and without a word knelt silently before me.  I prayed for her in English as the Spirit led.  When I was finished, she looked up at me with tears in her eyes, visibly moved by the work of the Holy Spirit even though I am quite certain that she did not understand English.  Praise God for His church, unified by the Holy Spirit!  
 
Having completed our task, we left the local team to pack up and loaded our bus for the 5 hour drive ‘home’ to our hotel.  The mood was lighter.  Several people who had not been feeling well during the day felt a little better, and there was an enjoyable feeling of camaraderie arising out of the successful day.  We stopped at a roadside tea stand and drank tea by a waterfall before descending back into the third world chaos that waited below.