An Afternoon on the Coromandel

One day when I lived in India, I was traveling down the East Coast by train. I often made that trip. It took 27 hours including an overnight, on the “Coromandel Express” passenger train.

I was in the state of Andhra Pradesh heading south. The Coromandel used to stop along the way to drop passengers and pick up waiting ones. On this day I was almost alone in my small 8 person section of the coach. About mid-day we stopped at one of the typical stations. Hawkers sold coffee, tea, snacks, and numerous other things. There was a din of voices as they shouted, “Chai, chai, chaiya, kofee, kofee, kofeeeee!”

A young boy entered my compartment, looked at the seat numbers, and sat down opposite me. We nodded to each other and said no more. We were both by the window, and no one else was in our section. After a few minutes, the long train began to roll forward toward south India and my destination of Chennai.

We rode for a while in silence.

At some point I started up a conversation with him. The boy, about 12 years old, spoke very good English. He was a Muslim. He was heading somewhere to do something, I don’t really remember. He was not going too far, relatively speaking for an Indian train. I think he was going to be traveling for 3-4 hours and would be getting off in another town in the same state of Andhra Pradesh.

I asked him questions about his family, his school, and other things. He asked me where I was from, what I was doing in India, how did I like India.

At some point, I asked him about his religion. He answered my questions about his Islamic beliefs and practices. He was very articulate.

Then it came my turn. I spoke to him about Jesus and how he had changed my life after I began to read the Bible in college.

To be honest, I don’t remember a lot of the conversation details. There was nothing said that stands out in my memory.

What I do remember vividly, is that this 12 year old was captivated by what I said about Jesus. It was magical. I believe the Holy Spirit was in that compartment. It was natural, not forced, not striving in any way. Just a relaxed, friendly exchange of ideas. We both talked. We both listened. Oh my, he listened! He was absorbing it! That is my outstanding memory of this event. I knew that what I was saying was piercing into his soul and mind. Light from above! I did not attempt to “lead him in a sinner’s prayer.”

Finally the train rolled to a stop. He gathered his things and got up. We shook hands and he got out. I encouraged him to learn more about Jesus if he got a chance. On the platform he looked up and we waved and realized how cool those moments had been.

The train moved ahead. I never saw him again.

I’ll never forget the magic of that conversation.

The Block

A local church invited several of us to join them for a special Sunday effort to reach out to the community. I ended up with a gentleman named Paul going door to door in the heart of town. Old row houses and a few shops dotted the street. It is a run-down block. 

Our mission: to ask people if they needed prayer and to offer them a New Testament or a Nuevo Testamento  if they desired it.

Paul and I began our task.

First we met a girl in a uniform that stood in front of a fast food restaurant, waiting for someone with the key. Polite, but not interested. “Talk to my boyfriend around the corner.”

Next we met Willy. Standing down in a stairwell, his eye level matched our shoe level on the sidewalk. “Do you need prayer?”

“Yes, I need a new apartment. I’ve been a chronic alcoholic for 35 years. My apartment is across the street from a bar. I need a safer place to live.” So we asked the Lord for an apartment. Paul encourages Willy.

The next few houses, no response. No one home. 

A man and a boy on the street pass us, “I’m in a hurry!”

“Any prayer requests?”

 “For a new life,” calls the man over his shoulder. Then they’re gone.

Jose is next up, a polite young black man. “Pray for my job as a barber, that I’ll make some money today.” We do so. He accepts a New Testament.

A weather beaten old lady with a sickly yellow complexion walks by, “Can either of you spare a cigarette?”

“No, we don’t smoke.” She bundles off toward the corner store. “I’m not interested,” she sputters.

Next up is a small 4 unit apartment. A Latino man answers the door. “We’re Christians from a local church, can we pray for you in any way?”

“No.”

“Would you like a New Testament?” As the words leave my mouth I notice his wife behind him, she is wearing a burka. They are Muslims, I realize.

“No,” he replies, “but good luck and best wishes to you.”

“Where are you from?” I ask.

“No,” he patiently replies.

I feel disappointed that I didn’t recognize who I was talking to.  What could have been done differently? I notice their names on the mailbox, Atmanne and Houri.

More knocks. No one home. A Catholic lady, not interested. An old woman. No. A Latino man (or another Muslim?) … cordial, but not interested. A condemned building. Three youths who already have "lots of Bibles" and want us to pray for the economy.

Another door. The lady with the yellow complexion answers. “Yes, come into my living room.” (Now she is interested, but on the street she wasn’t Paul notes) The room wreaks of smoke. Her name is Pearl. We pray for her son who is in prison for child pornography.

She reads us a letter from her son in prison.

She shows me pictures of herself as a 15 year old girl with her step-father, and as a 10 year old. Same face. But so different. So sweet and hopeful in the pictures. Haggard and yellow now. What happened?

Brian greets us as we approach the church. On his way home from a service, carrying a Bible. His face is glowing. He’s smiling. Brian had completed rehab. He tells of how the Lord has changed him. So grateful. We pray. We hug.

The Bible says Jesus went about praying for the sick and telling the Good News of the Kingdom.