Manali Missives Dec 2015 - Jan 2016 From Wagha to Wagga Wagga

Manali Missives, December 2015/January 2016

From Wagha to Wagga Wagga

Lena and I bid you very belated Christmas and New Year’s greetings! The whole effort of moving continents,  and then of me travelling 500km further to take up short term work as a minister in the New South Wales regional centre of Wagga Wagga has exhausted us. Ah well, better late than never, I suppose! 

Since we are no longer in Manali, and our placement there has concluded this should really be the last Manali Missive. Instead of boring you and myself with the details of the as yet incomplete move from India back to Australia (Half of our belongings are still in a Delhi office - we hope!) I thought I would compare and contrast my current and previous places of work and living. Here goes…

I’m sitting in the Sturt Mall in the Australian inland city of Wagga Wagga, a context far removed from the one in which Lena wrote the previous entry of Manali Missives over 2 months ago. I’m here conducting a “supply ministry” for a limited time in the Wagga Wagga Uniting Church, while seeking a permanent placement somewhere in the Sydney Basin. Lena has already resumed in her previous position: she’s working 3 days a week in a medical practice in the northern Sydney suburb of Pennant Hills. She’s also living in our home with our children, whereas I’m living in a simple but adequate mobile cabin in a caravan park by the banks of the Murrumbidgee River. Mobile? Yes, it has wheels so that it can be towed above the high water mark of the floods which periodically challenge Wagga’s levee banks.

Wagga is very different from Manali. As Lena said after visiting me, though a city Wagga is still in many ways a typical New South Wales country town. It is largely flat, and contains a number of long, straight, tree-fringed streets that are broader than some of Manali’s laneways are long! Wagga is a service town, servicing a large, surrounding rural area, but also a city that hosts several faculties of Charles Sturt University, and army and air force bases on its outskirts. Manali, a tourist town that caters for India’s new middle class since ongoing security problems in Kashmir have discouraged tourists from going there, also hosts visitors and shorter and longer term residents from all over the world within the confines that steep-sided Kullu valley makes. Both towns are more multicultural and therefore interesting than one might have expected!

Then there’s the stuff that people usually talk about when comparing Australia with India. The roads that I’ve written about repeatedly. Wagga is about the same distance from Sydney as Manali is from Delhi. For a several very good reasons the Sydney - Wagga trip takes me 5 hours and the Delhi - Manali one takes 14.

There is population density. After closing time each day, but particularly on Christmas Day afternoon, you could fire a machine gun down Baylis Street, Wagga’s main shopping precinct, and not hit anyone. Doing that would cause a slaughter on the Manali mall. 

There is the conduct of commerce. Although India’s cities are being introduced to the joys and problems of shopping malls it is still predominantly a country of small businesses conducted from tiny premises. Manali, a town whose population, officially about 8,000 people, swells with tourists several times a year to an unofficial number of 100,000, does not yet rate a shopping mall. Wagga, with a stable and growing population of over 60,000, has a number of these. Like most of the rest of Australia, Wagga seems to have moved towards a more American model of commerce, at least in the retail sector.

There is the role of religion: it is a powerful former of cultural identity! A few weeks ago I attended the dedication of a plaque celebrating the sesquicentenary of the occupation by Methodists, one of the Uniting Church’s antecedent denominations, of the site in central Wagga that one of the Uniting Church Parish’s current church buildings was erected on. That raises a raft of theological questions about the relationship of humans with the land in which they live. As is clear from the magnificently towered Catholic Cathedral, and bespired Anglican and Presbyterian churches sitting cheek by the Methodist church’s jowl, however, Australia’s sectarian past and not, say, considerations of the Aborigines’ prior custodianship or the question of whether we belong to the land rather than the land belonging to us, constituted the Methodists’ frame of reference. It was encouraging to learn that this plaque has become one stop in an historical walk through the city that pays attention to the history and culture of the Wiradjuri people upon whose land these churches sit, as well as the “euraustralian” history of which the Methodist movement was a part. Knowing and respecting one’s history is vital for establishing the identity of any individual and group, but it cannot be done properly without paying respectful attention to others who also live or have lived in the same landscape.

A local politician who attended the event was keen to tell me that Australia is a “Christian” country. I think that the post-enlightenment, reductionist, supposedly “rationalist” ideology that drives western countries today bears about as much resemblance to following Jesus as did the second temple Judaism that killed Him. When I asked the politician what exactly he meant by “Christian country” he quickly remembered that he had another engagement. I suspect that his point, unstated but no doubt strongly held, would have been  about using the Christian religion to justify Anglo culture taking this land, then denying it to or severely controlling its use by later arrivals of other ethnicities and religions. 

Hindu temples serve as “cultural markers” in the same way as do be-towered and be-spired Christian churches. There are a number of them in Manali, and they feature prominently in tourist advertising. And our experience of being denied employment visas by the Indian authorities indicates that Hindus, too, hold to the Christian, former Australian Prime Minister John Howard’s famous statement, “…we will decide who comes to this country and the circumstances in which they come”. The form of Hinduism which is driving much of Indian politics today is theologically very different from the thing the Wagga politician calls Christianity but, in a sad irony, they appear to be functionally similar.

There are of course other similarities within the differences (Or is it differences within the similarities?) between Wagga and Manali, and what they represent. The desire to see and be seen, often expressed in the taking of selfies, is more obvious on the Manali Mall than in any Wagga shopping mall, especially where men are concerned. On the other hand, Australians, particularly women, show more skin than their Indian counterparts. One of the first things I did upon returning to Australia was to have a basal cell carcinoma, the result of too much exposure to the sun in my early life, removed. But I returned with very white legs, the consequence of having worn long pants whenever I went out for more than 2 years. Lena tells me that Vitamin D deficiency is common among Indians for this reason. I am confident that vitamin D deficiency is not likely to be a problem among Wagga’s young women, for whom, apart from the occasional Brethren and Muslim, hot pants, mini skirts and t-singlets are de rigeur!

While the current western passion for cafés is being replicated in at least tourist Manali the older Indian love of tea remains (and it’s much cheaper than coffee!). Both Wagga and Manali are ethnically heterogeneous, though the ethnic mixes are both very different and complement each other. Whereas Manali’s population is mainly a mixture of south and east Asian with a strong European minority, in Wagga the reverse applies.

But I’m particularly interested in differences and similarities that are due to geography. Long ago in Sweden I learnt that geography determines destiny. During the last Ice Age a glacier reached as far south as the area the town of Eslöv, in which we much later lived, occupied. As the globe warmed the glacier melted, leaving a deposit of boulders and stones it had carried along. The landscape to the west and south of this vast deposit was made up of soil excellent for farming, but to the north and east the stones and boulders lying on the soil made farming difficult. With farmer friends working both terrains I noticed that the rich farmers who owned property west of the glacier acted like the local nobility, while those who had to struggle with stony ground were poorer, and sometimes felt the differences in class and wealth keenly.

I’m even more interested in the effects of those liquid glaciers we call rivers. It’s no fluke that the world’s three most populous countries, China, India and the U.S., are 3 of the best served by rivers. My academic supervisor once told me a story of flying across the Pacific Ocean, then the U.S., to attend a conference. When he arrived he found the American delegates actually discussing what made their nation so great. “Was it our pioneer spirit, our can do attitude?” someone wondered. Our commitment to democracy? To freedom? Was it the Pilgrim Fathers’ heritage and the influence of the Christian faith? My supervisor remarked that he came from Australia, the world’s driest inhabited continent. As he flew across the U.S. he couldn’t help but notice how many rivers criss-crossed the landscape. “I think your abundance of rivers is the an important reason for your greatness,” he ventured. There’s clearly more to it than that, but rivers are surely a factor.

The rivers that flow through Manali and Wagga are at different stages of their respective courses. In Manali we lived along the upper reaches of the Beas River. Glacier-fed, and with a steep angle of descent, it careens dangerously from rock to rock on its descent to join the Chenab river, which itself eventually joins the mighty Indus River in Pakistan! While taking a circuitous route to avoid roadblocks in the Punjab 3 months ago I crossed the Beas River wandering around within the broad confines of its banks, a much more sedate version of its younger, upstream self. At Wagga Wagga, the idea that the Murrumbidgee River might send its waters into a river in another country is bizarre. Sending them to another state is bad enough! Whether it is being augmented or depleted according to the desires of its irrigators it flows smoothly and slowly enough to drop sediment on the insides of bends, forming sandy beaches big enough to allow visitors and residents to imagine that they can match this matchless advantage of Australia’s coastal cities. There’s even a local urban myth to the effect that at 5pm each day a wave makes its way down the river! But however the rivers flow, this is Australia mate! There are plenty of eucalyptus trees in the Punjab, but nothing like the river red gums that fringe the Murrumbidgee at the caravan park that I currently call home.

And this being Australia, we are so insulated on our “insula” (island) that we really don’t know how fortunate we are. I have been told that Wagga Wagga has its fair share of social problems, and we are constantly told that we face danger from terrorists. But how different is the casual sense of well-being up and down Wagga’s Baylis St from the threat of terrorism emanating from Pakistan that is always present in north-western India! In stark contrast to Indian malls, which one enters only after passing though metal detectors and being frisked, people come and go through Wagga’s Malls as they please. One day an obviously unhappy young man emerged from Sturt Mall shouting obscenities. He caused a momentary disturbance, then moved on. I cannot imagine that behaviour being tolerated in an Indian mall. That is understandable. In terrible acts of genocide over 1 million people were slaughtered during the “Partition” of India and Pakistan in 1947, and since then the two countries have fought 4 wars, largely across “the Radcliffe Line”, an artificial boundary drawn through the rich plain of the Punjab, criss-crossed by its multitude of rivers. Cyril Radcliffe, the Englishman given the impossible task, drew the border such that it intersects the Grand Trunk Road, the great and ancient thoroughfare that runs from north-west to south east, from Kabul in Afghanistan to Chittagong in Bangla Desh. It does so between the cities of Amritsar and Lahore, 40 kilometres apart, and between the even closer villages of Indian Attari and Pakistani Wagha. 

Since Partition in 1947, and in the context of the daily threat of terrorism, and the terrible history of well over 1,000 years of savage warfare between Hindus, Muslims and, more recently, Sikhs, a strange, wonderful, daily tradition has developed at the “Wagha border”. Every sundown, watched by thousands of patriotic onlookers, squads of some of the tallest soldiers from both countries march in highly stylised uniforms and wildly exaggerated goose step to their respective sets of gates, close them across the Grand Trunk Road and lower their countries’ flags. The whole show is an exercise in competitive histrionics. The two men who call the moves in these complex dances compete to see who can call longer. The respective MCs lead their crowds in calling “Hindustan/Pakistan zindabad!” (“Long live India/Pakistan!”) A drummer, his kit wildly amplified, sits on a roof on the Indian side belting out the rhythm. When it’s all over the audience goes to the border gate for photos, and walk along the fence to watch the Pakistanis watching us.

From Wagha to Wagga Wagga. Fourteen months later I sat in this Sturt Shopping Mall, named for another Englishman, the explorer Charles Sturt. Nearly 200 years ago Sturt led several expeditions trying to determine whether the westward-flowing rivers of the then British colony of New South Wales emptied into an inland sea. Instead he discovered that they all flowed into a large river which he named the “Murray”, and which itself flowed into the sea via an outflow so cunningly masked  that the expeditions led by 2 explorers, Englishman Matthew Flinders and Frenchman Nicholas Baudin, who had circumnavigated Australia in different directions, had both missed it. Sturt began his great trip to the mouth of the Murray and back by hauling his vessels to the upper reaches of the Murrumbidgee River in the Snowy Mountains. Both on the way downstream from there and on the return trip Sturt passed the site of what is Wagga today. 

Neither the Murrumbidgee nor the Murray Rivers can compete with the great Indus river. It is double their lengths and its average discharge is about 8 times that of the Murray River, itself fed by the Murrumbidgee. But both are much longer than the Beas, and the Murray’s average discharge is about 50% larger. Nevertheless, the Murray and Murrumbidgee, and numerous other tributaries of the Murray form one of the world’s greatest, if driest catchment areas. With an area of over one million square kilometres the Murray-Darling Basin is the size of Egypt, the world’s 30th largest country, and larger than all of Pakistan. As the Punjab is for India and Pakistan so the Murray-Darling Basin is Australia’s food bowl: 40% of the nation’s agricultural produce is grown within its bounds.

So it is as one might expect. For all their obvious differences Wagha and Wagga Wagga, and Manali and Wagga Wagga, and the countries they represent in this highly personal, tiny sample have much in common, and for all their perhaps surprising commonalities those differences are still obvious! The proper place for me to conclude this weblog is not in the Sturt Shopping Mall or Manali Day coffee shop, nor even at the Wagha border, but by a river. Australia may not be Christian in the sense I understand that word but as Lynn White, the man to whose famous  article on ecology and Christianity I responded with a book put it, “Certainly the forms of our thinking and language have largely ceased to be Christian, but to my eye the substance often remains amazingly akin to that of the past.”

Christianity’s main source of information is the Bible, and the Bible starts, finishes and is shot through with the motif, “the river of the water of life”. Similarly, so enamoured of rivers is Hinduism that the world’s largest religious festival, the Kumbh Mela, involves being purified by washing in the Ganges River, most particularly at the confluence of the Ganges, the Yamuna and the mythical Sarasvati rivers. Good grief, we Australians just want our rivers to be in good nick; the Indians are crazy about theirs! 

So I sit on the verandah of my cabin by the Murrumbidgee, and muse, and enjoy the raucous Australian birds and the sturdy river Red Gums on a glorious late afternoon in high summer. This is the end of Manali Missives. It grieves me, this ending, just as leaving Manali has grieved us. But perhaps, next month, I’ll start a new blog. Hmmm…”Murrumbidgee Mullings” sounds OK. How about “Riparian Ramblings”? Maybe just “Wagha Wagga”. Or “Musings of a Manali-modified Minister”… God bless you my friends, it’s been fun.

David Reichardt

Manali Missives, October, 2015 Meanderings Down Memory Lane

Manali Missives October 2015

Meanderings Down Memory Lane

Time travel is a concept that has been popular for a long time with the "Back to the future" movies, the books "The time traveller's wife" and the "Outlander" series and many other books and movies. I (Lena), have also done some time travelling during this our last month in India. David joined me in my travels to Tamil Nadu, back to my schooldays in Kodaikanal and the place of my birth 60 years ago - Thiruppathur. The reason for going was not only to share some very memorable childhood places with my husband, but also a quest to try and obtain my birth certificate. For 60 years I have lived with a lie, knowing full well that my birthplace is not Västerled, in Stockholm, as stated in my passport, but an obscure little village in the South of India.

Although I finished my work officially on the 30th of September, I doubted that my patients and also some of the staff here would understand why I suddenly could not work, so David and I decided to take the trip down to South India.

After travelling for 40 hours nonstop, by bus, metro, plane, train and taxi, we finally arrived at the hill station of Kodaikanal. The bus trip up the hill brought back so many childhood memories for me. As a child, my sisters and I with our parents, would travel by train from Nagpur to Central station in Chennai, take a taxi to Egmore station for the last overnight train trip to Kodaikanal road where we would get on this same bus. David and I were happy to see a quote from Ps. 121:8 on a plaque behind the bus driver. The climb is over more than 2000 metres and the roadside is scattered with Lantana bushes and coffee and banana plantations. The beautiful waterfall named Silver cascade was renamed in Swedish to "Tanternas tårar" (The tears of the women) in anticipation of all the tears that would be shed as parents left their children for 4-5 months at the boarding school. 

David and I had breakfast at "Cloud street", named after the book by Tim Winton, a nice little restaurant very close to the bus stand.

In the afternoon we went for a walk around the lake, luckily we took our umbrellas as suggested by the hotel staff, as it started raining quite heavily. As a child I have crossed the lake, rowed on it and walked and run around it many, many times. Things have changed quite a bit, there are now lots of little shops near the boat house and the park, but some things are unchanged. The house where Mrs Gomperts taught us English is still there, now turned into a shop. I was able to go inside, into the room where I was introduced to Jack and Jill and "the owl and the pussycat went to sea..." etc. I missed the piece of home made peanut brittle that we always received after our lesson!

Other memories were not so happy, once on our Sunday afternoon row we came across a woman who had drowned herself and her 2 children in the lake. It was rumored that her husband abused her to the extent that she could not even face leaving her children in his care. Some things we see really get imprinted on our retina!

The circuit of the lake was almost completed when we veered off up the hill a bit to have a look at KIS. Here also were many small stalls selling spices, eucalyptus oil and homemade chocolates. And suddenly there it was, just as I remembered it, Highclerc, the American school and I was transported back in time, tears welled up in my eyes as memories flooded over me. The gates still had the old name on it and behind them the beautiful church built in stone in the Norman style. 

Highclerc school was opened in July 1901, started by Mrs Margaret Eddy whose son Sherwood was a missionary in India. In 1972 Highclerc was renamed Kodaikanal International School (KIS) and became the first international school in India.

The Swedish school where I and my sisters studied was situated just next to Highclerc, today there is nothing left of its buildings, the grounds have been taken over by KIS. 

The Swedish school was moved into a new building in an area known as the Swedish settlement. Here the Swedish Church missionaries who worked on the plains in South India would retire during the hottest season. The Swedish church is still there, now handed over to the Tamil Lutheran church. My older sister was baptized and confirmed in this church and we had many "skolavslutningar" (end of school year celebrations) here. 

Albs from previous bishops of Tranquebar (some of them Swedish) are still hanging in the closet. There is also an old Swedish bible kept in the church. Next to the church is "Nordhem", the church hall which housed the Swedish library. This is where we had church coffee and celebrated some of the Swedish festivals. The 6th of June, which now is the Swedish national day, was then celebrated as Swedish flag day. As most of the missionaries would have gone back to the plains and the school would have started by the time of Midsummer day, this very Swedish celebration with dancing around the Midsummer pole, was incorporated in our 6th of June celebrations.

Nordhem is still there, well looked after with the original name on the gate even if it is now used by the local council.

We visited some of the regular tourist sites in Kodaikanal, places I went too as a child. Pillar rocks, which are unchanged, and Coaker's walk with a beautiful view over the plains with Vaigai dam and Periyakulam, and many other places. There were some emotional moments, with very precious flashbacks.

Next stop on our journey was Madurai, a city built around 300 BC, housing amongst other buildings a large temple devoted to Menakshi (one of Shiva's wives) and the Thirumalai Nayak Palace built in1636. It also has 3 major bus stands which is a bit confusing for visitors who arrive by bus. We found our hotel and arranged for a taxi to take us to the small town of Thiruppathur on the following day. God is so good! Our driver was proficient in English and of course spoke fluent Tamil so he acted as a translator and guide as well as driver. The drive went through the beautiful South Indian countryside with paddy fields and palm trees. The Swedish Mission Hospital was not difficult to find and it was a treat to walk around it. There was the maternity ward with the name of the Swedish doctor, Dr Helena Eriksson, who did the Caesarean section to deliver me. The operating theatre is still there, same building, but recently renovated. I remembered some iron gates from the time of my younger sister's birth; amazingly they are still there. My forehead had a very close encounter with those gates; I still have the scar to prove it! 

After a short tour of the hospital we headed off to the Registry office, which funnily was just next to the hospital under a great banyan tree. 1 1/2 hours later and Rs 312 (Aus $ 6.50) poorer I had my birth certificate in my hand! What a fabulous feeling! 

The day after I celebrated my 60th birthday and the hotel staff all enjoyed having some birthday cake.

We had booked and payed for train tickets up to Vellore but were still on the waiting list on the morning of the day we were to travel. David cancelled the train tickets and we travelled by bus instead. The bus appeared to be full too as there was a lot of commotion after we had boarded. Some passengers had no seats! It was an interesting experience as we left an hour late and travelled through the night.

The town of Vellore has an old fort which was used by the British during their time, it also has a newly built golden temple but what interested me is the amazing hospital that was started by Dr Ida Scudder in 1902. In an earlier missive I have written about her and how her life story impacted me. Now I was here in Vellore for the first time.

Dr Ida Scudder's story is truly inspiring; her parents were missionaries so she grew up near Vellore. As a teenager she attended school in the U.S. and struggled with childhood memories of famine and disease. However when she returned to India to care for her sick mother she had 3 men visit her in the one night asking for help with their wives' childbirths. Ida encouraged them to see her father, the doctor, but none of the men would accept a male doctor. The 3 women all died and Ida determined to return to the U.S. to study medicine in view of becoming a medical missionary to women.

Auntie Ida, as she was known by the people in Vellore, started a nursing school and later a medical training college for women. Today the Christian medical college in Vellore is known for its excellence in medical care and training all over India. Truly an amazing woman of God!

David and I enjoyed being taken around the hospital, worshipping at St John's church in the fort area and meeting old friends and gaining some new ones. The hospital at Vellore is also investing a lot of energy in solar power and solid waste management which David was very interested in.

After 10 intensive and interesting days in Tamil Nadu David and I returned to Manali to prepare for the visit of Australian friends. Ross and Lesley arrived in time for a Buddhist wedding celebration after a flying visit to the castle in Nagger. We also went on a lovely church picnic and a visit to the Solang valley (ski valley).

One week ago we dropped them off in Chandigarh and continued on to Amritsar for a farewell. Just outside of Jalandhar we encountered a long queue of trucks, not an unknown feature of Punjab. Three roadblocks and several diversions later we were defeated and returned to Jalandhar and a hotel. Thank God for Google maps; without them we would have been totally lost.

I returned to Manali last Wednesday, David came back on Saturday morning after attending his book launch in Delhi, both of us a bit worse for wear.

This I hope will conclude our travelling here in India for a while apart from the last drive to New Delhi before we board our plane back to Sydney, Australia.

These last 2 years have been so rich - in experiences, travelling, friendship, love, exhaustion, hard work and bewilderment in many ways. We have encountered the unknown in many areas - medically, culturally, linguistically and geographically.

We would not have had it any other way(apart from enjoying it for a longer period of time); we have been so blessed and enriched by these 2 years. To God be the Glory!

Lena Reichardt

Manali Missives, August, 2015 The Road & The Way

Manali Missives, August 2015 

The Road & The Way

“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.” JRR Tolkien

Road songs, stories and movies are popular artistic genres. They plug into ancient traditions of pilgrimage that are being revived, including by many who will walk to Paris in the lead-up to COP 21/CMP 11, the Climate Change Conference due in November this year. Many religions include traditions of pilgrimage. Muslims have their Hajj, the journey to Mecca. Hindus have their Maha Kumbh Yatra, in which the largest gathering of humanity converges every 12 years on the ironically named Allahabad, at the junction of the Yamuna, Ganga and the mythical Saraswati rivers. And the Jews had their Exodus, which led to the annual pilgrimage to the passover festival in Jerusalem. “Se vi går upp till Jerusalem” goes the classic Swedish lenten hymn, describing how that Jewish custom was adopted by Christianity. When Islam prevented medieval Christians from reaching Jerusalem they not only tried to win back the holy city; they also developed new pilgrimages. Spain has its famous Camino de Santiago, the Way of St James. In northern Europe St Olav’s Way crosses Scandinavia to Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim, on Norway’s west coast. Lena and I have walked a small part of that ancient “pilgrimsled”. And for those who could not manage to walk even these pilgrimages - remembering that these were times when few people travelled - churches adapted the labyrinth, a path that led into the centre of a circle whose diameter was only some metres across, then back out again. The example at Chartres Cathedral, in France, is famous.

The gospels are really road stories sandwiched by birth and passion narratives. The first time we meet Jesus after His birth is when his parents realise that he hasn’t accompanied them on the return journey to Nazareth after the annual passover pilgrimage, but has remained in Jerusalem. His years of ministry were one long road journey, skirting increasing danger until He was ready to walk into it, head on, eyes wide open. Facing, and facing down danger is part of the genius of road stories. Apart, perhaps, from the Gospels themselves Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” is the most terrifying book I’ve ever read. Set in post-apocalyptic America it depicts the flight of a father and son to relative safety through a grim landscape that is no longer able to produce food, and peopled by desperate humans whose survival instinct has overridden their sense of morality. Tolkien, too, was a master at weaving danger with fellowship into his narratives. Here is another version of “The Road goes ever on”:

“Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.”

I’m pondering this particular theme because Lena and I have both been on the road, and we’ll soon be on it again. Our 8 weeks in Australia were wonderful from one point of view, but deeply disturbing from another. We attended our niece Bron Reichardt Chu's wedding, stayed the whole time with my generous parents, spent quality time with our adult children, our son-in-law, his family, and with my brothers and their wives, caught up with various friends and colleagues, and had days off in the Bed and Breakfast my schoolfriend Sue Handley runs in Katoomba. We presented our project a number of times in Sydney, country NSW and Melbourne.

I also spent a week literally “on the road” - on a tour of the Darling Basin organised by Uniting Church people to help church leadership and city slickers such as myself to understand, appreciate and support both people living in the Murray-Darling Basin, the context I studied in my PhD thesis, and of course to do this for the Basin itself. So I was able to present copies of my book "Release the River!" to people on that tour from 6 of the 8 Uniting Church congregations I'd visited a decade before when I did my field study. Back in Sydney my supervisor, Dean Drayton, launched my book. For an academic tome sales have been satisfying: I'm well on my way to covering costs.

But overshadowing all of this was the rejection by the Indian authorities of our applications for new employment visas. I have been granted a 6 month tourist visa and Lena a very curtailed employment visa that allows her to continue to work in the Manali Hospital until the end of September. She must have left India by November 4. These decisions took the relevant Indian authorities several weeks to make and communicate with us, which was of course deeply unsettling. We wondered what had gone wrong, and whether we could have done things differently.

However, when we discovered that many other similar visa applications were also being curtailed or rejected we realised that this was not about us; the still fairly new government has changed policy towards granting visas to foreigners working in NGOs. Upon realising this, a number of us in this situation, and our friends and family, were indignant.

“You’re doing such great work!” people said. “Why would they (the ubiquitous, amorphous “they” denoting the authorities!) want to prevent you from continuing it?”

I’ve come to a different view. To explain it will take a longer than normal blog entry, and an exploration of  how people of “The Way”, Christianity, relate to people of India’s dominant faith, Hinduism. “They” are BJP, the Bharatiya Janata Party, currently the popularly elected government of the world’s largest democracy. It is no secret that the BJP stands for a Hindu India. One of the current ironies in a number of countries is that political parties that represent  particular religious perspectives are using the mechanisms of secular democracy, introduced to the world by the West, to promote their own religious, anti-secular agendas. We are dismayed because that’s happening here in India and in several middle eastern majority Muslim countries, and because it may happen in Pakistan, Indonesia and elsewhere. But every time Fred Nile or Corey Bernardi in Australia, or the Republican Tea Party in the US, all of them representing conservative, supremacist Christian constituencies, use political processes to try to achieve outcomes favourable to their understandings of the Christian faith, they are doing the same thing.

Currently there is much anxiety in India as to the BJP’s ultimate intentions. If they really want an India that is Hindu, what will that mean for India’s many, numerous minorities? Did the Prime Minister reveal his hand when, while Premier of the state of Gujarat in 1990, a slaughter of Muslims occurred that many believe he at least tacitly supported? Does the sudden refusal to issue visas to those such as ourselves who previously received them promptly signal that a time of difficulty for India’s Christian minority is now at hand?

I certainly hope and pray that Mr Modi has learnt from the experience of 1990, and that India’s minorities will not be subjected to persecution. Yet a cursory reading of India’s long history may be helpful. The sub-continent has been subjected to Muslim invasions for well over 1,000 years. Some estimate that during this period 70 to 80 million Indians were killed, making the Muslim invasions of India the greatest slaughter ever perpetrated. For evidence, or at least allegations, of Muslim ferocity visit the museum in the Sikh Golden Temple, in Amritsar. While European invaders, and particularly, of course, the British, did not match the Muslims in extended ferocity they were far more effective than them. At its height the British Raj extended from Afghanistan to Burma. And, particularly during the “Mutiny” of 1857 and the slaughter of 1,000 civilians in Amritsar’s Jallianwala Bagh in 1919 the British showed they could be ferocious too. India, at one time or an other the richest, most advanced culture in the world, but was reduced to poverty.

I would find it difficult to disagree if devout, nationalistic Hindus argued that followers of these invading Abrahamic religions had wrecked Bharat, and that they (the Hindus) are determined to restore it to its former glory. I would find it particularly difficult because parts of the Indian Church still look as though they are living in the shell of the colonial era, and parts are still corrupt. The specific issues differ, but like the western Church the church in India carries much baggage. I have spoken with Indian Christians who would welcome a governmental crackdown on the Indian Church’s accounting procedures and the ways in which it uses money that comes from abroad, and who argue that the Indian Church needs to be both independent of its ties to the western Church, and scrupulous in its financial dealings and its governance. One friend welcomed the news of our departure for these reasons! In principle I agree with him. If local people do not wish to continue the environmental impetus I’ve introduced it’s not for me to tell them how they should live their lives. Nor is it for western volunteers like Lena to supplement a local hospital’s care until all needs are met.

On the other hand, I think the Hindu supremacist argument that India is Hindu, and other religions and cultures are invalid, unwanted interlopers is a convenient re-reading of history. Christianity, at least, is not a recent, unwanted, European intrusion to India. There is good evidence that the apostle Thomas brought it, peacefully, to the southern regions of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. In any case, Christianity was well-established in southern India towards 2,000 years ago, part of its under-documented expansion eastwards from its beginnings in west Asia. It may be that it became established in India at the same time as or even before it did so in Britain. Although parts of the Indian church still look European, others have well and truly indigenized, just as Hinduism has changed and been changed by the incursions of other peoples and religions into India well before Islam, and even, dare I suggest it, by its contact with Christianity. Mahatma Gandhi’s close relationship with the British missionary Charlie Andrews is evidence for that.

Secondly, it seems to me that Hindus are liable to contradict their arguments against Christian evangelism by their own actions. If I’m to broach this sensitive subject it’s important to be clear about what I mean and don’t mean by evangelism. By evangelism I do mean living my life in a way that is consistent with my Christian faith, that is, by loving God and loving my neighbour. I also mean discussing my Christian faith, and explaining its “what” (content) and “why” (reasons for that content) according to the normal conventions of conversation. I also think that discussion and explanation can take place in larger groups of people, such as preaching in churches, meetings outside of churches and by writing, so long as no pressure is placed on people to conform.

By evangelism I do not mean placing emotional or moral pressure on people to convert to Christianity. Nor to I mean offering financial and other inducements to do so. I certainly do not condone the use or threat of force, or of trickery to force or fool people into converting. Recently a friend in Australia reported that a Muslim praised him for his facility in languages, then asked him to repeat a formula in Arabic. When he did so the Muslim told him that he had just acknowledged Allah to be the only god and Mohammed to be his prophet, and that therefore he was now a Muslim! A long time ago I stumbled into a Hindu temple, whereupon a priest rushed at me, daubed my forehead and demanded money. I had apparently just performed puja to the temple’s god. Both these acts of evangelism were cheating in my book!

Christianity has long, honourable traditions of caring for and healing the sick, and of teaching. These have found expression in India in hospitals and schools. Typically, the campus on which we have lived for the past 2 years contains a church, a school and a hospital. Granted, these institutions provide splendid contexts for evangelism. At their best, help and care is offered by them with no strings attached; at their worst. indoctrination becomes an ugly parody of evangelism. So, to hear the District Commissioner, the top government official of Kullu District, praising our hospital in a meeting of NGOs some months ago; and a senior Muslim, graduate and now parent of a student at a Christian school in Srinagar, Kashmir do the same for the school last year, indicated to me that despite and perhaps because of their British origins such institutions have made positive contributions to the life of India. I think the focus on education is one of the best things I’ve observed about modern India. It would be “cutting off one’s nose to spite ones face” to force Christian-run schools and hospitals to close, or to disadvantage them, for ideological or religious reasons.

Besides, since Mr Modi praised the UAE’s decision to reserve land for a Hindu temple in Abu Dhabi recently he would open himself to charges of hypocrisy if he refused to allow Christian churches to build places of worship and service in India. Since the 1970s Hinduism has made significant incursions into the West. Not only the Californian-inspired Hari Krishna movement, but the increasing multitude of migrants from India and its diaspora have brought with them various expressions of Hinduism. Having been afforded by Empire many opportunities to bring Christianity to India the Churches cannot now fairly deny this. But neither, I suggest, can the Indian government fairly deny the Churches the opportunity to continue to do good in India.

But they can deny it. So in October we'll take a holiday and celebrate Lena's 60th birthday but, grieving, we'll  pack up and farewell people in Manali and around north-western India whom we've learnt to love over the past 2 years. Never have I thought that it was possible to fall so passionately in love with so many people at one time! We hope that Indians will take up what we've initiated. Our project feels cut off before it had matured. But I believe that God will mature it in the way God wants to, and bring good from what is presently heartache. We intend to return when we can. To our Australian friends, God willing we'll be back in Oz, re-establishing our lives in early November. Lena has already accepted a job offer in the practice she previously worked at, and I've re-submitted my CV, and have already had several preliminary discussions. We’re on the road again!

Grace and peace,

David & Lena Reichardt

Manali Missives, June, 2015 You know it’s Summer in Manali

Manali Missives, June, 2015

You know it’s Summer in Manali

It’s summer in Manali!

You can tell that because the snow has retreated to the surrounding mountain peaks. 

You can tell it because the tourists who’ve made the trek in small cars, large SUVs and Volvo buses from the plains of India are shivering in the early morning cool. Having achieved their goal, escape from the dreadful heat, they had no idea it was going to be like this!

You can tell because up in old Manali Russian and Israeli tourists are out in force, and an occasional, opportunistic Indian offers best quality marijhuana. 

It’s summer in Manali!

You can tell that because it’s difficult to press your way through the throng from one end of the mall to the other, and there are queues at all the ATMs.

You can tell it because “Aloo (potato) ground”, one of the few areas of flat land for miles around, has become a gigantic bus park. (In a flash flood it would become a bus jam!) 

You can tell because some weeks after the tourist vehicles started appearing in numbers, the local Main Roads Department decided to re-asphalt the entire, 1½ lane wide road to Old Manali.

It’s summer in Manali!

You can tell that because several kilometres past the end of the new asphalt, across the military bridge to Old Manali and along the roughest little stretch of 4 wheel drive track in a built up area I’ve negotiated in my life La Plage, the indianized French restaurant with fascinating food, fine Indian wine and gorgeous views, has opened for its annual 3 month stint.

You can tell it because the church on the hospital compound has been in daily use for the past two weeks as an Indian Christian agency trains its workers.

You can tell because numbers of Americans arrive early each morning for hospital devotions and take over much of the bench space in Outpatients!

It’s summer in Manali!

You can tell that because there is talk in the hospital about holding medical camps in Lahaul and Spiti, and that means that Rohtang Pass, which you must cross to reach them, is now open.

You can tell it because a list of visiting specialists is coming to participate in these medical camps.

You can tell because meanwhile, back in town, beggars, shoeshiners, and vendors of balloons, fairy floss, sunglasses, cross stitch, instantly painted plaques commemorating your visit, roasted corn on the cob, assorted nuts and all manner of other “must haves” are plying their trades. 

It’s summer in Manali!

You can tell that because the garden at Johnson’s Café is in full bloom, and against the snow-capped, mountainous backdrop it looks spectacular!

You can tell it because though there hasn’t been much rain for a while the Beas River is flowing vigorously. It must be due to glacier melt!

You can tell because young boys start playing cricket on DayStar School’s basketball court at 6.30am, and old men (viz., moi!) have been seen trying their hands at badminton for the first time in decades!

It’s summer in Manali!

You can tell that because from 6.30am the tourist drivers start inching their vehicles out of their impossibly compressed parking spaces to prepare for the day.

You can tell it because the government has imposed a 5,000 rupee “green tax” on each vehicle per visit to Rohtang Pass.

You can tell because the tourist operators have gone on strike. They wonder, not surprisingly, what is being done with tax monies collected.

It’s summer in Manali!

You can tell that because at the hospital’s daily morning devotions the many attenders sing with full voice.

You can tell it because church is full each Sunday, numbers bolstered by tourists from the plains and abroad.

You can tell because…well because it’s summer, in all its himalayan glory!

It’s winter in Sydney!

But that’s where we’re headed next week folks, for a period of 8 weeks’ rest, sharing our story, planning for the third year of our 3 year project and most importantly, spending time with family and friends. The climax of this will be attending our niece Bronwyn’s wedding. 

I (David) have just returned from Chennai where I participated in an inter-church ecotheological consultation hosted by the Church of South India. From there I flew to Amritsar (So I’ll have to pay Greenfleet more money to plant more trees along the Murray River in carbon offset!), and spoke at a Diocesan women’s meeting on the theme of trees. The following day trees again provided the theme at a tree-planting ceremony, at the Epiphany Church in nearby Batala. This was the start of a project called “Trees for the Planet” that is being funded by Evangelische Kirche in Hessen und Nassau, Amritsar Diocese’s German partner church. These 3 events all celebrated this year’s World Environment Day.

My big news is that “Release the River!” the book I have written from my PhD thesis, has returned from the printers to the publisher, Delhi-based ISPCK. I plan to bring some copies to Australia, have ISPCK send many more, and hold a book launch. More of that later.

Meanwhile, Lena just keeps on saving lives…with some shopping thrown in!

With love,

From Lena and David Reichardt

Manali Missives 4/2015 On the Pressure on Land

Manali Missives, May, 2015

On the Pressure on Land

Lena and I had a good holiday in Sweden with her family, but came home to Manali with a down-to-earth thud. Even before we arrived we read that the large plot of land belonging to the Church of North India in the village of Katrain, about 20 km south of Manali, has been illegally sold for the third time. Some years ago a CNI employee impersonated the then Bishop, forged documents, sold what was not his and used the proceeds to build a magnificent house that overlooks the highway. The Church took him to court, but for reasons I shall explore the case has dragged on, and has still not been decided. Meanwhile the first buyer, no doubt sensing danger, onsold the property to another innocent party who has just taken leave of his innocence by doing the same. 

This time the response has been immediate. The Church, now well-used to the process, has sprung into action. Lady Willingdon Hospital staged a half-hour strike that received considerable attention in the local media. Dr Christopher, the Hospital administrator, drove to the Diocesan Office in Amritsar and back, a round trip of as good as a day, for a half-hour meeting to get documents in order. Importantly, this time, the Church has considerable support in the local community. Crucially, one hopes, local, district and even state IAS (the elite Indian Administrative Service) officers hold the Hospital in very high regard, and have opposed the land sale. The latest buyer is said to be mortified. One assumes that the vendor panicked, and may now add criminal activity to their loss of property and income. 

Yet if the local situation can be viewed with some hope of restitution to the Church, across northern India it seems that storm clouds are gathering. Less than 2 days after arriving in Manali I set off for Amritsar myself. Having spent the first year of my project largely working in and getting to know schools within the Diocese I feel it is now important to meet ministers and congregations. I reason that if they don’t see me taking an interest in them, neither will they be likely to develop an interest in something as unusual as ecotheology, especially when communicated by an “angrez” (originally from French, meaning “English”, now expanded to mean any westerner.) 

Of the Diocese’s 4 regions congregations and ministers are most concentrated in the Punjab, around Amritsar. I started planning individual meetings there, only to be trumped by the Bishop. In the months since Bishop Samantaroy was installed as CNI’s Moderator (effectively the arch-bishop for a fixed, 3 year period) it has become evident that “land-grab” actions such as the one in Katrain are being undertaken across the country in an increasingly coordinated manner. The ante is being upped from taking land that the Church of North India inherited from the Church of England to destabilising the Church as a whole by seeking to arrest its leaders, and by spreading rumours about their demise.

One of the tactics being used is to request police to issue F.I.R.s (First Information Reports) against the heads of the Church. An F.I.R. is a written document prepared by the police when they receive information about the commission of a cognizable (more serious) offence. It generally reports a complaint lodged with the police by the victim of a cognizable offence, or by someone on his or her behalf, but anyone can make such a report either orally or in writing to the police. An F.I.R. is an important document because it sets the process of criminal justice in motion; it is only after the F.I.R. is registered in the police station that the police take up investigation of the case. Anyone who knows about the commission of a cognizable offence, including police officers, can file an F.I.R. Although in theory those making the complaint or providing the information that provides the basis for an F.I.R. are to be held to account, if they operate under the protection of power people who themselves are opposed to the accused, F.I.R.s that are mischievous in intent can be lodged with impunity. If, for example, the senior leadership of the CNI was arrested because of F.I.R.s lodged against them, that would seriously affect the good running of the Church and facilitate illegal land grabbing.

So Bishop Samantaroy called a meeting of CNI ministers and staff of the Punjab region of the Diocese to explain this serious situation, and to jointly decide upon a course of action. He asked me to give a short paper on “Persecution”. Instead of meeting a few ministers personally I spoke to 130 of them on a subject of great concern. That was no doubt good for my project, but I think it’s best to let Bishop Samantaroy explain that subject himself, from his letter to bishops and main functionaries of the CNI:

“I am terribly grieved to inform you that presently our beloved Church of North India (CNI) is undergoing critical situation.

This is because some self styled bishops and fake powers of attorney holders with the help of land mafia have started to grab illegally the properties of various churches. Their main purpose is to sell these properties and make money. In order to achieve their goals they are using every means, whether money power or man power, and even political power. No doubt, various churches have started fighting court cases against these people to protect the properties, but eventually they have to suffer because a lot of loss of money, time and energy. Moreover, the churches have to undergo tremendous tensions and pressure unnecessarily.

Lately, these anti-church, anti-social, greedy and selfish people have adopted a new strategy which is extremely cunning and dangerous for the life of CNI. One Mr XX [the Bishop named him], who is a self-made and self style Metropolitan of the so called Anglican Church has filed a false, fake and frivolous F.I.R. against the Office bearers and some functionaries of the Church of North India. His main purpose to file this F.I.R. is to destabilise and cripple the functioning of the Church of North India. It will be certainly very humiliating, dehumanising for all these leaders and functionaries of the Church to stand in a Court of Law as criminals without any of their fault. Of course, concrete efforts are being made to thwart such evil designs but ultimately and unnecessarily, it will cost the Church a lot of money. Not only that, but our valuable time will be spend in fighting these case rather than using it for fulfilling the ministry and mission of the Church.

As the people of God, we believe and trust in the power of God which never allows any satanic plan to succeed against His Church. As He set free the people of Israel from the bondage of Egypt, he will certainly do the same for us. His word, which always encourages us tells us that, “And God of all grace, who called you to eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.” (1 Peter 5:10) His assuring promise is, “Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the Lord of Hosts.” (Zechariah 4:6)

How should the Church respond to this serious threat? First, by informing and inspiring the people. Hence this feisty, informative letter. It countered a rumour that the Bishop had stood down from his post as Moderator by communicating both facts and outrage! Secondly, by taking the long view, and focussing on God’s saving grace. Both the Bishop in this letter and I in my paper placed this particular situation within its context of biblical history. For good reasons the people of God have suffered throughout history, but God has always been faithful. Thirdly, by calling the people of God to prayer:

“Trusting in such great promises of God,” the Bishop wrote, ‘the time has come to put forth all our requests and petitions before Him in prayer.”

And fourthly, by developing strategy and tactics. The meeting itself spent much time organising how the community of God would respond locally and across the region to land grabs, and in the case that the Church’s leadership are arrested and held in custody. 

Though I’m still trying to understand the historical background to this developing situation, and bearing in mind that in India every statement is an overgeneralisation (including that one!), a few factors stand out: 

• Pressure on land is increasing in India as its already vast population grows. 
• At its inception the Church of North India inherited large areas of land from the Church of England. As was the case at the inception of my Uniting Church in Australia, different denominations claimed to be the legitimate inheritors of properties previously held by various antecedent denominations, causing law suits and bitterness. 
• However, the CNI’s situation differs greatly from the Uniting Church’s in that much of its membership come from a Dalit (formerly called “untouchables” or “harijan”) background. Ironically, those considered the lowest of the low by many caste Hindus have, by virtue of belonging to the CNI, inherited much property from the former colonial masters, the British. I imagine that would be highly irritating to caste Hindus who feel that the right and natural order of things is that Dalits have no rights. 
• On the other hand, belonging to an organisation that owns land is a powerful symbol for formerly Dalit Christians that they do have rights. The response of church members to reports on the progress through the courts of various lawsuits involving land is nothing short of visceral! This isn’t just about land; it’s about who they are! 
• And yet, much of that land, at least where I have been, remains under-utilised. One of the reasons why the current spate of tree-planting across the Diocese is a good idea is that it quickly makes valid, necessary use of land that is otherwise in danger of being encroached upon.

Like much in India this is an complex, urgent matter. The Bishop concluded his letter with a number of “prayer points”, matters for those who believe in the power and efficacy of prayer to pray about. Those of you who receive our monthly prayer bulletin have been able to read them. For those of you who don’t share this perspective, I hope this issue of Manali Missives has alerted you to another very human drama in the great land of India.

Grace and peace from 

Lena and David Reichardt

Manali Missives, 3/2015 On being Sent

Manali Missives, April, 2015

On being Sent

Lena and I are sitting in a house on the side of a valley much broader and at an altitude lower than our flat in Manali. Despite this and the fact that Easter is over for the year, snow lies everywhere. Why? Well we are at a much higher latitude than Manali, in Sweden on leave with Lena’s family. Six months ago her mother, 95 year old Annie, moved from the Scanian village of Löberöd in Sweden’s far south where she had lived for 31 years, to the house her daughter Elna and son-in-law Hans Bolin had just bought.

Annie is a remarkable woman. Last year, over a decade after she was widowed, and close to a half century after she and her family re-settled in Sweden following 17 years in India, an article about her featured in an issue of a journal of an association representing the region in the province of Skåne where she then lived. She and her husband Assar were, during the central part of their working careers, missionaries in India.

The word “missionary” carries colonial baggage dating from the time when western missionaries worked under the protection of western military and economic might in societies whose values, cultures and identities were formed largely by other religions. One of the word’s range of meanings is “reflecting or prompted by the desire to persuade or convert others, e.g., ‘the missionary efforts of political fanatics’”. That word “fanatic” expresses people’s suspicions. What sort of a person would leave home, family, friends, career, money, comfort and a society in which they were comfortable, supported and knew how things worked and to which they belonged, for a highly uncertain future? In earlier times a large proportion of missionaries met premature, nasty death. Some still do. Surely something akin to fanaticism must lie behind such the decision to go. That suspicion was and is common both in sending societies - until recently these were usually western powers whose ruling classes generally paid lip service to a deist form of Christianity that frowned upon such enthusiasm - and receiving societies, which had generally suffered so much at the hands of colonial power that they were suspicious of anything from the West.

However, the original meaning of the word “missionary” is both more innocent and more profoundly radical than its detractors imagine. Derived from the Latin verb “missio”, “I send”, it recognises that all followers of Jesus, not just a particular clique, are sent by Him out into the world, to live out, communicate, bear witness in word and deed to His good news. During His ministry Jesus sent out (in Koine Greek, “apesteilen”) his 12 apostles (apostolōn) to “proclaim as you go, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons.” ( Matthew 10.1-8) In one of His post-resurrection appearances He gave them the gift of the Holy Spirit and sent them out: “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” (John 20.21) And most famously, in “The Great Commission” the risen Jesus enjoined His followers to “ Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” (Matt. 28.19-20) This because “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” (Matt. 20.19)

The Great Commission sets alarm bells ringing today. In our jaded, post-modern era claims to truth and authority are viewed with suspicion, if not dismissed outright. A proper response to this suspicion would require a book; I’ll make only a summary response here. If it is true that Jesus was raised from death, surely His claim to authority should be treated seriously. Anyone who can defeat “the last enemy” deserves serious respect indeed! And, having noted that what He told His followers to do was in no wise violent or imperialistic, we should note what missionaries actually do in our time. And that’s where mother-in-law Annie’s story is valuable.

Many missionaries are remarkable people. They are not fanatics, but they are highly motivated to do good, and routinely make sacrifices that most people would baulk at. Annie is no exception. Despite her 95 years she retains her vitality and story-telling ability. For Annie, having 3 daughters attend boarding school far from the family’s home in India’s central province, Madhya Pradesh, was perhaps the most difficult sacrifice.
But when I asked her, seated in the living room of the house on the side of the valley in central Sweden where she now lives, “Why did you go out as a missionary?” she was calm but emphatic. She had followed a calling from God. Asked to describe that call, however, she was less definite. At first she said that she didn’t know how to describe it, then that it came in different ways to different people.

“So how did God express His Call to you?” I persisted, knowing how difficult this can be to explain. She replied that she had received a ‘maning’ (exhortation) from God, and that she had been “led in different ways”, and through the occurrences of her life.

That, I thought, was still too general and vague. “Give me an example please,” I continued, although in Swedish an equivalent for “please” is rarely used. So she spoke about a missionary from Africa who had done a kind of “show and tell” about her work for Annie’s Sunday School, deeply impressing the then 12 year old girl. This sort of thing also happened every year at “bible days” held by local associations (called föreningar) of Evangeliska Fosterlands Stiftelsen (known as Swedish Evangelical Mission outside of Sweden). EFS is a remarkable lay organisation within the Lutheran Church of Sweden that exists to share the Christian gospel both within and outside of Sweden. Only 15,000 members strong today, it has given birth to several churches, at least 2 of which, in Tanzania and Ethiopia, number their membership in the millions. One year a missionary who had returned from Ethiopia made a particularly strong impression on Annie Jönsson, who began to think of herself as a missionary.

At one level there seems nothing “spiritual” about this. Many organisations have known how important it is to inspire and enlist young people for their cause, and have taken steps to do so. In 1930s’ and ‘40s’ Germany Hitler Youth held mass rallies, hikes and the like. Today we hear of extremist Muslim groups that use the internet and other forms of information technology to capture the hearts and minds of young Muslims, some of whom become suicide bombers. These, to me, are obscene parodies of the missionary endeavour, focusing on power and hate, rather than service and love. It also grieves me that many western churches seem to have stopped trying to engage their young people in “great adventures for God”. Have we in the West been intimidated by the liberal and humanist line that the Gospel is just another form of imperialism, and that it is wrong to share it in case we disturb the culture of those we imagine ourselves sent to?

Coming from northern India’s steep Kullu Valley to central Sweden’s broad Åredalen has helped me to put this issue into perspective. It is in valleys such as this one, in central and northern Sweden, starting over 150 years ago, that poor, newly literate Swedish farmers and their families met to read and live out their Bibles. There are no obvious trappings of power here. These were not Vikings, or some northern European version of ISIS. The twin gift - reading the Gospel - helped to liberate them from poverty and an oppressive, clergy-centric Lutheran church culture. They rediscovered Martin Luther’s great insight - the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father and the fellowship of God the Holy Spirit - and they wanted and felt called by God to share this gift. And so began a marvellous missionary story to their local areas, to all of Sweden and to Africa and India, which continues to this day, and of which Annie Jönsson’s story has been a wonderful cameo. So no, proper missionaries are not agents of imperialism or western domination!

I have shared the human side of Annie’s process of discernment regarding her missionary call. For her the divine confirmation that she was called to be a missionary in India was expressed in finding a husband who also felt called to be a missionary in India. Inevitably, much of our conversation centred around this. In summary, Annie was concerned that she was becoming old but still had no husband. She prayed that God would show her one, and God brought Assar Nilsson into her life.

Now began a long period of training and preparation for them both, the consequences of Call. Annie trained to be a nurse, while Assar, who had already studied at agricultural school, trained and was ordained as a priest in the Church of Sweden. With what Annie feels was this perfect preparation the couple made their way in 1951, via a period of language study in north India, to their home and place of work in the village of Seja, in rural Madhya Pradesh, a name which means Central Province. For the next 17 years, including periods of furlough home in Sweden, they lived and worked in the heart of India.

So what did Annie and Assar Nilsson do? Two statements Annie made seem significant. The first was that  “Everything was just as important”. That is they turned their hands to what needed to be done. The second was obvious but often forgotten: their goal was “to help them”. For Annie “them” didn’t simply mean the local Indians with whom she came in contact. She exercised a ministry of hospitality with other missionaries. Many of these lived in the nearby regional city of Chhindwara where the headquarters of the region’s Lutheran Church was located. They needed to get away from time to time. For them Annie became a hostess. Assar taught farming techniques and practice, cared for the youth he was teaching and was responsible for the mission’s farm. In his third period of service he inaugurated a farm training school. As a pastor he also helped in the local Lutheran congregation. And that word “helped” is critical. What was true 50 years ago for Annie and Assar is even more so today: a missionary is someone who helps, contributing their skills and life experience in ways that the people to whom they have been sent experience as humble, relevant help, not patronising domination.

In 1969 the Nilsson family - Annie, Assar and their three daughters, all born in India - left it for the last time as a family. There followed a difficult period of readjustment to life back in Sweden. Often the process of being sent home can be more difficult than being sent out. One wonders whether India has not affected the Nilssons more than they have affected India. Two of the daughters followed in their mother’s footsteps, becoming missionaries themselves. And two of the daughters have employed their cross-cultural skills in cross-cultural marriages! Even now, 46 years on, Annie’s memories, thought processes and conversation remain profoundly influenced by the great land to which she was sent.

David Reichardt