"Pastor Richard" . . . Movie Star?!?

It seems that India doesn't let you escape the things that it loves. One way or another, if you stay here long enough, you'll get pulled into the dancing or the singing or... the acting??? My acting debut started at the office with a favor to a colleague. He had a friend, who was good friends with a Christian film producer. My colleague introduced me to the producer, who told me in Hindi (which my colleague translated to me) that he found me sufficient for the role of a foreign missionary, as long as I wore a suit and tie and carried a Bible. When I took out my Bible, which I think is the largest and heaviest Bible in the country, he smiled. Irrespective of the fact that I felt a missionary in a suit and tie slamming an over-sized Bible might not accurately reflect an effective missions strategy, I agreed to take the role. However, I received no script, no description, not even a location, only a phone number and a time- tomorrow night.

So, Friday night after work, I raced home, threw on the only suit and tie I brought and tried to ignore all the stares I got when I jumped in a rickshaw. The first problem hit me- my colleague would not be there, which meant I was not guaranteed a translator. Nevertheless, I called the number the producer gave me and introduced myself to someone I only knew as Paul (apparently he had the best English in the group), handed my phone to the rickshaw driver, and crossed my fingers that I would eventually get where I needed to go. As a suit and a rickshaw are not conducive, my driver finally pulled up to a busy street and I exited the rick pouring sweat and trying not to stand out. Within 10 seconds a man identified himself as Paul and escorted me up the steps of a flat on the second floor of a strip of road with small vendors all along the first floor. Immediately upon entering the small church/film studio, I watched the eyes of all present shift to me and heard a greeting of "Hallelujah, Praise the Lord!" I smiled, perhaps more sheepishly than I want to admit, and found a chair on the side of the room. Normal Indian hospitality took over and no sooner had a I sat than a cup of chai was thrust upon me. Despite not craving the boiling tea when pouring sweat, I knew the easiest path was just accepting it and downing it. After tea and introductions limited to names, I met the man whom the film is about. He told me several times that the film is about his life story and his conversion to Jesus Christ. And then, they showed me the trailer for the film.

The first two minutes of the five minute trailer looked like an Indian version of Rambo. It cataloged the militia and rebel training of this man in the jungles of South India, and included bows and arrows, pistols, assault rifles, and frequent slow motion swinging on vines into murky bodies of water. The next stage categorized his life as a contract killer/kidnapper and involved several violent sequences, which I will not discuss. This intense segment transitioned into a flowery, nature scene where the protagonist/killer is shown prancing around with his brother in that recognizable fond memory type cinematography. In order to avoid going overly soft, the trailer then cuts to the man holding his brother, who has just been shot by the protagonist's own crew. Then, the footage shows the hooligans coming after the protagonist, who leaps off a moving train (I'm pretty sure no stunt double was used) followed by the goons, and narrowly escapes on a canoe out into the river. Meanwhile, his pursues project curses and malice from the shoreline. In one of the only English parts of the trailer, the hero holds his arms wide above him and shouts, "Hallelujah, thank you Jesus!"

The remainder of the trailer took a sharp turn and showed a picture of India with a cross over it and showed several sequences of this man preaching to groups gathered in Assam (a small state in the northeastern arm of India that reaches into what most of us think of as the area where China is). The ending involved a dramatic drumming crescendo, leading to the hero healing people in Jesus' name by pushing them down and/or making them convulse.

As the trailer played, others in the room had rearranged the room with rows of chairs and created a kind of pulpit area for the preacher to stand. The video camera, tripod and crew had positioned themselves in the back corner of the room and cast an almost blinding light on the front/pulpit area. I was reseated front and center. It was obvious to me that we were about to start the scene, but I had not received any instruction, at least any instruction in English as to what I was expected to do. The camera man shouted "Action" but the man playing the preacher said he needed to wait one minute and he bent over to me and said the following, "I introduce you. Then you get up and share five to ten minute message and also prayer, and then I walk you out." There it was. In about ten seconds, my acting role meant standing up and delivering an impromptu sermon to a charismatic crew of believers, whom I wasn't entirely certain would be able to understand what I was saying. Fear welled up inside me wondering what I could talk about on the spot with no time to think, in this environment. But, in India, you just gotta do it.

After my introduction, I stood up and surveyed the eager and attentive faces in the crowd. Strangely, I thought, this isn't acting. These are believers in one of the toughest places in the world to be believers. This is like the first century Christians, and I am fortunate to be given the opportunity to encourage them. With that thought, I started.

I'll try to write what went through my head and what happened while I was trying to speak on the spot- kind of a stream-of-conscious type:

My first thought, the Bible says that wherever two or more are gathered in My name, there I am also- which translated into, "I am so blessed to be here (interrupted host of 'Amens!' from the crowd, and startled expression from me) and so thankful that we serve a mighty and matchless God. And, I know that He is here with us today because His word (thump Bible to grunts of approval) says that wherever two or more are gathered in my name, there I am also. And I am excited to be with others who share the same saving faith as me (Strong Amens) In fact, (first verse that came in my head) the Bible says that we are saved by grace through faith, not of our own works so that no one can boast. And, I am so excited to see that faith in all of you and to talk with you about that grace. And about (next verse in head) His mercies, which are new every morning (One lone "Yes Lord" from the crowd). [At this point, I felt like I needed to find a direction or quit... and then Stephen popped in my head. When Stephen was before the Sanhedrin, he walked through the whole history of the Jews leading to Jesus... the same happens in Hebrews 11 about faith... this could buy me time. i thought, but only for a milli-second, before starting.] And I'm so thankful that we have His Word because His Word (I'm not going to write in the Amens any more, just know that they were there and insert them in your head) tells us many stories of men, like me and you, who had faith in God, and whom God led to victory. It tells of Abraham, who believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness. God made a covenant to this Abraham that would form the foundation of his plan to reconcile man. Later, it talks about David, a man after God's own heart, who trusted God enough to face the Giant Goliath, before whom the army of Israel trembled. And God led him to victory. It tells us about many more (I kinda drew a blank here) great men and women who trusted God leading up to Jesus (at this point, I found myself enjoying what I was saying and the act of saying it). At this time, God sent his only son as a man, a man that was just as much God, to live a human life. This man, this Jesus not only lived a perfect life, but he suffered pain and humiliation for each one of us, because, you see, he was perfect and died unjustly so that He could bear the sin and the wrongs that each one of us commit before God the father. He is our salvation. He is our hope. Even after this Jesus came and died, men, just like me and you, like Paul, began telling the story of Jesus to people all over the world. They did this so that each one of us could have something that the world can never give us: Hope in salvation. Hope after death.

(At this point, I again ran out of material, but decided that leading to a prayer would work well). It is my honor as a brother in Christ to share with you about the life of my savior. And, it would be my honor that because God is amongst us, that you would allow me to pray to him before you that he may strengthen and encourage us and make us more like him.

Let us pray. (I prayed, but I can't remember exactly what I prayed... most of it had to do with God giving us strength and allowing us to impact the people around us through His power.)

Nevertheless, when I finished the preacher actor shook my hand while the applause rolled. The camera went off and the people in the back started joyfully proclaiming "One take, One take, it only took one take!" They were laughing so much as they said it, that I gather that other scenes had taken much longer and they were glad that they might get out earlier that night. After this we did a few short sequences of the introduction and applause/ending, allowing the camera crew to relocate for different angles and a scene where I greeted the protagonist before leaving. The thing about the other three scenes was that no one told me what I was supposed to do in them at all. I just waited for them to say action, and then watched what other people did. When they walked around shaking hands saying "Praise the Lord," I did the same, when they filed out of the room- I filed out, when they shook my hand- i shook their hand. I guess I did fine, but this is the greatest example of "winging-it" imaginable.

Additionally, everyone around me kept saying what an incredible message it was, and that they wished I would keep going. I thought these were just kind words, until I realized they were serious. They wanted me to keep preaching off camera. Not only this, but the camera had been off for some time, and even though my character in the film was "Pastor Richard," everyone kept referring to me as "Pastor Richard".

I won't give you the entirety of my shorter, second, off-camera message, other than to tell you that it was based on the verse that states "He who has begun a good work in you is faithful and just to bring it to completion..." I shared this with them to let them know just how encouraging they had been to me and how faithful God would be to work done in His will. At this point, I was mentally exhausted and don't remember everything I said. To end the session, they invited the whole crew in, and asked me to pray over them. I prayed, greeted everyone a last time, flagged a rickshaw, sat down, and exhaled.

I still have no idea where and how this scene fits in the plot of the movie. I should get a copy of the scene, and maybe even the movie soon.

Bizarre Extra-Curricular Activities

Largely due to my recent series of illnesses, I've neglected blogging. However, now that I'm back on my feet, I am without excuse. Fortunately, several interesting things took place in the last few weeks. I'll try to give separate context for each one. And, based upon popular requests, I decided to actually put some pictures up with what I am writing. I hope this helps.

(1) Bollywood Dance Team

In case you are not aware, Mumbai hosts a major film industry known as Bollywood. Bollywood film stars saturate the host city much like Los Angeles in the US. The industry influences the whole of India and Bollywood stars know a celebrity status that rivals, if not exceeds, that of the biggest Hollywood celebs. Not only are Bollywood celebs movie stars but also all of the biggest songs in India come from the movies, merging celebrities of different industries into one. This is because Bollywood films differ from Hollywood films in that an average film runs three hours and a long film runs four or more. The additional time is filled by a series of music videos and dance scenes that space out different "acts" of the movie. It's as if each film is a full length musical added to a more typical genre like comedy, drama, or action... but always, always with some romance. It doesn't matter if the plot concerns a war between robots and dinosaurs with lasers- there will be a romantic subplot.

Everyone in India, including the rescued girls, know the most famous dance scenes from Bollywood movies. Accordingly, one of the Aftercare homes organized a talent show for the girls. Everyone participated the girls, the expats, the staff. During the week preceding this talent show, the expats gathered on several evenings to master a dance scene from "Lagaan," one of the most famous Bollywood films. I must say, I've never been known for my grace on the dance floor, especially compared with Indians who grow up dancing as much as sleeping. Regardless, my first experience as a dance team member went really well, and the girls were very excited to see that we knew something about Bollywood. It was a rejuvenating experience to hear laughter and see smiles on the faces of girls whose histories' I knew lacked these things. All had an incredible day, so much so, that my face hurt from smiling so continuously.

(2) Dahi Handi

As I've reiterated often- Indians know how to party. The festivals here have more noise and more color than anywhere imaginable. However, Dahi Handi has it all: Danger, Suspense, Joy, Celebration, Rewards, etc. Fifty feet off the ground, a clay pot filled with curd and lots of cash hangs tantalizingly suspended above the dense crowd of onlookers. All evening, teams arrive and try to build human pyramids tall enough to reach the pot, smash it, and collect the rewards. The stoutest men form the base; the middle layers are composed of light, but tall young men; and the top layers are made up by young boys with great balance and little weight. During the entire affair, live music is performed and enormous water hoses soak the drench crowd and competitors alike. Each team cheers and dances on each attempt. No patience is exhibited and the pyramids fully form in less than a minute, as the lighter boys scale the outside of the pyramid like army ants. The surrounding crowd crams around the pyramid and extends their hands, cheering the team on and waiting to catch any of the boys that fall from the top. As you might expect, injuries are regular, and even deaths- occasional. It is Dahi Handi, and it is so much more than a pinata.

(3) Goa

Brief escapes from the city are treasured times. A week ago, I was able to take a weekend and go a short distance south of the city to Goa. Goa is a Mecca for hippies and has always been a beatiful, tropical place full of bizarre folk. I want to share a few of the highlights from that weekend. First, Goa's mountains extend right to the edge of the Arabian Sea and riding anywhere in Goa is a treat. We rented scooters for the whole weekend for $10 and road them through the endless, terraced rice patties and frequent ocean overlooks. At one point we wandered to a fort that operated with cannons on turrets hundreds of years ago. The jungle has since invaded the fort and left it in green, mossy ruins. However, the fort remains on cliff overlooking a particularly rocky part of the coastline where the waves crash into the rocks fifty feet below. It was a surreal experience, and I expected a pirate to be waiting around each corner of the fort.

Another interesting element prevalent in this entire region of India, including Goa, is mass paranoia over swine flu. Every day the newspaper front page has an article about H1N1 cases. This paranoia is openly accepted by many citizens and everywhere I go, a variety of homemade and store-bought "swine flu masks" appear on the faces of people. It just seems strange that in a country that always deals with a tremendous variety of horrific diseases without so much as a second thought, that the miniscule chance of contracting swine flu would drive people to such extremes. Regardless, I love the types of masks people come up with and get a kick out of the whole thing.

Like many coastal tourist retreats, Goans know how to do seafood. Sampling fish caught from the nets and canoes that we saw go out each day was a real treat. However, some of the expats with us come from Chinese-American families. They raised the topic of the delicacy and honor in eating the fish's head and eyes. In fact, they illustrated proper technique for the remainder of us for both procedures. To make a long story short, we decided to play paper rock scissors to determine which of us had to eat the last remaining fish eyeball. As I had been sick recently, I was not looking forward to this competition. Nevertheless, upon thoroughly jinxing myself by mentioning that I only had a 20% chance- I proceeded to lose every round and got stuck with eating the last remaining fish eye, much to the amusement of my colleagues.

(4) Ganpati Festival

The most elaborate of my recent experiences involves the ongoing Ganpati Festival. The event spans 10 days and involves extensive decoration. Every street is strung with Christmas lights and tents and banners. No matter where you are in the city you are within hearing distance of a set of drummers and or a brass group. The focus is on lord ganesha, and all the Hindus go to the "idol store" and buy and elaborately decorated ganesha idol for the festival. The statues range in size from manageable, single home statues weighing 25 pounds, to ganesha statues three-four stories in height. What is consistent is that all of them will be ornately decorated with gold, flowers, red powder, and incense and paraded through the streets to the largest beaches, where they will be immersed into the ocean at significant points during the 10 days festival. It is direct idolatry in a way unimaginable to the Western Christian. I hope to have more stories as the festival continues.

Ode to Ginger Ale and Saltines

As I have likely overemphasized by now, this city is infamous for trash, smog and disease. And so, for many that come, sickness beckons them upon arrival. However, for an unidentifiable reason, I relished in pristine health for the first six months here. In fact, while numerous health-conscious colleagues were dropping like flies, I marched on. Nevertheless, the second half of the monsoon season proved more than my immune system could handle. On multiple occasions over the past few weeks, I've spent days and nights sweating through a hoody with a bucket by the bed. And in subsequent days, the recurring, striking irony of dehydration in the midst of the very mist of the wettest climate I've ever experienced.

Irrespective, I write to convey reasons why, contrary to my prior opinion, it is easier to be sick here than at home. Granted, it is not the same as mom tending to my every need and ensuring a ready supply of saltines and ginger ale. Nor are the distractions as nice- instead of the television, movies, high-speed internet, air conditioning, and hot water; I have spotty internet, no AC, the crow that sits on my window and incessantly caws at me, and only cold water for about three hours a day. If it appears I've painted the picture too bleak, please, permit me a few more paragraphs to make my point.

First, for me, sympathy during sickness is destructive. I feed on it (Note this especially if you're considering sending me a schmoozer email after reading this.). As a child... cough... ahem... college student... at times when I fell ill and mom waited on me hand-and-foot, I soaked it up. "Ahhh," I moaned, or "My head is going to explode," I whined, stretching out every syllable and coating it with shortness of breath to maximize sympathetic-absorbsion (not a word). And, try as she did to resist the lure of my hyperbolic sufferings, she conceded and brought the damp washrag for my forehead. Such sympathetic reactions drove me to adopt the misguided viewpoint that my condition merited sympathy.

Here, seeking such sympathy does not arise as a viable option. Not only is such sympathy not readily available, but thousands of sobering comparisons occupy the view from the window of my bedroom alone. Tempted to whine in usual fashion, I get up from my bed and look out the window. Seven floors beneath my ivory tower, thousands of people grunt through lifetimes without an ounce of sympathy inside makeshift homes suffering illness and disease far worse and far more frequent than me. To them, it is not a matter of movies and AC, but IF I will get well and IF anybody cares. From my window, I see more than the slum dwellers, I see the pavement dwellers, those incapable of even getting into a slum. Covered in sores, limbless, toothless, eyeless, their mattress is a concrete slab and they do not know sympathy- the very ones who deserve it. This realization compelled my focus to shift from gleaning sympathy to just getting better. It's really an expedited process, a lack of options, removing the "woe is me" part. Doing this allows me to heal faster and to be a lot more productive when I am sick.

My second and third reasons are remarkably lighter: that the healthcare available to, at least me, in India is wonderful to experience and that theories from national friends and colleagues concerning my illness provide a boundless source of confusion and humor. So, what I mean practically by the healthcare available to me is this: competent doctors promptly conduct home visits at a minimal fee. I'm not sure how this works in a macro sense. I just know that, yes, a doctor will come to my house, examine me, give me a shot and some pills, and charge almost nothing. Wow- is that different! Next, the theories (not from the doctor) on why I get sick range from the fact that I drink too much "Choco-Milk" because it is a child's drink and "you should not be having Choco-Milk;" to, "Peanut butter sandwiches are making you sick because you are from a cool climate and now you are in a warm climate and peanut butter is only for digestion in cool climates;" and even to, "You are drinking chilled water. Chilled water will make you ill. Do not cool the water." Probably, the facet I find most humorous is that everyone has a theory involving food/digestion that explains your sickness.

Finally, having no distractions and being forced to lie in bed all day forces me to spend time with God. It is like mandatory quiet time with God. When the hustle and bustle of work every day and activities every night diminishes my quality time with God, getting sick provides the necessary refocusing on the work and the task at hand.

And just for your information, in case you're a schmoozer writer, I'm doing much better today and am excited to return to work Monday.