My Trip to India ~ Part 2

Emily Theresa

There’s a kind of tired joy in their soft padding of feet and the splashing of water as the Missionaries of Charity wash their white and blue habits in buckets on the floor. And there’s a peaceful acceptance in their quiet folding of hands as they sit with us visitors, including myself, in what they call “sharing time” at the Mother House in Kolkata.

Sister Mercy rubs her eyes, yet they shine as she talks about the Adoration of the Sacrament, something the sisters do each day after a long day of serving. They sit before the bread of Christ, the eucharist, which has been removed by a priest from a metal dome-like ciborium in the tabernacle and placed in a “monstrance” for display. Those who attend reflect on Christ and adore Him in silence for an hour. The purpose is to increase hunger for Him and for the church.

And I wonder - do we adore Him, Church?

It’s something I’m very much flung into, but it’s more of a desperate form of adoration, when I’m yanked from my own “ciborium” – my four-walled dome of a home and tidy life.

This trip especially, I clutch God like He is bread.

A few weeks before leaving for India my family took in a young boy who needed our help, and I long to remain, to care for him and them, yet my husband and mother-in-law tell me, “Go! Do the work God has called you to.”

And so I cling to God in the airplane. I cling and adore and weep.

And the Holy Spirit meets me in a way I’ve never known Him before. He takes what feels like a physical form, and I clutch onto Him like a little girl, soaring through the sky in that big white bird.

My first week in India, I visit an underground church, lowered in an elevator down into a room overflowing with young people. And I share about this Spirit who lowered Himself into our world. I share about the Spirit taking physical form like He did in Jesus, and I ask these young people, so hungry for Jesus,

Do you know His different laughs? Do you know Jesus’ great guffaw? Do you know His sad laugh? Do you know His gentle chuckle? Do you know the lines around His eyes when He smiles?

I remind them of what it’s like when we’re in love with someone. We memorize the one we love. We know every dimple, freckle, hair out of place. We know what makes him or her smile. We think about that person every minute and we want to shower him or her with gifts. And this – the way Jesus thinks about us – is how we are to think about Him. This is what it means to adore.

“During the first part of the twentieth century, it was common for … young and old, on their way home from work or school, en route to the grocery store or a sports practice, to ‘stop in for a visit’ to the Blessed Sacrament in their local church,” writes Valuer Schmalz.

Visiting Christ amongst the goings-on of the everyday.

And even as I leave that underground church and take the sleeper train north for hours to visit the tailoring projects we’ve sponsored, I see Him in the everyday. I see Him on the streets, in the men and women rolled up in their colorful blankets at 3 in the morning, rolled up on pavement, where goats and cows roam.

I see Him in the matted hair of the little girl who approaches me as I’m seated on the back of a motorcycle taxi, who holds out her hands for a few rupees, who runs back barefoot to her mother who is seated with a baby on an island in the middle of four lanes of traffic.

I see Him in the woman washing her baby on the sidewalk, in the man washing his clothes on the street, in the twisted limbs of the men and women carried into Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying.

And I see Him in the eyes of the tailoring students, the ones who’ve graduated from the programs we’ve sponsored and are seated on the ground with their babies as I speak. I see Him, and more than that, I hear Him.

This “silent Word who is pleading.” He pleads with me through them.

I tell them they are seen. They are not missed. They are adored. I tell them they are heard. I tell them they are loved by the One who stepped in front of Mary and defended her (John 12:8). They are loved by the One who weaves people together like different colored embroidery (Psalm 139:15 AMP). They are loved by the One who sings over us, rejoices in us, and quiets us with His love (Zephaniah 3:17).

They laugh in response and weave flowers into my hair and give me dresses they’ve sewn.

And then they hug me. And as they do, I feel Him in their arms, taking form, this One who loves us, who comes to us, who became bread for us, who is worthy of all our praise.

Oh come, let us adore Him.

For those who haven’t yet purchased my memoir, God Who Became Bread, it is currently only $4 on Amazon, and it’s FREE on audiobook. All proceeds benefit The Lulu Tree.