Returning from the farm one Thursday morning, the normal hour and half trek via bus was taking longer then usual due to traffic.  It had been almost 2 hours when I started going stir crazy, shifting in my seat and text messaging random people.  After almost three hours and with half my sanity remaining, we approached my stop.  I grabbed my belongings and jumped out of the bus with great relief.  Standing on the sidewalk and a little more relaxed with the newfound ability to stretch my legs, I casually decided to check the time.  In a split second, my relief turned to dread as my pocket came up empty of my mobile.  Turning around, the bus took off down the road and I followed in pursuit with all my might.  However, I was wearing sandals and two bags which slowed down my velocity considerably.  I arrived at the next intersection, only to see the bus accelerate off in a cloud of fresh dust.  Standing there in horror, I weighed the options before me.  Should I go for it or let it go?

Hailing a trishaw, I informed the driver of the church’s locale and we motored towards Kithu Sevana at the speed of a well tuned John Deere.  Arriving at the church, I flew up the stairs, throwing my belongings at my door and grabbing one of the workers as well as a helmet as I ran down the stairs.  Once he heard my situation, his expediency increased and within a moment we were on his motorcycle cruising towards the main road.  Just as we were about to turn onto the main drag, his clutch cable popped out of its slot, restricting our bike to one gear.

Could this be some kind of divine intervention?   This is NOT funny.

We rode the bike back up the road, like a bucking bronco, towards the church and borrowed another pastor’s bike.  Within moments we were at the road and screaming towards the city at speeds that simultaneously make you squeal with glee and squirm with terror.  We darted in and out between cars even venturing into oncoming traffic at times in a desperate effort to make up the 15 minute head start that the bus had been given.  I had actually specifically entrusted this mission with Andrew after having experiencing his driving performance multiple times.  At one point in our pursuit, he informed me of his inability to see due to the vast amounts of dust being kicked up by anything with wheels.  His helmet visor had broken just two weeks before and now he was requesting my sunglasses for protection.  Coincidently, not one week before, my sunglasses had become the victim of two year old terrorism as one of the pastor’s sons smashed it onto a concrete floor, breaking the rim with a clean, yet manageable crack.

I removed my damaged sunglasses and prepared to pass them to Andrew over his shoulder, when a gust of wind caught the lens, loosed by the crack and sent it careening behind me at high speed.  Two possessions down in one afternoon.

Soon, we started passing #4 buses followed by Andrew’s interrogation concerning the accuracy of identifying the correct bus.  In a short period, I recognized the giant “God Bless” on the windshield of a bus as we shot past and motioned to Andrew that we had found our prize.  Pulling over, we ran to the middle of the street and stopped the object of our pursuit.  The conductor was extremely shocked to see me again and everyone was very compliant in the efforts to help me locate the missing phone.  The majority of passengers looked under their seats with true concern for this frantic foreigner, but the bus came up empty.

All that and nothing.

We called the phone and had the line cut, meaning that someone had already pilfered it and was probably in the process of taking the SIM card out of the back of the phone and preparing to sell it on the local black market.  The irony to this action is that I had received the phone from a friend back in the United States, meaning the phone worked off of our 120v electric grid, not the 240v grid that Sri Lankans are accustomed to.  Meaning there is a possibility of it just frying when plugged in.  I don’t know whether to mourn this fact or silently rejoice at justice done.

After having been in country for some 4 months, I really hadn’t given myself a chance to explore much of the countryside.  I had a contact in Kandy, the ancient capital of the island and located in the heart of the centrally located hill country, so I decided to spend a week there.  I was told that the train left at 6:15, so I listened intently to the announcements from the platform’s loudspeaker and tried to decipher the Sinhala pronounced cities.  I had a good idea of the cities along the way; having copied a map, so I boarded what I thought was the correct train.  The three and half hour ride was beautiful as the train plugged along the countryside and began its trek through the hill country.  It was refreshing to see mountains, valleys and landscapes again as I gazed out of the train’s open windows.  Approaching Kandy from the West, we stopped in the town of Peradeniya, just on the outskirts of the city.  I began to gather my items as the train pulled out of the station, but in a peculiar fashion.  Instead of heading due east, as had been our constant bearing, the train backed out of the station heading south.  Never having been to Kandy before, I wasn’t entirely concerned by these developments, but my fears became a reality when we arrived at the city south of my destination.  I called Tim, my friend to get some guidance, when the line cut out and we left the station.  I impulsively decided to disembark at the next station and attempt to catch a bus.  As we traveled through a wooded area for about 10 minutes, I got my possessions ready and dismounted the train without any cognition about my surroundings.  Standing on the platform, I turned around to see only four houses and literally, nothing else.  As if to capitalize on the moment, the train sped off leaving me with a sinking feeling of loneliness and dread.  Approaching the “station’s” booth, I inquired about the schedules and was disappointed to hear of the two hour wait that I would have to endure in this scant little town.  None of the locals proved to be any help either.  As I questioned a villager about the location of the road, he scratched his beardless chin and pointed towards the mountains with limited confidence.  Looking at my trusty map copy and armed with a compass, I trekked due east in the woods towards the somewhat mythical road.  Coming across a road heading north to south, I followed it north and ended up passing a little shop.  The shop keeper looked at me startlingly and asked my nationality.  The typical Sri Lankan questioning continued for awhile until I was questioned about my end destination.  The man almost burst into laughter as I humbly mentioned how far off I was from Kandy.  However, I was informed that I was in luck, since a bus regularly travels this dusty road headed towards a main city.  I found this tidbit of information unbelievable as this dirt road seemed to contain no smooth surface or straight direction as it rolled to and fro following the contours of the hilly land.  But sure enough, 10 minutes later and 13 cents lighter, I was riding the rollercoaster like bus towards the main road and later onto my final destination of Kandy.  It had only taken me 6 hours.

Every week I’d take a little 2 hour train ride north to the small agricultural town of Madampe.  I loved taking the train because it was always an adventure and offered some beautiful landscapes.  The trains themselves were very old models whose true age could not be accurately determined and whose upkeep was questionable at best.  Sometimes, they would have working fans or lights, but often those commodities would be missing.  This could have been because they were broken or perhaps an entrepreneurial spirit had just plucked the device out of its casing and sold it for a quick buck.

I once heard a Sri Lankan comment that America calls itself free, but Sri Lanka is truly free.  He was referring to limited laws in regards to safety and action which can easily been seen in such avenues as transportation.  In this light, one of the joys of riding these old diesel trains was the clear lack of safety.  These old rickety engines could only push the speed barrier up to a bolstering 50mph, but this was often interrupted by a jolting, bucking rhythm like a wild horse in the midst of its taming.  What infused this experience with glee was the freedom felt by watching buildings and trees fly by through the open doors.  With all of the entry doors wide open, one could cautiously and precariously sit on the car’s edge with the wind in their face and take in the full unobstructed view as the world flew by.

            As I would enter off the often crowded platform and into the train, I would immediately be met by amused smiles.  Being Caucasian, gave me a rock star like sense of always being watched wherever I dared to venture.  It took me several months to be able to get over my self-consciousness and take it all in by using it as an advantage in getting to know people.  As the train mustered up speed the silence would often be broken by vendors selling various local foods from candies to the warm, Tamil, donut like wadi.  Singers and performers would pipe out a song as they beat rhythmically on a tambourine as they strolled up and down the car or beggars would give a speech in order to illicit compassion from their fellow riders.      

8.24.06

“What has been your experience?”  Winston inquired.

I jumped at the opportunity to share the story of my theology of rejection, growing up and how the Lord rescued me from that internal anguish.  With great shock and joy, I marveled as words just came out of my mouth in thoughts that I had never perceived before.  I spoke of our lives as a masterful painting covered with the dust of sin, which He wipes away with His grace, revealing the true nature of who we’re created to be.  I also found myself comparing the before and after Christian encounter by comparing it to history’s similar timeline (BC and AD).  The proceeding conversation was beautiful as Winston acknowledged God’s recent workings in his life.  We chatted about a relationship with Christ, amidst topics such as hotels, wine, work, religion and family.  At one point, they even offered homemade coconut wine which proved to be a sweet local favorite and relatively inexpensive.  When we left, Andrew and I found ourselves giggling down the road, reflecting on His goodness.  But this blissfulness didn’t last long as we spotted something in the road ahead.  This something turned out to be a person just lying in the middle of the road, drunk.  Pulling over, we jumped off the bike and pulled the fellow up off the ground.  Unfortunately, this whole exchange was in Sinhala, making communication, especially with a drunk, very difficult for me.  Apparently, the boy lying in the road drinks often enough to enrage his father and was lying in the middle of the street in an effort to die.  Andrew calmed the boy down, put him to bed and made a promise of return.

The interesting part about this experience is that Andrew is always running into drunk men and I often joke with him that it is his calling.  It was one of those days that you just feel completely in His will.  We contacted Anthony, who is Kithu Sevana’s Alcoholic Anonymous pastor and requested a visit to the young boy.
What an end to a very interesting day!

Looking out over the packed auditorium, I felt honored to be in such a position to share. The young faces stared back at me as I addressed this mixed crowd on the need for reconciliation among their people. This war had lasted far too long; in fact, most of these youths weren’t even born when the conflict started between the two ethnicities. I spoke, through two translators, of the amazing reconciliation movement which carried South Africa after the Apartheid fell and of what their country could possibly achieve if they banded together. As an outsider, I shared my observations and hopes for the country, finally ending by apologizing on behalf of the colonial powers who had enslaved the population of this beautiful island nation for over 400 years. What followed still brings chills to my spine as Tamils and Sinhalese gathered on stage and repented to each other for their subtle hatred. Stories were shared of difficult experiences with the other and the pain that is instinctively the byproduct of hatred. A group of them even spoke of the difficulties of growing up in a mixed marriage setting with tears in their eyes. In a symbol of unity and forgiveness, these representatives began to hug one another, but the representation couldn’t stay on stage for long and it soon filtered into the crowd. Within minutes, everyone was hugging each other, apologizing for any hint of racism on their part and embracing the other. I was even swept up into the action after repenting for the colonists and was hugged probably upwards of about 50 times.

Thus was the climax of our four day youth camp at a farm, some 2 hours north of Colombo. Its aim was to breed a sense of reconciliation among the youth of this nation in hopes of a brighter and more peaceful tomorrow. Some 200+ youth gathered from various parts of the country to play games, hear speakers and hopefully work towards change in this nation.

Sri Lanka’s history is filled with suppression of foreign powers and this ethnic conflict which has escalated shortly after. In 1948, the English left the island and granted Sri Lanka sovereignty, but tensions increased among these two main ethnic communities, the Sinhalese and Tamil. The Tamil areas of the island contained a vast amount of missionary schools, which in turn, had provided the Tamils with better educational possibilities and stronger professional skills. This threat by the clear minority, coupled with the increase of “estate Tamils” or Indians who had been brought over from India to work in the tea plantations during colonial rule caused a certain degree of angst from the Sinhalese people who believed that Britain had favored them. In the proceeding decades, the Sinhalese government made attempts to suppress this people to the north with the passing of several clearly anti-Tamil laws which made it increasingly difficult for a Tamil to gain a foothold in the society. Tamils had tried peaceful means of making their plight known; from Gandhian non-violence practices to political opposition, nothing seemed to force the government’s hand. Tamil youths began a series of unorganized reactionary attacks on the injustice of the Government, eventually forming into the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) and essentially declaring war. The war was further escalated with the advent of Black July in 1983. On the 23^rd of July, the Tigers launched a successful and deadly attack on the military in the north. The general population responded with a vengeance as riots against Tamils emerged in the capital of Colombo and elsewhere. Tamil sections of the city were burned and Tamils, in the thousands, were killed by mobs. After years of conflict, the LTTE began a series of kamikaze-type tactics using suicide bombers and began issuing cyanide capsules to its warriors. With this new zealous and fanatical approach, the Tiger’s war escalated and the people of Sri Lanka suffered. Suicide bombers, who valued the struggle over their own lives, struck heavy civilian areas including hotels, chemical plants, military installations, airports, holy sites and centers of commerce. As the lines between war and terrorism became blurred, nothing was considered an illegitimate target blatantly neglecting the Geneva Convention and basic humanitarian concerns in this quest for a Tamil homeland. This included political assassinations. Members of parliamentary, government officials, high ranking officers in the military and even Presidents have all been killed in this struggle by suicide bombers. The Tigers’ ruthless methods even go as far to employ children and pregnant women in pursuit their goals. This conflict has lasted close to three decades with some 60,000 lives lost so far; with probably close to half of this number being civilians. About 55,000 have been maimed, about 750,000 Tamils have left the country and almost a million Sri Lankans have been displaced within the country. In the light of this instability and apparent hopelessness, the Sri Lanka population has sunk to embrace the highest suicide rate and the largest percentage of alcohol consumption in the world.

This is the situation I find myself ministering in. For all you who have been wondering and praying, I feel safe. Most of the skirmishes occur to the north and to the east, some 12 hours away. There have been several bombs in the Colombo area, where I reside, but nothing too bad. While here, I have been asked to join the leadership team of the fledging English church which primarily ministers to a mixed race with European descent called burghers. This is done through preaching, house visits and general reliance upon the Lord in day to day life. The English church does not stand alone; in fact it is part of a larger body which contains a Sinhalese and a Tamil service. Once a month, these three merge into one service, in order to proclaim unity.

I find myself falling in love with these people. It’s almost as if they are the outward representation of what I would hope my inner person would look like. They laugh a whole lot and aren’t afraid to tell jokes about their current political unrest. They are extremely relational, hospitable, caring, giving and even affectionate. It’s almost as if the lack of resources has caused this openness to pervade throughout the culture. No one would think anything of eating off of someone else’s plate or sharing their possessions. This can be seen by the event of eating lunch packets (plate of rice with vegetables, some meat and spices for about 50 cents) where everyone is throwing food to one another or picking something from the others’ plate. One time, upon hearing of my need for a watch, my friend removed his watch and just gave it me!! Because of this ingrained hospitality, I find myself having to be real careful about what I say. It’s also been fun to observe the relational connectivity of males here. They think nothing of hugging each other or leaning on each other while sitting down. They’ll even hold your hand while chatting, just to communicate a closeness of friendship. It’s almost beautiful and at times I feel my soul being fed. So, all this said, I’ve felt that they have truly welcomed me into the fold here and to be honest, I’ve only experienced real loneliness my very first day.

I often wonder what this level of community would do in the hearts of my fellow Westerners if we experienced it. Sure, our productivity would go way down as people took the forefront of our lives and often overshadowed our planners, but what about the rewards. I talk to so many of my peers who find themselves so inwardly isolated amidst a web of digital inputs of communication. Somehow, email, text messaging and cellphones still don’t cover the basic human needs of relational love and physical availability. I know that so many ache for deeper connections and suffer from the modern plague of loneliness. What would the church look like, if we ignored our many programs and went out in an effort to love people by inviting them to our homes or just into our lives?

God be with you my dear friends and family. Know that you are often in my thoughts and prayers as I hope that I am in yours. Seize the beauty of His grace today and don’t settle for anything but His sustaining Presence.

With much love,

Jonathan Hodgkins

Ps- if you would like to send me some snail mail my address is:

Kithu Sevana

c/o Jonathan Hodgkins

9/2, 6^th Lane

Wellahena, Welisara

Ragama

Sri Lanka

Mobile # - I can receive and send text messages!!! +94775354359

Proverbs 21:13 If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered.

My friend Andrew, mentioned a few things to the barber about what I wanted for my hair and then left me with the ever encouraging statement that this person who’s about to take a sharp object to my skull is capable in my native tongue.   However, once alone, this promise proved a little shallow.  After growing my hair to Californian beach lengths, I was reluctant to have it all chopped, so I tried to explain what I envisioned.   My new friend smiled with an understanding smile and proceeded to use his craft to tame my hair’s wildness.  The week before, I had scratched my cornea by taking my contact lens out in such a way that I’m still baffled by the physics of it all.   I mention this, because at the time I was wearing glasses, which in turn had to be removed during the hair cutting process, leaving me slightly blind to this professional’s skill.   After about ten minutes of hair droppings and broken conversation from both parties’ limited understandings of the other’s language, I placed my glasses back on.  With a sense of pride and to my own personal horror, the barber announced that I looked very Asian.   Looking in the mirror, I wasn’t exactly sure what action could be taken as this white Sri Lankan stared back at me.  I inquired about the various tools that this barber had in his arsenal and instructed him to use the one with the teeth.   After another 20 minutes of fuzzy blindness, followed by a few minutes of despairing clarity, I instructed him to just cut the sides shorter and essentially and quite literally, cut my losses.   Oh well, at least this little experience only cost me a dollar.    

The principal of the Churchplanter’s School was going to go to the hospital today, so Pastor Adrian told him to make me teach them.   I was a little shocked by this, having several other projects to do, but I agree and pulled together something about how to read the Bible from my college days.  I thought the discussion was pretty good, until after the session, when one of the students came up and asked when the NEXT session was.   I’m sorry, TWO more sessions!!!!  I had to figure something out fast, just because the guru had picked me.  Interesting, huh?  So, these past couple of weeks, I’ve watched my comfort in ministry increase as I’ve been asked to speak at various house churches, youth events, staff meetings, Churchplanting classes and even an upcoming English Church sermon.  Andrew, one of the English church pastors, and I have starting visiting people.  This is such a hospitable culture, so it’s nothing to ask someone if you can stop by or to just show up at their door.   One guy we were talking with came out and asked us what our experience of Christ has been.  I found myself sharing a story with him and watching with awe as words just flowed out of my mouth in ways I hadn’t anticipated.   So, those experiences have been fun and challenging.  I’m starting to keep my eyes open constantly for these “divine appointments” and it’s been fun to see things.   This is probably one of the best and most difficult things I’ve every done.  It’s so incredible to be a part of this church and people.  

You win some and you lose some.  I think I’m just used to winning, but today I was had.  I travelled to Colombo for the first time, by myself.  Colombo is Sri Lanka’s capital city and is about 20 miles from where I’m staying.  I checked  out somethings and was enjoying a walk near the beach when a native approached me, which isn’t unusual at all, at inquired about my life.  We engaged in pleasant conversation for a couple of minutes, until he informed me about a festival going on close by.  I agreed to go with him and we walked about a km before he signaled a trishaw (a motorized ricksaw) and mentioned that it would be faster.  I hesitated, asked how far it was and he implied that time was of the essence.  I reluctantly agreed, but did not feel confident in my own personal lack in communication with the driver.  We arrived at our destination, which was an empty street and the driver demanded money.  500 rupees (This is a little less then 5 bucks)..  I responded with a counter offer of 250, a more reasonable price.  He demanded 500 in his limited english, so I looked at my companion and asked for his contribution.  And he, of course, didn’t have any money forcing me to comply.  Then he motioned that 500 was per passenger!!!  That was the last straw.  I told him how outrageous I thought the price was and argued about it for a couple of minutes, before deciding to walk away.  The driver jumped to his feet, apparently outraged and threatened to hit my “friend.”  Fearing a brawl with a bigger man in a random quiet street halfway around the world, was not my idea of a good time, so again I complied.  He drove away and I began walking with the man to the bank so that he could repay me.  He began complaining along the way and finally motioned for a trishaw, which was conveniently the same driver and they sped off.  Embarrassment flooded my pysche as I realized the gravity of what had just happened.  Anger filled me as well and ran to the beach to see if they would return.  True to form, they did not.  I hated Sri Lanka at that moment.  Lied to and deceived.  Worse still, I fell for it.  Feeling like an idiot, I realized that I couldn’t begin to let this soil my experience here.  I need to forgive them in order to continue to learn and grow here.  This needs to be resolved.  Suddenly, a friend’s story came to mind about how he was swindled for over $200,000 years back and suddenly my ten dollar lesson didn’t seem that bad.  It definitely could have gone worse.  What if I had walked away, would BOTH of them have beaten me.  In hindsight, I thank God that I paid.  Back at the beach, I found myself talking to all the trishaw drivers and ALL of them knew what had happened.  Apparently this happens all the time.  Anyway, that’s the lesson for today and it wasn’t too cheap. 

So, today I attended a Sri Lankan funeral.  The woman passed away yesterday morning, so last night I found myself at their house with a bunch of people.  The group I was with took it upon themselves to assemble the flags leading to the house for those wishing to find it.  Pieces of white plastic are tied to twine and stretched out in a zig zag pattern down the road for about a km.  We also ended up staying awake, playing games, until around 2:30am.  This will happen at the house for the next 6 days as they believe the spirit is still in the house.  Anyway, today, we carried the coffin that whole km on our shoulders.  What an interesting experience that was.