Walking thru the valley

I am reading the new novel by Shauna Singh Baldwin, The Selector of Souls. Like other books of hers that I have read, it is set in India.  It used to be that when I read of India, it was a place solely in my imagination, almost magical and fantastical.  Now, having visited India, the sights and sounds and smells described are so real to me.  The daily struggles of Damini and Anu, the main characters, are so much more poignant having met others whose lives are similarly filled with challenges and yet, lived with grace.

As I travel with Damini and Anu from Delhi to the foothills of the Himalayas, I am struck over and over again by the extent to which their lives are lived in the valleys of life, struggling with the effects of illness, poverty, abuse and powerlessness.  They rarely exercise any control over their circumstances.  Yet they struggle onward, with a sense of purpose and remarkably, with optimism.

This spirit, this hopefulness is something I saw in those I met in India.  Over and over I witnessed the strength that comes from hope.  I was introduced to people whose lives were the definition of resilience and I was left humbled by these encounters.

I have been thinking lately about the words of David in the classic 23rd Psalm:

23 The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.

² He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.

³ He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

⁴ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

The words of verse 4 have been rolling around my brain:  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me….” This is a passage I think of when trying to work my way through grieving the loss of a loved one.  It is a passage that has brought me comfort in times of great sorrow.

This morning, it occurred to me that the passage doesn’t say, “…though I sometimes walk through the valley” and that,  maybe walking through the valley of the shadow of death is actually part of our ordinary, everyday existence.  Maybe we are always walking in that valley.  It certainly seems to be the way it is for people in the slums and countryside of India.

We in Western society have managed, with great success, to excise death and the effects of illness from most of our lives, or at least, to live under the illusion that we have done so.  When death comes near, we are often shocked, as though it is not an ordinary part of human existence.  The struggles associated with disease and injury to our bodies bring us literally and figuratively, to our knees.  We cry out for mercy.  We ask, Why me?  We plead for relief.

We often live our lives in fear of death though it is necessary a part of living, failing to fully place our hope in the God who walks with us through the darkest valleys and find our comfort in His presence.

How then shall we live?  In the article Living With Dying (February 2, 2013 Winnipeg Free Press), the author notes that a friend of his lives in a Northern community where death comes frequently.  He says of his friend:

I think death’s constant presence has made him the most ‘in the moment’ person I know. Whenever I need advice on a tough problem, he is among the first I call.

It seems that at best, death is a present reminder of the power of your life and the life of those you love. I observe that those who have confronted death with frequency, approach their lives with purpose and a constant sense of possibility.

That sounds like a good place to start.

The air I breathe

I will share many photos and videos of this journey, capturing the sights and sounds of my experience. But I cannot think of a way to fully share with you the sensory experience of my nose. Perhaps I’ll yet find a bottle of eau de India but if I don’t here is my Friday afternoon effort to expound upon the air I breathe:

Breath of Life

If only my words could
perfectly capture
the breadth and richness of
each breath I breathe
in this West Bengal town.

Ever present is the heady exhaust
of two-stroke engines-
a pungent blend of fossil fuels
that burn in my throat.

Coriander, peppers and the
sweetness of curried meats stewing
rise above the stench of
human animal by products
– sweat urine dung.

Billowing plumes of smoke formed
by cooking fires, smoldering garbage
and forests alight
Blend in chorus with food, fuels and humanity

Together the scents create a harmonious perfume
that showers my skin, bathes my hair
And I am enveloped in the fragrance of India,
wholly captivated by her
complexity and utter baseness.

– March 9, 2012
Alipurduar, West Bengal

Walking in the light

A few months ago I bought this lovely book of poems by Wendell Berry.  I’ve been slowly working my way through it, and last night, stayed up much too late reading aloud to myself.  This one caught my attention as I’d just encountered it for the first time earlier in the week in a blog posting on Experimental Theology.

It needs to be shared.  Hope you appreciate it as I do:

To my granddaughters who visited the Holocaust Museum on the day of the burial of Yitzak Rabin, November 6th 1995.

Now you know the worst
we humans have to know
about ourselves, and I am sorry,

for I know you will be afraid.
To those of our bodies given
without pity to be burned, I know

there is no answer
but loving one another
even our enemies, and this is hard.

But remember:
when a man of war becomes a man of peace,
he gives a light, divine

though it is also human.
When a man of peace is killed
by a man of war, he gives a light.

You do not have to walk in darkness.
If you have the courage for love,
you may walk in light. It will be

the light of those who have suffered
for peace. It will be
your light.