November 2020 — pg. 27
We sat on a low wall outside the
church, enjoying the gentle
sunshine and breeze wafting
through the neem trees. This location
was chosen for the health benefits of its
temperate climate and for the neem trees,
which are thought to purify the lungs and
skin with their antibacterial properties.
Two women in bright, elegantly draped
saris leaned toward me. They wanted to
show me something. One patted the other
on the arm and their bangles tinked as she
pulled back the folds of her friend’s sleeves.
She patted her friend’s wrists, which ended
abruptly where both her hands had once
been. She whispered to me, imploring me
to bear witness while her friend looked
away and tucked her arms back into her
sari. My heart dropped into my knees. I
prayed silently for some semblance of a
response, relieved that no translator was
there to convey my inadequate, “I’m so
sorry. It must be so hard.” We breathed
and rested in the sun until it was time to
gather for the church service with the other
members of the neighborhood.
A passing group of women swept us
up and we seemed to float into the white
marble church. People patted each other
on the back, clasping arms, laughing and
humming with the music beginning to waft
from the front of the church. At first, you
might not notice many of the members of
this community live with the scars, missing
limbs, and internal injuries people are left
with after being cured of Hansen’s disease
(formerly called leprosy).
Many people in this congregation had
been thrown out of their family homes,
some as children, when it was discovered
that they had Hansen’s disease. The people
they loved and were closest to believed they
deserved this condition as punishment for
past lives of misdeeds. They were thought
to be unclean physically and spiritually
and were cast out at a time when they most
needed to be loved and cared for. But in
this community, people from all levels of
the caste system had formed a new family
built on unconditional love and support. I
felt like I was experiencing true and sacred
community.
I also felt a pang of angry indignation.
Why had these people suffered? I imagined
Job feeling right at home here. Some people
had been able to rebuild their lives despite
their scars. Those who are no longer able to
work are provided for by their neighbors
who earn a small income from their
weaving and sewing.
As a guest, I enjoyed a comfortable chair
with a clear view of the church. I scanned
the crowd for the ladies with whom I had
been sitting on the wall. My eyes found
their fuchsia and violet saris as the offering
basket was passed. The woman with no
hands quietly pulled a small bag from her
sari and secretly nudged a small coin into
the offering basket while her neighbors’
eyes were closed in a song of prayer.
What deep well of faithfulness did she
draw from? I was leveled by this small
window into a life lived righteously in spite
of incredible hardships.
As the crowd slowly exited the church
building, I imagined the Holy Spirit
wafting through the neem branches that
bobbed and brushed the walls bordering
the building.
Someday the people of this neighborhood
will run and not grow tired. They will walk
and not grow faint. Though our bodies are
wasting away, our spirit is constantly being
renewed.
May I strive to conduct my life in the way
these Christians are doing. Be encouraged,
friends. Keep doing the next right thing in
this “here-and-not-yet” kingdom.
The author is a product developer with SEED
Livelihood who gets to collaborate with
SEED’s artisan partners. The author’s name
is withheld for safety reasons.
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