Why Walk? Fly!

My heart was pounding! It was around 10:00 a.m., December 11th, 1981.

I had just turned eighteen. A new chapter in my life was about to begin. The course of my future would change forever. I was leaving home to join a missionary group, whose motto was, 'Change the world, with love.'

Before heading for work that morning, my father had warned that if I stepped out the door, he would consider me dead. He wished that I would pursue a secular education and had high hopes for me. But all his dreams were shattered when I said I wanted to serve God. To add to the already stressed moment, my mother, in-between sobs, threatened to end her life.

The night before, I had slept in my shoes. I feared that my mum would lock them away as she had done with my suitcase and guitar. Now, all I owned was my Bible, my pen, and the 30 rupees (50 cents) in my trouser pocket. Hardening my heart to the protests of those I loved, I walked out the door, burning my bridges behind me. I thought I would never return.

I had received a commission: 'Go into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature.' (Mark 16:15) I was going to follow it with all my heart.

Only a while earlier, I was a dedicated science student in one of Mumbai's prestigious colleges. I was a merit student at the state government examinations and was awarded a small check as a result. My father's company also granted me a five-year study scholarship and had my picture printed in their monthly bulletin. Every year, Bharat Petroleum, one of the country's largest oil companies, sponsored two students who excelled in academia. I was one of them.

Pleased with my scholastic achievements, my father didn't hesitate to boast of my accomplishments with friends and relatives. He would proudly say, 'He is all set to pursue a career in medicine.'

I had the good fortune of growing up by the sea. My parents raised the four of us boys in a tiny two-room apartment, only a couple hundred meters from Juhu beach, one of Mumbai's well-known tourist locations.

Many a night, I sat alone on the silver sands, gazing at the sea, staring into the endless flood before me. The waves moved in and out, caressing the shore, making soft sounds as they sprayed their foam generously over me.

The dark sky, stretching over the ocean, was indeed a marvel. It looked like a big giant dome with countless lights strewn lavishly across its mass. They twinkled as they smiled at me. Creation was a wonder!

Is there a Creator? Is there life after death? Is there a purpose for me in the grand scheme of things? As the expanse of the universe practically blotted me out, I pondered over questions that have plagued philosophers since the beginning of time.

If God is real, why does He not give me a little sign? If I could see a star fall out of its heavenly nest or hear an audible voice out of a burning bush,* then I would know for sure. Why doesn't He 'prove' Himself? That would end the great dilemma of His existence once and for all.

* Exodus 3:10-17 Moses passed by a burning bush in the desert and saw that it was not getting consumed. 'What a strange sight!' he thought. When he turned back to look, God spoke to him.

Around that time, one of my acquaintances passed away. The mystery of death haunted me whenever I had some free moments to reflect on life. Not arriving at any satisfying conclusion, I decided to approach the local parish priest to clarify my doubts. If anyone knew of these things, the learned cleric would be the one; he should shed some light on the subject.

However, his response was vague and uncertain. 'No one has come back from the dead to tell us what lies beyond; one can never know for sure.' There was some talk about Saint Peter standing outside the pearly gates of Heaven, checking out the names of those who were written in the book of life. From his half-cocked smile, it was plain to see that he didn't have a clue.

Had I received a convincing answer then, I might have become a celibate Catholic monk, dishing out the bread during a Sunday service or entertaining the faithful with an eloquent sermon. Sadly, I left the church convinced that if the 'captain of our ship' didn't know where the ship was headed, we were all hopelessly sunk!

Discussing the subject with my friends of other faiths, I realized that they were just as disillusioned about religion as I was. One of them said that anyone who fights in a 'Jihad' or holy war and destroys the enemies of Islam would receive a reward of seventy-two beautiful virgins in Heaven. Another explained that if our loved ones strew our ashes across the sacred Ganges River, we might return as a cow or another holy animal.

If God was not in religion, then where was He? Who was He? Why had He abandoned us? Even Charlie's attempt at 'evilution'* was far from convincing.

*evilution - a pun on evolution

My spirit was yearning, longing for answers. If I could only know the truth, I would pursue it with all my heart! During one of those moments, while sitting by the shore, I believe God spoke to me.

It wasn't the roaring sound of thunder, nor was it the zap of lightning, but just a faint thought in my heart, a still small voice that seemed to come from deep within. It was spontaneous, alive, and vibrating. It felt as if my mind was speaking to me. Yet, I knew it came from a 'Higher Source.' It seemed to say that I would find all the answers I needed in the Bible.

That night, I sat at my study table and opened the little red Gideon's New Testament that was gifted to me in the 9th grade. I read where my eyes met the text: 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things, [food, clothing, and shelter], will be added unto you.' (Matthew 6:33) In black and white, the verse jumped out like an arrow and struck a chord within me. God wanted me to put Him first. Then by default, I would have everything I needed.

Jesus was calling me to follow Him. I read the scripture many times over until a warm glow lit up my entire being. A neural circuit was completed within me. I felt as if an electric current shivered through my spine.

The God of the Universe had spoken to me! Wow!

As the days followed, I read passage after passage, guided by an almost supernatural force. The Creator was speaking to me through His Word. Right there, with that little book before my eyes, a sense of peace flooded my soul. I knew that my search was over; I found the Answer. I discovered My God!

In a short while, I started sharing the 'Good News' with friends and acquaintances and with anybody who would listen. My passion for reading the Bible grew stronger by the day. A few months later, all I desired was to talk to people about Jesus and to let them know how much He loved them.

Then came the day, December 11th, 1981, when I took the plunge!

My father was distraught, and my mother was hysterical. I was making one of the most significant decisions of my life; I was stepping out to follow Jesus! I had to leave my family, career, and old life behind; there was no turning back! I thought I was making a big sacrifice, but no, there's no such thing as sacrificing for God. For each little step we take for Him, He rewards us many times over. Jesus said to His disciples, 'Take no coat for your journey, but trust that I will supply your every need.' (Luke 9:3) I chose to do this, and He has never failed me.

Everywhere I went, my food, clothing, and shelter were all provided, just as He promised. The thirty rupees in my pocket multiplied many times over so that I can now share with those less fortunate. I married, had kids and grand-kids, and have traveled the world. I have always had enough.

My parents eventually grew to love and accept my calling. Just before my father passed away at the age of 82, he grasped my hand and prayed, 'God, I thank You for my son who has given his life to serve You. Please bless him.'

My dear mother, who once threw dishes at me in anger, now calls regularly for prayer, and several of my relatives and friends have acknowledged that I have been an inspiration to them in their trying times.

Countless miracles, divine interventions, and amazing coincidences have hemmed the contours of my life for over three decades, some of which are written in these pages. My life is truly blessed, and I can wholeheartedly say, 'I have a wonderful life!'

We can classify all religions under two broad sections. One teaches salvation by good works, such as giving alms to the poor, going on pilgrimages, praying a certain number of times a day, and so on, while the other says that God's grace alone can save you; that you need Him all the way.

By the time I was 18, I was obsessed with the Bible and read it diligently as much as I could. My family members saw me glued to my 'little red book,' first thing in the morning and last thing at night. A short while earlier, studies were my main focus; I buried my nose in school stuff most of the time. But now, I was passionate about Jesus.

My mother, worried about this sudden change in me, insisted that I get counseled by Father Victor, a prominent priest in our city. He was a charismatic speaker and known for his effective leadership and innovative accomplishments. I agreed to meet the man because of my mother's insistence, hoping to keep the peace at home.

We made our way to the Jesuit House, close to downtown Mumbai, a place called Byculla. A peon ushered us into a large chamber on the building's topmost floor, where Father Victor hosted his visitors. He was clean-shaven and well-groomed. He peered at me through his silver- rimmed glasses as he beckoned us to take a seat.

This elegant, composed cleric, in his spotless white cassock, was the king of his domain. I was not the first 'trouble maker' who had passed through his hands. My mother must have briefed him that I was obsessed with religion, and he seemed well prepared to sort me out. Sitting poised and intimidating, he said curtly, 'Explain yourself.'

Without much ado, I stated that I had been attending church and Catechism classes for as long as I could remember, but my questions about life, death, and the purpose of my existence remained unanswered. However, through some foreign Christian missionaries' teachings, I gained a deeper understanding of God and His Word. My life finally had a purpose and meaning.

I opened my well-used King James Bible from which I read, 'Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy, He has saved us.' (Titus 3:5) and 'For by grace are you saved through faith; it is not of yourselves. it is a gift from God, not of works, lest any man should boast.' (Ephesians 2:8-9)

'Father, I was scared to die, but now I know that Jesus has paid for my sins: past, present, and future. Salvation comes not from my good works because I can never be good enough. Instead, God gives it to me as a free gift when I believe that Jesus took my punishment upon Himself on the cross. I serve God, not because my works will earn me brownie points towards salvation, but out of my love for Him.'

I preached with zeal, explaining that the knowledge of the Word of God had freed me from the shackles of guilt and condemnation that religion had so mercilessly inflicted upon me. I was surprised at how effortlessly the words flowed from my heart. I knew that it was the Holy Spirit who was empowering me.

Somehow, feeling that he must defend the faith, Father Victor drew up his shoulders, and with an air of priestly superiority, exclaimed, 'I started studying theology even before you were born, and yet, you talk to me about religion? People have misled you. There's no such thing as easy salvation. You have to work hard for it; there is no other way.'

Protesting, I read the passages once again, accusing the religious establishments of deliberately hiding the truth from the masses to enslave and subjugate them. Instead of facts, they were promoting all manner of erroneous dogmas and traditions, which have no basis in God's Word. I was young and hot-headed and had no clue whatsoever about love or diplomacy.

My haughty attitude visibly upset the priest. Turning to my mother, he said, 'Your son is a hopeless case. I don't want to waste any more time on him.' My mother apologized for my errant behavior, squeezed my shoulder, and then pinched hard to express her displeasure as we shuffled out the door.

Father Victor was one among a handful of folks who tried to dissuade me from my calling. But with each encounter, my resolve for the cause of Christ only grew stronger. It wasn't long before I left home to enter into full-time missionary service. Three decades passed by, and I thought nothing more of my encounter with the Jesuit. I served the Lord in different capacities, from street evangelist to Christian counselor.

Then one evening, while visiting a friend who had just returned from a religious conference in Mumbai, I got the biggest surprise of my life!

She mentioned that the main speaker was an ex-Jesuit priest. In his testimony, he stated that many years prior, an 18-year-old boy accompanied by his mother came into his office and zealously defended the concept of 'salvation by grace.' Though initially skeptical, the cleric later researched the subject at length. He got ahold of a book by Martin Luther, which he studied intently and concluded that while salvation was a gift from God through His Son Jesus, good works resulted out of our love for Him.

Understanding this concept stirred such excitement in the pastor's life that he addressed a letter to the then Pope, John Paul II, signed by over a hundred priests, asking for changes in outdated church dogmas.

Receiving no encouragement from the Holy See, the enlightened man broke off from the mother church to become an independent itinerant preacher. He chose the name 'Brother Victor' and founded Corner Stone Ministries that attracted followers both in India and abroad. His core message was, 'Christians should measure their beliefs according to the gold standard of God's Word.'

Though I never met Brother Victor again after our initial encounter in 1981, I miraculously connected with him during the final moments of his life in November 2018, precisely thirty-seven years later. God engineered a remarkable synchronization.

I was walking along the street near a fruit market in Goa when I heard someone call out my name. I turned to see. It was Andrew, my fashion- designer friend, who runs a successful tailoring business in the city. It was years since we had met. I once led a Bible study group in his house for several months. He explained that he had grown in faith since then and now headed a ministry called Corner Stone Ministries, which had a strength of nearly two hundred people.

Andrew's eyes widened when I mentioned how I had played a part in his founder's life! 'Brother Victor has been my mentor for many years. I had no idea that you were the one who first influenced him.'

After serving the Lord faithfully for several decades, Andrew mentioned how Brother Victor decided to settle down in New York, US. Unfortunately, in a short while, he contracted cancer, and things took a severe turn. Andrew offered to call long distance so we could pray for the situation.

It was 6:00 a.m., and the couple were already awake. Julie, the wife, put the phone on speaker mode so that Brother could follow the conversation. The sickness had taken its toll, leaving him frail and weak. We prayed for his complete healing while claiming relevant scriptures.

The following morning, I received a one-line text message from my friend Andrew, 'Brother Victor died peacefully in his sleep, only hours after you prayed for him.' It was as if he waited to bid me farewell before moving on to his heavenly reward. He is now fine forever.

Had I not gone by the fruit market that day, we would not have made contact in this life. Only divine intervention could connect us, both at the beginning and end of his faith journey.

I am grateful that my little Bible knowledge at a young age could light a spark in a highly esteemed cleric's life. He touched many hearts during his lifetime, and his memory will be cherished for generations to come.

Food for thought: Never underestimate the witness of a young person or your own personal testimony.

Update: I recently came across a quote from Pope Francis printed by the Catholic News Agency, dated September 20, 2020. Our Holy Father says, 'Everything is grace. Our salvation is grace; our holiness is grace. By giving us grace, God gives us more than we deserve. He always pays the maximum. He does not remain in half payment; He pays everything!'

More and more Christians realize that no matter how hard they try, they can never be good enough to attain salvation. God, in His love and mercy, has made it easy for us to go to heaven by giving us His Son. Out of thankful hearts for what Jesus has done for us, let us share love and cheer with as many as we can as we travel through this journey called 'life.'

Thirty minutes had passed since I left home to follow my heart. I stood excitedly by the front door of the missionaries who taught me about Jesus. I thought they would now guide me to the next step of my journey.

Instead, they were worried that my irate parents would stir up trouble with the local authorities. 'Go as far away from us as possible,' they suggested. I had the option of either going way up north or a thousand kilometers down south of India.

I chose Punjab, a state in the north, and the plan was to join a young Christian missionary couple who had recently arrived there from the United Kingdom.

One of the brothers gave me 200 rupees (3 dollars) and an old plastic bag, into which he graciously stuffed two shirts and a sweater. With my Bible and notebook also squeezed in, all of my earthly possessions now weighed less than 3 kilos.

Another kind soul saw me off to Mumbai Central Station, where I booked an unreserved ticket on the Amritsar Express, a train that would take me to my destination. It entitled me to travel in one of the two third-class carriages at the train's rear end. The rest of the train was for passengers with reserved tickets.

Upon reaching my coach, I found it was crammed beyond capacity. An unreserved railway bogie in India can accommodate about a hundred passengers. Instead, nearly three hundred people squeezed together, creating a human wall barricading both entrances.

How could I get in? I pushed and shoved with all my might, but all the huffing and puffing didn't make a difference. Ruffled and frustrated, I was still standing on the platform when the train whistled, signaling its departure.

I looked down the train's length and noticed that the carriages marked 'second-class sleeper' were not as crowded. Seeing one with its doors open, I jumped in just as the train was gaining momentum. It was relatively clean and had fewer people. Passengers were seated on every berth, but there was plenty of standing room. I was happy to have space for my feet and leaned cozily against a wall. My first ever long-distance train journey had just begun.

I had never traveled on my own before and was quickly getting familiar with the sights and sounds of the Indian Railways. In the following years, these trains would ferry me across the country, making it possible to preach the Gospel to many.

I knew that only passengers with reserved tickets had permission to board a sleeper coach, but I was so excited, I didn't think of the consequences. The train chugged along quietly as the passengers spread their sheets and arranged their pillows, preparing to retire for the night. It was almost 11:00 p.m.

Within the hour, the ticket conductor came by. The suited official pursed his lips tightly as he clicked his clicker, announcing his arrival. He looked like a no-nonsense man, stocky and pot-bellied. He wanted to finish his job and move on quickly.

Behind him were two brutish-looking men in uniform. These were the railway guards. One of them sported a thick black mustache that extended an inch on either side of his face. He looked menacing! The other man was skinnier, but his permanent frown gave the appearance that he was already angry. Each held stout sticks in their hands. They won't hesitate to use them on some unfortunate soul that steps out of line. I started conjuring the worst-case scenarios as they got closer.

The trio marched up the aisle in my direction as the reclining passengers displayed their tickets, one at a time. I knew that I didn't have the permission to be in that particular coach with an unreserved ticket. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a wave of fear gripped me! I worried about what would happen next? My head felt hot, and my heart started quivering. I held on to a handlebar to keep my fingers from trembling.

'You have an unreserved ticket!' the conductor barked as he snatched the printed paper from my hand and peered at it intently. 'You'll have to get off at the next stop.'

I explained that I tried hard to enter the unreserved coach, but it was too crowded to get in. He barely listened and beckoned to his two thugs to take care of me. They glared in my direction. The mustache man rolled his fingers over the top of his baton and tightened his grip as if warning me of the pain it was capable of inflicting, while the other guy gave me a stony stare. The inspector strutted along, leaving me to their mercy.

When the train rolled into the next station, the guards opened the door and forcefully pushed me out. The train was due to stop for only a couple of minutes, so I dashed towards the unreserved compartment as fast as I could. I tried to enter, but the doors were tightly shut. I begged and pleaded through the open barred windows for someone to let me in, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. No one would open the doors. The train soon started moving. I had to make a quick decision. (In India, most trains still have manual doors.)

Do I get left stranded in the middle of nowhere, or do I face those meanies again? The only carriage that still had open doors was the one with the guards in it. Bracing myself for the worst, I jumped back in.

This time, the men towered over me, looking more vicious than before.

They were furious that I was back. The big fellow, the one who scared me earlier, lifted his baton as if to strike me. I apologized profusely and said I couldn't board the unreserved coach because the doors were tightly shut.

'Not my concern,' he roared in Hindi. 'If you are not out soon, I'll throw you out off the moving train!' The squint in his eyes sent shivers down my spine; I knew he meant it!

Life is cheap in India, and I wasn't taking any chances. It was almost 2:00 a.m. when the train stopped the second time. I hopped onto the platform and ran to the front of the train, as far away as possible from those two monsters. I got into one of the reserved coaches and locked myself in a toilet until early the next morning. The stench of urine was preferable to any confrontation with those beasts. The sleeper coaches were connected internally, and there was every possibility of bumping into them again. Thankfully, nothing worse happened.

The following day, I noticed a new batch of staff members boarding the train. What a relief! The night guards were no longer on duty.

Time dragged by slowly as I saw parts of India I had never seen before: endless stretches of land dotted with lush forests, rolling hills, green fields, winding rivers, and dusty deserts. The Indian terrain was resplendent with serene beauty.

A dozen bananas that I had bought during the journey served me well for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. An occasional samosa (deep-fried Indian snack) and a cup of tea provided me with the extra fuel I needed as the train continued on its thirty-six-hour journey.

Tired and exhausted after what seemed like an endless trip, I finally reached my destination. The couple I would work with, Jonathan and Jasmine, were in their early twenties. With them was their adorable 10-month-old-baby, Anisa.

They welcomed me warmly into their cozy home and gave me a little corner under the stairs. The three-inch cotton mattress on top of an old wooden bed became my place of refuge for the next six months. Happy that I spoke Hindi, they said that I was an answer to their prayers. It felt good to be needed. In the days that followed, my knowledge of the language came in handy, as we gained friends and well-wishers in the local community.

The couple explained that the support they received from friends and relatives back home barely covered the rent. God had to supply our food and other necessities miraculously.

We decided that Jasmine and I would go to the large wholesale market in Sector 35, backed by the quote, 'When faith goes to the market, it takes a basket.' We had two large shopping bags that we would fill by faith.

The place was bustling with activity. Trucks and vehicles of all shapes and sizes unloaded their goods with the help of the local porters. The first person whom we got in contact with was a kind bearded Sikh. I explained that we worked for God and needed help in the way of food donations.

He looked at us warmly and said in Hindi, 'Mein tho kutch na kutch karenga,' meaning, 'I will do something.' He found us some seats, got us each a warm cup of tea, and then indicated that we should wait until he returned.

Within a few minutes, we noticed a man placing a basket of tomatoes by our side. Next came a small sack of onions. Then potatoes, carrots, cucumbers, bananas, oranges, and apples. Finally, a can of cooking oil and a block of cottage cheese.

An hour later, the man returned, smiling broadly. He was the secretary of the entire market and told us that several of the sellers had agreed to help us regularly. God, in His mercy, directly led us to the person who could help us the most.

From that day onwards, our food supplies were in abundance. We had enough for ourselves and even extra to share with one of the local orphanages.

During my six months in Punjab, we visited several schools and colleges and put on inspirational shows, through which we preached our message of love and harmony. We made friends with members of the local community and even earned a name for ourselves. There was never a time when I was hungry or lacked anything. God took care of me then and continues to do so now. I'm thankful for those days in Punjab, where I learned to live by faith.

Food for thought: 'God's eye is on the sparrow, and not one of them falls to the ground without Him knowing it.' (Mathew 10:29) We are loved and cared for by our Father in Heaven, more than we can imagine.