Jeff Adams

The Luke study this morning focused on the Benedictus, the wonderful song poem composed by Zacharias, the father of John the Baptizer. OK, you literary geeks, as promised I am posting the visual literary view in chiastic form. For a brief discussion of Chiastic form, see my earlier post by clicking here.

Like Mary’s song, the Magnificat, we saw last week, the name Benedictus is taken from the first word in the Latin Bible. Both Mary and Zacharias could have spent weeks or months composing their songs under the inspiration of God’s Spirit. Here’s the way you would outline this in literature class.

A, 1:68 – God has visited and redeemed his people

B, 1:69 – God has given us salvation

C, 1:70 – God’s prophets prepare the way of salvation

D, 1:71 – God saves us from our enemies

E, 1:72a – God keeps his promises to the Fathers

F, 1:72b-73a – God keeps his promises

E’, 1:73b – God keeps his promise to Father Abraham

D’, 1:74-75 – God saves us from our enemies

C’, 1:76 – God’s new prophet John prepares the way for Messiah

B’, 1:77 – God has given us salvation

A’, 1:78-79 – God has visited and saved his people

If you were paying close attention, you heard me quote him in the Luke study a few weeks ago. I quoted him because I was reading a fascinating book by him at the time. On the trip to India I finished the book. It was so good that I am going to immediately read it again. I never do that! This book has probably has the most profound impact on me that any I have read for the past three or four years.

He is Vishal Mangalwadi, called by some India’s leading intellectual. I wasn’t really reading his book thinking of my trip to India; it just worked out that way. Actually, this is not the first book of his that I have read. A few years back I read a biography of William Carey that he and his wife authored that was fabulous. This one was just published last year.

I must admit that selfishly I don’t want to share this with you. I will probably quote him again repeatedly in the future and it would be great if you didn’t know where I was getting this stuff. You’d just assume that I was brilliant. But, this book is just way too good to sit on it and not share it with you. You really need to read this. And, don’t be surprised if I continue to just shamelessly rip off quotes from it in the future.

The book in question is called The Book that Made your World: How the Bible Created the Soul of Western Civilization, by Vishal Mangalwadi and published by Thomas Nelson. With the care of a CSI dectective, Mangalwadi dissects Western Civilization from a plethora of perspectives and concludes that it is a biblical worldview that has given the West so many social, spiritual, scientific, political, educational and other advantages. It is a combination of history, philosophy and biblical insight without being “preachy.” I simply could not put it down. Well-written, well-researched and well-documented, this book deserves a reading.

What I find so very interesting is that Mangalwadi writes from a distinctly Asian perspective. His own story of how he came to faith is part of the adventure. As an outsider he is able to observe things that usually elude those of us who are too familiar and too close to see the obvious.

Be warned! This is no “rah, rah” chorus of how our forefathers founded this nation on our Christian faith and that is why we are so blessed by God and better than anyone else. There are plenty of those books around if that’s your pleasure. I find that many of them are sophomoric, shallow and often twist the truth for the sake of making a point. This is not right wing propaganda! Mangalwadi writes as a philosopher and has the gift of making profound statements in simple and brief words. And, this is not just red, white and blue; this book traces the development of Western Civilization intertwined with the writing and translation of the Bible and then examines all the veins and capillaries that branch out from the Bible as the heart of a civilization’s understanding of reality.

As an Indian, Mangalwadi is motivated to know why his country, with every bit the number of brilliant people as in any other country, has never been able to equal the achievements of the West in so many areas. He provides solid and studied answers and in the process goes in the face of a host of university professors who want to blame the West for all evils. You may not agree with his conclusions, but you will not be able to accuse him of a lack of research, documentation or logical thinking.

Wow. Just wow. Get it. Read it. You can thank me later.

While in India it was fun to meet people who either know or have heard Vishal Mangalwadi speak, or know members of his family. If I keep reading his books, I just may become a Mangalwadi groupie.

Wow! I can’t remember being cut off from the Internet for so long.  Cheryl and I just arrived back from India at midday. So, if you’ve been wondering what happened to us or trying to get in contact with us, that’s where we have been. Be patient over the next few days as we try to catch up.

Arriving in Hyderabad

Over a year ago I was invited to speak to a group of people who minister among Hindu people in various places around the globe. They are all associated with an organization on whose board I serve. I was thrilled to think I would get to hang out with so many wonderful folks in the same spot at the same time. The meeting was set for Goa, India, a beautiful resort area. And, they let me know that they would love for Cheryl to come, even though they couldn’t afford to pay for her ticket. A couple at Graceway graciously offered to take care of her fare and we signed up for the gig.

Meanwhile, an Indian friend of mine in Atlanta heard that we were invited and put the word out to friends of his back in India that they should invite us to drop by their place on the way. They represent the historic roots of this particular organization I work with and I was elated to think I could visit them.

My only concern was Cheryl’s recent knee replacements. Her last one was in September, so I figured she would be up to the challenge as long as there wasn’t too much walking and stair climbing. I was especially concerned about holding up for the 16 hour flights in economy back and forth from Newark, NJ to Mumbai, India.

We left home Monday morning, February 27th, flew the 3 hours to Newark and then on to Mumbai, getting there late Tuesday night. After a 12-hour oasis to clean up in a nearby hotel, we flew Wednesday morning from Mumbai to Hyderabad. Our hosts were waiting for us at the airport to begin our journey. All I knew is that we were going to a conference of several congregations in a place “a couple of hours out of Hyderabad.” We learned that was figuratively speaking, arriving at our destination about 1:30 in the morning Thursday. Traveling by motor vehicle for those 6 or 7 hours over roads in all sorts of conditions reminded us of Central America of 35 years ago.

The Mrs. goes native

All along the way I kept worrying about Cheryl and how she was doing, but she did great! Not one word of complaint. But, then again, she’s much tougher than I am. I thought to myself that if I knew how long and arduous the trip would be, I would never have let her come. But, when it was all over I was very thankful she did and was able to experience the “real” India, or at least that part of India.

We discovered that we would be ministering in a village setting, living and eating right among the people. Again, this brought back many memories. Since we would there only a short time, they wanted to sacarnos el jugo (as we would say in Spanish – roughly to suck the juice out of us). I spoke five times for an hour and half on Thursday and Friday and Cheryl addressed the ladies once for an hour and a half. In between was constant interaction as well as seeing some very important sites that go back generations in the work here. We had a blast and enjoyed wonderful Indian hospitality.

Visiting a school

Last Saturday we flew from Hyderabad to Goa and were there until yesterday, Friday. My job was to minister the word to the group each morning and interact with as many people as possible. All week long we were blessed to sit in each day as each team shared what’s going on in their neck of the world, challenges, success, dreams, pains and prayer requests. We also spent a lot of time in prayer together.

So, a bit sleepy, but we’re here and ready to jump back in to whatever normal is.

In the morning Cheryl and I head to India. It seems like it wasn’t that long ago that I was there. And now, here I go back again. This time the mission is to speak to a group of workers from a organization on whose board I sit. They have asked me to be the keynote speaker for a meeting of their workers who will be coming from various places around the world.

I am not sure whether or not I will have internet capacity where we will be. If so, I’ll check in from time to time over the next ten days or so. If not, don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. Just wanted to give you a heads up in case you miss me.

Ever had one of those moments when it seems that you are being guided step-by-step and you just HAVE to continue on? Let me explain.

Yesterday I went to get my hair cut. Yes, it happens. I usually go on my day off, but schedules clashed and I had a rare late morning appointment. With my fresh-cut hair I was getting hungry and decided to check out the options nearby on my Android. I am indeed a modern man.

Seeing a little deli I like I decide to go for a quick sandwich before heading back to the office. I didn’t know that the deli had a location relatively close to where I happen to be, but that’s what Google maps says, and you know it is impossible for Google to lie. Since I’m not familiar with the address I punch it into my GPS and off I go. The little lady who lives inside my phone begins to give me her step-by-step instructions.

Merging onto  the freeway,  know that I’ll be getting off in just an exit or two at the most. Would it be the next exit? She doesn’t say. I am flying past the exit when suddenly she tells me to take the exit. Too late! Don’t you hate it when that happens? I can’t really blame her for this one, though, because they have just changed the exit and it comes much earlier now. Actually, they have been working on this exit since the days of Lewis and Clark and they’re still not done. I’ll cut her some slack. Not even Google can update the entire world-wide road system overnight.

Wait! Oh no!! Traffic ahead is at a stand still. Now what? There is sure going to be no easy turn around. I’ll just bail and look for an alternative route. I am sure glad the little lady is there to guide me. I’m not familiar with the back streets in this part of the city, but she soon has me back on the deli trial. Yahoo!

Just when I think I might be getting close, she tells me to go in a direction I didn’t anticipate. Soon, I am winding around a purely residential jungle of duplexes and she announces, “Your destination is on the right.” No! No, it’s NOT. That’s a duplex, lady, and no one is home! Dang!

I start backing out of my gps since it isn’t doing any good. I come to a screen that really says this – “We seem to have lost track of where you are. You might want to go to your homepage and reset your position.” NO KIDDING!

A lot of good that did me. In addition, I now have a new problem. I need to go to the bathroom more than I need something to eat. By now I have been driving around a bit. So, I remember having seen a QuickTrip back down the road and I head that way.

All along the journey the traffic has been horrific. Despite my technology and my best intentions, I might as well be in the middle of nowhere. Even trying to get into the QT is an experience. Cars are roaming the lot trying to snag a place at a gas pump, while others are trying to find a place in the lot to park.

As I got out of my car I am immediately smacked in the face by the powerful aroma of … fresh … hot … MASA. Oh my! Anyone who has lived between the equator and the Rio Grande knows what is going on inside me. Trapped inside this Scottish/Dutch body is a little Latino who is screaming his brains out. “¡¡Sí, sí, sí, papito!! ¡Huele a masa fresca y caliente!” 

Well, I still had to pee. But when I came out, the cloud of masa still swirled in the winds blowing off the prairie. I looked up a level from the QT lot and there was a building with the unmistakable form of a Taco Bell. But, this ain’t no Taco Bell smell that’s tempting me! This is an old Taco Bell someone has converted into a hand-rolled Mexico joint. Now, 98 of 100 times I am sorely disappointed looking for Mexican food only to find some horrible concoction that Mexicans make to sell to gringos who think that’s what Mexican food is supposed to taste like.

Forgetting that my Android has just led me astray badly more than once, I quickly do a search on Urban Spoon, or Yelp or something like that and discover that this little hole-in-the-wall has garnered a 95% positive rating from over 40 reviewers. Really? Really!!!

Then, I consider all I have just been through looking for a simple deli sandwich. Perhaps the Spirit of the living God has been guiding me all along. The ways of the Lord are mysterious indeed. How could I NOT try this place!!! Eating lunch at this particular place at this particular moment in time and space is without doubt God’s sovereign will for my life.

Traffic is still sealing up the QT entrance, so I slip out the back, sneak through a back street to come back around to the born again Taco Bell. Could this be a truly decent place?

I walk through the door as a guy follows me. He’s Hispanic. OK. That’s promising. I let him step up first while I survey the scene and read the menu on the wall. This is a walk up to counter and order type place. I quickly discover that there is not a single English speaker in the place on either side of the counter. In fact, as I look at the menu, I don’t even think there are any English words in the place.

Waking me out of my trance, the voice of the lady behind the counter assaulted me in a great Latino version of Gates’ BBQ famous “Hi! May I help you?” 

Hola. ¿Qué quiere comer? 

I want to try several things, but I step right up and order a torta al pastor. I am still in a sandwich mood, so that’s a Mexican marinated pork sandwich. She’s asksing me the normal questions about my order such as for here or to go, regular or diet and that type of stuff.

All of this is in Spanish of course. I have on my shades and she can’t see my bright blues eyes – so she doesn’t know I’m a white guy, since I’m kind of a dark white guy with a mustache and black leather jacket who happens to have blue eyes. Not that Mexicans can’t have blue yes, of course, but I am less likely to be discovered with shades on.

Then it happened. The newspaper under my arm fell on to the counter and she looked at it in disbelief. Apparently I’m the first person to bring an English paper into the place. The following dialogue is loosely translated into English.

So, where are you from then? You’re Mexican, right? She’s looking down at the paper and up at me.

No, I’m from here. 

So, how can you be from here and you speak perfect Spanish? What are you? Are you from here, but you are really Mexican? 

No, I’m really from here. I just lived many years in Central America. In El Salvador to be exact. I also lived in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. 

Ah! Central America! You don’t say! So, you’re married to a Mexican and that’s why you speak perfect Spanish. 

No, I’m married to a gringa. I just happen to have been speaking Spanish for longer than I want to remember. 

So you are a Mexican born here who married a gringa.

She has not yet stopped staring at me. She obviously likes being in the know and being in charge, and I am busting her paradigm.

She hands me my drink and points to the straws. I grab a straw and napkin and head to find a seat. The place is fairly full and people are coming and going.

Her voice would serve her well to work at Gates, and by the time I find a place to sit I am getting looks from the primarily male clientele on lunch break who are a bit curious about the guy who looks and talks like them and claims to be a gringo. Maybe some are thinking I am INS, or maybe just mentally disturbed. I mean why would a white guy come to this place? But, then again, maybe I’m not a white guy. They’re not sure. Me neither.

Torta al pastor! as the sound pierces through the TVs on the wall broadcasting Univision.

Thanks very much, I say as I retrieve my plate from the counter. 

So, did you like Ecuador, or wherever it was? 

El Salvador, and yes I liked it very much. 

She’s still looking at me and I can tell she’s still not decided who I am or what I am, and she sure as heck has no idea WHERE I’m from.

I’ve had this discussion many times. I remember once in El Salvador many years ago a man walked by our house one evening and we began to talk. He knew that I was Mexican. Then, he got angry – yes, angry – when I told him I wasn’t.

Oh, the torta was indeed good and authentic. I can’t say it was the best I’ve ever had, but I would stop here again in a heartbeat and try something else.

Sometimes I think it would be a lot easier if someone could just set the little Latino in me free.  I really don’t understand it myself. I usually just say, “No, I’m from here.” If they press me and want to know my ethnic background and I tell them I am half Scottish and half Dutch, they simply freak. Whatever I am and wherever I’m from, they know THAT’S not true.

So, how did this happen to me? Who am I – really?