Without a doubt the most moving experience in India was a visit to a Dalit village. Deva took us into what can loosely be described as a village on the edge of Guntur (a city I really enjoyed). The people effectively squat on government land in grass huts, while in the background high rise apartments are being constructed.
We prayed for one elderly couple who hadn’t eaten in a week, feeling completely helpless that we couldn’t do more, but assuring them we’d tell people about them in Australia. Then we prayed for a woman who had stomach pain (a common complaint) and that was when I was undone. I could do nothing. We moved back to the hut of a believer and led a short devotion, and again I broke down and had to hand over to my travelling companion, Steve, who I’m not sure was in much better condition than I. Everyone was in tears by this stage.
To top it off, this sister, who had prepared her families first meal in a week, decided to give her family’s food to us. Beef curry and chapatis no less.
Luke 10.8-9: “When you enter a town and are welcomed, eat what is set before you.Heal the sick who are there and tell them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’”