I’m sure each of us has had a day or an experience that was so memorable, so extraordinary and full of joy that to try to describe it to someone who was not present seems only to dilute its power. Yet, because of the dramatic impact it played on our lives we find ourselves compelled to attempt to share it with others anyway, desperately hoping that in the telling those listening might catch even a glimpse of its splendor…

After a three-hour drive we finally arrived at our destination. The sun was just beginning to set escorting in a cool welcome contrast to the normally high temperatures that reign most of the time on the Bay of Bengal.

As we got out of our car and began to walk towards the mud and thatched roofed huts that comprised the rural tribal village, we were greeted by the resonate sound of loud drumming. The village believers had been anxiously anticipating our arrival for hours.

Suddenly three young men appeared, each drumming large uniquely crafted drums made out of taut animal skins. Attached around each drum were multiple sets of heavy deer antlers. Exploding firecrackers being thrown by the local teenagers added to the already festive ambiance and noise. Streams of villagers began to appear behind the musicians.

Women dressed in brilliant colored silk saris carried large flat basket trays full of marigold petals that they laughingly threw into our faces and hair, catching us off guard and leaving us covered in deep orange and crimson fragrant petals. Two women came alongside each of us placing garlands of the same fall colored chrysanthemums around each of our necks. Others handed us bunches of red roses that had their stems carefully wrapped in shiny aluminum foil. They guided us through the crowds of smiling well- wishers into an outdoor patio area.

Seated cross-legged on the ground were close to one hundred believers, many others lined the steps and porches of the enclosed area. These believers were of the Hadit caste, the low caste, sweepers, and untouchables.

Our place of honor consisted of five green plastic chairs that sat behind a small wooden table covered with a white plastic tablecloth. The table was adorned with four vases full of lacey white flowers and a lantern burning brightly.

Then the people began to sing… I looked at the moon now high in the sky illuminating the darkness as the praises sung in the native tongue soared to the heavens.

By the light of the lantern, under the stars we listened in awe as believer after believer stood to share their memorized stories from the Bible, tears flowing down their faces, as they gave their testimonies of how these stories had transformed their lives. Present were prodigal sons, those raised from the dead, widows, mothers, former demoniacs, and sick, hurting people who were healed and restored by the power of God’s Story.

Never in all of my Christian life have I ever been so awestruck and humbled by the Holy Spirit’s power and presence.