The Faces of AIDS

Alice, Rathna and Friend

In 2010, I dared to hug a leper, and we wept together.  Yesterday, I hugged some women with HIV/AIDS, and we laughed together.  

It was an incredible experience.  AIDS is a death sentence, especially in an underdeveloped area.  Yet many of these women appeared full of life.

Some, I admit, were obviously suffering in their final years from a disease that was probably acquired from a wayward husband.  Others seemed like middle-aged scholars, or kindly aunties.  Yet many were young and beautiful—and had darling little children.  All will probably die within the next several years.  This is hard for me to grasp.

Russ Preaching, Johnpaul Interpreting

Johnpaul's Favour the Helpless Mission gathered about 65 women and three men, all HIV-positive.  The evening began as Russ spoke on the uniqueness of humanity:  God’s power in Creation and His love for humans as individuals.  He also explained the fall of mankind and the need for Christ’s salvation.

Attention was riveted on Russ, with Johnpaul interpreting--then laughter broke out.  Johnpaul has a half-grown, well-fed buffalo heifer, (think 2 year old Angus) intended as a milk cow in the near future; she had been untied and led to drink nearby, then she decided to head for the porch where the meeting was in progress.  It took quite a bit of muscle for men and boys to redirect her wayward path.

I had been apprehensive about this evening.  How could I minister to someone I knew was going to die all too soon?  What sadness would their lives hold?  How could I know their needs, especially since I cannot speak their language?

As I sat on the far end of the porch, they blended into a colorful mass of backs.  I think the laughter over the buffalo jolted me into the reality of what Russ was preaching:  Each woman and man was a precious individual, created and beloved by the Lord.  Jesus Christ cared enough to come and die for every one of us. 

Bright Eyes

I became acutely aware of a little girl staring brightly at my strange face and skin.  Yet, as different as I seemed, we were all women, all alike in so many ways.  We all washed our laundry, cooked our meals, swept our homes, loved our families, tried to look beautiful, and had tears of suffering in our hearts.  Maybe from different causes, but there was much we shared.  Right here and now, we shared the will to live, and we responded to laughter together.  Death was still some months or years away. 

HIV/AIDS Meeting

I rejoined Russ at the front after his message.  We were waiting while the government man slowly registered each HIV/AIDS victim’s name.  Meanwhile, I saw the women as faces, as individuals, as souls.    Our eyes met and we began to communicate.  I went to one lady and pointed to her toe ring (the symbol of marriage in this culture), then to my wedding ring, then to Russ.  He held his up as well.  She nodded in understanding and the women around her giggled.  They whispered among themselves and indicated that we were a good couple—somehow the thoughts leaped over the lack of language. 

I took more photos, and shared the camera screen with each one.  Soon they were pushing their children forward for “one photo”, and gathering around me with more laughter.  Even the older women wanted to be recorded, to be recognized as unique human beings.  Don’t we all want to be known, at least by God?  O God, please cause Your Word to be understood, Your love made known, and Your salvation, Lord Jesus, become a reality to these souls.  All of us are close to the door of eternity.  Some of us realize how close we are, others are oblivious.  But all of us eventually pass through that door into Your Presence.  Please help us to come to You before that day.

Faces of Grief--Naga Mani

Russ and I feel we brought a touch of joy and hope into the hearts of these women.  Yet some were deeply sorrowful, beyond comforting right now.  Nagamani had two sons also with HIV/AIDS.  One son was still in school, but the other one was made miserable by taunts and insults until one day he finally committed suicide by throwing himself in front of a train.  Her grief is still visible on her lined face.

Old Faces

About 2.5 million people in India live with HIV/AIDS—half of the world’s cases.  With proper medical care (not affordable to the very poor) many victims could live for 8 or ten years.  However, this culture—where community and extended family ties are essential to life—treats them as outcasts.  Many die within two years because they are cut off from family, friends, and society as a whole.  

Faces That Embrace Life

Young Faces

We want to share some of the faces with you.  Please pray for the HIV/AIDS victims of Tenali, of India, of the world.  They are souls in need of salvation, just as we once were.  May God be glorified in these lives also!   --Alice Sharrock

                                                                                                                    

     

Essential Worship

We headed north past the Mangalagiri Hills, the tropical sun glaring overhead.  As we approached the city of Vijayawada, road construction and new apartment buildings gave evidence of tremendous expansion and westernization; yet traffic was still held up by herds of water buffalo, and the mighty Krishna River still had women washing laundry on its banks.

Thadigadapa Village Church, Pastor Annanda

We wound through busy streets and shops on the outskirts of the city, then along a canal of murky water with trash spilling down its banks.  Suddenly our driver did a U-Turn and stopped in front of a mass of thatched huts crowded between the frenzied traffic and the canal.  A man stood expectantly by an entryway draped with rice bags.  This was our destination, the church of Thadigadapa village.

Sometimes I feel ashamed of being an American Christian.  How often we see in our religious publications, in our searches for pastors, the lofty educational requirements and financial packages offered; we see mega churches and multimillion dollar sanctuaries with cutting edge electronics; fellowship halls that rival restaurant kitchens and dining rooms; vast parking lots, fleets of buses--the list is endless.

What does God require of us?  Is not the Lord seeking those who worship Him in simplicity, in Spirit and in truth?  We found that this Sunday.

Pastor Annanda Raju and Mary

The church, led by Pastor Annanda Raju and his wife Mary, is approximately 12 by 12 feet small.  Behind this sanctuary, the back half of the bamboo and palm leaf structure is another room about the same size.  That is their home.  I doubt if most Americans would store their garden tools there.  Yet we experienced praise and worship here in its simplest, purest form.

The sun beat down on the thatch, releasing an aroma somewhere between fresh cut lumber and drying hay--maybe faintly reminiscent of the manger where Jesus first laid His head.  29 men and women, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the dirt floor, raised their voices to the Lord.  "Hallelujah" is the same in every language around the world, and God was glorified.

Russ brought an encouraging message based on a variation of his personal testimony:  Suffering is part of the Christian life, God is always with us in and through suffering, trust in the Lord with all your heart and He will have the glory.  All eyes focused on him.  All ears were open to the Word of God.  All hearts and souls were fully there--something I seldom see in America.  No cellphones interrupted...no one was texting...no one was looking at a watch...  The Lord Himself was there among us.

We continue to be amazed by the sacrifice and dedication of the pastors in India.  We continue to be amazed by the depth and sincerity of worship.  We come here to help and encourage the poor struggling churches, birthed in poverty and enduring persecution--yet Russ and I feel that we are the ones blessed and encouraged.  And yes, a bit shamed...  We actually feel a bit nauseous when we return to the US and try to re-enter the materialistic, God-apathetic culture.  May our hearts return to truly worshiping Him in Spirit and in truth, for God seeks such to worship Him!

Please continue to pray as we continue our ministry and journey.  Thursday we speak to HIV/AIDS victims, many of whom are women who contracted it from wandering husbands.  Then more gospel to neighborhoods and villages, on to another location, and in two weeks a long train ride up the coast.  Praise the Lord!  Russ' leg blisters (from 3 days in transit) are healed.  Keep in mind we have very limited access to the internet, intermittent electricity, and are staying 22 steps above ground.  Yet God is giving us the strength needed to expand His Kingdom to the nations.  Praise His Holy Name!

--Alice Sharrock



 

The Forgotten Women of India

(Note:  I’ve updated the last blog with photos, so you might want to check it out again.  We still don’t have internet so our posts will be few and far between.)

I was up before dawn on Saturday, the cool of the day, walking and praying on the rooftop.  The eastern sky was rose and gold, with a silver crescent moon high above the horizon.  “O Lord God, please bring the people of this town, this land, to You.” 

In a few minutes, the muezzins would be calling and repetitive chants broadcast from the Hindu temples.  The cacophony must grieve God’s heart.  If only His children would see Him, the One True God, as He is!

The sun rose hot and red in the haze, and the day began as young girls swept the porch of the Children’s Home.  Women began straggling in through the gate:  Old grey women in wrinkled cotton saris, some younger ones in their Sunday best, a few with children, and one both young and pregnant.  All were widows, coming to hear Russ speak and receive a new sari from Pastor Johnpaul.  A government official came also, to list their names and report that they had duly received the aid promised to them from the ministry.

God has not forgotten me...

The women, one by one or in small groups, shuffled across the hot dusty compound and sat cross-legged on the porch.  Amazingly, at 11 AM, the town’s power came on again, and overhead fans stirred the air.  Children fidgeted, women murmured.  The spectrum of sari colors rivaled the rainbow—combinations that were sometimes unbelievable, but beautiful against mocha skin and carefully oiled hair.  I took some photos and sat down among them.  Curious looks turned to smiles, and somehow I felt a deep kinship even though I could not speak their language.

Some were my Christian sisters, others curious Hindus, others I think just wanted a new sari.  All were without a husband in a culture that evaluates a woman’s worth and existence in terms of her man.  Some husbands died due to untreated sickness or sudden accidents; some from alcoholism, and some from AIDS; many from sheer old age, leaving a bent and wrinkled widow alone in poverty. 

A few younger widows had been married to significantly older men, acceptable to the girl’s parents because they did not have to pay a costly dowry.  All live under the stigma of karma—which claims it was their own bad luck that caused their husband’s death.  They cannot remarry, and most people in this society shun them, ignore them, forget them.  Superstition creates so much fear and suffering.

Russ Speaking, Brother Isaac Translating

Russ spoke on the love of God, something every heart yearns for—and something a lonely old woman needs desperately.  I watched the attentive eyes in deeply seamed faces, some of which could not see Russ clearly, one who could barely see at all. Today they heard the Gospel of Christ.  “O God, open their hearts and understanding, help them to experience Your love and salvation.  Lord Jesus, become Light to them, dispelling the jumble of gods and religions that clog this culture with confusion.”

After Russ concluded his heartfelt message, many came to us for personal prayer.  Frail and grey, weary with life, hoping against hope for some meaning, some touch from God.  As I embraced thin bony shoulders, put my hands on white heads damp with sweat, how could I not feel Christ’s compassion? 

Alice and Her Sisters

          I almost wept when the younger pregnant widow came to me for prayer—the unborn child in her would never know its father.  “O Lord, You promised to be the Father of the fatherless, and protector of the widow.  Please bring these souls into Your Kingdom.  May Your Word never return to You void.”

--Alice Sharrock

An Urgent Prayer Request

Pastor Shadrach, Tenali

Pastor Shadrach, whom we have known for ten years, has a serious health problem.  His voice is hoarse and raspy—the doctor urged him to have vocal cord surgery several months ago—but he did not have the money.  It will cost 20,000 rupees or $400 US.  Russ is especially concerned because he went through laryngeal cancer himself in 2002.  Please pray for Pastor Shadrach, and if God moves you to help, please help him through www.aimission.org