2 of 9

Growth Amid Threats
A week later I worship in a very different church—a poor, rural Pentecostal congregation outside Bangalore, in the south of India. A new, plastered structure, almost devoid of furniture, vibrates to earsplitting rhythms of song, accompanied only by drum. Women in brilliant saris sit on mats and lift up their hands; men take plastic chairs in back. The air is close with body heat and perspiration. I am scheduled to preach—a fact I discovered upon my arrival an hour before. No matter. I have visited rural churches in Third World countries before. I know it pays to keep a three-point outline handy.

After the service, I am besieged with people seeking spiritual help, so many crowding around me that I get backed into a corner and can't move. My translator tells me the request of each person, and I lay hands on their heads or hold their calloused hands while I pray. Some are sick; some need work; some want husbands to return home. They are oppressed by spirits, worry about pending school exams, or have family disputes. One complaint I do not immediately understand. "She has Fitz," my translator says. "What?" I ask. "Fitz," he says again. "You know, Fitz! Fitz!" It dawns on me: the lady has fits. Epilepsy, perhaps. I pray for her.

Over lunch Pastor Jayakanth explains how the church came into existence. He is a matter-of-fact young man with a handsome face. Seven years ago, his job with the electricity utility brought him to town. Coming from a thriving Assemblies of God congregation in the city, he found no church of any denomination, and no Christians. The region was known for its staunch Hindu beliefs. Local people said they had murdered the last Christian who came to win converts.

Nevertheless Jayakanth rented a 10-by-10-foot room, recruited a handful of believers whose work had also transferred them into the region, and began to hold services. It took a year to make his first convert. A breakthrough came with the local prostitutes, whom he witnessed to on the street late at night. A congregation began to grow. When Jayakanth's wife gave birth to premature twins, each weighing less than two pounds, doctors predicted they could not live. Pastor Jayakanth fasted and prayed for three days, the children survived, and word of a miracle spread. More people came to church and were baptized. Temple leaders began to ask why they didn't come to temple anymore, or contribute to temple offerings. Some of the former prostitutes' customers complained about their changed way of life.

On Good Friday, a mob interrupted church services and forcibly dragged Jayakanth to the temple. He estimates that a thousand people gathered, shouting insults and cursing him. He was beaten and threatened, then hauled to the police station. Police officers accused him of disturbing the peace. Hadn't he come into the district trying to convert people to his religion? They browbeat him into signing a statement that he would no longer go out into surrounding villages to preach.

After that, the pastor says, "We don't go to villages, but we are on our knees, and people are coming to us." The church continued to grow, which led to a second attack. This time Jayakanth was away when a mob came to the church, beating up those they could catch before taking the church's sound equipment and all its books—including 5,000 New Testaments—and burning them.

next page... |  2 of 9

share this page

May 2004, Vol. 48, No. 5