King Solomon writes that there is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to rejoice. The joy that comes with a baby being born is met with grief when the lifetime expires. Dad’s funeral day was on his birthday, seven years ago.
In order to revisit his life, I thought through some of the titles which can be given to him ranging from being a father, son, husband, believer, engineer, Tamilian but none could come close to his work as an evangelist. In one of the incidents, during the printing of the wedding invitation card for my brother, Dad was negotiating on adding some more bible verses to the invitation. I used to think if Dad had thought of the wedding invitation to be a gospel tract. On the day of the wedding, in the bride’s hometown he was distributing some biblical literature to the people who were coming for the wedding. He was met with mockery from the relatives who felt it was not a proper occasion to be doing this. Back home in Chennai the wedding reception hosted by us did not go well in terms of the program on stage but Dad made sure that biblical literature was distributed to the people present. There was not a single occasion happy or sad that he missed out on sharing about Jesus or distributing gospel tracts.
He was not doing to get some reward from man since he is the one who gives away money and never gets any money. He wasn’t a member of any organised church, so there was no influence from there. There was something else inside of him.
There were lots of sacrifice in terms of giving up food, clothing and choosing simple travel. A friend of his reminded me a couple of days back how a cup of coffee given to him in the morning would generally turn up cold and eventually get spoilt by the evening time, since he would mostly skip or forget it during a time of fast.
How harsh he was on hypocrite ministers in the church and the inroads made by prosperity doctrine. The allurments of a car, wealth or money doesn’t belong to the pulpit but Jesus warned people who were rich. Of course, there were some church leaders and members who weren’t happy and waited for an opportunity to accuse him falsely but he wasn’t disturbed a bit. People thought he was jealous of their success but he dint consider riches or living in a foreign country as being successful.
During his visit to meet me in Netherlands post my accident, he happened to see the autobiography of Ravi Zacharius “Walking from east to west” in my room and mentioned to my mom that he dint want me to read that book. I was furious thinking dad was jealous since I trusted Ravi and his humility but the unfolding of the sexual allegations on Ravi last year and to read about Ravi’s double life were completely disturbing . I felt I needed to apologise to my dad that that he was right but it was too late.
The more I come across people who speak sweet words on the outside but have a revenge filled attitude on the inside, I learnt to appreciate Dad’s gentle character on the inside even though he was harsh with words on the outside. He did not look neat with the style of clothes he used to wear or the bag he carried. I always wondered why he always made friends with the less fortunate and helped them, many of whom couldn’t do anything back in return at all. Last month, I met a gentleman in the neighbouring slum colony cluster Kannagi nagar who reminded me of his help to the less fortunate.
I took over his mobile phone number and started using his number the day he died, and was in awe of the transparent life that he lived. There was a mobile number which was saved as xxx on his phone and I was curious for a long time as to whom it was referring. Then one fine day I got a call from the same mobile number and it was a known friend of his who got help for many years. The help to him stopped the day when Dad learnt that he re-married someone else while still being married to his wife. Dad was so rigid in his principles that he did not encourage any kind of moral misbehaviour especially with people who were into ministry and I remember the gentleman asking for Dad’s forgiveness few weeks before Dad passed away.
I finished my earlier tribute to him with the words “He lived unknown and died unknown…”, at least the latter part is true because I got a call from an old neighbour, a couple of months back who was surprised that he passed away 7 years ago as she dint know about it at all.
There was lots of sweat involved in his travels because he travelled on foot and on public transport also because he could meet people and could use the money for helping others.
“Dad travelled by foot and used public transport but I am a bit advanced as I travel mostly in my bicycle”, I remarked to mom yesterday after coming back from a 50 kilometer bicycle trip to mint street, a wholesale shopping complex selling jute textiles.
“Dad was much better and focussed in his duties and not careless, unlike you” replied my mom. She referred to my unwise long cycling decision on the streets of Chennai
I asked for a double portion of anointing in prayer and what followed after that was the start of the weekly fellowship every Sunday for the migrant labourers and the bag making unit at Kannagi nagar where some physically challenged women are employed.
The bruises and hurts are so important as one finishes life because it speaks volumes of the risk one had taken during the life span to be the hands and feet of Christ and not simply sitting at the gallery to watch the others compete.
There was disappointment when death was nearing, as we prayed for life extension.
"Did God forsake at the point of death ?" No Death is not the end.
I used to think that the number of days living in this earth is important but have come to the realisation that it is more important to complete this life’s race clean washed by His blood whether it be short or long.
Better to live short and be called home to heaven.
“Refiner’s fire - My heart’s one desire is t be holy - set apart for you. So take my life and let it be consecrated Lord to Thee”
