They don’t want anything too spiritual (!) so I asked what I should speak about. ‘What about the time you went to India,’ she said. I’d forgotten about that – or at least not thought of it as something I could speak about. So this will be my subject: My time in India. I was only there a fortnight, mind, but had such a great time. Memories have come flooding back and there’s plenty to share. Let me share with you today two stories from the trip that made it so special.

I was invited by a Mumbai pastor, Willie Soans, to speak about a subject I was researching into at the time – revivals in Wales. Willie had arranged for me to speak at various church events mainly to leaders. So – as was my wont back then – I had prepared meticulously before leaving the UK and had some good, substantial talks ready to share. The first few meetings went well (I did 10 in all, over 14 days in 30 degree plus temperature) with some excellent feedback and questions. I was coasting along to be honest, well within my comfort zone. And then I was taken to an evening meeting in a school building. Along with the leaders were their families and children and also many uneducated, poorer people. ‘Many of them will have no idea about Wales,’ said Willie, ‘so you may need to change what you’re speaking on.’ Now that’s not something I did back then. I had my notes all prepared. Well prepared even. And now I had to change everything during the meeting itself?! But that’s what I did. During the worship time – as they so movingly worshipped God in their own language – I sat down and scribbled some changes down on paper – taking into account the wider congregation before me.

I was by now well beyond my comfort zone. But as I stood up to speak, I was quite calm. I had a sense that God was with me and that stepping outside the usual boundaries was not such a bad thing after all. I invited any children who wanted prayer to come out – and they all came; more as a result of a white man being there than anything I said, probably. I invited any adults who wanted prayer to step out – and again they all came. And as I prayed for them, most, if not all, went down in the Spirit. It was an exhilarating moment as I felt God at work in a way I had never experienced back home.

The other story comes from a mid-day meeting for some of the poorest people in the area. I had by then ditched much of my pre-prepared scripts and was speaking about God’s grace being sufficient for us. This group had no English and so I was being translated a sentence at a time. At the end I invited people to come forward for prayer and pretty much the same thing happened. But it was after the meeting ended that I was impacted this time. As people started to leave, one or two began to share some of their experiences with me though the interpreter. Many of them, especially the women, were suffering persecution because of their faith – persecution not from the state, but from their families. One in particular stood out. Her husband would beat her every time he knew she had gone to a church meeting. She would hide her Bible in a simple shopping bag and would sometimes manage to be at church without his knowledge. She came to my meeting knowing what would happen if she was found out. What struck me about this woman was not any sense of joy in her life – for she had very little. There was only fear in her eyes and sadness. She did not bear her pain well. But she still bore it. And she still came. No noisy triumphalism for her. Just a steady endurance under the cross.

I have never forgotten that day or that lady. It had more of an impact on my life than anything else – before and since. Do I have her level of faith? I certainly did not have it then – which is why I was so moved by the occasion. But I’m not sure I have it now either.

They don’t want anything spiritual on Friday. So I’ll just share a few simple stories like the above and leave it at that.