Entry 17 - A sore sight for eyes

Entry 17 – A sore sight for eyes

It is easy to become overwhelmed by sights, smells and sounds when one first arrives in India, but now after six weeks I find I am becoming a little more adapted to some of this sensory assault.  In part this is good, but there is also a down side.  One sight that I have, unfortunately, become all too used to seeing – to the point of not really seeing it any longer – is the amount of garbage that lies in ditches, on roadsides, across vacant lots, down alleys, over sidewalks, in supposedly green spaces – in other words, everywhere.  When I realized today that I was not really seeing this garbage any more, it was troubling, as I realized that this is perhaps how most Indians see – or don’t see – either the garbage or the problem it represents.

It was Gandhi who said “God forbid that India should ever take to industrialism after the manner of the west... If we took to similar economic exploitation, it would strip the world bare like locusts.”  But perhaps it is less the stripping of the world in the name of economic advance that I have seen in India, than the covering over of the earth in the signs of supposed progress.  What I see is nothing less than the covering or hiding of the very ground under a layer of garbage, much of it plastic.  There are old and broken shoes -- everywhere I go there are shoes abandoned, singly and in pairs; I see plastic wrap and sheeting and bags of various kinds, and shreds of plastic wrap that has caught on corners and walls and bushes and poles and been pulled apart by the wind and animals looking for food; there are inner tubes and bits of tires; odd bits of broken metal; vinyl in scraps and sheets in all colours, but most of it bleached out to white by the sun; I see  the remains of food and food containers, and bottles both plastic and glass; mounds and mounds of coconut husks.  And mostly, I am not even sure what much of the garbage is, or was, but it is there and it is a blight.

Just the other day I was walking past a hospital nearby to the hostel, and saw someone in a hospital uniform carry a garbage bag across the road and toss onto the edge of the empty field.  I don’t know what was in the bag, or whether where she put it was a garbage pick up point, or whether she was just adding it to the debris, bagged and loose, that had accumulated in the field, some of it in particular piles and much of it just strewn by human activity and wind.

The cows and dogs search the garbage for something to eat.  I have seen people go through the garbage, perhaps in hope of finding something useful or sellable or recyclable.  Occasionally the garbage is pulled together in small piles and burned, which I am told is illegal, but it is done.  I don’t know who does it, or what prompts them to do it, or when it happens, but it is done, and I can often smell the burning, which is unpleasant.  I will not miss the smell of burning garbage one bit when I return to Canada.  I never see garbage burning, but I smell it, and I often see piles of fresh ash with unburned plastic items left behind, and always a shoe or two.

I have not asked anyone about garbage collection in the city, or elsewhere.  This problem is not just Mysore, but in the villages and towns and countryside through which we have travelled.  I have not spoken to anyone about how, or if, government officials at any level are addressing the problem.  Or whether it is even seen as a problem.  Or, again, as I began this reflection, whether it is even seen.

I think, however, that this is a symptom of so many other problems, and a symbol of them. And perhaps addressing this problem could also be a symbol of addressing so many others.

In a basic Christian worldview, and its Judaic predecessor, there is a belief that God gave humans dominion over creation; this is often misunderstood as license to use the environment in any way humans want, instead of being understood as having responsibility. But I have come to see that the previously Christian west does not have a monopoly on ignoring what we are doing to the environment, ecologically and aesthetically.  And what that represents about the way we live.  India is stepping up to western standards in many ways, but this is not necessarily good in respect to the disregard for the environment and the cost of economic progress. In 1974, William O. Douglas (the longest serving Supreme Court Justice through the middle decades of the twentieth century) wrote “I realized that Eastern thought had somewhat more compassion for all living things. . . In the East the wilderness has no evil connotation; it is thought of as an expression of the unity and harmony of the universe.”  But that sense of harmony with the universe seems to have disappeared, buried beneath a layer of garbage.

Addressing this challenge would take so much effort.  There is the challenge of cleaning up the existing garbage, from acres of fields and lots and miles and miles of streets and roadways.   And, of course the challenge of preventing it from returning.

There is the challenge of finding a place to take that garbage once it has been cleaned up, and what to do with it.  Should it get tipped into old mine shafts, poured into open pits, used as landfill, burned, burned to generate power?  There is the associated challenge of developing an infrastructure system to move the garbage, and to move it regularly.  There need to be places that garbage can be put, instead of being tossed into streets and lots, as well as a system to retrieve it, and, one hopes, to sort it into recyclable materials and sheer garbage.

Of course, there must be education to address garbage so that in the long run people change their habits; in doing, it can be hoped that loose garbage will disappear as a problem.  Probably this will can accomplished through part of a curriculum in school education, but that means a generation or more for things to really start to change.

And then, there is the need for the change to a culture that doesn’t produce so much garbage to begin with.  Do we need plastic carrier bags for every purchase.  Does everything have to be wrapped the way it is?  Why do items of clothing need to be wrapped in plastic, for instance?  Why do we need to buy and own so many things?

in Canada, we are fortunate to have developed systems for getting rid of garbage – but we still have not addressed problem of the amount we produce every day.  I think of conspicuous consumers who generate garbage as a by-product of living materially over-rich lives. I think of the number of paper cups used each day at coffee shops, and compare that with the metal cups at coffee stands in India; and these cups are, in many places, shared without washing, but that is another issue, despite the practice of Indians drinking without putting their lips to a cup, or pitcher, or bottle, and without spilling!  And I think of the amount of plastic I have with me, even here in India and especially at home, and I begin to think about how that will be disposed of.

Where to begin?  And in the face of so many social, environmental, development problems, is this issue of garbage in public places even a pressing one?  But perhaps it is a representative challenge to address, to realize that the earth must be cared for, in ways large and small.

Several decades ago, Albert Einstein noted that “We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if mankind is to survive.”  And that thinking, of course, must be paired with action.  Both in the west and the east, in North America and India, the drive to consume needs to be pared back, and the results of unbridled consumption need to be dealt with, and someone, please, needs to take the garbage out rather than allowing it lie under our feet everywhere we go.

In a statement attributed apocryphally to Chief Seattle of the Squamish tribes of the western American coast, we hear:“You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.”  It is time to stop spitting on the earth, to clean up our act, in India and everywhere, and it is time to clean up our mess and devise systems that prevent us from befouling our lands again.

And this is just a beginning of what we need to do.

Entry 16 -- Fowl that May Fly

Indian Grey Hornbills outside the hostel balcony

Entry 16 – Fowl that may Fly
The Vivekananda Institute for Indian Studies is located on the edge of the industrial section of Mysore, in the outskirts of the area of Hebbal.  The hostel where we stay is just down the road from the Institute, and sits not only beside the industrial area, but on the edge of a small somewhat scrubby green strip that includes shrubs, grass and trees.  Less than fifty yards wide, it runs from the Ring Road, just a stone’s throw from the hostel, down to Hebbal Lake, a little less than a kilometre away.

I have been pleasantly surprised to see a little bit of natural India even in the midst of this urban and industrial environment.  There is little green space in Mysore compared to most Canadian cities, and much of it does not seem inviting.  However, where the hostel is located, even poor green space is better than none.  During the day, industrial noises are heard in the background – trucks, machinery, and what is that siren that goes off at random times during the day anyway?  It is a little worrying, knowing that just down the road is a large chemical plant.  Just a few kilometres outside Mysore, at Ratnahalli, a “Rare Materials Plant” is engaged in the work of uranium enrichment for use in fuel rods in nuclear reactors; in this industrial process, the nuclear fuel produces radioactive wastes at every stage.

Certainly there is an industrial feel to this area, but for now, let me concentrate on this barely green strip that stretches not even a kilometre, past a few buildings and a small, new hospital, before abutting against a coconut grove beside Hebbal Lake.  The lake itself is smaller than two football fields, and shallow, and uninviting, surrounded by ground that has been churned up and left as dirt with no vegetation save a few weeds, and covered in garbage.

From the balcony on the second floor of the hostel, just outside my room, I can look over the concrete wall and into the green space; here I see a little bit of both natural and traditional India on display.  Shepherds and goatherds bring their flocks through this area as they move in search of grazing land; the women wear saris and the men wear dhotis, the traditional men’s garment that is wrapped around the waist and tied.  Some of the men will wear a length of cloth wrapped around their head, but open at the top.  The sense of being in the twenty-first century is given in the plastic flip-flops that they wear on their feet, and sometimes the umbrellas they carry for shelter from sun or rain, and the plastic bottles of water they carry with them.  A plain stick or sometimes shepherd’s crook keep the animals moving the right direction with gentle touch.

a cattle egret, without the cattle

I see water buffalo, with their large grey heads, curved horns and soft-looking hide, coming through with their herders.  I see cattle as well, occasionally some Brahmin cattle with their long horns that point straight up and their humped backs; I also see cattle similar to those I am used in Canada.  When the buffalo or cattle come through, it is not uncommon to see cattle egrets moving along with them, occasionally hitching a ride on the back of a cow or buffalo.  The cattle egrets are heron-like, but smaller; elegant  birds, they eat the insects that are stirred up by the hooves of the moving cattle, and can often be seen walking directly underneath or just beside a cow.  It looks as though they are in imminent danger of being stepped on or kicked, but birds and beasts walk closely together, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the other.

There is an abundance of avian life in this short stretch of greenery, and I have enjoyed seeing the variety and determining what kinds of birds I see and hear.  The King James Version of the Bible accounts for the fifth day of creation in Genesis in these words: “And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.”  Not a lot of open firmament in an industrial area, but there the fowl fly, and roost, and walk, in abundance.  Thanks to Ellen, one of our Mount Allison students whose parents insisted she bring the Field Guide to the Birds of India with her on the trip, I have been able to identify all the birds I have spotted; I am sure I have got more use from this book than Ellen has herself.

the Red-Naped Ibis, a noisy bird from dawn to dusk

The first bird I encountered was the Red-Naped Ibis. A rather goofy-looking bird, it has large feet, a stocky body with a narrow almost wooly-looking neck and a naked head.  Dark in colour, when the light reflects off the body it has a dark green and purple gloss; the back of its head and neck are brilliant red.  Its long beak curves slightly downward.  A noisy bird, especially when in a group, the ibis chorus begins shortly after six o’clock each morning and continues for about twelve hours.  Their noise is a sort of hoot; the only way I can describe it is a cross between a crow and a loon, if you can imagine it.

Glossy ibis appear too.  Black all over, they come in small flocks to pick over the remains of meals, especially fruit rinds, that have been tipped into the shallow pit behind the hostel kitchen.  Occasionally a heron from nearby Hebbal Lake will pause in my view from the balcony, and sometimes an egret will rest here too.

A Tawney Eagle at rest

I often see eagles in the sky over Mysore, and have seen them from the balcony, soaring high and then coming in low, teasing me to try to get a picture before they suddenly rise up on a thermal current, out of range again.  I have identified two different kinds of eagles  – although I am sure there are other that I cannot identify – namely the Tawney Eagle and Bonelli’s Eagle.  As many as seven or eight might appear in the sky at one time.  One morning, I was summoned to the balcony by a student hanging clothes out to dry; a Tawney Eagle was sitting in the tree about thirty yards away, where it lingered for the better part of an hour.

If I am in the hostel just after six o’clock in the evening, which is shortly before sunset, I will go to the balcony to watch the evening show.  First I hear a chattering in the distance, and then, as the chattering gets louder, flocks of Rose-Ringed Parakeets come flying in just above the treetops, sweeping past me to their nightly resting place.   They come in waves for about fifteen minutes, sometimes only two or three at a time, sometimes ten or a dozen, and sometimes too many too count.  They move far too quickly for me to get a picture, even with the advance warning of their sounds.  They come in a flash of brilliant lime green, long tails stretched out behind them, then they are gone.  I wonder where they go each morning (and why I don’t hear or see them then), and I wonder where they return to each night, but I delight in this colourful fly-past that takes place at the same time every day.

the Common Mynah (male)

Kingfisher

I have identified three kinds of egret, the Indian Grey Hornbill, a Red-Whiskered Bulbul; I have seen Coots, and Fantails, Lapwings and Munias, Koels and Crows.  And there are more.  The regular sighting is the Common Mynah, a robin-sized bird with brilliant white shoulder patches that become larger markings that flash brightly when it flies.  The male has a conspicuous yellow eye patch.  The bird guide describes the Mynah’s song as “noisy, disjointed and tuneless” – I would agree with that description, but it might also be applied to my own attempts at singing.  On a few occasions I have seen the White-Throated Kingfisher, notable not for its white throat but its magnificent turquoise-blue back and wings, which become much more evident in flight.

A short walk down the road takes me to Hebbal Lake; while the scenery is not particularly appealing, the bird life is abundant and active.  Ibis and egrets abound, and there are cormorants, pelicans, and some waterfowl I have not been able to identify.  Along the way I often see bee-eaters.  The Green Bee-Eater is a small bird, about the size of a finch, with fine features like a hummingbird.  Depending on the light, the feathers are a stunning brilliant green, or might appear lighter, almost rosy.  It has a slim beak that it uses to pluck insects from the air as it flies. And there are always eagles overhead at the lake.

A Green Bee-Eater with its supper in its beak

Looking out from the balcony and over the wall, I have seen – only once – a mongoose, as it broke cover from under some bushes and dashed across open ground to take shelter again in more shrubs and bushes.  One day, alerted by the commotion of a pair of mynahs who sounded distressed, I dashed to the window in time to see these two birds diving and flying up, only to dive again.  They were driving a snake away from what may have been a nesting area; the snake was an Indian Saw-Scaled Viper, more than five feet long and as big around as my wrist (and, yes, one of the big four venomous snakes of India).  I will be quite happy not to see another.

We have contemplated making a visit to the Mysore Zoo on our last weekend in the city, which is one of the first zoos in the world dating back well over one hundred years.  But if we don’t get there, to see the leopard, tiger, and sloth bear that are native to Karnataka, I will not be disappointed, knowing I have seen some of the beauty of natural India even in the midst of industrial Mysore.

Tawney Eagle in flight

Entry 15 -- The Fool on the Hill

Statue of Gommateshrava, tenth century, carved from a single block of granite, 57 feet high

I remember English class in High School, in the early 1970s; we read the lyrics to the Beatles’ song “The Fool on the Hill”, an ode to the leader of the Transcendental Meditation movement, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.  The idea of the song was that wisdom is found in one whom the world might disregard, or think foolish.  One might think of Jesus of Nazareth, in the seemingly foolish but oh so wise words of the Sermon on the Mount.  The hill or mount, in many traditions, seems to be the place of the sage, the master, the wise one, the one who sees further and differently than any other.

A couple of weeks ago we went to see a fool on a hill – an ascetic who surrendered his kingdom to meditate on the world and to become one with creation.  Well, not actually the ascetic – who lived, according to legend, hundreds of thousands if not millions of years ago, before civilization even began – but a statue carved in his honour.  And it was certainly on a hill, up 688 dizzying steps carved out of solid granite in the side of a very steep hill.  And  by some tokens he might be regarded as a fool, but as with many fools on many hills, there is a wisdom in his story that continues to be passed on to those who will pay attention.

the feet of the statue, with offerings from pilgrims

I have found it interesting over these past several weeks to learn about Indian art and architecture, particularly in contrast to the things I have learned and know about western art.  Like western art over the course of several centuries, classical Indian art and architecture has a decidedly religious nature.  Just as the Christian church provided both inspiration and patronage to artistic endeavour in Europe’s medieval period, Indian art from a similar time frame is an expression of a deeply religious experience and outlook, and the images depicted are those of the stories, experiences and expressions of a people of faith; as one author notes, they are “sermons in stone of the oneness of all things in the Universal Spirit.”

But these commonalities noted, while European Gothic art, sculpture and architecture tended towards the vertical, Indian art has remained rooted in the things of earth.  Think of western depictions of religion – church spires and high arches that point upwards, long windows of stained glass, and depictions of Christ, the apostles, and the saints (in paint and stone) that are disproportionately elongated, made to appear even taller by the accentuation of height in long, draping garments that reach the ankles.  And in contrast to that vertical dimension, the tendencies in Indian art in the past, have been focussed on a more horizontal dimension of life.  Classical Indian art and architecture is markedly different from that found in Europe, in both form and style.  Temple entrance towers (gopura), while sometimes quite tall, give the illusion less of height than of substance: they tend to be stocky, squared-off blocks of decreasing size with each level, solidly built and giving expression to a faith that is also rooted on earth.  The inspiration they evoke does not come from their height, but their connection to the earth and the figures that adorn them, depicting flowers, trees, people.  The figures carved are full of life, seeming filled with joy and pleasure (including in some Hoysala era temples, figures engaged in the joy of sexual union), and with their feet firmly planted on the ground.  Even the saints and ascetics appear well-fed, cheerful, at peace with the world, unlike the depictions of agony, suffering, anguish and horrific rapture on the faces of European saints.

With this background in mind, venture with me to the village of Shravanabelagola, site of a magnificent statue to the legendary Jain ascetic of millennia ago, the fool on the hill.  Carved out of a solid single piece of granite, the statue of the ascetic Gommateshrava stands almost sixty feet high, and is located at the top of a huge solid granite hill into which over six hundred stone steps have been carved.  The ascent is steep, and with the sun reflecting off the solid black granite, baked to a slightly less than burning temperature on our bare feet; our shoes were left at the entrance, at the foot of the hill, as the whole hill serves as holy space, and there are temples at the top.  With sun and heat, and steep ascent, the climb became almost an act of religious devotion rather than just a journey into India’s artistic history (although for about 400 Rupees, one could hire a sedan chair, a wicker chair attached to two poles which are hoisted on to the shoulders of four able-bodied and, one hopes, sure-footed men who will carry you up, and also down, but only in the early morning and late afternoon).  The climb also became a reminder of the Jain sense of being both otherworldly, but also deeply connected to the ground, religion being rooted in the horizontal sphere of the earth even if that horizontal sphere has some steep ascents.

 

On a hill, where in lore and legend an ascetic might dwell, despite abandoning earthly pleasures, the ascetic is still the creature of earth.  The Jain saint, known as Gommateshwara, is remembered as a holy man in this huge statue in order that his followers might be more mindful of their days on earth.  Carved in the tenth century, Gommateshwara stands directly upright in the posture of meditation, his feet firmly on the ground and his hands at his sides but not touching his body.  He is naked, as is the Jain tradition, showing one who has renounced the world and its objects.  He is relaxed, at ease, peaceful.  Looking up, one can see a faint smile – contentment, perhaps – play across his lips.  His body and muscles, though carved of stone, are relaxed, at peace.  The soul is free from worry and concern, and the body displays this.

It is said that this master ascetic stood so long in meditation that vines grew up around his motionless legs – and so the vines appear in the sculpture.  And while these vines highlight his great spiritual demeanour and holy aspirations, they also hold him firmly to the ground; we realize again that, even in spiritual renunciation, he is a man of earth, and the earth claims him still.  This is not just ethereal spirituality, but a deep conviction and commitment to the creation, this earth, which all religion needs.  As many people have told me, Hinduism is not a religion, it is a way of life; one might summarize Jainism by paraphrasing this sentiment: Jainism is not just a religion, but a connection to life.  It is a valuing of life even through its renunciation.  Perhaps the western religions, particularly Protestant Christianity with its intellectual focus on right doctrine and theology, could learn from staring at the Gommateshwara, and be reminded that we are entwined with creation, and need to remember to be one with creation in life.

The Gommateshwara is a work of art – commissioned by the military commander of the area in the tenth century, it dominates the countryside and can be seen from over twenty kilometres away.  One suspects it also served the purpose of reminding people coming across the plain of the dominance of this regime, as religion and military purposes come together in one sculpture.  Not just a work of art, it is also a work of devotion, a celebration of faith, a declaration of holiness, a witness to a model to emulate; not just an expression of the quest for the divine or the illumination of the word as in western art, it is a declaration of delight in one who has achieved true enlightenment, salvation or siddha. 

The statue has been proposed as a World Heritage Site by the Indian government, and in a display of strength in numbers, in a popular vote of the seven wonders of India, Indian voted this statue in first place, ahead of the Golden Temple and the Taj Mahal.  As we made our way back down the black granite steps, now made even hotter by the noon day sun, we return to earth, to the poverty and the beggars and filth of the village.  Seeing a very young woman with a small child on her hip, stretching out her hand in supplication for money, I remembered reading in the Mysore paper earlier in the week of the rates of infant mortality in rural Karnataka; still one in five children will die before the age of five, from preventable illness like diarrhea because of lack of access to fresh water or  rehydration salts.  I was reminded again that in the gospel story, when the disciples ascend the mountain and see Jesus transfigured before them, they also had to return to the valley below to engage in the work of ministry among the people in need. 

The fools, or sages, on the hills are models, reminders, inspirations, to seek the holy way, but also to be rooted in the created world and to care for the earth and its people.  The presence of God can evoked in the impressive church spires of medieval Europe, or the impressive Jain statuary of the tenth century, but God can also be seen, as Mother Theresa  said, in “such distressing disguise” in the faces of the poor, disenfranchised, children, elderly, sick and disadvantaged.  Whether defined as a religion or a way of life, faith should direct us not only to the vertical dimension, for inspiration, but also to the horizontal level, where life is shared with others.

Entry 14 -- On Holy Ground

St Philomena's Cathedral, Mysore

Philip Jenkins, professor of humanities with an expertise in global Christianity, writes in his work The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity, that by the year 2040, only one fifth of Christendom will be white and non-Hispanic.  In other words, the dominance of Christianity by European and North American churches is being turned over, and in sheer numbers alone, Asian, African and South American will form eighty per cent of the Christian world.  There are huge implications for this in terms of emerging theologies, practices, and the continually evolving state of the Christian faith.

Certainly there are signs in Mysore that Christianity is alive and well.  Christians form only a little over two per cent of the Indian population, but in real numbers that translates to more Christians in India than in Canada, at around thirty million.

There is a long tradition of Christianity in India. Legend has it that Thomas, one of the original disciples of Jesus – known for his doubting of the news of the resurrection until he also bore witness himself – was the first missionary to India, in the first century.  He is known as India’s patron saint, the Apostle of India.  This is the stuff of which legends are born, as there is no definitive find proof of the church’s existence in India back as far as the first century; however, there is certainly a long standing tradition of Christianity in south India, more so than in the north.  Roman Catholic missions undertaken by French and Portuguese missionaries date back to the sixteenth century, and in southern India there is a predominance of Catholicism over Protestant forms of Christianity right through India’s modern history and into the contemporary world.

Protestantism dominates in northern India, particularly in the north east, whereas in the south the Roman Catholic church is the dominant denomination.  Protestant denominations, typically divided on matters of faith, practice and polity, have merged in the south to form the Church of South India; the Church of South India (CSI) is the Indian Episcopal Church (Anglican) in union with churches of various other Protestant traditions, including Methodist, Congregational, Presbyterian, and Reformed, beginning in the year 1947.  Its system of governance includes a synod as well as presbyerial elements; it has a congregational component as well, notably in the election by synod every two years of the moderator, who is the presiding bishop. The Church of South India is the largest Protestant denomination in the country, and there are several churches of this group in the city of Mysore.

rose window and spires, of St Philomena's

At the heart of Mysore, St Philomena’s Cathedral bears witness to the significant place of Christianity and particularly Roman Catholicism in southern India.  The Catholics have been active in this region as far back as the seventeenth century, and through Muslim and Hindu rulers it has maintained a constant presence showing no signs of disappearing any time soon.  In fact, St Philomena’s (and indeed Indian Christianity generally) is described by one priest as being a “youthful faith”, that is, having a continual appeal to young adults and young families. And I could see this was the case in the service I attended: at a special mid-week service at the end of the afternoon, the church was full to celebrate the feast day of St Thomas: there were older women in saris, which were modestly pulled up over their heads; their were business men in their dark trousers and crisp white shirts (some carrying their motorcycle helmets); there were young families with children and young adults, alone or in pairs or small groups.  There was a vibrancy of a healthy, multi-generational community at worship.

I spent a little time talking with church leaders from both Catholic and Protestant churches in Mysore, and if their passion and commitment to their ministry is any indication, the Christian faith is alive and well.  They spoke of converts to the faith, principally from among those who are Hindu, as well as a long tradition of families raised in Christianity.  They spoke, encouragingly to me, of good relations with the Muslims of the city – indeed, St Philomena’s sits next to a predominantly Muslim neighbourhood of Mysore, and is just a short distance away from an older and established mosque.

St Philomena’s Cathedral, from the outside, looks like a traditional European cathedral.  Built in the 1920s in the classic neo-gothic style (think Canada’s Parliament buildings), it reflects the splendour of some older European cathedrals with its twin spires soaring almost two hundred feet high.  Inside, however, Indian elements merge interestingly with traditional Catholic forms – statues of Mary are found throughout, but all are wearing saris and are decorated with garlands of marigolds and jasmine flowers.  Photography is not permitted inside the church, so I cannot provide pictures, but imagine rich and appropriately colourful saris (in blue and purple), carefully wrapped around Mary, the pallu (or long loose end of the sari) pulled up to form a veil or hood for the Virgin Mother.  Candles compete with incense to fill the air with holy scent.  Many worshippers and visitors leave their footwear at the door and walk barefoot in the sanctuary; one thinks immediately of Moses standing before the burning bush, and in encountering God realizes that where he stands is holy ground.  At St Bartholomew's Church (the Protestant Church of South India), a sign directs people to leave their footwear at their pews before proceeding to the altar for communion - there is an injunction to be prepared to come to the holy place, and have a holy encounter.

Philip Jenkins, professor of humanities with an expertise in global Christianity, writes in his work The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity, that by the year 2040, only one fifth of Christendom will be white and non-Hispanic.  In other words, the dominance of Christianity by European and North American churches is being turned over, and in sheer numbers alone, Asian, African and South American will form eighty per cent of the Christian world.  There are huge implications for this in terms of emerging theologies, practices, and the continually evolving state of the Christian faith.

Certainly there are signs in Mysore that Christianity is alive and well.  Christians form only a little over two per cent of the Indian population, but in real numbers that translates to more Christians in India than in Canada, at around thirty million.

There is a long tradition of Christianity in India. Legend has it that Thomas, one of the original disciples of Jesus – known for his doubting of the news of the resurrection until he also bore witness himself – was the first missionary to India, in the first century.  He is known as India’s patron saint, the Apostle of India.  This is the stuff of which legends are born, as there is no definitive find proof of the church’s existence in India back as far as the first century; however, there is certainly a long standing tradition of Christianity in south India, more so than in the north.  Roman Catholic missions undertaken by French and Portuguese missionaries date back to the sixteenth century, and in southern India there is a predominance of Catholicism over Protestant forms of Christianity right through India’s modern history and into the contemporary world.

Protestantism dominates in northern India, particularly in the north east, whereas in the south the Roman Catholic church is the dominant denomination.  Protestant denominations, typically divided on matters of faith, practice and polity, have merged in the south to form the Church of South India; the Church of South India (CSI) is the result of the union of churches of varying traditions, including Anglican, Methodist, Congregational, Presbyterian, and Reformed, in the 1947.  Its system of governance includes a synod as well as presbyerial elements; it has a congregational component as well, notably in the election by synod every two years of the moderator, who is the presiding bishop. The Church of South India is the largest Protestant denomination in the country, and there are several churches of this group in the city of Mysore.

 At the heart of Mysore, St Philomena’s Cathedral bears witness to the significant place of Christianity and particularly Roman Catholicism in southern India.  The Catholics have been active in this region as far back as the seventeenth century, and through Muslim and Hindu rulers it has maintained a constant presence showing no signs of disappearing any time soon.  In fact, St Philomena’s (and indeed Indian Christianity generally) is described by one priest as being a “youthful faith”, that is, having a continual appeal to young adults and young families. And I could see this was the case in the service I attended: at a special mid-week service at the end of the afternoon, the church was full to celebrate the feast day of St Thomas: there were older women in saris, which were modestly pulled up over their heads; their were business men in their dark trousers and crisp white shirts (some carrying their motorcycle helmets); there were young families with children and young adults, alone or in pairs or small groups.  There was a vibrancy of a healthy, multi-generational community at worship.

I spent a little some time talking with church leaders from both Catholic and Protestant churches in Mysore, and if their passion and commitment to their ministry is any indication, the Christian faith is alive and well.  They spoke of converts to the faith, principally from among those who are Hindu, as well as a long tradition of families raised in Christianity.  They spoke, encouragingly to me, of good relations with the Muslims of the city – indeed, St Philomena’s sits next to a predominantly Muslim neighbourhood of Mysore, and is just a short distance away from an older and established mosque.

St Philomena’s Cathedral, from the outside, looks like a traditional European cathedral.  Built in the 1920s in the classic neo-gothic style (think Canada’s Parliament buildings), it reflects the splendour of some older European cathedrals with its twin spires soaring almost two hundred feet high.  Inside, however, Indian elements merge interestingly with traditional Catholic forms – statues of Mary are found throughout, but all are wearing saris and are decorated with garlands of marigolds and jasmine flowers.  Photography is not permitted inside the church, so I cannot provide pictures, but imagine rich and appropriately colourful saris (in blue and purple), carefully wrapped around Mary, the pallu (or long loose end of the sari) pulled up to form a veil or hood for the Virgin Mother.  Candles compete with incense to fill the air with holy scent.  Many worshippers and visitors leave their footwear at the door and walk barefoot in the sanctuary; one thinks immediately of Moses standing before the burning bush, and in encountering God realizes that where he stands is holy ground.  At St Bartholomew's Church (the Protestant Church of South India), a sign directs people to leave their footwear at their pews before proceeding to the altar for communion - there is an injunction to be prepared to come to the holy place, and have a holy encounter.

In St Philomena's, each of the several times I have visited, there were also devotees coming to offer prayer, and they would reach out and touch the statues of Mary, Jesus and other saints, and might add another floral garland, and even prostrate themselves on the stone floor before a statue or altar area as one might see in a Hindu temple.  This is even more the case in the crypt below the altar, where a relic from St Philomena (the third century saint: according to legend, having devoted her life to Christ she refused to marry the Emperor Diocletian, and so was unsuccesfully scourged, drowned and shot with arrows before finally being decapitated) sits enshrined beneath a casket containing a likeness of Philomena; this, too, is covered in floral adornment.

In the worship I attended at St Philomena’s, there was a decidedly Indian element present in the traditional Catholic celebration of mass.  The music, instead of a traditional organ, was pre-recorded and had a definite Bollywood musical feel to it.  The devotion shown in worship, in singing and prayer, was certainly more affective or emotive than in a North American service, with a gentle sense of pentecostalism: the people were feeling and experiencing the presence of the holy in the words they recited and sang.  Although the whole service was conducted in Kannada, the language of Karnataka, I could readily identify some elements: Lord’s Prayer, Apostle’s Creed, Ascriptions of Glory and, of course, the Gospel lesson (from John 20, the story of doubting Thomas wanting to see the risen Christ for himself). At the sharing of the peace, instead of the western hugs and handshakes, people simply turned in the pews and, with hands together at the chest, offered a simple bow and greeting: “Namaste”, peace.  Although I was the only non-Indian in the service, the sense of Christian community that I have found everywhere I have travelled was no less absent here, and I was welcomed in.  It is wonderful to feel that bond of faith with people in new and different places, and to know that to share faith in Christ means a connection with community across culture, language and race.

The Church in India, in Catholic and Protestant forms, has been particularly influential in establishing schools and colleges, and continues in its mission of education and healthcare, particularly to the poor and disadvantaged.  The gospel, in deed as well as word, is alive and active.

St Bartholemew's Church (CSI), Mysore

Harvard theologian Harvey Cox, in his recent work The Age of Faith, argues that the next phase of western Christendom will be a moving away from rigid doctrinalism and formulaic theology, and instead will be a time when people will learn again to be open to an experience of a holy encounter with God, which will transform and stir them to living the mandate of the Kingdom.  Certainly my conversations with Indians raised in families where Christianity has been passed from generation to generation, and my limited, but wonderful, experience of an Indian congregation of worship is that this is happening in the eastern church.  Indian culture has met Catholic liturgy, and both have been transformed into a vibrant encounter with the holy and loving God.  And from that comes a renewed mission to feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked care for the sick and visit the imprisoned (Matthew 25).  It is a lesson to us in the west, as the practice of Christianity shrinks to a minority status in society, to hold on to the passion and commitment, and most of all the faith that celebrates, welcomes and loves, in word and deed.

In St Philomena's, each of the several times I have visited, there were also devotees coming to offer prayer, and they would reach out and touch the statues of Mary, Jesus and other saints, and might add another floral garland, and even prostrate themselves on the stone floor before a statue or altar area as one might see in a Hindu temple.  This is even more the case in the crypt below the altar, where a relic from St Philomena (the third century saint: according to legend, having devoted her life to Christ she refused to marry the Emperor Diocletian, and so was unsuccesfully scourged, drowned and shot with arrows before finally being decapitated) sits enshrined beneath a casket containing a likeness of Philomena; this, too, is covered in floral adornment.

In the worship I attended at St Philomena’s, there was a decidedly Indian element present in the traditional Catholic celebration of mass.  The music, instead of a traditional organ, was pre-recorded and had a definite Bollywood musical feel to it.  The devotion shown in worship, in singing and prayer, was certainly more affective or emotive than in a North American service, with a gentle sense of pentecostalism: the people were feeling and experiencing the presence of the holy in the words they recited and sang.  Although the whole service was conducted in Kannada, the language of Karnataka, I could readily identify some elements: Lord’s Prayer, Apostle’s Creed, Ascriptions of Glory and, of course, the Gospel lesson (from John 20, the story of doubting Thomas wanting to see the risen Christ for himself). At the sharing of the peace, instead of the western hugs and handshakes, people simply turned in the pews and, with hands together at the chest, offered a simple bow and greeting: “Namaste”, peace.  Although I was the only non-Indian in the service, the sense of Christian community that I have found everywhere I have travelled was no less absent here, and I was welcomed in.  It is wonderful to feel that bond of faith with people in new and different places, and to know that to share faith in Christ means a connection with community across

Wesley Cathedral (CSI), Mysore

 culture, language and race.

The Church in India, in Catholic and Protestant forms, has been particularly influential in establishing schools and colleges, and continues in its mission of education and healthcare, particularly to the poor and disadvantaged.  The gospel, in deed as well as word, is alive and active.
       
Harvard theologian Harvey Cox, in his recent work The Age of Faith, argues that the next phase of western Christendom will be a moving away from rigid doctrinalism and formulaic theology, and instead will be a time when people will learn again to be open to an experience of a holy encounter with God, which will transform and stir them to living the mandate of the Kingdom.  Certainly my conversations with Indians raised in families where Christianity has been passed from generation to generation, and my limited, but wonderful, experience of an Indian congregation of worship is that this is happening in the eastern church.  Indian culture has met Catholic liturgy, and both have been transformed into a vibrant encounter with the holy and loving God.  And from that comes a renewed mission to feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked care for the sick and visit the imprisoned (Matthew 25).  It is a lesson to us in the west, as the practice of Christianity shrinks to a minority status in society, to hold on to the passion and commitment, and most of all the faith that celebrates, welcomes and loves, in word and deed.

Entry 13 - I was a Stranger

ENTRY 13 - I was a Stranger, in a World of Globalization

In his best-selling analysis of the changing global economy, The Earth is Flat, author Thomas Friedman analyzes the changing shifts of the world in terms of globalization, exploring particularly the role of computer technology in shifting the way the world runs.  In an subsequent work, The Lexus and the Olive Tree, he looks at the social and human dimensions of globalization, particularly the tension between the drive for economic advancement at national and personal levels and the longing to hold on to traditions, ways and practices, that shape a national culture and identity.  He writes, “globalization is not simply a trend or fad but is, rather, an international system. It is the system that has replaced the old Cold War system, and, like that Cold War System, globalization has its own rules and logic that today directly or indirectly influence the politics, environment, geopolitics and economics of virtually every country in the world.”

In travelling India, one can see the effects of economic globalization in social and cultural forms.  Familiar corporate names and products are everywhere, from cars (Hyundai, Suzuki, Volkswagen), to personal care items (Colgate toothpaste, Dove soap), and the list goes on.  One can eat at McDonald’s in India (although no beef is served, and the options are veggie burger and chicken burger, which comes in spicy and really spicy), or at Domino’s Pizza (again, with a veg and non-veg option), and of course the ubiquitous Coca-Cola can be bought almost anywhere – in fact, it seems most bottled beverages, including water, are licensed under this company.  In Canada, of course, we can usually find access to an array of goods from overseas, including India, and so items purchased here are no longer so unique or “foreign” in a world that knows so much about different cultures.  The Indian chain of clothing stores, FabIndia, with an outlet in Mysore, also has a web site, and ships internationally, so nothing is really out of reach for those with money.

Perhaps that is one of many troubling aspects of globalization, the homogenizing of the world in some ways.  Cultures are under assault, as are languages, and the uniqueness of peoples, languages, cultures, practices, dress, seems to be disappearing.

There is perhaps one positive to this growing globalization, however, although perhaps it existed before we began using this phrase in the 1990s, and perhaps there have always been elements of it present.  I speak here of the acceptance, and welcome, of one who is obviously a stranger, and I have been the recipient of this acceptance and welcome often while in India.

The biblical injunction in the book of Deuteronomy reminds the Israelites, as they set out the laws concerning life in the new land, that they must care for the stranger (i.e., foreigner) in their midst: “You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 10:19). Likewise, Jesus says of the life of faith in action: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35).   To be welcomed as a stranger is to receive the gift of hospitality, which at a human and individual level breaks down walls between culture in a far more satisfying way that economic globalization; it preserves each person’s identity, and values them, but allows for interaction as people in a shared world.

I reflect on the welcome we have received as strangers in what is, to us, a strange land.  It is more than just the warm and caring welcome of the V.I.I.S. staff and organizers, more than just the welcome from the kitchen staff and other guests and volunteers with the advocacy office in the hostel.  It is also the kindness and warmth that has been directed to me, and to all of us, from countless strangers in so many different places.

I think we have all been conditioned to be cautious and careful in travelling – make sure your money is in a safe place in crowds, watch out for thieves and pickpockets, be careful of people who will take advantage of you, scam you or rip you off in transactions, lead you astray – that we may all be a little on edge, distrustful of almost anyone we don’t know.  But so far we have experienced none of that.  In fact, it has been just the opposite. From the welcome of colleagues at VIIS and SVYM to conversations with welcoming strangers at a wedding; from directions to a store I am trying to locate to directions to the washroom; from suggestions to instructions, to the Air India ticket agent who arranged to have coffee brought to this stranger, twice,  who had travelled from Mysore, and was waiting for tickets to be re-booked (if only the ticket process worked as efficiently as the coffee process) – I have experienced a thousand little acts of kindness, care, welcome and hospitality by Indians, as the stranger in their midst. 

I am definitely the stranger, wandering not completely lost but certainly in unfamiliar territory, and while the territory is unfamiliar, the customs new, the practices and processes sometimes beyond my grasp, the smiles of welcome, the open and engaging people, those I have met and worked with and those on the street who engage me only for a few moments, have been warm.

I remember time spent in Japan, a different but equally foreign experience for me.  What I and my family remember above all else is the warm generosity and welcoming hospitality of the Japanese people, including those I worked with at the University and those we met in the local park and playground.  It was that welcoming spirit that made it hard to leave Japan at the end of our stay.  Only a month into my time in India now, already I can affirm that here, too, it is the people – those who are interested, welcoming, caring, kind and hospitable in ways large and small – who will create in me lasting memories of a warm country when I eventually leave for my home in this global village in which we all live.

Among other things, this trip affirms for me that there is in the human spirit, everywhere, an essential goodness, that humanity in the global village, though different in appearance and language, in manners and cultural forms, that humanity is still essentially good, essentially interested in one another, and at an individual level, can be welcoming and kind.  I think there are two tasks for us: one is to seek it out, and believe in it, and without losing our caution against the potential for evil, to see affirmatively the even greater potential for good. And the other task is to bring that goodness, that hospitality of spirit, that welcome and care of the stranger, to the global and international level.  This is a force that even economics cannot put a price on, nor diminish.

Entry 12 - A Holy House

the gopura at Channekeshava Temple, Belur

Keshsava Temple in Somanathapur

 Entry Twelve – A Holy House

In the ancient near eastern world of the Hebrew Testament, King David longed to build a temple for the worship of Yahweh, the God of the Hebrew people. However, it fell to his son, Solomon, to build the temple, after the military accomplishments of his father gave way to a time of peace in Solomon’s reign.  The writer of 1 Kings describes Solomon’s goal in words given to the king: “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the Lord his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him . . . but now the Lord my God has given me rest on every side; there is neither adversary nor misfortune.  So I intend to build a house to the Lord my God” (1 Kings 5: 3-5).

But such is not unique to Israel, or anywhere; in human history, when warfare subsides and there is peace along the borders, when there is money in the treasury and stability in the Kingdom, kings of centuries past could and have engaged in ambitious building projects.  Certainly this was the case among the Hoysala dynasty, which ruled in southern India in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; after a time of conquest, defeating their Chola rivals to the east, with peace on the borders and within them, for almost one hundred years temples were built to honour Vishnu through what is now southern Karnataka state.  Under the Hoysalas, the number of followers of Vishnayism (worship of Vishnu) and of Lingayatism (a Shaivite sect, holding to a distinct worship of Shiva) increased, particularly in the twelfth century.  The Hoysalas were major patrons of art and architecture, and under their rule in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, as Europe was building its cathedrals, the Hoysalaa were sponsoring widespread temple constructions; hundreds of temples and shrines were built across Karnataka, and even now, over one hundred remain, including seventeen sites that are significant either historically or religiously, or both.

We have now visited two of these key sites, the Keshava Temple in Somnathapur, and the Channekeshava Temple in Belur.  Both are built on a star-shaped foundation and are distinctive by their squat pyramid shape in this star formation.  The Belur Temple was the first built; commissioned in 1116, it may have taken over one hundred years to complete.  Dedicated to the god Vishnu in his incarnation as Krishna (under the name Keshava, one of many by which Krishna is known), one sees carvings of some of the various forms of Krishna, as well as those of another incarnation of Vishnu, Lord Rama.  It is still an active temple, and pilgrims and worshippers continued to make their way through the entrance gate, which as is typical was surmounted with about a seven-storey gopura, or pyramid-shaped tower carved with images of the god Krishna in his different forms, and his consorts.

At both temples, in Belur, which continues as a site of active worship, and Somanathapura, which is now an historical site but no longer active as a temple, we removed our shoes before entering.  A shoe guardian will mind your shoes for 20 rupees, although we had already opted to leave ours in the van that dropped us off at the entrance.  Shoes may not be worn in the holy places, and in some, the gatekeeper may request that leather bags or belts be left behind, for a modest guardian’s fee, perhaps 20 rupees.  Although it is monsoon season, the sun shone brightly both days, and both days, in both places, we visited the temple sites in the afternoon – thousand-year old cut stone paving blocks get very warm on tender, western feet by the time the sun has been on them all day, perhaps an encouragement to move quickly and not linger too long at any one outside spot, unless it has been sitting in the shade for a while.

Hanuman, the monkey god

Ganesha, the elephant god

The fees for entry are modest, especially for Indians; 5 rupees, about 10 cents, is the admission price for Indians.  Foreign visitors pay 100 rupees, a little less than two dollars at current exhange rates. And there are always opportunities to spend more money, usually in small quantities. Floral garlands, with jasmine and marigold, can be purchased and worn, or flowers purchased to be laid on the steps, or altar, or linga (the phallus-like small pillar of stone that represents the presence of the god Shiva in the temple).  There are leaves, and beads, and strings tied for necklaces and bracelets, often in brilliant orange, which are worn as signs of religious devotion and of having made the pilgrimage to the temple.  There may be a souvenir stand, or several, and people pressing postcards on you, and always, always, there are small, physically challenged seniors, or children carrying babies, or women who seem to be bearing the worries of the world on their shoulders and in their faces, and they are asking, begging, sometimes pleading, for just a few rupees.  Knowing what to do can be difficult in the face of the beggars’ sorrowful states; one wonders, naturally, how many depend on the kindness and compassion of pilgrims and visitors, and how many are being prostituted as beggars by someone who will take their handouts from them.  I try to keep ten rupee notes (about twenty cents) in my pocket and handy so that I can discreetly slip the note into their outstretched hands, hopefully out of the sight of other beggars who would immediately swarm to me if they saw my willingness to give.  I feel sorry for the loss of dignity that leads people to beg, whether or not my money is needed by them, whether or not there is a scam at work, and without asking what that money will be used to buy – I only hope that sometimes, when I surrender a small almsgiving to someone who appears destitute, sometimes, it will be well used by someone who really needs it.  Honestly, I think I can afford to take the loss on the others.

People have been coming to these temples for almost a thousand years, probably passing beggars in every year of every century.  And the Hoysalas, it seems, were intentional about where temples were built.  As with the cathedral-building of medieval Europe, it was a boost to the local economy both in the construction of the edifice, and a boost forever afterwards, as they would draw the pilgrims in, who would then require food and lodging, and flowers and spices and coconuts for offering.

The entire temple walls, made of a local soft stone, are carved in detailed and ornate ways, the carvings forming rows or stratifications that rise up the inwardly sloping walls.  Virtually every space, every square inch, of the exterior walls is carved, and no two carvings are exactly alike.  Each tier of carvings depicts something different, beginning with elephants at the bottom, some charging, some playful, some walking in a stately procession, trunk to tail, and yet others seemingly in a more playful mood.  There are 644 elephants altogether around the bottom tier, in Belur, denoting different moods and attitudes and poses, and possibly many more in the bottom tier at Somanathapura.

always elephants

Elephants seem to hold a special place in Indian religious history; strong and steady, they surround both the Keshava and Channekeshava temples as though to lend a solid foundation to the faith that is expressed in the solid stone temple. Joanna tells me I have to ride an elephant before I come home, and others have told me I can’t leave India without riding an elephant.  So far the only real elephants I have seen are those giving rides in the gardens at the Mysore Palace, so I might have to make a trip back there; I could make my way to the Mysore Zoo, where elephants give rides, to make sure I get in my elephant ride before leaving India.
   
While elephants abound in the temples, they are not the only carvings.  Each row or tier has its own theme, both in the temple at Belur and the slightly later temple at Somanathapura. From elephants, one looks to the next level to a series of lion heads, symbolic of courage, intertwined with a course of carved beads.  Above this are galloping horsemen, soldiers and hunters, surmounted with floral carvings, creepers and vines and flowers with pearl garlands as symbols of the beauty of creation.  Scenes from the Hindu epics the Mahabharata and the Ramayana are there: images of the activity of the gods in battle, in creative pose, in sensuous array, and of Rama – another incarnation of Vishnu – who was sent into exile and then entered into a quest with his ally, the monkey-god Hanuman, to save his wife Sita from the evil demon.  Women dancing, and men and women in sexual poses, and singers, and more floral motifs – the tiers continue up over archers and soldiers and battles, and all surmounted by images of the gods themselves, in which Vishnu as Krishna predominates.

singers for the king

An image of angry Vishnu

One of my favourite sights at the temples is the women in the saris; against the hard, grey and black rock walls of the temples, the soft silk of the saris in brilliant colours and patterns seems to flow like air as the women walk against the background of rigid stone, and forms such a wonderful juxtaposition of colour, movement and texture.  I will admit to taking some pictures of these women, for their saris and their colour and life, and it is easy to be discreet at this.  Our young women are often the subject of much interest, especially with their blonde hair and fair skin; this was particularly true when we were at the temples at Belur and Somanathapura, and they were arranging themselves for a group picture.  Most, if not all, of the Indian visitors to the temple site stopped to watch them, and no one was looking at me, so while attention was otherwise distracted, I will admit to taking pictures of Indian people, men and women, in their soft colourful clothing against the hard, dull stones.  I will not post these pictures to my blog, naturally, as that would be inappropriate on this public blog, so enjoy the images of the temple I have added and imagine the people, pilgrims, enjoying the sense of history in these places, and worshipping in what is, to them, truly an axis mundi, a centre of the world in which god can be found. Add to these sights the rich and potent smell of jasmine, flowers, incense burning, and the sounds of prayers and chanting, and it quickly becomes a religious experience of the senses that one enters into, rather than just remaining a place that one visits and thinks about.   

And you can come and visit me when I am home, and I will show you some pictures there.

The temples may be old, and whether active or only historical remains, they still offer a great sense of the long and noble history of India, and they still offer a sense of significance and the presence of the divine in a way that shapes identity and gives meaning.  In their hierophanic import, they open their visitors to a deepened sense of humility in the presence of the divine, and to a deeper pride in being Indian.

that's me, examining the tiers of carving -- "I don't think those people are dancing"