Dr. Ravi Zacharias In Interview!

Recently, I had come across this posting on Youtube of a recent interview with Dr. Ravi Zacharias - Christian theologian, philosopher, apologist, writer and founder of RZIM. I first came across Dr. Zacharias in 2003, while visiting my parents in the Middle East during a summer holiday prior to starting the fourth year of my undergraduate program in India. Having no idea who he was, the name "Ravi Zacharias" meant nothing to me when my parents took my sister and I on a long drive to Abu Dhabi, where he was giving a series of talks at the Sheraton hotel. Although, I have very little memory of the content of his speech, I know something happened to me as I listened to him talk that evening - a defining moment that has quite shaped my life, growth, personality and vision since then.

I found this particular interview as evocative of memories and sentiment in many respects as the actual intellectual content of the conversation itself. Dr. Zacharias' name pops up quite often in one form or the other in my conversations with friends, family and strangers (usually in the context of some discussion related to life and meaning). Most people who know me attribute my liking for Ravi Zacharias because of a particular intellectual bent that I resonate with, or a possible interest in apologetics, or common ethnicity, or various other reasons. Curiously enough, as I watched him talk in this more personal setting, I think I understood much better why I find him so special, and my deep affection for the man. I thought I'd share some of those personal insights and memories here. But first, the interview.

My apologies for the cropping of the videos on the right side due to formatting restrictions; to view them in their full dimensions, please double-click on them to connect to the original posting on YouTube.

Part One:



Part Two:

The mention of his struggles in school brought back memories and reflections of my own wounds while growing up. Unlike Dr. Zacharias, I was educated outside India during my primary and secondary school years (hence sparing me the ruthless pressure and severe competition inherently present within the Indian school system). Nevertheless, my own school culture was one of high expectations, constant comparison and the constant drive to perform, where intellectual achievement was a significant determinant of both social acceptance and self-worth.

A private Catholic institution that was one of the best international schools in the country where I grew up, the consistent scholastic achievements of the students was formidable - the best examination results and admission into top-tier universities worldwide. Thus, I strove to be like 'the others' in my class, dutifully worked hard, and made it into one of the top 5 schools for electrical engineering in the US - only to have all my effort crumble to dust in my hands by my second year there. Dr. Zacharias' description of himself as a 'colossal flop' for much of his schooling years neatly summed up my feelings about myself after my own personal scholastic devastation, exactly a decade ago. Like him, it took the intervention of God to transform both me and where my life was headed, as He put a broken life back together, and propelled my life upwards. But that is a story for another time.

I was once struck by the irony that though one may grow up geographically distant from one's land of ethnic origin, air, land and sea are rendered irrelevant to the strangulating tentacles of deeply embedded negative cultural influences. Sown and grown within, one unwittingly carries them everywhere, and unless made cognizant of them, operates unaware of their influence. I have been painfully discovering this recently; over the last several months God has blown deeply ingrained assumptions that I have held out of the water, one after the other in a most spectacular fashion. More on that in coming posts.

"I lived in India - born and raised there...pressure to perform, in studies, is number one in India. You don't just pass. You better pass right at the top, or you're in trouble, and I was in trouble...the maximum number of suicides in India happens every year after the examinations, because people don't see a future if they haven't performed well and I was one of those statistics. I attempted to take my own life, and I was in a hospital room." I was silent for a little while as Dr. Zacharias recounted his own suicide attempt. I remembered reading countless such stories over the years in the local newspaper when I was in primary and secondary school, of some middle or high school student that had committed suicide because their 10th or 12th grade results were not good enough. I especially remembered one girl in my class that I knew personally during my undergraduate years in university, who locked herself in the washroom of her dorm room and slashed both her wrists with a blade in a suicide attempt during our third or fourth year in engineering. She survived because she was discovered in time by a friend and dorm supervisor and rushed to hospital, and came back to university. All of us in that class had a silent and unspoken sympathy for her, knowing ourselves the massive pressure of social expectation to perform, in a country where every mark in school counts in the battle for economic survival and represents one possible foothold higher up the ladder leading away from poverty. It was a sobering reminder of God's mercy and provision in my own life; I thought of how He had kept me intact through some very difficult years in university, protected me from terrible despair and loss of heart, and kept me going, though intense academic pressure and moments of dejection.

"So there I was at the age of 17 saying 'Jesus, if you are who you claim to be, take control of my life. I don't know how to live. I don't even know if I want to live. But I want life; I don't have it now. If you will take charge of my life and give me what I need, I will leave no stone unturned in my pursuit of truth. That's what happened.'" Ravi's touching prayer reminded me of a similar one that I had prayed along those lines in late 2002, as I hit rock bottom in my own devastating series of seemingly never-ending failures that began after I finished high school. And with tears in my eyes, I remembered God's tender and unfailing answer of rescue in the moment of my own brokenness, as He began the long journey towards healing of a shattered mind and spirit.

In the middle of all these reminiscing and reflection, I think the biggest realization hit me just listening Dr. Zacharias' voice itself as he talked about the 'apologetics of touch', and the character of the man that comes across in those soft spoken, polite and gracious tones. Although there may have been other things of an intellectual nature that may have caught and held my attention as I first heard him talk that evening six years ago, it may finally have been his nature and character that inspired and moved me the most, and continues to do so. It is not so much his intellectual bent, or a love of apologetics, or common ethnicity. It is that genuine outflow of the transformed Christ-like nature - a willingness to honestly engage with and address the deep shared questions and cries of my sinful heart and mind that brings conviction, yet in a tender and gracious manner that is cognizant of the brokenness and fragility of the spirit in need of forgiveness. In a way, he also evokes fond memories of the cultural norms of southern India (where I originate from) that I have witnessed and been imprinted with to some degree by elders, friends and family - lessons of kindness, hospitality, graciousness, empathy and compassion, with tenderness and sensitivity in speech and action. If I had to describe what I am left with time and again as I have listened to, watched or read Dr. Zacharias and RZIM minister for Christ over the years, I believe "peace of mind and comfort of spirit" would sum it up admirably.

As the interview moved on to various other topics, I thought of the testimony of God's transforming goodness to fundamentally broken human beings, which I see beautifully illustrated in the life of this man. I guess in the tapestry that God has woven out of Dr. Ravi Zacharias' life, I see incontestibly depicted the power of God in the words of Christ in the Gospel of John:

"Because I live, you also will live." (John 14:19, ESV)

Over the years, God has used RZIM's ministry and mission, beautifully summed up in their two pithy statements, "What I believe in my heart must make sense in my mind" and "Helping the thinker believe, helping the believer think", to touch me profoundly in my walk with Him. I love them all very much and I'm glad I got to say 'Thank You' through this post!

- The Wisdom Seeker

My Father's Son

After talking to my mother today afternoon, I was listening to a sermon by Senior Pastor John Neufeld at Willingdon Church titled 'Withstanding God's Tests.' In the process, I was reflecting on my Dad, a man I admire and love immensely, and the God whom we both call our 'Father'. It is because of both of them that I am the person I have become today. I often use the phrase 'I am my father's son, and I will make him proud of me.' For a long time, I have wanted to express in some way what that means to me. As I was making my dinner tonight, with rice in the cooker and salmon baking in the stove, the words of a poem suddenly began to form my mind. I ran to get pen and paper, and as dinner was cooking and later while eating it, furiously penned the following lines at one go without stopping. I titled the poem 'My Father's son', that describes as best as I can manage at the moment, what my walk with God has been like and what He is to me.

My Father's Son

(by Kevin Thomas)

Fifteen years ago, as remembered by this man,
God came across a boy, in a wild and desert land.
Though grown up in a church, loving his parents so,
God's call he had not heard, his sin he did not know.
God loved the little boy, wanted him for His own
To hold him in His arms, His Father's heart to know.

And so it happened that summer's evening
After many years of sowing,
The child gained a glimpse
Of his Father and his King.
Though his mind was small, many things he did not understand,
In repentance he knelt and prayed, and took His Father's hand.

The little boy could not know,
That God had a plan
Of a wild and great adventure,
On the journey to be a man.
The road was narrow, long and hard
There were many times he did lose heart.
But still the Father's hand was firm,
This child He had found in the desert, He would not watch him burn.
God loved, clothed, fed and healed him,
Pursued, sang, scolded and even beat him.

As the years went by, many conversations the Father had
With the child He had rescued, who was becoming a lad.
In school, buses, churches and more,
Trains, planes and crowded stores.
Great talks were had on the beach,
Watching the sunrise together, or the starry night before sleep.
The son's mind was struggling, he was trying to understand
The things his Father was saying, of His Word and His plan.

He learned to pray, his Bible to read
To try and love his God in thought, word and deed.
Tenderly and patiently the Heavenly Father watched
As His child began to grow, and learned with Him to walk.
He listened as his son learned to sing,
Of His Saviour and His King.
Many nights there were, as the Father put his child to bed,
And sang over him with joy, watching as he slept.
And many others there were too, that God comforted His son
As he cried out his grief, his heart and mind undone.

The lad struggled to be like his Father,
To follow the One he called 'Lord' and 'Master'.
He yearned more than anything to be his Father's son,
To know that he had brought Him pleasure, His approval won.
The more he walked, the more he saw
The greatness of His Father's Person, His Spirit and His law.
He was awestruck by His wisdom, worshipped His strength,
Marvelled at His dignity, and His graciousness to men.
He was silenced by His holiness, stunned by His glory
Could not take his eyes of His beauty, and the greatness of His story.

And so came the Father with His Son,
and the power of His Spirit, the Trinity as One.
To touch the heart of their admiring son,
And show him the journey that he must take
To lose himself, and this world forsake.

The son listened as God spoke
Of being "Wild at Heart", and its great road;
Of how he was His "Beloved son",
called to be an "Adventurer", the journey to run;
And be a "Warrior", fight for his King,
But also the "Lover" of beauty, a wondrous thing!
To be a "King" wherever God placed him,
And finally, the "Sage", as his final years became dim.

The young man was silent; he had found
The words he had yearned for, of sight and sound.
He would lose his life for His Master, obeying His call
To be as His Father's son, His Saviour, his All.

I who pen these words am he,
The little boy that God found, in the desert heat.
'Tis this year fifteen years to be,
That I have followed my God, and Father to me.
There is none I love greater, none I want more
Than Him who has done great things, with more in store.
And I know this day, that because He cried "It is done!"
That I will always be like Him, for I am my Father's son.

I don't know what is happening to me this year; Ever since January, God has been opening my pen and pouring poetry out of me about all kinds of stuff. Jesus, please don't let this stop; I like it too much!

- The Wisdom Seeker.

Soldiers, Farmers, Atheletes...and Memories of "Operation Desert Storm"

Yesterday, I was at Campus for Christ (C4C) at SFU's Year-End Banquet with many of my close friends whom I have known over the last couple of years while doing my Master's degree. While a sem-formal dress code has generally been the norm for this event, this year was a costume dress code of soldiers, farmers and athletes, based on the corresponding verses from Paul's second letter to Timothy in the Bible:

"Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him. An athelete is not crowned unless he competes according to the rules. It is the hard working-farmer who ought to have the first share of the crops. Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything." (2 Tim 2: 3-6, ESV)

All of my friends came dressed very fittingly, and some of them who dressed as farmers looked very pretty in their outfits! I had chosen to dress up as a soldier as best as I could, although I'm not sure if I did a very good job of it. Among the things I'd used for my costume were a pair of outdoor boots with a camouflauged pattern on them, and a borrowed BB gun that was a replica of an M14, made mostly of metal and quite heavy. While the dinner was a really fun event, after it was over it gave me some cause for serious reflection on what it takes to be a soldier, particularly in the context of my childhood memories of the First Gulf War and Operation Desert Storm [1].

Operation Desert Shield, followed by Operation Desert Storm, began shortly after my 9th birthday. My parents and I were living in the Middle East at the time, in a very well-known coastal city that was not very far from the conflict. I vividly remember feeling a palpable feeling of tension in the air, amongst our family friends and my classmates in school, as they worried over what would happen if the fighting in Iraq and Kuwait spread down through the region to the country in which we were living. My mother had recently become pregant with my sister at the time, and I used to watch the news on television with her in our family living room during the course of the war, sometimes for several hours throughout the day. We sat and watched in silence the footage of the day and night bombing campaigns on Baghdad, tanks moving across the desert as the Coalition's armored column fought in the intense desert heat, missiles being loaded on aircraft at allied bases and aircraft carriers, shells fired from destroyers, Iraqi Scud missiles landing on Tel Aviv, and everything else that occurred during the course of those tense 7 months, which are too many to type here. It was a strange feeling to experience as a child, knowing that all of that was happening not very far up the coast from where we lived. During that time, my mother accumulated a massive pile of newspaper clippings covering the conflict from start to finish, which she later gave to me and I still keep carefully today. I remember helping her store water in large buckets at home, as well as stocking up on food in case the food supply at the supermarkets was rationed or cut short during that time.

Yesterday, as I recalled and reflected those memories and more of many years ago, I was suddenly reminded of a special issue of Newsweek magazine that I had preserved from two years ago. It was titled 'Voices of the Fallen: The Iraq War in The Words of America's Dead" [2]. Related to the events of the more recent military campaign in Iraq, the entire issue was exclusively dedicated to a much more personal and deeply moving aspect - the excerpts from the personal journals of the men and women soldiers who had died in combat there. I found the magazine today morning, and took a photo of the magazine cover, which I have posted below.

The section in that issue that I was reminded of in connection with my costume and the verses of 2 Timothy 2:3-6 was called 'Last Letters', and titled 'If you're reading this...'. It began with the following opening paragraph:

"Combat troops live everyday with the specter of their mortality. Ususlly, they ignore it and do their jobs. But at some point, heading for a war zone or shaken by a close call, many of them write letters to be read only if they don't make it home alive. They want to convey the things that matter to the people they love the most, putting their hopes and thanks and blessings on paper. Each of these letters was left behind by an American who gave his life in Iraq."

There was a letter amongst the many photographed and printed in that section that had made a deep impression when I first read that issue. It was the last letter to his family written by Corporal Steven Gill, an American marine who was also a Christian, and brought me to tears once more as I read it today morning. I have taken a photograph of that too. Since the print may be a little difficult to read, I have typed out the contents of that letter below:

"Dear Mom, Dad and James.

If you are reading this, you will know that I am no longer here with y'all and that I am at a better place than all of us. I have been brought up in a loving Christian family that I thank God for everyday. I was taught to fear and love God and to rejoice in the knowledge that his Son paid for all of my horrible sins that I have committed in my 24 years on this great planet. Up until this time I have led an adventurous life that hasn't been perfect. For the anger and tears that have been caused and shed on my behalf, I ask for all of your forgiveness. Know that I wish I could have done better but I've cherished all my time with you all.

To my only Brother James - I love you James, even if I showed in a way that was sometimes hard to tell. I know that one day you will find a good Godly girl to marry and take care of. I wish I could been there as your best man. Know that the Lord loves you James, and when you seek Him, you will find Him, and His peace.

I know you are still searching James, but when you find that Peace, the answers that you still seek will fall into place. Go in that direction. JAMES that is my prayer. I love you BRO.

To My DAD. What can I say, you are the Man I've always wanted to be and hopefully to become. You have given me a life that could only have hoped to have given to a wife and kids. If you look deep into your heart Dad, all the good qualities you see, know that you passed them on to me. If in the future someone asks you what your son was like, tell 'em "He was just like his old Mn" and I'll smile down from Heaven and be proud. I love you Dad.

And finally to My Mom. A mother's love cannot be described, it can only be felt. It is peace, it is security, it is the warmth of arms wrapped around you and the knowledge that no matter what, all will be right in the world as long as my Mom is holding me. I wish I could have felt that one more time. You are a Godly woman mom, no son could have asked for or received a better woman. An angel sent down from heaven. I love you Mom.

Well that's about it guys. As for the WAR we've fought the good fight and I guess it was my time. If anyone should ask what happened, you tell 'em that your son didn't die doing what he loved, but doing what he thought was right. That America is the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, and it wasn't going to change. Not on my watch. All I can ask now is that when I get to Heaven the Good Lord will greet me with open arms and say "Well done, good and faithful servant!" Rest easy and be at peace, for I will see ALL of you there in the future.

All of my love.

Your Son,

Steve."

The postscript to this letter said: Cpl Steven Gill, Round Rock, Texas, 24. He once aspired to be a minister, but after 9/11 he wanted only to join the Marines. He arrived in Iraq on his first tour of duty in March 2005. On July 21 he was killed by an IED near the village of Zaidan, southeast of Fallujah.

As I type this out in sober silence, I am deeply thankful to the men and women who gave their lives during the course of Operation Desert Storm. Because of them, my family and I are alive today in a different part of the world. My sister is particularly special to me in this regard. As God would have it, she was born on Palm Sunday of 1991, almost exactly one month after the end of the First Gulf War, and one week before Easter Sunday. Fittingly, my mother wanted to give her a name that was connected to Easter, and chose two Russian names: 'Tiffany', derived from 'Teofania Anastasia', meaning 'manifestation of God' and 'Tanya', meaning 'Resurrection'.

In the verse thast was the theme of this year's C4C Year-End Banquet, the Apostle Paul wrote "Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him." In a talk that he gave there, John Hau our Campus Director challenged us to think over the things that might cause us to waste our summer. I think over this last semester of my Master's program, God has been doing some awesome things and shaping some very strong convictions in who I want to be and what my priorities are. I hope that this coming summer time, I will share in Christ's suffering and and please Him who has called me.

To those who read this, I would be interested in knowing - what does it mean to you to be a soldier, farmer or athelete in the context that Paul writes to Timothy? What is important to you? What would you be willing to pour out your life for?

- The Wisdom Seeker.

REFERENCES:

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desert_Storm#Air_campaign
[2] Newsweek Magazine, April 2nd, 2007