A Visit To El Shaddai's...And Ancient Treasure!

   A few days ago, I had driven into Vancouver to visit a Christian bookstore operated by a friend of mine, Mica. El-Shaddai's Bookstore has been operating West Broadway for the last several years, and has decided to close down and liquidate their business. I have known Mica for a couple of years now, and she has been a faithful and encouraging friend, blessing the lives of everyone who walks into her store. I decided to see if I could help her liquidate, wondering if there might be any interesting books that I might be interested in.  I did not expect to come away with what I did.

   As I was browsing through the store, I noticed the items displayed behind the store window, and decided to take a closer look. As I walked out on to the sidewalk to get a closer look, my heart suddenly skipped a beat as I recognized something familiar on the upper display shelves. Propped against a display stand was a replica of "The Resolution" document from the movie "Courageous" that I had seen earlier this year! I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and I knew I had to have it. So I hurried back in and took it off the display shelf.

The Resolution

Designed to be a replica for personal use, this is an 8" x 10" frameable print, inked on premium acid-free paper, with foil detailing and beautiful lettering. It even has blank spaces on the bottom for the man's signature and date, and two witness's signatures and dates.  I can't believe I found something like this, and that too on sale! I feel so blessed!

I have decided that I will keep this as carefully as I can till the day I get married. One day, if the Lord wills, I will have the tremendous privilege of signing this document in front of the woman that I desire to marry and serve, and we will mount this on the wall of our home. I will do this, because I really want to live a courageous life. Until then, I will simply surrender my life and character to God, to be molded into the kind of man that will be able to live the principles of The Resolution with all my might by the grace of God.

   In addition to this, I also found Billy Graham's newest book, "Nearing Home: Life, Faith and Finishing Well". I bought this for my only surviving grandfather whom I hope to see in India next month after many years. Looking at the words on the back of the book, I thought this would be a wonderful and  fitting present to give him: 

Nearing Home, by Billy Graham

"Growing old has been the greatest surprise of my life," says Billy Graham, known by many as God's Ambassador. "I would have never guessed what God had in store for me, and I know that as I am nearing home, He will not forsake me the last mile of the way."

In Nearing Home this man of faith-now in his nineties-explores the challenges of aging while gleaning foundational truths from Scripture. Billy Graham invites us to journey with him as the considers the golden years while anticipating the hope of being reunited with his wife, Ruth, in his heavenly home that eclipses this world.

"When granted many years of life, growing old in age is natural, but growing old with grace is a choice," says the author. "Growing older with grace is possible for all who will set their hearts and minds on the Giver of grace, the Lord Jesus Christ."

   Like Billy Graham, my grandfather is now in his nineties, and I felt that the message of someone else his age would be very meaningful for him. Through the fervent, prayers of my mother and witness of many people over more than two decades, he finally gave his life to Christ at the age of 88. Since then, I have heard that he has read the Bible cover to cover - not once, but twice. This will be the first time in my life that I will be meeting my grandfather as a believer. I'm really looking forward to it.

   From El-Shaddai's it was off to another bookstore in downtown Vancouver specialising in antique books, where I was looking for something very specific, and very special. Like El-Shaddai's, I found more than I hoped for.

Ancient treasure!

 The red book on the far right is what I was actually looking for - an old service and prayer book. This one is an old edition of "The Book of Common Prayer," used in the services and liturgy of the Church of England. It was authorized by Queen Elizabeth I and printed in 1571, which makes it 442 years old! I have gradually started using it in my daily devotions and prayers, and will soon start looking out for other such books.

The little black book is a translation of "The Imitation of Christ", by Thomas A' Kempis. One of the great classics of Christian writing, my parents had a copy of it in our home when I was growing up. Having never read it, I wanted a copy of my own, so I was overjoyed when I saw it! This one is dated from 1909.

   I stumbled across the other two quite by accident. The orange book is titled "The Footsteps of Saint Paul" and is a carefully researched volume on the life and times of the Apostle Paul! I thought it would be invaluable to my endeavour to study the book of Romans. This copy was printed in 1856. The slightly green book on the far left is a history of the city of Jerusalem, titled "Jerusalem: A Historical Sketch", and was published in 1924.

So much to read!

   I will be keeping and using these very carefully. Hopefully, the material in them will be helpful to me personally and worth quoting from on this blog. Maybe it's time to buy some gloves to handle them with :)

   That's all for now. I have some thinking and praying to do. See you in the next post!

- The Wisdom Seeker

Following Jesus Into The Downtown Eastside

"Whoever closes his ear to the cry of the poor will himself call out and not be answered."  

- Proverbs 21:13, ESV

"By this we know love, that He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers...Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth." 

- 1 John 3:16, 18, ESV

    Since the experience of my last post, I have found myself spending a lot of time over the last two days in prayer and meditation, trying to understand what is happening to me. I feel as if several significant things are slowly but surely stirring in my heart, accompanied by a great contemplative silence in the presence of God with a longing for sanctification and holiness. In the midst of this time of prayer that I'm still pursuing, I felt the prompting and leading of the Holy Spirit to go into the one area of Vancouver that I have heard much about since first arriving here, but never dared to traverse thus far - the Downtown Eastside.

   Vancouver's Downtown Eastside (DTES), titled "Canada's poorest postal code" by The Dominion Newspaper [1] is an area spanning a few blocks, and one of it's oldest neighbourhoods. In addition to being a victim of urban decay, it is also one of its most destitute, inflicted with a high incidence of poverty, alcoholism, drug usage, the sex trade, violent crime, and the highest HIV infection rate in North America. Till today, my encounters with it had only been from an insulated, sanitized distance - newspaper reports, and the secure, air conditioned interior of the #135 transit bus that I'd taken numerous times from SFU to downtown, passing along Hastings street in the middle of the neighbourhood. 

   And so it happened following God's prompting through His Spirit, that today afternoon I drove downtown after running some errands, parked some distance away from the DTES and walked the several city blocks that led straight into it. I felt nervous, never having been into a neighbourhood like this in all the time that I've been in Canada so far. But trusting God's call, I followed Him all the way to the heart of the DTES -  East Hastings and Main streets, which has acquired a reputation for being an "open-air market" for drugs.

   It was early afternoon and although the sunshine and warmth of spring has begun to move into the Lower Mainland over the last few days, the air was still cool when I got there. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking or avoiding the stale smell that hung in the air - unwashed bodies and clothing, alchohol, cigarette smoke and the telltale occasional whiff of smoked marajuana that I have learned to identify after moving to BC. But it wasn't so much the smell that caught my attention as I walked along the blocks towards Hastings and Main streets - it was the people - multitudes of them, lining the sidewalks.

     I was struck by how many of them were using walking aids - wheelchairs, crutches and braces, both the reasonably young as well as the old. A number of others limped by with difficulty, including one native Indian man with a vacant expression expression in his eyes, clutching an almost empty Cocoa-Cola bottle. Many others stood aimlessly against the walls or in front of entrances to buildings, with their only possessions in suitcases, garbage bags or shopping carts. I passed a rather skimpily clad lady who seemed to be trying to pour some liquid into what looked like a whiskey bottle. There were several small groups of people along the sidewalk, huddled together trying to buy, sell, trade or exchange random things - appliances, clothes, odds and ends. Others slept in makeshift shelters or on the sidewalk in sleeping bags or blankets. Most of the storefronts had a look of dank decrepitude, and almost all of them without exception had barred windows and doors. I passed by elderly chinese man, bent over and holding on to a walking stick, receiving in his open palm what looked like white pills being shaken out of  an unlabelled prescription bottle by another man. I didn't stop to take a closer look, just kept walking along at as steady a pace as I could.

   After arriving at the intersection of Hastings and Main streets, I was surveying the sight of the neighbourhood when a short middle-aged woman passed, carrying her possessions in two black garbage bags and trying to cross at the traffic lights. "Careful what you're looking at or doing around here, baby", she said. "Somebody gets upset, and they might kill you. Heck, I've felt like doing it myself to other people a few times." I nodded silently. She kept going and crossed the pedestrian crossing, talking to herself. Crossing the adjacent sidewalk to the opposite side of the street, I started heading back in the opposite direction. 

   The scene didn't look too different on that side of the road. I hadn't gone to far when I happened to pass by a young boy and girl heading in the opposite direction along the sidewalk. Seeing me, the boy stepped in my direction, waved his palm towards my face and said "hey, good-looking Chindian!", and then carried on walking up the street. "Chindian" is a slang expression for someone of mixed Indian and Chinese descent. I was startled for a bit, wondering what made him think that I possessed Chinese heritage, but kept walking. Looking across the street, I saw a building with "Potter's Place Mission" written on the board at its front. I remembered two friends of mine during my time at SFU - Steve and Kitty (who are now engaged) serving at a soup kitchen and homeless shelter on Hastings by that name, run by Korean missionaries. I concluded that it must have been the same place, and made a mental note of it for later.

     Having roamed around the DTES and on my way headed back out, Ifelt my heart beginning to break for the broken lives, mental, physical, emotional and spiritual lostness that I was seeing around me. I suddenly remembered the words of a passage from the Old Testament book of Isaiah that had been the topic of a bible study session in a small group that I used to attend last year. In His indictment and proclamation of judgement against the hypocrisy, injustice and indifference that was rampant in ancient Israel, God had this to say:

"Is not this the fast that I choose:

  to loose the bonds of wickedness,

  to undo the straps of the yoke,

  to let the oppressed go free,

  and to break every yoke?

  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry

   and to bring the homeless poor into your house;

   when you see the naked, to cover him,

   and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

  Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,

  and your healing shall spring up speedily;

   your righteousness shall go before you;

  the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.

   Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;

    you shall cry, and He will say, 'Here I am.'

   If you take away the yoke from your midst,

    the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,

   If you pour yourself out for the hungry

   and satisfy the desire of the afflicted,

   Then shall your light rise in the darkness

    and your gloom be as the noonday."

- Isaiah 58:6-10, ESV

   In the opening chapters of Isaiah, the prophet sees a vision of the glory of God, and after seeing his own wretchedness in the light of the majesty of God and being cleansed of it, hears God ask:

   "And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?' Then I said, 'Here am I! Send me.'" 

- Isaiah 6:8-9, ESV

   Isaiah encountered the vision of the holiness and the person of God, and was ready to take the word of God to the people of his nation. Having followed Jesus into the Downtown Eastside today, I have to ask myself - what am I doing to declare and demonstrate the healing message of the Gospel to the destitute of this city? Guide my mind, mouth and hands to think, speak and work for you, Lord Jesus.

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:

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[1] The Poorest Postal Code

Haunted By My Grandfather's Voice

My paternal grandparents,
P. M. Thomas and Susan Thomas

   Something happened to me yesterday that has left me rather shaken and unnerved. While driving to work yesterday morning, I heard in my mind the voice of my long dead paternal grandfather (the man in the photo on the right), singing to me. 

   I have no explanation for why he suddenly came to mind; it's been more than a year since I last thought of him. On the occasions that I have thought of him, I have done so with admiration and affection for his strong, uncompromising Christian character and life that he led by example, which I wish I could emulate. My memories of him have become somewhat hazy of late. But there was no mistaking that voice. And there was no mistaking that song; it was a liturgical hymn that I had often heard him and my grandmother sing during church and family prayer times when he was alive. I don't know the words of that hymn, just it's melody. But there was no mistaking that either.

   I remember pulling over to the side of the road in shock and sitting in a daze for a few minutes while his voice in my head went on, singing that hymn. And then something in me began to swell up and emerge that I have not experienced before. A powerful flood of my memories of him, and more importantly the little Mar Thoma parish [1] in India that he used to go to began to return, clear and sharp like a camera lens focusing on an object. With them came a deep, intense longing that I still cannot put words to. Without understanding why, I began to sing that hymn the best I could, put my head against the steering wheel and started to cry. It took a few minutes before I could pull myself together and finish the drive to the two project sites where I worked by myself for the rest of the day.

   But his memories, voice and hymn in my head did not go away, even while I was at work and all the way to small group later. If anything, they have become stronger and followed me over the last two days. And with them, the strange stirring in my heart that I still cannot put words to.

   P. M. Thomas was the grandfather ("appachen" in our native tongue, Malayalam) that I saw and personally connected with the least, but probably the man who has left the biggest impression on my father's family in terms of his life and legacy. I remember Appachen to be a devout and pious man of few words, but uncompromising in his character and conduct. Though living a modest life with a meager salary, he raised a strong, God-fearing family through whom his legacy lives today. A man of prayer, he had a rule in his house for family prayer to be held at 6 AM and 6 PM, which were kept without fail. He was also a man who spent time immersed in his Bible everyday; one of my best and most powerful memories of him is in his 70's, old and greyed with a pacemaker in his heart and cataract in his eyes, yet attempting to read his Bible with a magnifying glass. I think that image made an impression that remains to this day, and spurs me on too to immerse myself in the Word of God.

Sharon Mar Thoma Parish

   But those weren't the specific memories of Appachen that have been following me since yesterday. It was trotting behind him as a little child, trying to keep up with his quick pace, to his little parish church every Sunday, when my family and I vacationed in India every other summer. It was memories of standing and kneeling beside him in the wooden pews, listening to him sing the songs of the liturgical service, sung by the priests with the congregation responding with singing at the appropriate points. It was the solemn, yet deeply meaningful and reverential atmosphere in that old church as the hymn and prayer books were opened, men in their Sunday white, women with their heads covered and the priests in their vestments, like those in the photo on the right at my niece's baptism. It was my grandfather ushering me to the front when it happened to be my birthday, to kneel at the steps in front of the altar with other children as the priest laid his hands on our heads and pronounced the blessing on us. It was watching Appachen go up to the front to receive the communion bread and wine from the priest, as the priest put the bread in his mouth and let him sip from the chalice that contained the communion wine. And most of all, it was the sound of Appachen's voice, singing the hymns and prayers during the service and again at family prayer times, with that particular tone and pitch that made his voice immediately recognizable to my childhood ears, the same voice that I heard singing to me yesterday.

   My heart has suddenly been filled with a longing to see my grandfather again;  to hear him sing those old hymns again; to visit his little parish; to once again hear and participate in that traditional liturgy which I watched him partake of; to hear those deeply moving, yet solemn and reverential hymns and traditional worship that I watched standing by his side as a child; to re-visit and explore my spiritual history, heritage and that ancient church from which my family has come; to visit his grave at the cemetery where he is buried with my grandmother, but more so to live his example and legacy. I want to live a strong and upright Christian life like he did, to one day lead a family like he did, to one day leave a legacy like he did.

   My grandfather's voice is still singing that hymn in my head. My heart is still stirring with memories, and I'm still crying. Something is happening to me, Jesus. But what is it?

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:
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[1] Salem Mar Thoma Church, Ernakulam