Church, Church, Church, Church, Church, Church, Church

That’s right, seven church services in eight days, Palm Sunday through Easter Sunday, the only break being Saturday. This is how the Christians in Kerala celebrate Holy Week.

The upcoming holidays that commemorate our Savior’s death and resurrection are more important events here than the holiday that celebrates His birth. Although we won’t be gorging ourselves on Easter Cakes the way some of us (ok, it was me) gorged ourselves on Christmas Cakes a few months ago, we will be doing more singing, praying, and daydreaming. Ooops, did I say that out loud? (Ok, I guess I really didn’t, but I did just write it for the world to read…my excuse, of course, is that I don’t know the language the sermon is being preached in.)

Actually, I’m enjoying the Holy Week services very much. When I heard that, in the span of eight days, I was expected to go to church seven times, my chin dropped to the floor of Achen’s dining room and my eyes grew as large as the mangoes on the table in front of me. “We have a service every single day?” I thought, but didn’t voice. And yup, we certainly do (except for Saturday, which, this week, must be that “day of rest” that God calls for in His Commandments).

I have to admit that I dreaded going to the first service. Without sounding like a spoiled child, I have to say that, when the services are completely in Malayalam, a language I do not understand, despite my best (ok, not my best, but still) efforts, it’s difficult enough to sit still and quiet for two hours on a Sunday morning. But to do it again and again and again and again and again and again and again. (Was that seven?) Yes, I was dreading it like I dread the snakes that sometimes coil up under the hot sun in the middle of the road, where pedestrians might just happen to be crossing.

But the services haven’t been nearly as bad as the snakes. In fact, so far, they haven’t been bad at all. With the sun setting outside the church’s large windows and the voices of the people wafting through the warm evening air, the Holy Week services have been nothing but pleasant. There is singing, which I can do in English, because the tunes are all familiar. There is praying, which I can also do in English, because it is all in my head. And there is a bit of daydreaming, but I’m trying to keep it focused. The services last one hour, and by the time they are over, darkness has descended on this part of the world. And for me, along with that, a sense of peace has descended on my heart.

I know these Holy Week services are meant to prepare us for events that are anything but peaceful – the Last Supper, the betrayal, and the Crucifixion of Christ. But I can’t help feeling a wonderful sense of peace knowing that these events happened for me, that I believe in a God who, 2000 years ago, went through all of this for me. And I can’t help feeling a wonderful sense of peace knowing that I believe in a God who, 2000 years later, continues to do things for me every single day.

I mean, here I am, in India, far away from family, friends, and all familiarity. And the one thing I know I always have with me is my God. He died on a cross 2000 years ago for me. And how He is risen and walking right there by my side every moment of every day. Of course I feel at peace.