10. Extraordinary Men
The casual outings that Youth for Christ’s Fred David and John Teibe planned for us were fantastic. Anything was an excuse for getting together and going out: a movie, a sporting goods store, a meal, a soft drink or snack. Fred and John were great at gathering up guys to do things that seemed natural but that also included conversations full of deep discipleship. For many of us, these lessons lasted throughout the years.
Those outings were perfect for relaxing, and whether we were nibbling on samosas or sipping cappuccinos, we talked about any issue of life that might have preoccupied us. Without fail, Fred and John brought those issues into perspective with a practical Christian theology.
Our main hangout was Connaught Place, Delhi’s vast, circular outdoor shopping area near the city’s center. Connaught is made up of a half-dozen or so blocks of curved buildings that face each other and form a circle, separated by streets that shoot out from the grassy central hub like spokes on a wheel. If you stand in the middle of that hub and turn slowly in a circle, you can see hundreds of shops lining the great mall, whose inner diameter measures almost a half kilometer. Each shop is owned independently, and many have doors and windows decorated with beautiful inlaid mother-of-pearl. Outside, on the sidewalks, street vendors set up their own tables or tents from which they hawk their treasures all day long. It is a vast and bustling place.
Only a block or two away from Connaught Place stands a multistory office building that houses the newspaper called the Statesman. It probably was during one of those Youth for Christ outings that I learned the paper was founded by William Carey, the British missionary who landed in Calcutta in 1893. Carey developed the Statesman for one purpose: to provide a voice for the common people. At the time, some gruesome customs were still being observed in India. For example, when a husband died and was cremated, it was customary for his wife to throw herself into the flames and accompany him in death. Another prevalent custom was throwing female babies into the river. Carey was horrified by all of this and enjoined some famous Indian reformers to help him fight the practices. Using the voice of the Statesman, they were influential in curbing both these customs.
Casual lessons like this not only influenced my thinking but also captured my imagination. As I sat in Connaught Place with my buddies, there before me, standing perhaps a dozen stories high, was the tangible result of one Christian’s commitment and determination. The example of a historical believer’s life had been brought closer to home for us, and it fueled our own commitment.
The leaders of Youth for Christ not only gave us life lessons drawn from the world around us; they also gave us opportunities to express our beliefs and develop our gifts. Young men and women alike had the chance to give their testimonies and to preach at rallies, club events, and even in some churches, which was largely unheard of in India’s relatively formal religious culture. To no one’s surprise, my buddy Sunder’s brilliance shone in this area too. Because he was such a great student and extremely gifted at organization, he delivered strong, well-crafted sermons. Sunder and I grew spiritually together, and our souls were knit in numerous efforts of preaching and outreach.
Fred and John kept encouraging us in everything we did, and at times our group’s activities seemed to bustle as much as Connaught Place. Of course, that suited me well. Several of us put together a singing group that performed at various events, and, thanks to my dad’s influence, we secured an engagement to sing carols for Prime Minister Nehru at his home. It took place on Christmas Eve, and Nehru seemed sufficiently moved that he walked up to me afterward, grasped my hand, and placed in it one hundred rupees for our group.
It was at this pinnacle of happiness in my life — succeeding in college and thriving with Youth for Christ — that I made a decision that would affect everything. I had gone to my first YFC youth camp, along with Sunder and both of my sisters, when Fred David gave an illustration I would never forget:
A wealthy man walked into a village one day seeking to buy up all the homes. One by one, the villagers sold their houses to this man for a good price, except for a poor fellow who lived in the middle of the town. He simply wasn’t willing to part with his home. The wealthy man offered a generous amount, but the poor man still wouldn’t budge. Even when the price was doubled, the man said no.
Finally the rich man said, “Name your price. I’ll give you whatever you want, because then I’ll own the whole village.”
“I don’t want to sell to you,” the poor man said. “I’m happy where I am, and this is where I want to stay.” He continued to stand his ground, much to the wealthy man’s disenchantment.
A few days passed and the rich man was seen strolling through town with his friends, showing them the village. When the poor man heard about it, he stopped one of the wealthy man’s friends and took him aside. “Is this man telling you he owns the whole village?” he asked. “Don’t believe him! The ground you’re standing on still belongs to me.”
Fred explained his story: “I believe the enemy of our souls must taunt God the way this poor man taunted the rich one. You see, if there is any part of our lives that we haven’t turned over to Christ, the devil reminds him, ‘No, that one isn’t totally yours. I still have this patch of ground here.’
“Jesus is totally committed to us. And until we learn to be totally surrendered to him, we’ll never find the joy of what it means to fully belong to him. That is the key to every believer’s life — full ownership by Christ. Everything we are and want to be belong to him.
“The Lord wants to have ownership of your life. If there is anything hindering this from happening, I invite you to come forward now and lay it before Christ.”
The words burned in me. I walked forward that night, as did Sunder and a few other close friends, and my face was literally on the altar as I prayed, “Lord, if there is anything in my life that you do not have possession of, I want you to take it. Whatever it is I have held back, I want to be totally yours.”
I made my full commitment to Christ that night. Little did I know that, within two years, that commitment would have me heading somewhere I never would have imagined.
Around this time, our family started going to another church. I had passed by Centenary Methodist Church every day on my bike route to school and was always struck by the sign placed on the property outside. It read, “Trespassers Will Be Forgiven.” Everywhere else in the city, the trespass signs read, “Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted” and “Trespassers Will Be Arrested.” The simple difference in this sign had always struck me as profound.
Once my family started going to Centenary Methodist, we all became involved right away. I joined the youth group, my father sang in the choir, and my parents even joined the church. I had never been confirmed in the Cathedral Church of the Redemption, but at Centenary I was. It happened on an Easter Sunday, and I wore a white shirt and white trousers for the ceremony.
Why the switch in churches? There was a very significant ministry in India at that time which had begun to reach my dad — an outreach to executives called “International Christian Leadership,” led by Cliff and Betty Robinson. My father had started going with the Robinsons to a weekly Bible study, and somehow Cliff was getting through to him, as was John Teibe from YFC. Once my father began to grapple with the issues of the gospel, he decided that we should go to Centenary Methodist.
The new pastor who came to Centenary soon after our arrival was Ernest Fritschle, an American and an evangelical. Not only was my deep hunger fed by Rev. Fritschle’s preaching, but I also began to see more of Christianity’s mission and purpose at Centenary. On one occasion, my father had a severe asthma attack. I will never forget seeing this pastor come into our house, weighed down by a big oxygen cylinder on his shoulder. He hooked it up to help my father breathe. He was a servant to his congregation, and by the look in my dad’s eyes I could tell the process of God’s breaking through to him was beginning.
I have some fond memories from that church. A weeklong campaign was held outdoors on the church property, led by Ian North, the evangelist for Ambassadors for Christ and a powerful preacher. As I sat on the lawn and listened to him night after night, I thought, “This is life as I never imagined it.”
Sunday after Sunday, I could hardly wait to get to church. I even gave up my Sunday cricket matches with the college team so I could go. In fact, cricket’s tug on me gradually faded, apart from reading the scores every now and then. Church had become that important to me.
One Sunday, as I walked in for the evening service, I saw a distinguished-looking black gentleman sitting on the front row. He looked familiar, so when the service ended I decided to approach him.
“Very nice to have you here, sir,” I said.
“Very happy to be here,” he answered.
“What brings you to our church?”
“I’m in town playing for the West Indies cricket team,” he said.
That’s when I recognized him. It was Conrad Hunte — one of the finest and most elegant batsmen in the world. Conrad Cleophas Hunte, opening batsman for the West Indies! As we shook hands, I didn’t want to let go. It was as if the Lord were saying to me, “Here’s one of the world’s best cricketers, but his life is what it is because of what he has in his heart, and now you have the same.” I was completely at peace, relinquishing a small dream for a greater reality.
In May of 1965, when I was nineteen, YFC held its Youth Congress in Hyderabad, historically a predominantly Muslim city, with Christian young people gathering from all across India and Asia. Although my parents couldn’t afford to send me, I was able to go because of the generosity of Fred and John, who raised the money for several of us with an appeal to sponsors from overseas.
We’d heard about the preaching contest that took place each year at the Youth Congress. It was the highlight of the week, with one teenager from each delegation representing his or her group. Sunder was the obvious choice to preach for our Delhi crew, and I was taken along to lead the cheers. But, oddly, when the time came, Sunder wasn’t able to go because of a conflict with his studies.
“Ravi,” said Fred, “that means you’re up.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to preach. It’s the least you can do after all I’ve done for you. India can’t be the host country and have no representative from Delhi, the capital. You’ve got to do it.”
“Well, what do they want? I can’t just stand up and say anything I please?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just preach something from the Bible that has gripped your life.”