Speak Jesus on the Ganges

Mar 7 2023 - Amy Raby

This year our church is focusing on evangelism. We are asking God to give us a burden for the lost, for those who are not yet following Christ. We are asking Him for boldness to speak and to go. We are asking Him to make us weep for those who don’t know Jesus and begging Him for a bountiful harvest! 

He who continually goes forth weeping, 
Bearing seed for sowing, 
Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, 
Bringing his sheaves with him. —Psalm 126:6 

In 2017, Justin and I went on a survey trip to India. We were in six cities in eight days, took three overnight trains, and met with hundreds of believers as we encouraged one another in our faith. The trip was intense in every way possible. Physically taxing, mentally exhausting, and spiritually assaulting. Northern India is shrouded in darkness. We were mostly in, Uttar Pradesh, a state filled with 274.4 MILLION people, with an estimated .01% knowing Christ. (Joshuaproject.net) 

One city, I will never forget. One city was unlike all the rest. Varanasi. It’s built right on the Ganges river. A destination for many spiritual-seekers, pilgrims, and desperate souls. The place where they burn their dead and dump the bones and ash into the river. This poem captures our experience there as God illuminated one young man, out of the thousands on the river, and we shared the eternal and very real hope and salvation he could have in Jesus Christ. 

The Streets of Varanasi 

Cripples lined the streets. 
Beggars on mats with twisted legs, 
Matted hair, unkempt beards, dirty faces. 
Help requested through a tongue I did not know, 
Beckoning through boney cheeks and stick-like arms. 
Beds of concrete and inches set in crowded rows 
Just a few hundred feet from the water 
—Water that was supposed to heal, to save. 

They call it a portal to heaven, 
The Ganges river banks in Varanasi. 
Nothing about it felt heavenly, 
Even though death is our doorway, 
And death there was all around. 

It was a fiery death. 
A dark death that did not give way to light. 
Bodies burning along the waterway, 
The stench circling in with my breath, 
Creating a memory unforgettable. 
Death floating in the water beside us. 
Dead cows, dead men, dead mothers 
Lapping at the side of our vessel. 
The setting sun amplified the evil in the air. 

Darkness internal and dark outside. 
Godlessness surrounded by gods. 
Emptiness in songs of praise. 
A lifeless gathering of thousands of souls, 
And one at the mercy of our money, 
And we at the mercy of his river vessel. 

One whose eyes met ours. 
One who Holy Ghost illuminated in the night. 
One who would hear the truth of Light, 
The truth of why we were there on his boat. 
The truth about his soul and Love and gods. 
One who Spirit stilled long enough to hear, 

And maybe one who would soon bring light 
To the darkness of the river and  
The streets of Varanasi.