Dancing on the Floor of Heaven

Before You Begin . . . North America in the 21st century has largely shed itself of Christian values: Immorality and violence play to full houses at the local cinema, profanity rules the television screen and many young people have abandoned the churches where their parents still worship. God’s kingdom on earth seems in disarray. Enter Matthew Montgomery, the “Unlikely Pilgrim.” Although a College education has battered his traditional Christian views he feels compelled to volunteer as an agricultural missionary when other job prospects fail. But God is not dead; the scene is set for a major skirmish with the Almighty. God's dealings with the human soul are in some ways unique, perfectly attuned to the needs and personality of the individual. Yet in this tale important themes of universal truth re-occur that apply to all – the agnostic, the disillusioned with religion, the Christian whose heart aches for reality - to everyone who would explore the meaning of Christianity or become a disciple of Jesus Christ. These “Adventures,” as I have called them, beg an audience. Add to this the magnetic pull of India – dazzling snow peaks falling away to fertile plains and plateaus; mud-walled villages little changed by history’s ebb and flow; ancient, crowded cities awakening to the touch of modern technology; colorful, likeable people of every caste and religion - and you have, I believe, a compelling read. Bible classes have long been part of the Christian scene. Book clubs are currently in vogue. Why not, I reasoned, add some probing questions to my story to help individual readers apply the truths to their own personal lives and then discuss the results with others in a group setting? You’ll find the questions at the end of the book. Now, it is time to let Matthew speak. Allan Connor, Port Hope, Ontario. xxxxxx Chapter 1 When the Ground Began to Move

“But what about you?” he (Jesus) asked. “Who do you say I am?” Matthew 16:15

I heard the music long before the procession passed my front gate and even after two years in India still couldn't fathom it. There was an unusual rhythm and a series of diverging melodies but no harmony. It sounded as though all the musicians in a jazz band were improvising at the same time and each member playing a different tune.

I walked out the driveway and looked down the dirt road just as a bridal party came in view. A gaggle of noisy minstrels led the way, trumpet, tuba, bass drum and clarinet all competing for the highest decibel to assault the human ear. The young bridegroom followed on a thin white horse whose prominent ribs betrayed the condition of its master's granary. The youth, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, was wearing a gold-brocaded cotton coat with matching turban, and wiping perspiration from an anxious face. Three crowded ox carts brought up the rear, lumbering leviathans transformed into gaudy floats by the brilliant oranges and fiery reds of women's skirts and headpieces. The cavalcade looked like a carnival troupe en route to a command performance.

Like a stone thrown into a quiet pond, an event such as a wedding generated a splash of color and excitement in the village of Kharampur, central India, where I lived. But the ripples soon dissipated and life returned to its normal pace. Most people traveled on foot or in bullock carts except for the few merchants who owned horses. Walking down the main street with its open-fronted shops, timbered galleries and mud-walled houses, you could retreat into history to a time when Muslim princes ruled their vast empire.

How strange then that a shy youngster from a small Ontario town should end up in this medieval world. I remember as a child hearing a missionary speak of his work on Canada’s Pacific coast. To my horror, he showed a set of stainless-steel false teeth he had made for himself to cope with the scarcity of dentists in the remote communities he served. The whole experience created a firm desire that life on the far-flung frontiers would never entice me away from the security of my home base. Little did I realize that as a young man I would travel much farther afield to live in one of the world's most unusual countries.

That grand adventure began when I arrived as an agricultural missionary in a post-independence India that was struggling to shake off its colonial past and plant its feet squarely in a modern twentieth century. Moving to exotic climes, however, paled in significance when compared to the changes stirring within. Like many Christians, I seldom gave serious thought to what I believed or why. It just seemed settled for me. I was born into a Christian home, attended Sunday school and church and tried to live a good life. But spiritual issues remained unfocussed. I suppose my pattern reflected a fuzzy view of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. Given that kind of indistinct background, how odd that I didn't see the irony of volunteering to be a missionary!

A major tremor shook my spiritual foundations a few weeks after arriving in my newly adopted country. I was studying Hindi, the national language, at language school in the Himalayan Mountains when a mid-term break provided a good excuse to visit the plains. I had seen something of the capital, New Delhi, on my arrival in India; now I wanted to visit Agra and the world-famous Taj Mahal. My friends at that point were few in number and no one seemed inclined to join me. But I was used to being a loner and that didn’t faze me.

I packed a change of clothes in an overnight bag and set off in high spirits, my feet flying down the mountain path to a taxi stand in the town of Mussoorie. Three drivers rushed forward and the haggling began. I quickly chose an older man who offered the best price, despite his mangled English and the condition of his ancient Chevy.

We started off in a rush on a death-defying descent over the narrow asphalt ribbon, rock face to the left, precipitous drops on the right, brakes constantly slammed on and then quickly released. One wrong move of the steering wheel and I figured we would fly over the edge and tumble into eternity. But we made it, intact. Our mad dash slowed, we entered the suburbs of Dehra Dun and headed for the railway station. The Delhi Express stood waiting.

I composed myself, walked up to the wicket, trotted out my best Hindi and asked for a second class ticket to Agra, breaking my journey in New Delhi. The clerk, without raising an eyebrow, told me the price, stamped a pass and handed it across the counter. He’d understood me completely! I couldn’t repress a smile. The fledgling had flown from the nest!

At Haridwar, where the historic Ganges River escapes its narrow mountain valley and tumbles out onto the northern plain, a middle-aged Indian gentleman entered my compartment. His single-breasted cotton coat with stand-up collar, and white wedge-shaped cap, immediately stamped him as an educated person with strong sentiments for the ruling Congress party. He sat down, unfolded a newspaper, glanced at the headlines, then put it aside.

"And where will you be coming from?" he asked, in faultless English, eyeing me closely. xxxxxx

Reading Group Questions

Chapter 1: How would you explain Christianity to a total stranger? Write down your thoughts. Chapter 2: a) What does it mean to “start children off on the way they should go” (Proverbs 6:22)? b) Who should be responsible for the Christian education of children? Chapter 3: a) Read Ezekiel 18:30-32; Luke 5:31,32; Acts: 20:21,22. The Bible contains the words “repent” and “repentance” over 30 times; what do they mean? b) Is it possible to have true faith without repentance?