Reminiscings from the Roof of the World
Boots on the Ground
Friday, March 3. From Kathmandu airport our hosts headed directly towards the outskirts of the city to Pashupatinath Temple, a huge, open-air, complex dedicated to Shiva, one of Hinduism’s three major (out of 330 million) gods. The temple lies on both sides of the Bagmati River, considered a holy river because it is a tributary of the Ganges. The temple grounds were teeming with thousands; some 50,000 people pass through every day during the three day celebration of the Shivaratri festival. Most were decorated with brightly colored powders. Several worshippers tried to put the vermilion power on my forehead as a blessing from Kali, the goddess of destruction. To my western mind it was chaos. Our ears were inundated with the sounds of gongs, blaring devotional music, prayers, and chanting. The air was perfumed with aromas of spicy incense, marijuana, wood fires, and cremating corpses. The atmosphere was heavy with darkness and I was immediately in shock, disoriented, my senses overwhelmed.
As we walked the paths we passed tables of colored powers along with religious symbols and trinkets for sale, constantly being pressed on all sides by the crowd of worshippers. (Personal space is not a thing in South Asia.) The pathways and river banks were lined with sadhus (Hindu holy men) sitting around campfires and smoking hashish, which the government dumped by truckloads next to the temple grounds to be used for worshiping the ganja-smoking god. Robbie told us that about 2000 sadhus had walked barefoot from India for this festival. Many were fasting and most sported dreadlocks and were draped in saffron or white; others were naked.
In one tent we watched a young woman dancing in celebration of the marriage anniversary of Shiva to the goddess Parvati aeons ago. In that area there were several tents in which people could consult with a sadhu fortune teller. One tent opened before me and as a man came out I could see that the inside was completely dark. Robbie encouraged me to go into the tent and talk with the sadhu. I froze. I could hardly think much less go in and try to reason with the holy man. In a couple minutes we moved on. As we were walking out of that sector a boy, about seven years old saw me, drew a big puff from his marijuana pipe, and with a look of defiance blew the smoke in my direction. It felt like a taunt from the spirit realm. The entire atmosphere was overwhelming, surreal, like being in a movie but much more, and it was all very much real.
We walked by the temple building which was only open to practicing Hindus, and across a bridge to the other side of the Bagmati River where there were several lingam courtyards. The lingam is a symbol of Shiva and represents his infinite existence. Robbie explained to us that women who could not conceive often came and prayed for a son in these gardens.
In the river devotees were bathing to receive cleansing from sin. Every few hours a Shiva lingam is bathed with honey, water, and milk and offerings of fruit and incense are made to it. Cremation funeral pyres lie on the ghats (stairs) which line the river banks. In Hindu culture the oldest son is responsible for executing the funeral rites for his deceased father (one reason why birthing a son is so important in Hindu culture). Once the cremation is completed the ashes are then swept into the holy river. If all this is carried out according to the set tradition it is believed that then a good reincarnation awaits the deceased and eventually after many reincarnations moksha (salvation) will be obtained and the soul is finally absorbed into Brahman, the divine impersonal force.
This experience was a crash course into the culture of a world grossly different from mine. Astonishment and confusion overwhelmed me. One huge thought was disturbing me and started a thought process that would last for the next couple of weeks. How can they be using the word “holy” for all of this? I felt indignant that they were using “my” word to describe something very different from my perception of what that word meant. Isn’t holy a word that applies to our pure, righteous, YHWH, God of Light?! That is the idea I had always held. Yet as my journey continued in this land so different from all I had ever known I realized that here the more holy a site was the more filthy and dark it was.
In the days to come as I trekked and thought about this I remembered that the word holy doesn’t necessarily mean “morally good or perfect in righteousness”. It simply means “set apart from everything else for a specific purpose”. For example if my coffee pot is only used for coffee then I have a holy coffee pot dedicated to making only coffee. (firmisrael.org/learn/hebrew-meaning-holy-set-apart-for-purpose/) So according to this definition, like it or not, the usage is correct.
However John Piper tells us, “But in the Bible, that’s not the way the word holy is used. Holiness has taken on a moral meaning that derives from God’s holiness. In other words, God is separated from all that is not God and is in a class absolutely by himself. God, like the rarest diamond in the universe, is absolutely unique and infinitely valuable.
His holiness, therefore, most essentially consists in his absolute uniqueness and therefore the infinite value of his beauty and his excellence. He’s in a class by himself. He’s above all things. He’s sui generis. He’s distinct from everything that is not God, and therefore, he is of infinite and of absolute worth.” https://www.desiringgod.org/interviews/god-is-holy-and-righteous-are-those-the-same Jesus’ followers are called holy, not because we are perfect, but because of our association with Him; through His sacrifice for our cleansing from sin we have dedicated ourselves to God and are being transformed into His likeness. (2 Corinthians 3:16-18)
Friday evening is a blur in my memory but as I remember we were hosted for dinner at Robby and his wife, Leona’s, house where we were introduced to the rest of the Nepali team with whom we would be trekking in the days to come. I would have tasted my first Nepali food but my eyelids were drooping and sadly I can’t remember. Most likely it was dal bhat (lentils and rice) and curried vegetables with perhaps some chicken. I am certain that it was delicious as Leona is an amazing cook and I have been blessed to enjoy heaps of incredibly good food at their house.
Our new friends later drove us to Thamel, the tourist sector located near the city center. They checked us into the Student Guest House and wished us a good night. We had a wonderfully sound night’s rest. Except for one surprising interruption. At 1:45 am we were startled awake by blaring music coming from the street below. Leaping out of bed we ran to the window and saw a colorfully clad procession walking slowly down the street behind a brass band and carrying torches for light. The next day Leona explained that it was a wedding procession taking the groom to collect his bride. (That custom always reminds me that one day Jesus will come with heavenly trumpets sounding to collect His Bride for the most amazing wedding banquet that ever will be!) Hindu weddings frequently occur at odd hours since the dates and times are set by an astrologer who determines the auspicious timing for each individual couple.
The simple prayer I wrote in my journal before bed that evening was:
“Lord, I ask for Your leading and guidance. Show us, Holly and Vivian and myself, what You would have us do. Lead and guide us every step. Protect us and give us wisdom.”
Doxology
Now to him who is able to keep you
from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory
with great joy,
to the only God, our Savior,
through Jesus Christ our Lord,
be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever.
Amen
Jude 24–25 (ESV)
Coffee, Tea, and Reverie 
You are really good at writing. Easy to read and very interesting. I am enjoying these. You went through a lot. Amazing what you have seen and your just getting started telling us. Keep going! Love you
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Thank you, friend, for the encouragement! ❤️
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