The Winter Line
There are two places in the world where one can see the meteorological wonder that is called the “winter line.” One is in Switzerland; the other is in Mussoorie, India. The latter is my new home for this year. The winter line appears for about two months each year, usually from mid-October to mid-December. Each night as the sun sets over the Doon Valley, we are treated to the winter line. As if a Divine hand has drawn a black line in the sky, the sun drops behind what is essentially a false horizon. The line distinctly separates the gray, murky air of our atmosphere from the wondrous pinks and auburn of the sunset sky. Each night, as I walk home from teaching, I marvel at the line in much the same way we would marvel at the Northern Lights.
Considering that I am teaching English at a private, Christian boarding school in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains, I feel compelled to see the metaphors that surround all of us. Something in the eyes of a poet sees a flood in a teardrop and a beach in a grain of sand. In the winter line rests a wonderful picture of the confusion of my new life here.
I live in a country that reveres the cow as a holy animal, yet most Indian cows are desolate, disregarded creatures. The monkey, too, is a holy animal, yet ask any storekeeper his feelings about these animals, and one hears anything but reverence. I teach at a Christian school, yet many of my students are Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain, or agnostic. Like the false horizon that the winter line creates, my environment is full of elements that confuse the mind, reason, and eyes.
The most challenging part of teaching here, thus far, has been grappling with spiritual discourse with staff and students. Unfortunately, my greatest problems come with dealing with my fellow Christians. Whereas I feel that Christ has called me to love all people, many here feel called to condemn all non-Christians to eternal punishment. In fact, this position is so extreme that even my Catholic friends here have been told that they too will go to hell for praying to Mary.
The basis for this stance comes from the attitude that there is only one truth. This leads to the conclusion that “we are right and they are wrong.” Therein lies my problem. I asked one of my peers who adopts this stance what the truth of “eight” is. He thought for a moment and said, “Four plus four.” I asked him why eight wasn’t the square root of 64, or 16 divided by 2, or 4 times 2. Isn’t that truth?
Later that same week, this same peer and I visited the memorial in Delhi that marks that place where Gandhi was assassinated. Gandhi walked daily from his bedroom out to his gardens for his evening prayers. It was on this nightly stroll that he was killed. You can literally walk the path where Gandhi took his last steps. Inside the house where he lived is now a museum about his life and works. The museum is filled with pictures of him as he traveled through India prior to Partition. On his walks, he preached to the people of India the need for peace among all people. He called his followers to love all people, especially those who are in most dire need of our love. People climbed trees to see this quiet, peaceful man who desired nothing more than love among the people of his country. Despite his incredible life dedicated to poverty, chastity, and devotion to humankind, I’m surrounded by peers who tell me that, like Mother Theresa, Gandhi is in hell.
It is difficult for me to align myself with people who share my faith in name only. At times it gets to the point where if I’m asked if I’m a Christian, I smile and say that actually I’m a Lutheran. I simply do not have the theological hubris to lambaste all people of other faiths. I understand that we, as Christians, are called to share the good news of Christ. This idea is important to me, and I agree with it. But, how do we do this effectively? Because of the rancorous religious attitude of the very people who want to convert our non-Christian students, many students openly state that, after graduation, they will never look at Christianity again. This is conversion?
Christ’s love is the love that surpasses all understanding. It is a love that is beyond, and part of, our own actions. That is why I simply cannot say that “I know and you know not” with my non-Christian students. Faith is doubt. Faith is mystery. Faith is beyond reason. That is the wonder of faith. I have the faith that through love of my fellow humans, regardless of their religion, I am following the example of Christ. And if I am wrong? If indeed I am supposed to damn those who do not agree with me, then I will join Gandhi and Mother Theresa with joy in my heart. For if that is the punishment of loving my neighbors, then it seems a punishment worth serving.