Okay, this isn’t exactly related to Luke 8, our focus for the week, but it’s Thanksgiving Eve, and this evening we’ll be gathering at Countryside Church to give thanks for four specific elements in our lives: distinctive people, life experiences, God-experiences, and food. Congregation members will be bringing forward items that remind them of one or more of these things and placing them in the chancel area. A number of folks will be given opportunities to reflect on their items/experiences before a blessing is given over the items and we all go down to Memorial Hall to eat pie!
Below is a story that fits both into the “food” and the “God-experience” category, which I may share this evening if there’s time for it. In my experience, I’ve found that there are a number of things we can do to become more open to having such experiences, including: meditation, worship, treks in the wilderness, study of the Bible or other sacred texts, journalling, reading or writing poetry … and eating good food mindfully. Here’s one of many food/God experiences I’ve had – this one from my first day in India in the summer of 2004:
I’ve been to lots of Indian restaurants before coming to India, and thoroughly enjoyed most of them. I, and my girls, have cooked Indian food at home. But I had never been to Kamat’s Restaurant in south Mumbai!
After arriving in Mumbai late the night before, I slept in a bit, missing breakfast and emerging from my hotel in time for an early lunch. Kamat’s was on Colaba Causeway a block or two from the hotel I’d picked to spend a couple days before my family arrived from Arizona (I was coming directly from Ethiopia). As do many restaurants India, Kamat’s advertised itself as “pure vegetarian.” I nervously sat down in the tiny restaurant not knowing how much English the waiters spoke or how to interpret a number of unfamiliar items on their menu. I decided to play it safe by ordering a broad sampling of south Indian food and to wash it down with a beverage that caught my eye: a ginger-lemon soda. What arrived minutes later will remain with me the rest of my life.
First came the ginger-lemon soda. The waiter brought a medium-sized glass about a quarter full of thick, golden-brown syrup. Next, he opened a bottle of soda water, and set down a spoon and tumbler of straws beside it. 
The waiter showed me how to slowly poor the soda over the syrup without creating too much foam. I knew from previous soda-syrup experiences that you don’t want to stir the mixture with a spoon too much, if at all, lest you create an overly powerful mixture that gradually dilutes with each re-pouring of soda water. You take a few sips until you get down to a level where the syrup is more concentrated and pour on more soda.
Anyway, I poured the initial measure of soda, brought the glass to my lips, and as soon as the first golden-brown drops hit my tongue it was like the universe stopped expanding. For a few brief moments everything was enveloped in ginger-lemon!
As the sensation began to fade, I took another sip. Once again, the universe stopped in its tracks, infused with a golden-brown aura. I continued sipping on and off again until everything was not simply infused with ginger-lemon, but the universe became ginger-lemon.
No, there was nothing weird in my drink! It’s just India. The meal that followed brought on similar experiences, only with different flavors, all of which seemed to unite somewhere in the ethers like planets orbiting some great sun. I was particularly struck by a dab of red, syrupy sauce – no more than three teaspoons worth – on the edge of my plate. A small chunk of tomato in the center suggested some form of tomato chutney. (I learned later that this is called “pickle” and that a wide variety of “pickle” is served throughout India as a condiment.) I took a spoon of rice, dabbed it in the sauce, and placed it in my mouth. This time, the universe did not stop in its tracks. It exploded with light of a million red tomato supernovas pulsing to the tangy, sweet-tart beat of vinegar, a grain or two of sugar, and spices. It took everything I had not to stand up and shout, “Praise be to You, O wondrous Creator!”
I immediately determined to return to Kamat’s the next day, and as often as possible before my family and I headed for southern India!
The next day happened to be the World-Wide Opening of the third Harry Potter film. Turns out, Mumbai was as crazed over Harry Potter as the rest of the planet, which was okay by me since I’m a little Harry Potter crazy myself. 
What else could explain my walk of several kilometers in the intense heat and drop-to-your-knees humidity, carrying heavy video equipment I was using to document my journey, just to see the first showing? After getting lost, finding my way again, and arriving at the theatre completely drenched from head to foot in perspiration, I gladly purchased a scalped seat for nearly three times the original cost (still only around $4 US!). I entered the theatre, gulped down a cold soda, and found my seat. 
There was a power outage just before the film started, but after a 45 minute delay, the world of Harry Potter was ours. I, and several hundred kids and handful of adults in the audience, had great fun.
We got out just before 7 PM, so there was still some daylight left – and a slight reprieve from the heat (but not humidity). I continued my walking tour of Mumbai. Along the way, I noticed a man wearing traditional Indian clothing for that area – a light, round-collared (like a priest wears) top garment that extends down below the knees, which covers loose-fitting, similarly colored pants. I really liked the look and it seemed like it would offer at least a little reprieve from the heat and humidity. Moments later, I passed a stall with similar clothing. After haggling with the stall-keeper, I had a similar outfit for 200 rupees (same price as the Harry Potter ticket!). This outfit became my “church clothes” for the rest of the journey.
Eventually I found myself at the famed Horniman Circle. 
Horniman Circle is a very small park in the middle of bustling south Mumbai. In the 1860s, it was the sole remaining section of Bombay’s cotton green (Bombay was later called Mumbai). Now, it is a fenced garden, filled with lush flowers, flowering trees and shrubs, green grass, a serene central fountain, palms, and the original banyan tree under which stocks were traded in the early days of the Bombay Stock Exchange.
The fading sun deepened the intense reds and oranges of the flowering trees. 
This, combined with the park’s amazing quietness (considering its location), the shadowy leaves gently swaying in the breeze, the fragrance of plants mingling with incense, set me in a reverent mood. I walked the perimeter of the garden-park feeling as if a beautiful, heavy-set woman with long, black, leafy hear, wearing an orange-red dress (the color of Kamat’s “pickle”) and perfume that was supremely complex yet simple, was reaching out and embracing me with multiple arms. 
The feelings that stirred within me were not sexual. Nor were they entirely sensual. They were spiritual. This was the same deity of the ginger-lemon universe with red tomato supernovas I’d experienced at Kamat’s Restaurant yesterday. This was a feminine deity. Or, more precisely, a feminine face of the Deity. It was the same deity I have always known – in both masculine and feminine forms – deep at the heart of Christian experience. Deep in the love of Christ. Yet, it was another side of this love.
I passed under a trellis gateway bowing my head to avoid brushing up against the leafy branches hanging from it, and suddenly realized it was only my body bowing to the branch.
My soul was bowing to the Creator. Part of me was bowing to a fraction of God to whom I’d never bowed before; never quite knew existed in this way before; to whom I’d never submitted or pledged obedience before. Before then. I became a better Christian because of it.
Dinner was spent at Kamat’s – of course. You can guess how that went!
