The Poor Wise Man of Calcutta

By Viv Grigg

He was very small and bearded, scarcely 5'4". A longish full beard. Greying. His eyes lay back deeply behind dark shadows caused by an intenseness about all he did. And perhaps long hours in prayer and deep meditation.

This morning sky lilted purple and pink through the misting dust sitting foggily above the bare pavement of Calcutta. Bare that is apart from the huddled sacked forms of the sleeping pavement dwellers and the occasional late sweeper, wafting his dust broken pot-shards, and empty coconut husks before him into the gutter.

Two men walked purposively yet slowly.

One was in sandals of the poor, his black cape wrapped around his shoulders like a thirteenth century English knight. He carried his betel in the little Indian woven bag over his shoulder. He was not perfect, this saint - the betel colored his mouth in the way a thick pipe smell hangs heavy over the saintly Christian men of Holland - at least not perfect in a non-smoking Anglo-Saxon way.

Speech? He speaks little, and then mostly wisdom, occasionally frustration or criticism in a Bengali way. That is not perfect either. Gentle speech is marked by that same Bengali nod of the head, in the soft voice into the beard for which at times one has to stoop his own head to hear. And in the way he accepted any offer of respect and love with a sudden un-selfconscious yet shy smile of thanks, of having received a re-affirmation of his dignity for a few minutes before the struggle with his own unworthiness returned. One knew that somewhere there had come brokenness, some battering of that sensitive spirit.

The clatter of the long train journey, the warm greetings of his co-workers, men in their own right, breakfast and discussions, the meeting, the speeches. And then one of those rare times on earth when God breaks through in the communications of the two men eating rice off their banana leaves with their fingers.

They talked of God. Of their knowledge of God. <It doesn't happen often, even amongst those who know him (and they are ten or is it one percent of those who say they know him) but when it does I suspect God smiles>.

"Some say God is made in man's image," he said.

"We all apply our own understanding of him, limit him down to some attributes that are part of our experience. But he is bigger than anything men can conceive. As such man could never know him. He must reveal himself."

"It's not strange that men should think this way of him. Even the scriptures follow this path. First he is seen as the God who goes with a tribal people, then as the God of war and the God who is portrayed by the monarch. Increasingly he is seen as the God of justice and in the Christ we find a revealing and loving God being manifest. Each is a revelation that reflects the limitations of time and culture among that people. Taken together and fulfilled in the person Christ they make a whole."

This poor wise man up to last year supervised 300 community workers in the slums. The foreigner questions him: "I have seen many aid programs for the poor but no-one to preach the kingdom among them. I would like to preach Kingdom among them."

"If a foreigner comes as an evangelist with his fancy cars and his loudspeakers and his luxurious home, we Indians do not listen. If he comes walking the way of humility and poverty then that is the Indian way. That kind of foreigner we can accept. And perhaps that would be useful."