Do you ever lose focus? Do you ever get lost in the weeds? Do you ever watch the new shiny object while you are missing everything else around you? I do – frequently. Last week was one of those “frequently” times. We had just returned from the first visit with our Mississippi family since early March. I had gotten out of my daily Bible readings and prayer. You know the drill.
When I finally sat down on the tailgate of the truck to pray, I just said, “Lord, I’ve lost my way. I need Your help. You see, I’ve watched too much news and am obsessed with politics and the pandemic.” “Politics” and “Pandemic,” now, there’s a bad combination from any point of view.
Before long, my mind was drawn to a traditional immigrant folk song, “When I First Came to this Land,” and I wondered why? See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWPKw1wtkhc The first verse reads,
When I first came to this land, I was not a wealthy man, but I got myself a shack, and I did what I could. And I called that shack ‘break my back.’ But the land was rich and good and I did what I could.
It’s simple, basic, and it harkens back to the time – an admittedly hard time – when the protagonist’s focus was on the “Main Thing,” a shack, a cow, a wife – a son. I wondered if that sort of simplicity was possible today. Then, God led me to a scripture, Philippians 4:4-8. NIV.
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. [And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
Shortly after my reading and praying a bit, my messages “dinged.” It was pastor Ben McDavid with a video devotional on Isaiah Chapter 6. As you will remember, in Chapter 6, the prophet, Isaiah sees the throne room of God and is overawed. Pastor Ben’s devotional was concise but meaningful and uplifting. It was simple and to the point. Isaiah sees God and in the words of the hymn, “the things of earth grow strangely dim.” See: https://www.facebook.com/fumcmontgomery/videos/2974275866032693
“That’s it,” God said. “Just focus on Me, and all this other stuff will be as grass that withers and dies. I AM the ‘Main Thing.” To highlight His point, God reminded me of an experience that He gave me about a decade ago.
On a mission trip to Northern India in 2010 or 2011, a small team of volunteer missionaries, a member of which I was privileged to be, were ministering in a refugee camp for Tibetans fleeing the Chinese Communists.
In the city where we were staying, Raj Pur, there was in that camp, the home of a refugee from just over the northern border in Tibet. As we were ministering in that home, there were 30-40 Tibetans packed into the living room. They were sitting and standing on top of each other. That is, except for a man lying on a cot. He appeared to be ill.
As the pastor with us read the Bible and led a short devotion, my attention was continually drawn to the man on the cot. When the pastor concluded, as we were about to leave, I asked the local interpreter, a local indigenous pastor if I might pray for the sick man. The pastor agreed and told me that the sick man had sores all over his back.
Having no clue as to what the illness was, I nevertheless, laid my left hand on the man’s back, raised my right hand to Heaven, and began to pray for the man’s healing. During my prayer, God sent me a vision or a thought, or an impression – however, you want to define it – visually showing me what was taking place in the spiritual realm.
In my spirit, I could see God seated on his “throne,” a huge ruby-colored cushion with golden fringe. His legs crossed under Him in what I supposed was a “lotus pose” – for those of you, like me, who practice yoga. On a cushion to His right and left, were two “beings” that I was impressed to believe were the Son on His right and the Holy Spirit on His left. The three were dressed in traditional Indian garb that would have been worn during the period of the Maharajas. God, the Father, wore a large turban. Their throne room was more beautiful than I could imagine at the time.
As I continued to pray, I was completely caught up in the vision to the point that I was unaware that I was speaking. I saw as it were, a crimson-red stream began to issue forth from the Father’s throne, flowing through the blackness of space in a tight, rope-like fashion, winding its way through the myriad of galaxies.
The flow streamed, crimson – red, until it poured through the roof, the ceiling, into the room, and onto the floor. I saw and felt it enter my body. The healing stream passed through me, out my left hand, and into the sick man. I could see its aura around the man.
After a time, I knew the process was over. After my “AMEN,” I opened my physical eyes and saw all the people in the room trying to form a line toward me for me to pray for each. There were so many people that we, the team of minister volunteers, divided them up and each of us prayed for a portion individually until we had prayed for all. They spoke no English, and we spoke neither Tibetan nor Hindi, but God figured it all out – I suppose.
After the prayers, the people thanked us profusely, so our interpreter said. As we had prayed for over two hours, we had to alter our schedule and take a chai break to discuss what we had just experienced. None of us had such a remarkable experience before.
Sometime after we returned to the States, I thought of a poem that I had started in 1978 shortly after our daughter, Amy was born. In 1978, the subject of the poem was Amy, set as an Indian princess. However, I could never finish it, nor even progress past the first verse. In 2011, God repurposed the poem to show me not my daughter, but the “Main Thing” – Himself. As finally completed, the poem is a representation of what I saw, felt, and experienced that day in that Tibetan refugee village in Northern India.
I suspect that this vision was not unlike the experience that Isaiah had and recorded in Isaiah Chapter 6. Perhaps Isaiah saw God as Isaiah would have expected to see a great King. That, too, was what I saw, except that the location was Northern India instead of Judah, and the time was – well, who knows.
I offer you this vision of what Isaiah and I saw.
By John R. Wible. Begun in 1978,[3] completed in September-October, 2011
In Rajpur, the Purwat with majesty did sit, Exalted high upon the Ruby throne,
Whose dais filled the great Hall there, at least the most of it, With each and every kind of precious stone.
Beside the Purwat there stood the Khybear[4] to left, And to the right, the Ivory Dumar,[5]
Who opened mighty floodgates wide, From whence proceeded hence, The River of the Purwat’s great pow’r.
The pow’r to make and make again, At His majestic call,
And echo same from One to One, Gush forth like liquid Ruby from the Hall.
The pow’r to make and make again, How can this thing be so?
How can such might be latent lie, Within the Ruby flow?
And who is touched by the liquid flame, To be changed to flesh from stone?
“Oh, is it I,” one dares to ask, “Who can such glory own?”
The question shocks the spirit man, And to the soul gives pause,
“Nay, who am I to ask of such, And based upon what cause?”
At once, the Khybear dains to speak, Give voice His trifurcated tongue,
The sound of such I cannot bear, Nor with the Three be among.
And even though the Khybear, He, His face and feet I hear,
Felled on my face I find myself, A ‘quivering with fear.
Gives back the shout, the Dumar does, And three times louder than before,
“Pow’r of pow’r and might of might,” Echoes from wall to crown to floor.
“It is done,” the speaker speaks. “The River’s flow ne’er stopped,”
And washed me o’er from face to toe, Until my body sopped.
“Woe is me, I am undone, A man of hollow lip,
That ope’ of aweful ocean tide, Until the Ruby sip.”
The taste of curried gall, it is, More bitter than be borne,
Hollowed by the years of me, Until my teeth, they’ve torn.
O’er once and twice and thrice again, The taste each crevice fills,
And all the vacuum vanishes, ’til soon my soul it thrills.
“Oh, strange and unfamiliar taste, This chutney of the soul,
Can You my weakness wash away? And make, remake me whole?”
“It can, It can,” the Purwat, Proclaimed, now drink it all.
Oh, take it in, its savor seek, Salvation mixed with gall.”
And then I realized my lips, Well full with new-found floods,
Which sprang from them each time I spoke? The Royal Ruby Blood.
“Now, make and make and make again,” I hear the Khybear bleat,
“And give to all, do all I say.” And then He took His seat.
But yet the Dumar grew in form, E’en larger than before.
And with each iteration’s growth, Less visible each pore.
And in a wild and winsome way, I wot that He the Ruby had become,
That filled my lips; He bade me speak, ‘til the Purwat be known.
The sky rolled in and covered up, The vision I had seen,
The Purwat, upon His throne The Khybear had entered in.
And became as e’er before, With Purwat be one
The Dumar, too, in some strange way, The threefold person now done.
And so, i’twas, and so shalt be, As from the time before.
The Purwat exalted high, Above this human floor.
And I am filled to overflow, On Ruby-hu-ed sips,
And nevermore will speak to man, With hollow, haughty lips.
* * *
So let it be written, so let it be done.
[1] Purwat (pronounced Poor-a-what), is a combination word of my own making. The word, given to me in the vision, is a combination of two ancient words from two ancient languages, Hindi and Khmer. In the Rig Veda, the ancient Hindu writings, “pur” is referred to more than 30 times and means “city, castle or fortress.” “Wat” is from the ancient Khmer language of Cambodia and means “temple.” In ancient times before Christ, in fact, before recorded history, peoples of Indian descent inhabited modern Cambodia such that it was known by British and French scholars as “Farther India.” “Purwat” then, is the title that was given to me for Jehovah God, the triune “Temple City” by extension, and the City that is a holy temple.
[2] Rajpur, a small town in Uttarakhan State in Northern India, is an ancient princely state on the banks of the River Mahisagar in Western India. It is perhaps in this reference that I first heard the name some 33 years ago. The term, “Raj” means “might” or “power” in Hindi, thus Rajpur would mean the City of Power.
[3] I began this poem in 1978 shortly after Amy was born. I was could never get past the first verse, and I wondered why. It is now clear that God began a vision for me in 1978 but did not complete the vision for some 33 years. The poem is the verbalization of a vision I received in Northern India during a prayer session in a Tibetan refugee village. Upon reflection, it is basically the same vision that the prophet, Isaiah saw and recorded in Isaiah 6, q.v. In the vision, I saw the Triune God in Heaven dressed in 17th Century Indian garb. God the Father was seated on a huge Ruby coloured pillow in a full lotus position. To His right and left were God the Son (Khybear) and God the Holy Spirit (Dumar.) From the throne emanated a ruby coloured river that descended from Heaven to the room in which I stood praying over a man who had abscesses on his back. The ruby flow covered the floor and came to my feet. Then it came through my body and exited out my hand which was on the sick man. The flow was God’s healing power. It was a double gift. A gift of healing to the man and a gift of God’s permitting me to be the instrumentality of that healing.
[4] Khybear (pronounced Khyber,) is a contrived word using the Khyber region of India to the Northwest of Rajpur (the right) and Bear for “Chi Bear,” Amy’s first stuffed animal.
[5] Dumar (Dumar Kachar in Madhya Pradesh, to the Southeast of Rajpur,) is the second place name used. (Left.) Dumar was Amy’s second animal. Dumar is also one of the “scheduled casts” of Madhya Pradesh.
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