39. Report - 22/1/22 - Wayanad & Churches

"God's own country!" - this is how Kerala advertises itself.

In the coastal strip, people say that I have to go through Wayanad on my way to Mysore - it is an even more beautiful landscape than the rest of Kerala.

The days that I wander through this really beautiful landscape are characterized by beautiful surroundings. Kerala means "land of palm trees"; in the Wayanad, on the other hand, the vegetation looks richer and more varied.

However, it is repeatedly advised against walking further to Mysore. There are elephants and tigers on the way. I try to calm people down and joke: "No problem, I'm vegetarian!". But their brief smile is replaced by concern - the tigers have already attacked local livestock. Of course I have a lot of respect for free-roaming elephants and tigers - but ... it seems much more realistic in the land of coconut palms that a big coconut falls on my head and makes the search for a shelter to sleep superfluous.

After all, the Catholic priest, who also warns me about the dangers of free-roaming wild animals, makes it clear that the risk of an unpleasant encounter is rather unlikely.

Speaking of Catholic: The Wayanad is the most churchy area (21.3% Christians) on my pilgrimage so far. In every place I see a church. And even better: the pastors are hospitable. Except for one time, I have always spent the last five nights under the protection or with the help of the Catholic Church. However, very different:

Old Pilgrim at the monastery door
- Painting by Vasily Perov

- In the afternoon of the first day, a large church appears in the middle of the quiet nature. After a meditation I ask at the parsonage for a place to sleep. It is still early. But the pastor is helpful. He speaks some German and has a delicious German chocolate. As a place to sleep, however, he recommends an even better place. A Christian ashram 10 kilometers away.

- On the same evening, it has been dark, I arrive at this ashram a little rushed. It's always the same: if I set myself a fixed daily route, I feel a pressure to perform that makes me only slightly aware for the present. But the older priest who greets me at the gate exudes a peaceful, beautiful harmony that has a direct effect on me. His younger brother joins him; they ask some questions and want to see the passport. All in all quite uncomplicated. Dinner and breakfast included. Participation in Holy Mass early in the morning and a nice farewell blessing.

- The next night: There is another church. The pastor hears and looks at me, is calm and friendly. He doesn't ask anything else, but shows me the guest room, where I can choose a freshly made bed. He only comes to look early in the morning and informs me that I should close the door behind me because he has to leave. - A master of trusting simplicity.

-  Sunday evening: At the entrance to the slightly larger town there is a large sign: `Bishop's House`. Well, then I'll go and ask them. - The beautiful access road splits and leads to various facilities. I choose the way to the main house. On the way there, a young Indian man sees me, he almost seems to get facial paralysis at the sight of me. I speak to him nicely, but he probably doesn't understand anything. After all, he runs away and seems to inform others. In short: After a few minutes I stand with three not insignificant employees of the diocese. Instead of finishing their basketball practice, the three priests listen to my story. One, the episcopal vicar, has a slightly sardonic smile on his face when I answer the question about being vaccinated. The other, the procurator, takes care of the tricky visa issue. He calls his brother, who works for the police. In between, tea and pastries from a fine nun who had worked in Germany for 25 years.

In the end I have to go. An overnight stay is not possible because it is the bishopric. The authorities here pay the utmost attention to ensuring that everything is done right. Since this is related to current national politics, the decision is easy to understand. I am now even  a little ashamed of my bold approach to the episcopal stronghold.

But the overnight stay: the procurator has already called a hotel and reserved a room. He drives me there; it is very close. In the room he insists on slipping me a pink donation (the largest Indian bank note). I parry: "That's poor widows' money!" - He smiles at his answer, theologically I have no chance against him. - Thank you God. Blessings to this diocese.

- The next night: One really has to overlook the high sign on the dark side of the road to this church. Somehow I turn my head up and discover it and go there. A big construction site. The main nave has been opened up, the chancel has been cleared out, and scaffolding is all around it. The parsonage on the left. One can see a lot of light and vehicles are in front of it. So I'm doing something I really didn't want to do anymore: Do not ask! - I sit down in front of the steps to the altar and don't really have a guilty conscience. Because: If I knock at the parsonage after 10 p.m., there will probably be a lot of thinking and pondering. I'll spare the people in the house that. Risky?! It is unlikely that one of them will come to the church construction site at night. And if, well, I'll smile at his terrified face, apologize with peaceful kindness, and explain everything to him with an almost pure mind. 

It will be a relaxed overnight stay, although late in the evening and early in the morning there will be people crossing the church forecourt.