I remember daddy's hands

Folded silently in prayer

Reaching out to hold me 

If I had a nightmare.

Daddy's hands were soft & kind when I was crying

Daddy's hands were hard as steel when I'd done wrong

Daddy's hands weren't always gentle, but I've come to understand

There was always love in Daddy's hands

If I could do things over

I'd live my life again

And never take for granted

The love in daddy's hands..

-Daddy's Hands, by Holly Dunn.

A photo of George Mathew & two colleagues at Leonard Theological College (PC: Oomen Achen).

George Mathew joined Leonard Theological College to study theology, leaving behind his profession as a Mathematics teacher. Whilst teaching in Edayaranmula school along with his father VI Mathai, he was called to follow Christian ministry. 

In later years, he would often talk about that period- ‘hearing the call’ to spread the word of God through Christian ministry. He was a good student, and achieved  grades in Greek and Latin, the original languages that theology students had to learn. 

Daddy often talked about his initial period in Christian ministry with passion, with a trembling voice. The days in Leonard Theological College enabled him to return to Kerala and start his parish ministry in North Kerala.

A painting of a homestead in Kenya that I visited- March 2015.

During one of my visits to dad's parish in 'Chathenkery' in South Kerala, an old lady who sat outside her hut waved her hand at him. It was a small thatched hut, made mainly of coconut palm leaves. She lived alone here. Dad was her parish priest.

I remember daddy stooping down to enter a little hut where the old woman lived. I followed him into this spartan accomodation which had no more than a chair, a mat in one corner and cooking pots on the other corner. Dad stayed a little while, asked her about her well being and we left after a prayer.

That picture of my father entering that old woman's hut in Chathenkery has stayed on in my mind after all these years.

This man, my father, taught me that to treat the rich & the poor equally is a true christian quality. From my father, I learnt that it is indeed an honour in life to be able to stoop down and enter the humble huts I am invited to enter with humility and gratitude.

An unedited photograph from my childhood has captured my joy & confidence, being with daddy.

I am a South Indian Christian minister's child.

Being a minister's first born in South India brought with it some unique privileges and challenges. I was also privileged to have daddy in my life as a doting parent at home for the entirety of the first 5 years of my life- the crucial formative years in a child's life. Daddy played with me, took care of many of my day to day needs, took me to nursery often, and he even took me to drawing competitions for young children. These early childhood memories are etched in my mind. I admired my father as a young child. 

It was only natural for me to be the centre of attention in dad's parish churches as the 'minister's child'. This helped me to become comfortable amidst large groups of people from a fairly young age. I thought it was only natural to stand in front of people and talk/preach- afterall, that is what daddy did on most days. And daddy was only a normal human being in my eyes. 

As most preachers do, my father quoted stories from his own family life in his sermons. As a child, I was careful not to create or recite any good stories from my life to dad. If not, my story would feature in his next sermon.
Today, as an adult, I long to be the heroine of a life story that will feature in my father's sermon....just once more...

My father's greatest gift was the gift of faith, the gift of prayer.

‘Prayer’- A photo take. in the 90s.

This is a true story from my dad's life from the mid 80s, when I was around 10 years of age. 

One late evening, dad arrived home in a car. Rather, he was dropped off at home by a gentleman in a car. This was unusual, as dad usually arrived on foot or in a tuk tuk (auto rikshaw). We usually ran to him when he visited because he always brought sweets (laddoos) and children's comic books for us. 'Balarama' was our favourite comic book. Thanks to the regular supply of Indian comic books by dad, we knew most of the Indan folk tales.

My dad was a minister of the 'Mar Thoma church' in south India, and lived in his parish near Kozhenchery. On this particular evening, he arrived home & sat on the sofa; and he told us the story of his journey.

Dad had started from his hometown in Kozhenchery that afternoon, to travel for over 4 hours by bus, train to come to see us, and spend a night with us in Kochi. While waiting for the bus, someone approached him and asked for help. Dad put his hand into one of the many pockets in his cloak as he usually did, and gave this man a 100 rupee note (In the 80s, that was more than enough to make a return journey to Kochi). He had more cash in his purse, and could afford to part with Rs 100 on that day. When dad got on to the bus, he realised that he had indeed forgotten to take his purse- and had no money with him! He thought about what to do, and he prayed....

'Father, do you remember me?', asked a gentleman from the back of the bus. It was not unusual for dad to meet acquaintances in his hometown. However, this gentleman happened to be one of his old parish members, on vacation at home from the middle east. He was travelling that day to the train station to catch the train to Kochi- the very train which dad was planning to take. The old parishioner paid for dad's bus and train journeys, and dropped him off at our doorstep in a taxi that night.

"The Lord will provide....always", said dad.

I remembered dad's story....and the mysterious ways in which we are always taken care of through God's wonderful people.

A book gifted to my father on the occasion of his ordination- 1958

A young theology student from the Leonard theological college, Jabalpur (India) told me that my father was one of the first group of people from Kerala to receive a scholarship to learn theology at LTC. I had known my father for 40 years... Yet, in all those years, this achievement was never mentioned. 

My father was a soft spoken man, and was not boastful. I knew about his life as a mathematics teacher from my relatives who were taught by him.

During my father's days, the Bible was taught in the original Greek & Latin at LTC. I recall him saying that he enjoyed learning those foreign languages. This was in addition to having a good command over the English language.   

My father’s life is a true lesson in humility for me.

Psalm 70:18, underlined in daddy’s personal bible.

'Now also when I am old and greyheaded, O God, forsake me not; until I have shewed thy strength unto this generation, and thy power to every one that is to come'.

Psalm 70:18. (KJV)

The prayer which David said in this psalm was daddy's prayer too in his life. I have watched this man of God battle with God in prayer, in my younger days. As he grew older, his prayers became shorter but still remained meaningful. Through his latter years, dementia slowly took away his ability to verbalise his prayers or his thoughts. Yet, God was with him until the very end of his life. 

God answered daddy's prayer. 

One of my favourite parishes where daddy served as a vicar was Chathenkery Marthoma Church, near Tiruvalla (Kerala). I was only 8-10 years when daddy was a priest there, and we were only able to visit him during school holidays.
My visits to Chathenkery were very memorable due to several reasons: the rural areas in Kerala like Chathenkery were very beautiful with lush greenery, rivers & streams, and lovely human beings; in order to get to daddy's parish church, we had to cross a river in a Vallom (traditional boat)- this was a very exciting unique experience for me as a child; daddy was given the privilege to have the use of the parsonage (vicarage) in Chathenkery- a privilege that was taken away from him during his later years of ministry due to the absence of his family; I made some good childhood friends there quite quickly. This was all additional factors, in addition to the excitement of visiting my father's church where he was their full time parish priest.

Rajiv was a young boy, a few years younger to me, whom I got to know during those years in Chathenkery. His grand parents' home where he lived with his parents, became my favourite place to visit there. We developed a beautiful friendship which daddy could see, and he was happy to entrust me to his family's care for several hours while he went about his parish duties. During these hours, I enjoyed playing with Rajiv, talking to his doting grand father, eating lovely food cooked by his dear grand mother and much fun roaming around in their rural homestead.  
Christmas season was a particularly beautiful one in that church. The youth put up elaborate plays around the nativity story, and the whole church participated with great enthusiasm. It was during one such Christmas program that I heard the story of the 'fourth wise man' for the first time- a touching human story that I have heard many times since.

Daddy was much loved as a parish priest by many members of that rural parish church. He retained his connection with the parish members over the years, through regular visits to them or from them. Daddy visited these families during their major life events, even long after he ceased to be their vicar- a beautiful privilege which Marthoma church offers to their priests. I remain connected with my childhood friend, Rajiv. Through Chathenkery church family, I got to see the life of a rural Christian church family in Kerala in the 1980s- a unique privilege which I am grateful for. 

Daddy’s 83rd birthday.

“I also believe that parents, if they love you, will hold you up safely, above their swirling waters, and sometimes that means you’ll never know what they endured, and you may treat them unkindly, in a way you otherwise wouldn’t.”

Mitch Albom in 'For one more day'. 

One Saturday morning, I made my usual weekly phone call home from Kenya where I was then working. I had just finished a very difficult on call night in the children's ward where we had several deaths that night- childhood deaths which would not have happened in the affluent U.K. where I normally lived & worked. When daddy asked me how i was that morning, I related to him the news of several deaths that previous night. Daddy, after a short silence, asked me with great concern 'dear daughter, won't these deaths cause you great heart ache...'. I said something casual and brushed off his comment. I was keen to get on with my Saturday chores in rural Kenya.

Years before, I had seen my father consoling and supporting a bereaved father, his parish member in his rural parish church in Kenya. This man had lost his young son in a tragic manner, and was heart broken. Daddy had known and supported many people in such grief. In his own life, he had lost a child- his first born son- a year before my birth. I knew of this tragedy from my mother, who often spoke about her late son and cried for that child. Daddy rarely spoke of that child, and he never cried while speaking of this baby's death. When I sat down and asked my 80 year old father  about his late baby, daddy spoke calmly about the baby's sudden death after his birth, of the funeral in my mother's old home parish church and of the joyful arrival of his daughters in the later years. Hearing daddy speak of his joy at my birth, I realised how he had learnt to see the meaning in God's ways without any questions, even in the face of painful life events.

I don't know of all the many painful life experiences which daddy walked through. But his ability to see his life's many blessings is something that I was very aware of all along. 

I woke up hearing your voice, singing

‘Christ is all to me’- the melody was muddled

The true meaning was born that day

Though fine music was beyond your ability

You humbly bowed your head

Decorated in ceremonial robes of your tradition

You sought prayers for the shepherd

And blessings for your flock each day.

From you I learnt the art of prayerful daily living

Our stories often became part of your sermons

Life moved freely between weddings, prayers

Pastoral meetings, baptisms and funerals.

Your flock surrounded you 

As you tended to their pastoral needs

With overwhelming compassion

As a priest and as a human being

You dealt with life’s storms unlike a warrior

Rarely stirring when the world got upset

You quietly sat in the background, unnoticed.

With your only weapon- the quiet prayer.

Your memories vanished slowly with dementia

Dropping one by one, like autumn leaves

Prayer lingered on in your memories

Long after your children’s names left your brain.

Like Job, you were tried throughout life

You pleaded like Christ in Gethsemene

Yet, your cross was yours to bear

You bore it well, till the end of your journey.

You held on to His promises like Jacob

You witnessed miracles in your life, like Abraham

Each life trial revealed yet another miracle 

A gift wrapped in your life trials, for the whole world

Through the years of your life I experienced

The power of a life of prayer

The omnipotent, always with you

On crossing life’s meadows or tackling life’s storms.

Your life story is far from finished

It has only just begun

As Father Abraham who lived one life

And yet, brought forth Israel.

One life time can hardly tell

The story of a life touched by Grace

Job’s tale is retold over centuries

Many a lessons yet to unfold.

Your life so poignant, yet so sublime

Humble like your master, you bore your cross. 

Your life story is carried in the hearts of many a lives

Prayer and service moving human lives.

SG

Oct 2017.