When Sundar Singh disappeared in the Himalayas in 1923, the world mourned. His twenty-threeyear pilgrimage as a sadhu - a wandering, penniless pilgrim - had led him through at least twenty countries on four continents. He had profoundly influenced tens of thousands of people. Indeed, in the first half of the last century, no spiritual teacher from the East was better known.
Sundar Singh was born on September 3, 1889, in Rampur, a village in the Punjab, and educated at the Presbyterian missionary school nearby. It was there that he burned his Bible on December 16, 1904. He experienced a conversion the following year (after which his family threw him out of the house and disinherited him) and was baptized at St. Thomas Church, Simla, on September 3, 1905. Thirty-three days after that he took on the ascetic lifestyle of a sadhu.
His real significance does not lie in place-names and dates, however, but rather in the devotion and selflessness with which he spread the Gospel, and in the sincerity with which he lived what he preached. As German scholar Friedrich Heiler once put it, "He is India's ideal of the disciple of Christ - a barefooted itinerant preacher with burning love in his heart. In him Christianity and Hinduism meet, and the Christian faith stands forth, not as something foreign, but like a flower which blossoms on an Indian stem."
Sundar Singh's spirituality is best approached against the backdrop of his religious upbringing; it grew out of an intense struggle to come to terms with key elements of both his ancestral (Sikh) faith and his adopted one. Despite his father's fierce opposition to Christianity, which he saw as the religion of India's colonial oppressors, Sundar Singh's desire to serve his new master, Yesu (Jesus), in fact led him to fulfill his deceased mother's dream that he would one day choose the way of the sadhu.
Recognized by their traditional yellow robes and ascetic lifestyle, Indian sadhus (literally "poor man" or "beggar") forsake creature comforts to live lives of devotion and prayer. Some become hermits, while others wander from place to place as spiritual teachers; still others practice penance through mortification, lying on a bed of nails or walking through fire.
Throughout India, devout people consider the way of the itinerant sadhu - as its Buddhist and Muslim counterparts, the bhiksu and fakir - to be the highest form of religious devotion, so much so that sadhus are generally welcome in every village. Unlike priests and other formal religious leaders, they can move freely among all castes and are even permitted in women's quarters, which are otherwise off-limits to men.
Throughout his life Sundar Singh maintained the highest respect for the familiar expressions of devotion he had grown up with - Hindu and Buddhist, Sikh and Muslim. Still, the intense, mystical encounter that had led to his conversion left him forever changed and gave him an unwavering dedication to Christ. Thus, although he never criticized any religious practice that was sincerely observed, he was always ready to relate how Yesu had touched and transformed him. For him, Yesu was the Truth - the completion and fulfillment of the deepest human longings for inward and outward peace, and it was unthinkable to keep it to himself. It was for this reason alone that he wandered for months (even years) at a time across the Indian subcontinent, braving the elements and enduring the attacks of anti-Christians.
As a sadhu, Sundar Singh found a ready welcome in most of the places he stayed, though reactions varied when it was discovered that he was a follower of Yesu. (Christian sadhus had professed their faith in India for hundreds of years - ever since the time of the Apostle Thomas, who supposedly founded the first church there - but they were always an unpopular minority.) Particularly on his journeys into Tibet, he was attacked by violent fanatics. It was there (probably in 1912), that he was arrested, tossed into a dry well, and left to die - but later rescued by a mysterious stranger.
After years of traveling in India, Tibet, and Nepal, Sundar Singh set his sights further afield. In 1919 he journeyed to China, Malaysia, and Japan; in 1920 he toured Australia, England, and the United States, and in 1922 he traveled throughout Europe, holding public addresses in Geneva, Oxford, London, and Paris, and numerous other cities in Germany, Holland, Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. Everywhere he went, large audiences and prominent leaders - religious and secular alike - received him enthusiastically. In many countries he visited, special trains were organized to transport tens of thousands of listeners to the cathedrals and sports arenas where he spoke. The emergence of a more tolerant liberalism in Christian theology explains part of his widespread appeal; on the other hand, many Europeans were simply curious to see a "real" Eastern mystic firsthand, especially one whose very manner and appearance evoked traditional images of Jesus. There was also his reputation as a miracle worker - something he worked tirelessly to dispel. More than anything else, however, it was Sundar Singh's understatedly simple faith and authentic practice of Christ's teachings - something utterly out of sync with western materialistic intellectualism - that his audiences found so compelling.
Admonished for his lack of familiarity with twentieth century science, Sundar Singh said, "What is science?" "Natural selection, you know, and the survival of the fittest," he was told. "Ah," Sundar Singh replied, "but I am more interested in divine selection, and the survival of the unfit." Then there was his attitude to money. Sundar Singh refused to accept it, even when he needed it, and when someone forced a gift on him he gave it away. There was also his unorthodox attitude to matters such as church membership, of which he said: I belong to the body of Christ ... to the true church, which cannot be understood as a building of tiles and stones. It is a body of true Christians, living and dead, visible and invisible. But I have nothing against anyone becoming a member of an organized church ... As for the Apostolic Succession, I don't believe in it, though if this belief helps people in their spiritual life, then let them believe in it ... But if the living Christ is really near us and lives in our hearts, why should we reject him - the kernel of our faith - and cling to a dried-up outer shell?
Inevitably, such views, which endeared him to the masses, drew criticism from ecclesiastical authorities and even to open hostility in certain quarters. Completely disregarding (or failing to comprehend) the mystical character of his teachings, influential theologians attacked Sundar Singh's teachings as incompatible with traditional Christian dogma. A few attacked his character as well, suggesting that he was little more than a charlatan and publicity seeker, which in turn led friends and supporters to defend his reputation.
A flurry of books and articles appeared from both camps. Perhaps not surprisingly, the most intense debate took place in heady halls of German academia, where the controversy became known as the Sadhustreit ("sadhu fight"). After some time the Sadhustreit died from lack of interest. The whole debate had, of course, been largely incomprehensible to those who looked to the Sadhu for inspiration. But insofar as it exposed the fundamental antagonism between western rationalism and eastern mysticism, it served a purpose. It confirmed Sundar Singh's own suspicion that while western Christianity might be rich in organization, theology, doctrine, and tradition, it was poor in spirit and sorely needed re-centering on the foundation from which it had strayed: the living Christ.
During the last few years of his life, as his health failed, Sundar Singh published six slim books. He wrote them at the urging of friends and followers (the first in his native tongue, Urdu; the rest in English), but he could not have foreseen the overwhelming demand that arose for them once they were published. Within the space of a few years, all six volumes had been translated into every major Western language; into Japanese, Chinese, and other Asian languages; and into every principal dialect of the sub-continent. This collection is drawn almost entirely from those books, and from transcripts of addresses delivered at large public gatherings.
Despite Sundar Singh's considerable written legacy, however, it is important to remember that he was not an author at heart, and that his home was neither the writing desk nor the speaker's podium. By all accounts, his public addresses - like his writings - were most commonly noted for their disappointing brevity. Sundar Singh found his true home on the dusty roads of the Punjab, along the narrow tracks through the Himalayas, in the villages where his listeners gathered to drink in the peace of his deep, dark eyes, and in the relaxed cadences of quiet conversation.
Finally, his home was in Christ, the one to whom he turned both detractor and flatterer alike, and from whom - as this concluding anecdote from one of his European translators shows - he drew inspiration for every word and deed: The Sadhu was very reluctant to speak about himself; he was always concerned that no one be distracted from Christ. I had an unforgettable experience in this connection. We were on a train, and the pastor traveling with us told the Sadhu that at the meeting we were to attend that evening, he wanted to introduce him to an important guest - a woman who could not find peace, although she had gone to hear many famous Christian speakers and sought their advice. The Sadhu remained quiet for a while and then, addressing the pastor, asked him almost brusquely not to introduce him to the woman. The pastor seemed offended, but though he kept quiet the Sadhu noted his displeasure. So he explained, "Dear pastor, this lady has something to learn, but she would not learn it if I met with her. She must learn it from Christ, and he is much nearer to her - and will mean so much more to her - than any man."
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