The first time I saw her, she was standing by the vending machine outside the classroom. When I got closer, I noticed that she smelled of sandalwood and rose. She had a string of beads woven into her hair and around her neck hung a thin rope on which was a picture of a brown man sitting in a half-lotus position. Glancing at the picture, I saw that there was a splash of color on the man’s forehead. His hand was raised in blessing and I wondering who he was praying for and why.

   When I realized that I was staring at the picture, I forced myself to look into her eyes. I needed to find out why she had asked to speak to me after class.

“What did you think of the lecture?” She asked.

“Well,” I replied with some caution, “the professor was certainly interesting. He convinced me that I need to know more about Bowley and attachment theory.”

She nodded. It was obvious she did not want to talk about psychology. 

“What does she want,” I wondered, as I played with the wedding band on my finger.

“Someone told me that you are a Christian minister,” she said.

“Well, yes, I am,” now taking on my more professional pastor’s role.

“Would you mind talking with me a moment about a spiritual question?” she asked.

Now I noticed that she too was nervous.

“Of course, “I said, “Where do we begin?”

“Well, I had a dream … first though, you need to know that I’ve been sick; otherwise you can’t make sense of my dream. Anyway, in this dream I’m standing on a bridge in a beautiful park, worrying about my illness. As I am standing on the bridge, the Christ suddenly walks out of the shadows onto the bridge. Then he begins talking to me.”

“Don’t you think it strange that the Christ would come to a Hindu?” she suddenly interjected

“Not at all,” I said. “That sounds like Jesus. But what happened next?”

‘Well, he kept speaking to me, very kindly, like you would expect from an enlightened spiritual master. He told me that if I would give him my sickness, he would heal me. When I replied that I didn’t know how to give him my sickness, he just reached his hands into my body and pulled out a foul-smelling glob of nasty stuff which dissolved in his hands.”

She paused for my reaction.

‘Wow. That’s interesting,” I said. Is that all?”

(I knew there was more to the story because she had become uncomfortable.)

“No, there’s more. I just don’t want to offend you.”

Too intrigued to stop there, I encouraged her to go on.

She played with the strand of beads in her hair as she continued.

“Christ ripped off a piece of his skin,” she said. “As He handed it to me, he said, ‘eat this; it will make you well.” Those words moved me. I have thought about them for weeks now. What do they mean?

   I didn’t know when my eyes had become moist. I only knew that this was a holy moment, not only for her but for me as well. We -- this Hindu woman and I -- were now in God’s presence -- together. What did it mean? What was I to do with it?

I whispered a response. “You have seen Jesus. That’s the way he talks.”

   Emboldened by my response, she leaned forward, as though she were about to make an unreasonable request.

“Would you mind if I visit your church sometime?” She asked. “I need to learn more about Jesus.”

   That was the day I met a real seeker.