The Longings of the Human Heart

I didn’t expect this to happen. If you’d asked me 7 months ago what I would be involved with in South Asia, I could have given you a plethora of important answers, and many an idea springing from a (admittedly sometimes overactive) holy imagination. But amongst all those options that my uninitiated brain could formulate, I never envisioned what has since transpired in these first 6 months.

Work amongst Muslims, yes. Evangelism, yes. Some platform like English teaching, yes. All this is straight forward, and has indeed happened. But the circles in which I have found myself have been surprising. Amongst my students I have found that there are many Millennials and Gen-Zers who have all but left Islam, seeking for a better story, a better answer to what they perceive in and around them. A surprising amount of my students have had “love marriages”, rather than “arranged marriages”, meaning they married without waiting for their parents to find a spouse. Some have left very pious families to become pantheists, some atheists, and some following eastern philosophy and mysticism.

While I have had good conversations with all of the above, abundant opportunities have been had with one couple who attend my English class. They are in their mid-30s, had a love marriage, and live and work in the capital, far from their families. Lukthin*, the husband, is from a Sufi family, but does not practice anything from Islam anymore.

Soon after I had met him, he told me that during Covid, he had been terrified of death, had looked into all religions, and found peace after studying Confucius. This led to our first gospel conversation, the first of many. His focus now is on Eastern mysticism. In our area, Islam is but a garment spread over a Hindu mindset. The outward form may at times look like orthodoxy, but the deep-down mentality is one of superstition and folk religion. In this environment, Sufi-ism could thrive, with its focus on experience-based religion. It is no wonder that my friend was now swayed towards these Eastern forms.

In a situation where new relationships will take time to form, it is nice to have to have people that I enjoy spending time with (and the feeling appears to be mutual!). They learn English from me; I learn the local language and culture from them. And often they have heard the good news in various out-of-class settings.

However, they are part of a unique scene here in the capital. They love art, and Eastern mysticism. So, I have been accepting their invitations to go to modern art exhibitions, which invariably lead to tea with some mystic-minded folks. Not the scene I had imagined, (I had never been to an art exhibition in my life before moving here!), but one that opens the best parts of the heart.

C.S Lewis, talking about writing stories, once said, “I thought I saw how stories of this kind could steal past a certain inhibition which paralysed much of my own religion in childhood… But supposing that by casting all these things into an imaginary world, stripping them of their stained-glass and Sunday school associations, one could make them for the first time appear in their real potency? Could one not thus steal past those watchful dragons? I thought one could.”

And I believe this is not just true of story, but of art in general. I must confess, I am more moved by words than the visual arts. Poetry, story and song lyrics slip past the watchful dragons of my soul. But for others, it is various other forms of art. Our years of hardened religious practice and dogmas inscribed on the tablets of our hearts, do not consider art-forms to be dangerous. They come in disguise, unassuming, trivial. Yet, as we ponder them, they work in a far deeper underground cavern of our soul than pure logic alone can access.

I have found this to be so true here in a mega-city, with these students who are looking for a better story.

Last week we attended one exhibition. The first exhibit was about seeing the mundane in a joyful light. The second was a haunting Arabic lament for a homeland. The fourth was a documentary following a woman with cancer who was legally ending her own life in the US.

Leaving the exhibition on the way to get food, the three of us squeezed onto a cycle-rickshaw. As the poor driver sweated under the weight of three people (including a 6ft foreigner), I asked my friends what they thought of the exhibition. They responded that the documentary had made them particularly sad. Returning the question to me, I started by saying how glad I was that I had come along, because,
“Art expresses the longings of the human heart.”

The rickshaw arrived at its destination, so we dismounted, my friend haggled with the sweat-laden rickshaw-wala, and we sat down in a local café to drink coconut juice and eat some rice-flour and molasses sweet-treats.

“What do you mean about art expressing the longings of the human heart?”

“Well, take for example several of the exhibitions today. They are something everyone longs for. To break out of the mundane, to experience something more, (for example, knowing God) just like we chatted with your mystic friend about afterwards. This is one longing that people have. We know that we were made for more.

Or take the second exhibit. The lament for homeland. We all have this. Even in your language, everyone talks about their Sabha and their Siri**. The important question to ask is not where is your sabha, but where is your siri. Sabha comes from the root word for bamboo, right? It means a temporary structure, and yet you use this word for your city home, made from concrete. This building is probably stronger than most people’s siri (their village home), and will outlast it, but nonetheless, it is still considered temporary. Why is that? Because of a longing for home. Everyone in this city calls their siri home, not here. Even when you go to your siri to visit, you enjoy some time with family, but after a while, you realise there are problems there, and you long for a little bit more. We are all longing for a permanent homeland.

And that documentary. It was so sad. A woman who through her various rituals tried to tame a tiger, which seems so strong and brave at first. But the story still ends with the tiger turning around and devouring her. She represents all of us though. We all want to overcome death. And when we realise we can’t, we do everything in our power to tame it, but it still wins. We long for that victory.

So even in this art exhibition, we have a longing for God, a longing for home, and a longing to overcome death.”

Nodding along to all of this, Lukthin was clearly intrigued.

“Yes, I think you’re right. Art does show what is inside all of us.”

“There is one thing though. I liked the first art piece, but not the others. You know why? For me, art is only good when it expresses the longings we have, but also gives hope for them. I have a story which answers all those longings, which gives the best hope, of knowing God, of a permanent home, of overcoming death. And it all centres around Jesus.”

“How is that?”

“Well, let me tell you…”

I don’t have space here to transcribe the whole ensuing conversation. But then, I don’t have to. The human heart that longs for that story to be completed will seek out the ending, it will peer under every rock until it finds the place where that hope dwells. It follows the story, to find its way to a blody cross, an empty grave and a promise that all things will be made new.

As I shared the overview of the Biblical story with Lukthin, he interjected, “Ah, so the world will be siri, not sabha!” Yes, my friend, yes it will. The hope was beginning to hit home.

Pray for this couple. They have such longings, and each time I share the good story, their eyes light up. Lukthin asked me after this conversation, “how long will it take me to read the Bible? And how long would it take you to tell me the whole story? Next time we meet, you have to do that for me!”

I am thankful for many art forms that have resonated with me over the years, from the poets who have spoken to me of freedom, to the Marshwiggle to whom I owe a debt of eternal gratitude. These poets, Narnians, Inter-planetary travellers and songwriters have snuck past the vengeful dragons on my heart, and set up a kingdom outpost in the darkest valleys. They have an unexpected story, one that enters ancient mountains and emerges with the hope it has mined there.

May we be ever attentive to the longings of the human heart, and may we pray for the story of stories to be close on our lips, to lead wandering hearts to hope. And maybe next time you have the chance to visit a modern art exhibition, you’ll find a few unexpected stories to tell…

*Name changed for security

** Words changed for security