By Sunita Madan, India
It’s December, the season that spreads good cheer and love. It is Christmas time to be precise. It’s always during Christmas and more so during Easter that I’m enveloped by mixed emotions. Most of the time, it is filled with Christ Consciousness.
Against all odds, I survived nearly two or more decades of my deep connection with Jesus and our Lady, the divine Mother Mary. The Hail Marys were always at the top of my tongue, and there was never a day without the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
The regular Novenas; attending mass; sitting in the Chapel for hours. Visiting the Jesuit priests, the Carmelite nuns or another particular order of nuns called the Daughters of Saint Paul. Visits to the Church for midnight mass, or reading the New Testament psalm 92, a large part of my life was centred on the great Master, Jesus.
Born in a manger under the star of Bethlehem but brutally crucified on the cross with a crown of thorns which made his head bleed, nails dug into his physical body and hung on the cross. A great Master, who was whipped and forced to walk up the hill, bearing the cross for all of us.
As celebrations for Christmas begin, I think, love, and praise the loving Christ more and more. Easter is so different. Despite the resurrection of Christ, it is always a period of mourning for me. I could never accept the torture that humanity inflicted on my dear Jesus. How could they? So much pain, so much suffering for someone who was a saviour.
The hymns sung during Easter would pierce the very core of my being, especially when they sing, “They hung him on the cross, they whipped him up the hill, the blood came streaming down.” So the whole month of Lent would be me in deep Christ Consciousness, but I was not a Christian.
I was reminded so, time and again by many near and dear ones. But the connection was too strong to snap it. Perhaps it was the environment or the people who were in my life at that point of time which allowed this beautiful journey with Jesus. They were beautiful people.
I rebelled too as I took my children who were four years and two years to our Lady of Velankanni (a title given to the Blessed Virgin Mary), in South India. An arduous journey, but my intention was very strong, and nothing could keep me back.
I narrate this, as all this leads to a beautiful revelation which I wish to share with all you beautiful people. My roots were in Sikhism, and I was married to a Hindu Arya Samaji. All journeys, all paths, and their philosophical significance are beautiful. I imbibed all that I could and with Sai Baba’s saying, Sabka Malik Ek (God is One) in my heart. The glorious Sai came in my life too. However, the church bells, the carol singing, the nativity plays and decor, the minstrel evenings, always take me back to my world with Jesus.
It was in 2015 that I got connected with Mohanji. Though not having met him physically, the connection was very strong. The first-morning ritual was the reading of the posts. One thing led to another, and the connection grew stronger and stronger, so much so that I would dream of him many a time. I still had not met him personally. It was one such dream during my afternoon siesta, which brought about a transformation, deeper connection and changed my life forever in a big way.
Once again, it was close to Easter when I had this dream. I was, as I mentioned earlier that I would be in a state of mourning, feeling the pain, the suffering that Jesus went through. It was late afternoon, and in my dream, I see a great Crucifix in my room with Jesus hanging on it. I weep in my sleep in silence so as not to disturb Jesus. I quickly wanted to touch his feet and hold them; I wanted to extend my love to him.
I witnessed all this as I saw myself leaving my body and crawling on all fours to reach Jesus. I reached him and held his feet gently, looking up at him. He was dressed in a long white gown. I looked at him with deep love and reverence. His beautiful curly hair that covered his face moved, and my Jesus looked down at me and smiled.