Susan LaffertyWe dodge auto rickshaws and taxis and goats, crossing a main road. Ten years ago in India.
Our guide asks if we can go to the red light district and pray. Saying, “Be ready. The spiritual battle is intense.”
We step around the corner, into a lane. And I see them. Women in front of narrow doorways on a broken street. Some just sitting. Staring.
Others take care of daily tasks—cooking rice, washing clothes, feeding children.
Ordinary things.
As a young girl, I watched the Charlton Heston version of Ben Hur. And was drawn into the story so vividly told on the big screen. Awed by the way Jesus Christ figured into the fictional tale of Judah Ben Hur’s life.
Jesus kept appearing. Giving us glimpses into how His time on earth impacted people. It was mysterious and beautiful.
The newest version of Ben Hur was showing at theaters in the Asian country where we were living at the time. Before it was relegated to odd middle-of-the-night hours, we headed to the mall, purchased our popcorn and settled into a nearly empty theater to enjoy the movie.