“The rich and poor meet together. The LORD is the maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2 (KJV).

Most days fall into the oblivion of weak memories. But some days are never forgotten. January 29, 2025 was such a day.

January 29 at Royal Calcutta with a wonderful caddie

We arrived at the ancient Royal Calcutta Golf Club (founded in 1829) at 6:20 AM. My traveling friend Don and I wandered around the prestigious clubhouse, making note that W. R. MacDonald won the Captain’s Prize in 1891 with an 89 (net 83). The next year, Mr. E. H. El Les shot 102 with a 16 handicap to take the trophy with his net 86, which is proof that bad golf has been around for a long time. The ol’ boys of Royal Calcutta finally went to match play in 1906 to spare the clubhouse wall from all those ugly and high numbers. As you well know, it is better to say you lost 4&3 than to admit you shot 92 with a six handicap.

Our member host (whose name I will omit) seemed happy to welcome strangers from the USA. Thanks to the great game of golf, we were friends within five minutes, chatting on the veranda with a cup of India’s best coffee before our 7:12 AM tee time. We explained that we were in India for a wedding. I gushed about my love of Royal Calcutta. Indeed, the clubhouse at my mythical golf club in the Orkney Islands was modeled after the elegant Royal Calcutta. (See www.playersprogress.com).

He knew about my Kentucky logo because he attended university at a Big Ten school. The rivalry between the SEC and the Big Ten bonded us quickly.

We told him we were also in Calcutta to visit Mother Teresa’s home and work. Even though he is Hindu, he quickly expressed respect for the saintly nun. He had attended a Catholic school, in fact, and had great respect for their educational system.

This opened the door to share the gospel of Mother Teresa in thirty seconds. At my audience with the saintly lady in 1995, I thanked her for doing so much good. She stopped me in my tracks with a touch of my elbow, and then uttered softly, “I’m not good”. She turned her eyes to heaven and softly said, “Jesus”. There it is. The gospel in ten seconds. The truth for all mankind, regardless of ‘religion’.

My new friend smiled and nodded, not understanding he had just heard the best news of his life.

We played nine holes in a blur of glorious bogies. The breakfast that followed at 9:30 am was better than the golf, and we were invited back the next morning to do it all again! Don and I got a taste of how the upper echelons live in Calcutta.

We left the course to join our afternoon host, a gentle soul named Veda who came to Calcutta over twenty years ago from the south of India to be a “missionary”. He escorted us to the famous Kali Temple, where the famous goddess of death is worshipped by millions who hope for a reincarnation into something better next time around. Or at least that is what it seems to my foreign eyes. It was a depressing, almost gruesome experience, for those of us with western eyeballs. The red idols are supposed to provide hope, but hopeless seems more accurate.

Next door to the temple is Mother Teresa’s Home for Sick and Dying Destitutes, established in 1952 as an intentional effort to care for the poorest of the poor as they move toward death. We walked quietly for thirty minutes through a large room where dozens of men lay on cots, waiting for the inevitable. At times, it felt supremely right to be there, smiling comfort to dying men. But then, the next moment is filled with sorrow, almost embarrassment, for staring like tourists at these dying men. It was not just the language barrier that kept me quiet. My emotions were flying in every direction.

But Jesus was there.

The peace we experienced during the nine-hole walk through the garden of Royal Calcutta was absent at the Kali temple but strangely present as nursing nuns cared for the dying.

We left there to visit the Mother House where the Missionaries of Charity live. We saw the room where Mother Teresa lived and died. We stayed for some time in a small museum, filled with some of her memories. We paused at her tomb. Pictures were not allowed on this holy ground, where nuns still live and work.

The mix of rich and poor had me spinning, feeling helpless. Veda helped me understand. He came to Calcutta many years ago to make a difference, but like so many who have gone before, he saw no progress. What can one man do? The words of Jehoshaphat come to mind: “We don’t know what to do, but our eyes are on you.” II Chronicles 20:12b (ESV).

What can one man do? Well, he opened a House of Prayer. Our final stop on this memorable day was a ten-by-ten rented room, where a handful of people gather daily to pray. It is an “8 to 5” job for simple souls who don’t know seminaries even exist. They pray. For Calcutta. For all of India. For the world. For the USA. They pray. All day.

I asked them if they ever prayed for ‘rich guys’. They were puzzled. And then I reminded them that Jesus is the one who said it is almost impossible for a rich man to make it to heaven. They smiled and added my friends at Royal Calcutta to their list. And maybe best of all, they added me and Don.

Pray. Sometimes it is all we can do.