Magan's World: Manchán Magan'stales of a travel addict
These days it is American evangelists one encounters most frequently when travelling. I've come across them organising wonderful projects in Africa, and I was once saved from a terrible death by rabies in the Amazon by an evangelist who was there converting hunter-gatherers for her church back in Louisiana.
But it's in India that their presence seems most incongruous. The self-belief it requires to fish for souls amid Hindu shrines, Buddhist stupas and Muslim minarets amazes me.
I was in a Gaylord restaurant in Varanasi once when an American leaned over and said: "We witness God. That's as vague and as precise as I can be." I hadn't actually asked him what he did, nor was I particularly interested, but this didn't stop him. "Really we're just mooching around, enjoying the wonders of India, but if the Spirit happens to move us we will not be found wanting. We try to stay out of Buddhist monasteries - spiritually dodgy places, full of scroll paintings and prayer wheels. You never know what sort of daemons you might encounter. It can take days to recover from just one visit."
It was clear he wanted me to inquire further about his work, and when I refused he merely continued as though I had.
"One time I was in a Tibetan temple up in Dharamsala," he said, "and I saw a monk kneeling in a corner. Suddenly a shiver ran through me, and I had the strongest sense that God was whispering in my ear, saying 'Give that monk a Bible!' I ignored it at first, but then it came back even stronger. 'Give him a Bible!' the voice said, stern and regal like Charlton Heston.
"So I fished out a copy of the St James and got my translator to tell the monk that God was so glad that he wanted to know Him and was seeking His word.
"The monk looked puzzled, but I could tell he was really humbled. I stressed the fact that this was the Holy Bible and that it would help him in his search. I could feel the power and presence of the Holy Spirit flowing through me."
The American glowed with pride as he told me the story. The moment he finished, one of his friends launched into her own account of a tour she had taken to a temple in Bodh Gaya, and how a young monk leading the tour had been dismissive about her beliefs, saying: "Who is this Jesus, anyway, and what do you mean he died for me?"
The woman had explained the tenets of Christianity to him, and straight away, apparently, his eyes lit up and he asked her: "How do I become a missionary like you?"
She told me how she had felt the power of the Risen Lord thrilling through her and how she told the monk jokingly that it would help to become a Christian and be introduced to Jesus first. According to her, he had nodded eagerly, saying: "How? How can I do that?"
Christ (or JC, as she insisted on calling him) told her to invite the boy to become a warrior of Christ. At first she tried to resist. "But Lord!" she baulked. "Come on! Can't You see I'm in a Buddhist temple and he's a monk?"
The Lord ignored her protestations, so she plucked up her courage and asked the young monk: "Do you want to live for Jesus? Do you want to praise His name on high?"
I shuddered as she told me this. Noticing my reaction, she turned on me with terrifying sincerity, saying: "Never be afraid to speak of Jesus Christ, to acknowledge his presence in the world."