Much of our lives in Papua New Guinea (PNG) are consumed with fairly mundane activities. The fact that we live and work in the “exotic” tropical rainforests of PNG does not excuse us from tasks like washing dishes, doing laundry, and taking care of our kids just like normal people here in America. Many times our lives appear on the surface to be very similar to our lives in the States.
There are, however, those moments that punctuate the monotony that remind us that we are NOT living a normal lifestyle. Moments that shake us to the core, make us feel like we’re living in a National Geographic film, and leave us asking “What in the world are we doing here?!?!”
Our first three months in PNG were filled with those kinds of moments. In fact, I would say that during the three months of our Pacific Orientation Course (POC) those earth-shattering, exotic moments were more the norm than the exception.
Like the day I got stuck in quicksand, for example.
One Sunday, we had the opportunity to go on an optional swimming trip. Like most activities in PNG, this was a lot more involved than it sounds. A group of about 20-30 of us missionaries loaded up in the back of a large covered flatbed truck and made the hour and a half drive down the rough mountain roads to the village closest to the watering hole. (I could write a whole story on the trip down the mountain as it was an adventure in itself, but we’ll save that for another day…)
Once we got to the village we unloaded from the truck and began the 30 minute hike down into the ravine where our swimming hole was located. This probably ordinarily would have taken an hour, but whoever was leading the charge REALLY wanted to get to the swimming hole quickly. I was grateful at this point that Jennifer and the kids had opted out of this little excursion and stayed back at POC because it would have been a really difficult hike for them. It was pretty steep and I felt like we were basically jogging down the mountain most of the time!
But it was worth it. After a very sweaty hike through the jungle, we stepped out into the clearing where the watering hole was. It was breathtakingly beautiful. A stream came out of the mouth of a cave, cascaded over a short waterfall into a large rock swimming hole which overflowed into a series of smaller, cascading crystal clear rock pools before flowing off into the jungle as a meandering stream. The tall jungle trees surrounding the pools kept it nice and shady and cool. It was paradise.
We swam for a while, enjoying the cool, clear water and taking turns doing high jumps off of the rock formations into the deeper, main pool. Then, a group of us decided to hike around to the entrance of the cave and follow the stream through to the mouth where it emptied into the pools.
Hiking through the jungle in PNG isn’t for the faint of heart, but it’s always rewarding. I enjoyed the beauty of the jungle and the massive trees that form the canopy above.
Finally, we came to the cave entrance. The cave was 10-20 feet tall and wide at most places. There were lots of bats flying around and the cool stream was only a couple feet deep in most places. After 10 minutes or so of walking through the cave, we were at the mouth where it poured over the waterfall into the pools. There was no safe or easy way down the waterfall, so we took a short detour around the waterfall.
Most of this path was under 6-12″ of water from the stream, but it was easily traversable since most of it was peppered with larger rocks we could walk on.
Near the end, however, was a different story. I had lingered back a little from the group, enjoying the scenery around me, so I didn’t get a good look at where everyone else had walked. I hopped off of a rock ledge onto what looked like a short stretch of rock covered by about a foot or so of water.
I immediately realized my error. While the substance under the water had looked like solid limestone, it was in fact quicksand. My right leg immediately sunk up to my knee in the squishy sand and silt mixture which pulled my weight off-balance, forcing me to either fall headfirst into the quicksand or pull my other leg in as well. I pulled my left leg off of the rock ledge and into the quicksand so that I could stay upright and not make a bad situation worse.
As I tried to shift my weight and pull one leg free, the other leg only sank deeper. The suction from the quicksand made it completely impossible for me to free my leg, and any attempt to do so was threatening to pull off my Keens hiking sandals.
A brief moment of panic struck as the realization sank in–I was stuck in quicksand! My wrestling around had only served to make matters worse, and I was now up to my mid-thighs deep in the quicksand, with the water level close to my waist. There wasn’t really anything around for me to grab hold of (I had left my Indiana Jones’ rope back home…😂), and I realized I wasn’t going to be able to pull myself out of this one. Embarrassed at my blunder, I yelled for help–but not too loudly so as not to alert the entire group of my stupidity.
Fortunately, one of our PNGan guides was nearby and turned around to help me. It took him a good bit of effort to pull me out, but I did finally make it out of the bog, shoes and all!
While I wasn’t in any real danger, the shock of the incident taught me a valuable lesson: when hiking through the jungle along a stream, test your footing before leaping in!
Oftentimes we treat our jobs, homes, health, family, and financial status as if they’re trustworthy foundations upon which to build our lives, but they’re not.
On a deeper note, sometimes things in life which appear to be solid and stable are in fact unsuitable foundations. In PNG, between the quicksand, earthquakes, and landslides even that which you most take for granted–the very ground under your feet–can prove to be untrustworthy. But oftentimes we treat our jobs, homes, health, family, and financial status as if they’re trustworthy foundations upon which to build our lives, but they’re not. “At least my job has a guaranteed paycheck,” we say. Does it really? Are you guaranteed your job? Or, “I’m reasonably healthy, so at least I don’t have to worry about getting that illness.” Do you really think that you have control over your health?
It’s true that God expects a certain amount of responsibility and good stewardship from us in these areas of our lives. We cannot live a fiscally irresponsible life and expect all to turn out well. Nor can we treat our bodies with disregard and expect to live a long, healthy life. But we also cannot put our trust in these things. If we do, we will soon discover that they are “broken cisterns that can hold no water” (Jer. 2:13), or shifting sand unfit for a firm foundation (Mt. 7:24-27).
The only sure foundation upon which to build our lives is Christ and his Word. He is the only thing in this life that never changes, never disappoints, and is never affected by the chaos of this world. And because he is trustworthy, his Word is also trustworthy.
For millions of people around the world–including the Mubami people with whom we work in Western Province, PNG–the firm foundation of God’s Word is inaccessible to them because it is not available in a language that speaks to their hearts. Our mission is to bring God’s Word to the Mubami people in their own language so they can have access to God’s Word and know how to build their lives upon Christ. Click the link below to learn how you can partner with us in our Wycliffe ministry to translate God’s Word into the Mubami language.
*This is the last of a seven-part series about our pre-allocation trip to the Mubami people of Western Province, Papua New Guinea. The purpose of our trip was to discern God’s will regarding us potentially starting a new Bible translation project in the Mubami language, which currently has no scripture.
Day 7, March 5, 2018
This morning, we got a visit from John, an elder in the church at Sipoi. Sipoi is another village that is located very close to Sogae (as is Tiomi, where Rex lives). Sipoi, like Waliho, is not an ECPNG village but belongs to the other denomination in the area. Since this denomination worships on Saturday, they had not been present for our announcement on Sunday, but the word had gotten around to them that we were coming to start a Bible translation project. This man had approached Phil yesterday afternoon stating that he had concerns that he wanted to voice to us, so Phil had warned me ahead of time to expect him.
John cut straight to the point and stated that he and his church wanted us to start translating in the Old Testament and translate it entirely before moving on to the Gospels and the rest of the New Testament. He was concerned that his people would not be able to understand the NT without the context of the OT. His concerns were totally valid—this is a VERY common problem within PNG, and frankly, even in the US. Still, it was a culturally and denominationally challenging conversation. On the one hand, I see tremendous value in the Old Testament. Two-thirds of the Bible is contained in the OT, the OT contains the necessary cultural, spiritual, and redemptive-historical context for understanding the New Testament. “Why did Jesus come to earth?” “Who is Jesus and who is God?” “Where did creation come from?” “What is sin and why is there sin?” “Who are the Jews and why do they feature so prominently in the NT?” “What do I need to be saved from?” These are just a few of the questions that you have to be able to answer if you want to understand the NT, and their answers are primarily contained within the OT. Far too many gospel presentations just skip right over the OT and straight to the NT, leaving the unchurched listener wondering what in the world the evangelist is even talking about!
I also wanted to affirm that the Bible doesn’t belong to any denomination. The Bible is not Baptist, Methodist, ECPNG, SDA, or Lutheran. Because of that, I think there’s value in including any denomination that’s willing to cooperate and work together for the Gospel.
On the other hand, my limited knowledge of these two denominations’ theological distinctives gave me concern as to how harmoniously these two denominations will be able to work together. I also know that, because of the length and complexity of the OT, translating it entirely before translating the NT would delay getting to the Gospels for many years—an unacceptable compromise, in my opinion.
Ultimately, however, such decisions aren’t mine to make, anyhow. It was a tough line to walk, but I explained that the choice of which books to translate and in what order to translate them is not ultimately up to me but is the decision of the Mubami translation committee. Of course, we provide guidance on which books are easier to translate and which ones are better left for a time when the translators are more experienced, but ultimately it’s the decision of the committee. I was able to affirm his concern that understanding the New Testament is difficult outside of its Old Testament context, but at the same time, translating the Old Testament is a VERY long process. I also assured him that my aim is ultimately to help them translate the whole Bible, Lord willing, and that my preference would be to see each village and denomination represented on the translation committee.
John seemed satisfied with that answer and especially pleased that he and his church would get some say in these decisions. Still, these types of disagreements derail and delay translations all the time, so I’m concerned for the unity of the translation in the long run when these tough decisions must be made. We can only hope and pray that the same Spirit moving in their hearts and creating a hunger for God’s Word will unify them in their efforts to bring it to pass.
Satisfied that his concerns had been heard, John and his family went back to Sipoi, about a 10-15 minute walk from Tiomi and we ate breakfast.
One of the ladies in Tiomi brought her pet lorikeet by for us to see. It was such a beautiful bird! Once again, I found myself staring at something I’d only ever seen in movies or zoos. They perched it up on Jennifer’s shoulder and we played with it for a bit.
Today we had planned to get a ride back to Kamusi via the logging roads. Adau’s wife, Domai, stayed behind in Kamusi because she’s too old for the kind of travel we’re doing, so we needed to get Adau back to his wife. Tomorrow (Tuesday), our plan was to take Pastor Max’s boat down the Guavi River to Bibisa, then cut across to Diwami. Then, we would go back to Kamusi and catch our plane back to Ukarumpa on Thursday.
Unfortunately, this morning we had to abruptly change our plans. Yesterday we noticed a small infection on Jennifer’s legs, but by this morning the infection has significantly spread. Small infections can become big infections quite quickly in the hot and humid tropics, especially when you’re bathing in river water! We had brought a small first aid kit with us but didn’t have any oral antibiotics or medications for serious illnesses, so we began to be concerned that this infection could become very serious, very quickly.
So, after a few SAT phone calls to our colleagues in Ukarumpa and the input of the medical staff, we made the call to end our trip early and return to Ukarumpa so Jennifer could see a doctor. There was a flight coming back from Port Moresby that would pick us up in about 2.5 hours. Given that it was a 1.5 hour canoe ride to Sasereme, that meant we had to hurry!
We hurriedly packed up our stuff, explained the situation to everyone, and apologized for having to so abruptly change our plans. Having seen how serious a sepsis infection can be during Jennifer’s medevac to Cairns last year, we simply couldn’t take any chances. Fortunately, our purpose for coming had been accomplished, so while we wouldn’t get to visit Diwami or go back to Kamusi we had completed our main objectives and could return home with confidence that our trip had been worthwhile.
We took a few pictures with the folks in Tiomi and hopped back into the canoe to head to Sasereme.
God blessed us with a motor that worked just fine and enough fuel to get back to Sasereme, so we were pulling up to the airstrip just as our plane was coming in for landing. We said goodbye to Rex and the others who had accompanied us to Sasereme and boarded our plane back to Ukarumpa.
We were sad to have to leave early, but relieved that we had been able to get Jennifer the medical attention she needed. And, as an added bonus, we were looking forward to seeing our kids again especially since today was Josiah’s 5th birthday! We had hated that we would be missing his birthday and we seriously contemplated rescheduling the trip for a later date. But, arranging a trip like this takes weeks or even months of planning, and after a year of delays and failed attempts to make this trip, we just didn’t feel like we could delay the trip any longer. The trip was too risky and there were too many unknowns for us to feel comfortable bringing our kids along. So, we had decided to celebrate his birthday before we left and leave our kids with some friends at Ukarumpa. So, even though we were having to cut our trip short, we would get to see our son on his fifth birthday. Even in a less than ideal circumstance, God had provided a blessing.
Jennifer got to see the doctors at Ukarumpa before the office closed and started a course of antibiotics. The doctors told us that with medication, her infections would heal up within a few days, but they were very glad we had brought her back before it had gotten worse. After finishing up at the doctor’s office, we went home to two very happy and energetic little boys and a enjoyed a non-sago dinner with some friends.
*This is the sixth of a seven-part series about our pre-allocation trip to the Mubami people of Western Province, Papua New Guinea. The purpose of our trip was to discern God’s will regarding us potentially starting a new Bible translation project in the Mubami language, which currently has no scripture.
Day 6, March 4, 2018
Today is the big day. We’ve waited years to find out who God wants us to serve and we finally have our answer.
I’m pretty nervous. This is only the third or fourth time I’ve preached in Tok Pisin and nothing brings out the gaps in your foreign language fluency like preaching! But, given that I only had a couple days notice and not much time to prepare, I guess I can’t expect too much of myself!
For breakfast, Rex and his family have prepared a feast! We’ve enjoyed the prawns they’ve been bringing us, but this morning we were in for a treat. They brought us the biggest prawn I’ve ever seen in my life! I had to do a double take when I first saw it because it was the size of some lobsters I’ve seen, but it was a prawn! It was huge! And yes, it was quite tasty, too. Rex also proudly showed us some slabs of pork from a wild pig some of the men had killed during a hunt the night before. Hunting here in the jungles of PNG is a much different affair than hunting back in the US, to say the least! I’m really hoping I get to go on a hunt with these guys someday!
We ate breakfast and then I looked over my sermon a bit. Sometime mid-morning the first church bell rang, signaling the village that it was time to start getting ready. About 30 minutes later, the second bell rang to let everyone know it was time to walk to church.
The worship team—consisting of several men, women, and guitars—had already started when we walked in. I had to suppress my Western instinct to feel guilty about arriving after the music had started. In a culture without clocks or watches, an extended worship service serves a very practical purpose—it gives people plenty of time to get to church. No one worries about what “time” church starts—it starts when you get there. It was kind of nice not to have to worry about running late on Sunday morning.
Rex and his family ushered us up to a table with a nice tablecloth and chairs near the front of the church building—the place of honor. Everyone else, of course, was seated on the wooden floor. Over and again I’m humbled by their generosity and hospitality.
We sang for a good 45-60 minutes in a mixture of Tok Pisin, Mubami, Gogodala, and English. Even though I couldn’t understand any of the words to the Mubami songs, I loved hearing them sing in their mother tongue. They have written these songs themselves as an expression of their desire to worship God from the heart, and it shows. No one was worried about how their singing voice sounded, they all just belted it out from their hearts. I was struck with how loud their singing was—you could hear it from the furthest corner of the village! Their little village church sounded as loud as congregations five or six times their size in the US!
There were some announcements made, some more singing, and then Rex called me up to preach. There was a wooden pulpit box near the front of the church and Rex and I stood inside of that for the duration of the sermon.
I said the handful of Mubami words that I had learned up to that point: “Diata dalomole. Awaila bedele!” (‘Good morning! Thank you!’) Then I switched into Tok Pisin to continue thanking them for their hospitality and generosity towards us while Rex translated for me into Mubami.
Then, I started my sermon the same way that I’ve started every sermon I’ve ever preached since I began preaching over 15 years ago. “Turn in your Bibles to…”
I immediately realized my mistake. I looked up to see the 150 or so Mubami people staring back at me. There was no rustling of pages. No one pulling out their smartphone Bible app. They all just stared back at me.
Tears filled my eyes and it took me a moment to regain my composure. They didn’t have a Bible. That simple act of opening my Bible and following along with the preacher that I had taken for granted all these years—they couldn’t do that. I was embarrassed, but even more heartbroken than embarrassed.
After getting my thoughts back together, I resumed my sermon. In my praying and studying, God had kept drawing me back to Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch from Acts 8, so that’s what I preached on. I explained how God’s command to Philip to go south into the desert must have seemed like an odd request to Philip. Philip must have wondered, “Why do you want me to go to the desert? What good could I possibly do there?” But, God’s plans are not our plans and they don’t always make sense to us at first. But, if we obey God, it will always turn out for the best.
I explained that we had hoped to come visit them almost a year ago, but that we had been unable to do so because of Jennifer’s illness and other delays. It certainly hadn’t been in our timing, but God knew what he was doing and we simply had to trust and follow him. He would reveal the reason in his timing.
Likewise, the Mubami had been waiting for many years for God’s word in their language. Why hadn’t God answered their prayers sooner? I don’t know. But in his wisdom, he has ordained the right timing and we must trust him.
Secondly, much like the Mubami, the Ethiopian couldn’t understand scripture because he didn’t have it available in his language, I explained. The Mubami had repeatedly told me that they wanted scripture in Mubami so that they could understand the Bible and know God better. God knew that the Ethiopian needed help understanding scripture, so he had sent Philip to help explain the gospel. Just as God answered the Ethiopian’s pleas for help to understand scripture, God would answer their prayers, too. I shared that we and our partner churches back in the US had been praying for them ever since we heard about their request in 2014. I shared how God had been guiding us, just as he had been guiding them.
“I know that over the years, several survey teams have come to help you with various things like alphabet development, story writing, and other things,” I said. “Those teams wrote reports for our organization, and our organization has not forgotten about you and your request for help with Bible translation. More importantly, God has not forgotten about you. God loved the Ethiopian man and he knew that he wanted to know more about God. So, God sent him someone to tell him the Good News and explain scripture to him. As you know, we came here praying about whether God wanted us to come help you translate His Word into the Mubami language. You’ve waited for a long time for God’s Word in Mubami. Too long. We’ve prayed about it a lot, and we believe that God is asking us to come help you translate the Bible into Mubami.”
Rex translated what I had said into Mubami, at first not fully realizing what I had said. I started to continue but then realized that he had stopped talking and had broken eye contact with the people. He was looking down at the pulpit, tears in his eyes, trying to compose himself enough to continue translating into Mubami. As the chairman of the ECPNG Mubami District, Rex is the “Big Man”—the leader over not just the churches, but over all the Mubami villages as well. The sight of the Big Man over all of the Mubami villages publicly crying at the thought of receiving God’s Word in his language was too much for me—I couldn’t hold back my emotions any longer, either. So, there we stood—at the pulpit in front of over 100 people from every village we had visited thus far—crying. Some of the women in the church began crying loudly, and it seemed that everyone was moved to emotion. It was a moment that I will never forget and one I will look back to when the hard times come.
When we finally managed to compose ourselves, I continued to explain that while Philip’s job was important and he gets a lot of attention, the Ethiopian eunuch had an even bigger job. While the Bible doesn’t tell us the rest of the story, Philip’s explanation of the gospel to the Ethiopian man wasn’t the end of this story. That man had been entrusted with something precious—the Good News—and he had a duty to his fellow Ethiopians. Would he take the gospel back to Ethiopia and keep quiet, or would he share the precious gift that had been entrusted to him?
Yes, God was calling us to help the Mubami. But if the Mubami people wanted to see God work amongst them, that burden would fall on them. We would help them, advise them, and guide them in translating the Bible, but the real work would fall on their shoulders. Yes, God had answered their prayer for someone to help them translate scripture, but they needed to know that we ourselves are not the translators—that job is on their shoulders.
While many years ago it was common for a foreigner to translate scripture into the language(s) of the people they served, decades of experience have taught Bible translators that the most effective translators are mother-tongue speakers of the language—not expatriates. Expatriates like us are necessary and provide helpful advice, exegetical guidance, training, etc., but the work of figuring out which Mubami words best communicate the message of John 3:16—that has to be done by a native speaker of Mubami. No matter how fluent I become in Mubami, I’ll never match the intuition of a native speaker. We are simply there to provide guidance, exegetical help, and experience. We’re the “quality control,” for lack of a better analogy, not the actual “manufacturers.” So just as God was calling us to assist them in translation, he was also calling Mubami men and women to step up to the work of Bible translation, too.
Rex and several other people gave some announcements and closed the service. After the service was concluded, everyone came by to shake our hands and tell us awaila bedele, ‘thank you.’ But, I couldn’t help but think that we were the ones that were being blessed by them. Their hunger for God’s Word was palpable and still moves me to tears each time I think of it. It’s going to be a long journey ahead, but I’m excited to see what God has in store for the Mubami.
We took the opportunity with several villages present to get pictures of the pastors and their families and then headed back to Rex’s house.
The visitors from Daiyapi and Palieme left to return to their villages. We went back to Rex’s house and ate lunch—a delicious assortment of roasted pork, prawns, greens from their gardens, and more. Fortunately, we knew enough to pace ourselves. After all, this was only “brunch”; “lunch” would follow soon after! Still, after we had finished what we thought was brunch, another family came and brought us “second brunch.” We politely nibbled at the massive bowlful of sago, but knew better than to eat our fill!
About 30 minutes or so after we finished eating, we went back over to the church building to give a tok save—an ‘informative talk’—about the logistics of how the actual translation project would proceed. We wanted to set some expectations and make sure we were all on the same page. We explained again that the translation project belonged to them—they would have to select honorable Christians to comprise the translation team. We also explained some of the other logistical details and timeframes, including my upcoming study leave. Because of the unforeseen circumstances of our first term, we’d probably only get to visit them once more before we had to leave for furlough and study leave. I explained that just as their pastors had to go to Bible school, so did I. I had started seminary several years ago but had been unable to finish, so we would go back to America for a couple years to finish school and then come back to PNG. It was hard to have to tell them that we would be gone for so long—we hadn’t planned it all this way. But we’ve sought to follow God’s leading at every step and this is how he has lead us so far. They also send their new pastors off to a 3-year Bible school in another area for training, so they understood the importance of me finishing my education. We explained that there’s a lot of work to do before translation can begin, including our learning a reasonable bit of Mubami so that we will be able to better help them.
After the meeting and some more food, we went back to Rex’s house and talked for a while. It was late afternoon by this point so most people were headed back to their homes. Having officially announced our intentions to work with them, I felt a new freedom with the people. It was nice to no longer have to say, “IF we come work with you…” but be able to say, “When we come back…” We’ve been talking about starting a Bible translation project in the abstract, theoretical, and future for so long that it felt strange to begin making concrete plans! But it was a nice change. It felt good to be able to finally be starting what we’ve dreamed of for so many years now.
I realized that some of these people would probably become some of our best friends in the years to come and it was nice to think of how we might all be reminiscing about this day fifteen years from now. It occurred to me that I may look back on this day someday and think, “Boy, was I naive!” But for the time, I’ll just enjoy the fellowship and the peace and joy of knowing I’m right where God wants me.
*This is the fifth of a seven-part series about our pre-allocation trip to the Mubami people of Western Province, Papua New Guinea. The purpose of our trip was to discern God’s will regarding us potentially starting a new Bible translation project in the Mubami language, which currently has no scripture.
Day 5, March 3, 2018
Today was our longest day of travel. I woke up to the sound of hammering. Walking out onto the veranda, I realized that they had been busy nailing down some of the loose boards on the veranda and installing a handrail on the steps leading up to the house. I chuckled to myself. After just one day they had already come to the conclusion that this big white man is going to kill himself if we don’t “whiteskin-proof” our house!
Before breakfast, we took a canoe—a roughly 20’ long hollowed out tree trunk with a small 15hp motor on the back—back down the river to the site of the new airstrip. This was my first time riding in a traditional canoe in PNG. While I’m sure that it was a very large tree it made a very narrow canoe—just wide enough to fit a single file line of seated people, and not quite wide enough to comfortable turn sideways in the canoe. I thought to myself, “I’ve really got to lose some weight!” Any time I tried to shift my weight to get more comfortable, the whole canoe would rock prompting some nervous looks and chuckles from the others in the boat.
Being overweight in America really doesn’t affect your daily life too much, as long as you’re not morbidly obese. You can drive pretty much anywhere you need to go, you don’t have to wonder whether your house will support your weight, and—aside from commercial airlines which are uncomfortable regardless—there are few seats that are uncomfortable if you’re a little overweight. In the village, however, it can mean falling through the floor of you house, capsizing your canoe, or—worst of all—falling through the floor of the liklik haus (outhouse)! I’ve heard that it’s happened before—fortunately to no one that I know—but I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of traumatic experience you need professional counseling for afterwards.
To get to the proposed airstrip site was about a 15 minute canoe ride then a 1km hike up to the plateau where they’re building the airstrip. To say that it’s not yet finished would be an understatement. The 800m strip had at one point been bulldozed, but it had been several years and the jungle quickly reclaims any ground that you don’t actively maintain. The surface was red clay and a good portion was covered with small trees and shrubs. I was able to use my phone’s GPS (GPS works even when there’s no cell coverage) and a map app I’ve come to rely upon for use out in the bush (TopoMaps+) to plot out the coordinates for the proposed strip and get a rough measurement. I’ll take this information and some pictures back to Ukarumpa to get information from our Aviation department on what all needs to be done to open the strip. I’d say that they’re still a couple years from getting the strip approved for use, but it’s promising. The proximity to Sogae would definitely make it much easier to get in and out of the village.
On our way back to the boat, someone cut us some wild sugarcane to chew on. It’s quite tasty and refreshing after hiking for a while in the sun. When we got back to Sogae we had breakfast before heading out again for Sasereme. From this point on, they gave us differing varieties of sago at every meal, including one that was actually quite tasty. Once, they cooked the sago in bamboo with coconut and banana. It made a sweet, desert like version of sago that I actually would make for myself. “Finally!” I thought, “A version of sago that I actually like!” It was encouraging to find that there are ways of making their staple food that I actually enjoy and our kids will probably like, too.
After lunch we took the dugout canoe with the 15hp motor upriver to Sasereme. On the way there, I got to talk a good bit with Rex. I learned that he had been asked by the church to become a pastor, but since he wasn’t able to afford the school fees for the 3-year Bible school, he had been unable to become a pastor. Each of the pastors in the area go to a 3-year Bible school run by some of the Gogodala ministers in a village near Ugu. It’s a big commitment, both of finances and time. I only met two Mubami pastors in the Mubami churches—the rest were Gogodala men.
So, unable to become a pastor, Rex became a teacher instead. He teaches the primary school (grades K-2) at Sogae. He is paid every fortnight (two weeks) by the government. He earns a decent enough salary by PNG standards—most people are unemployed, at least in the traditional sense—but his salary is a far cry from what Americans teachers would earn. Sometime after becoming a teacher, he was elected chairman of the Mubami District—an area which includes all of the Mubami ECPNG churches except Ugu, which is so far south that it belongs to another district. He said that the chairman position is a paid position, but he had declined the salary. “The church really can’t afford to pay me, anyhow, and if they did pay me and I continued to receive my salary from teaching, I’d be a rich man, and that wouldn’t be good,” he said. I had to consciously remind myself not to let my jaw drop visibly. A rich man? Here’s a man who—even if he did accept both salaries—would still be below the poverty line in the US by a wide margin and he’s concerned about making too much money. I was simultaneously convicted and humbled by the depth of character he displayed in that moment.
The 15hp motor eventually got us to Sasereme, but it didn’t do it quickly! It took us about an hour and a half to travel the 16km from Sogae to Sasereme. We had intended to go all the way to Daiyapi, but the pull cord on the motor broke just as we got to Sasereme, so we pulled into Sasereme and switched boats. A local politician had an aluminum dinghy with a 40hp motor, so we borrowed his boat and made the remaining 5km trip to Daiyapi in about 5-10 minutes. I made a mental note that if/when we get a boat, I’m getting a 40hp motor! The trip down the river is beautiful and peaceful, but if we ever had an emergency, I’d want something with a bit more “get up and go!” Plus, it would make visiting villages farther out a little more feasible.
Just as we were about to pull up to Daiyapi, I had a horrifying realization—I’d left my cell phone in the other canoe that we’d left at Sasereme! I’d had it out taking pictures and must not have seen it when I gathered up my belongings and transferred to the dinghy. Not wanting to worry Rex, I decided to keep it to myself and pray that it would still be there when we got back.
We were greeted in Daiyapi by probably 60-80 villagers. They gathered underneath someone’s house as we explained why we had come. They had much the same reaction that we had seen in Sogae, Palieme, and Kamusi—they were thrilled that someone was finally considering helping them translate the Bible. They, again, explained that they don’t understand the Tok Pisin, English, or Gogodala Bibles and that they want to be able to read God’s Word in Mubami. We didn’t spend a lot of time at Daiyapi because we still wanted to stop by Sasereme and visit with some Dibyaso language speakers as well, and it was already mid-afternoon. The people, I think, wanted us to stay longer so they could prepare us food, but we explained that we still had a lot of ground (and water!) to cover, so we needed to get going. They apologized that they hadn’t been able to host us properly because they didn’t know we were coming and insisted on cutting down some fresh coconuts for us to drink before we left. I’m convinced that fresh coconut water is nature’s Gatorade—it’s incredibly refreshing after a long day in the sun. We thanked them for their hospitality and made our way back to Sasereme.
I let Rex know that I had left my phone in the canoe, so we detoured back to the canoe to see if it was still there. There aren’t any Mubami speakers that live in Sasereme—it’s much like Kamusi, a logging camp that has people from many different language groups that live and work there, but all of the Mubami workers just commute from Sogae or Daiyapi to Sasereme for work. The dominant language group is Dibyaso, but we hadn’t met anyone from Sasereme, so I figured that the chances of recovering my lost phone were slim outside of God’s intervention. When I checked the canoe, I realized that my phone had slid underneath the raised wooden seating platform built into the bottom of the canoe. There it was, unmoved. What an answer to prayer! Finding my phone would turn out to be a bigger answer to prayer than I realized.
After breathing a sigh of relief, we hiked our way up the hill to speak with the Dibyaso pastors. The Dibyaso people have, like the Mubami, been asking for help with Bible translation for many years now. Unfortunately, there simply aren’t enough translation advisors to provide help to each of the remaining 300+ living languages in PNG which need their own translation. So, they wait.
We gathered under the pastor’s home there at Sasereme and explained why we were here. Of course, the fact that we were there considering working with the Mubami in Bible translation was little comfort to the Dibyaso, but I tried to comfort them and encourage them with the fact that there might be the possibility of including them with the Mubami in a multi-language (translation) project (MLP). Such an undertaking is complex and difficult, but it’s being done in multiple different projects. One of the most powerful stories of an MLP is the Aitape West project in the Sepik in PNG. The documentary “Arop” is a powerful testimony to God’s working through such projects. We also encouraged them that oftentimes its easier to get translation advisors in areas where there’s already another established project. Not many people are fond of the idea of starting a new project in an area where there are no other active missionaries. It’s a daunting task, to be sure. “So,” we said, “Perhaps if we come work with the Mubami, someone else will come work with you.”
It felt like empty platitudes, but it was the only comfort I could give them. The fact of the matter is that there are many obstacles to running an MLP and even if an MLP does develop with the Mubami and Dibyaso, it will almost certainly require additional missionaries to keep the project afloat. So, the sad truth is that the Dibyaso are now in the same position that the Mubami were in when Phil and Chris Carr allocated just downriver from them in the Bamu language back in the 90’s. The words of that elderly Mubami man in 1995 echoed in my mind: “We know that you’re working downriver with the Bamu people, and there’s a translator working up north of us, but here we have no one. We want the Bible in Mubami. Can you tell your bosses to send someone to help us?”
My heart breaks for the Dibyaso and the many other language groups like them who are still waiting for someone to come help them receive God’s Word. I want to help them, but I can’t be in two places at once. Maybe God will bless our efforts and an MLP will come to fruition. But, even if it does, we would need help to make it successful. I wonder, will the Dibyaso have to wait twenty more years before someone comes to help them? And by that time, will the door still be open? Surely, the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.
We found out while we were there that the airstrip at Sasereme is fully operational. That gives us one more option for travel to and from Sogae, so that was good to know. On our way out, we stopped by the trade store in Sasereme and bought some more fuel for the canoe which had now been repaired. It was now close to sunset and we still had an hour and a half canoe ride back to Sogae!
On the canoe, Jennifer and I finally had some time to talk semi-privately. (Personal, private conversations are hard to come by in the village!) I asked her how she was leaning, trying to get a feel for her thoughts on allocating to the Mubami. I had been praying that if God really wanted us to allocate to the Mubami that he would make it as clear to her as he had to me. She smiled and explained, “I was already pretty sure that God was leading us to work with the Mubami, but I just wanted a little more clarification. So, knowing how unlikely it was that your phone would still be on the canoe two hours later when we got back to Sasereme, I prayed ‘God, if his phone is still there, I’ll take that as confirmation that this is where you want us.’” I smiled and laughed. God had answered three prayers in one—my prayer that my phone would still be there, my prayer that God would make it clear to Jennifer, and Jennifer’s prayer for confirmation. We talked for a while about it to make sure that we were both 100% sure and then decided that we would make our announcement the following day (Sunday). Then we snapped a selfie to commemorate the moment.
As it got darker, we could see the large fruit bats flying overhead, most of them with about a 3’ wingspan! The ride back was peaceful. There’s an indescribable peace that comes from knowing that you’re following God’s will. Even though we were tired, sore, and sunburned, we had peace.
That night, we got back after dark. I told Phil about our decision and he gave me a big hug and whispered praises to God for answered prayer. Rex had invited all of the villages that we had visited to come to church at Sogae the following day to hear me preach, so we decided that during church would be the best time to make the announcement. All of the villages we had been to would be represented (except Waliho), and that seemed to be a fitting conclusion to our time in Sogae. Monday, we planned to catch a ride back to Kamusi and then go by boat to visit Diwami on Tuesday. But, our main purpose for coming had been fulfilled, so it seemed like good timing to go ahead and announce it so that they didn’t have to wonder anymore.
We ate dinner that night and I enjoyed a newfound freedom with the people. Without the question hanging over my head, I was free to relax and just enjoy their company and get to know them better. I slipped away a little early to finalize my sermon for the next day and slipped off to sleep. Tomorrow would be the culmination of several years of waiting for us, but decades of waiting for the Mubami.
*This is the fourth of a seven-part series on our pre-allocation trip to the Mubami people of Western Province, Papua New Guinea. The primary purpose of our trip was to discern God’s will in starting a new Bible translation project with the Mubami people.
Day 4, March 2, 2018
What a day! This morning we packed up our stuff again and ate breakfast. (You’ll never guess what we had for breakfast today…tuna and rice! Surprised?) This time, the truck came as planned and we took off down the logging roads in the back of a small pickup towards Sogae.
Thankfully, the roads were dry and made out of packed red clay, so they were surprisingly smooth! In fact, I think that outside of the roads in Port Moresby, this dirt logging road was the smoothest road I’ve been on in PNG! Granted, if it had just rained these roads would be impassable. But, so long as it’s dry, it’s smooth sailing.
We drove past Newtown and then kept going deeper and deeper into the jungle. We saw parrots and cockatoos flying overhead and someone even caught a glimpse of a red bird of paradise! The scenery around me was like something out of a movie. We were probably driving at 30mph for the majority of the time (a pretty good speed in PNG) and the cool breeze was a welcome relief from the heat. We must have driven for 30 minutes before I saw another human being, and even then, we only saw a couple men on logging company equipment. The thought occurred to me, “I wonder what we do if the truck breaks down or runs out of gas?” I was grateful that we had been able to get a SAT phone before our trip! Fortunately, we made it without incident, except for having to swerve around a large pile of dirt placed inconveniently in the center of the road. Who put that there?
As we were driving along, Rex told me, “Brother, I had a dream last night that you preached on Sunday.” I nervously chuckled. I thought to myself, “How in the world would I find time in this crazy week to prepare and deliver a sermon—a sermon in a foreign language, at that!” I didn’t quite know what to say because I wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea for me to preach to a group of people whose culture I didn’t have a good grasp on yet. I’ve learned the hard way that such a situation is rife with potential cultural pitfalls and potential for misunderstanding. Before I had a chance to reply, though, Rex sealed the deal—“Yes, I think that’s what we will do. You will preach Sunday. The people will hear the gospel from the white man.” “Oh boy,” I thought, “I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a catastrophe waiting to happen!” But Rex had made up his mind, so that was that. I was preaching on Sunday, ready or not!
When we arrived at Sogae my first thought was, “Oh, so this is what Jesus meant when he said ‘…and to the ends of the earth’!” Sogae is literally in the middle of nowhere. Assuming the road is passable, it’s a little over an hour drive from the Kamusi airstrip (which is already pretty much in the middle of nowhere) and an hour and a half canoe ride from the other closest airstrip at Sasereme.
There were a number of homes scattered along a half mile stretch of the Wawoi River. Most of the homes are built right along the banks of the Wawoi. We were greeted by a number of people including the new pastor of the church at Palieme and his family. He and his wife are Gogodala missionaries and they had arrived at Sogae only a week before we did. He will soon take up his post as pastor at Palieme. He and his family were a notable exception to the PNG norm of quiet, reserved women and outgoing men. He was one of the quietest men I have ever met, and she was outgoing even by American standards! Plus, she spoke fluent English—better than any of the Mubami.
Rex Amadi, as the denominational leader in the area, was our primary “guide” during out time with the Mubami. He had happened to be at Kamusi for a denominational meeting with the Mubami pastors when we arrived, but his home is at Sogae. He showed us to his home, a simple home with two bedrooms and a larger living area. It was a typical construction for Mubami homes, as far as we could tell. It was built on stilts about 8 feet off the ground along the edge of the river bank. There was a makeshift ladder to climb up to the veranda to enter the home. Fearing that the ladder might not support my weight with my luggage, Rex motioned for me to toss my bag up to him before I climbed up. The roof was old, rusty metal with nail holes from where he had removed it from his previous home to reattach to his new home. The floor was off-cut lumber from the sawmill with nails sparingly and sporadically placed throughout. (Nails are expensive and hard to come by for most PNGans.) I had to watch my step in the home because many boards throughout the veranda and in the home were not nailed down at all and the opposite end would pop up if you stepped in the wrong place. Others were just much thinner and felt like they might break under my much-larger-than-your-average-PNGan-weight, so I just made sure to stick to stepping on the floor joists. The windows were simply framed holes in the wall, though the “master” bedroom had some spare roofing metal propped up in it to provide some privacy. There were, of course, no lights or electricity, no indoor plumbing, no carpet, no decorations, and no furniture or beds. Rex and his family moved their belongings out of the two bedrooms and into the living area to provide a room for Jennifer and I and the other room for Phil and Adau (Domai had stayed at Kamusi with some relatives). He and his family slept in the living area.
After setting up our bedding, we went outside to sit down and visit. There’s not much purpose to being inside in a typical PNG village house. It’s hotter inside and there’s no breeze, plus there’s no lights or electronics to entertain yourself with, anyhow. A house is a place for sleeping, that’s about it. So, most people socialize underneath their house where it’s cool or in their haus kuk (an outdoor kitchen.) I walked along the veranda, carefully hopping from floor joist to floor joist, watching for boards that wouldn’t support my weight. In my careful attention to my footing, I failed to notice that the roof of the haus kuk—which is attached to the opposite end of the house and veranda—was much lower than the roof on the house. That’s no issue for most PNGans, who are usually shorter than the average American, but I banged my head straight into the edge of the low hanging roofing metal. Fortunately, I had my hat on, so it didn’t cut my forehead. It only took me running into it once more for me to figure out that I had to duck to enter the haus kuk.
The haus kuk was of similar construction—up on stilts even with the level of the house and with lots of boards not nailed down. Actually, about half of the covered area of the haus kuk didn’t have any boards at all! So if you didn’t watch your step carefully, you’d end up falling into the cassowary pen underneath the haus kuk! (One benefit of this construction is that it’s super easy to feed the cassowary. Just toss your scraps over the edge of the haus kuk!)
The ladies busied themselves preparing a simple meal over the fire in one corner while we and the men chatted in the other. While in Kamusi, Rex had repeatedly and excitedly promised that once we got to Sogae they would give us “real” village food. Boy, did they deliver! Some of the village boys had been splashing around in the river with nets and had caught some freshwater prawns! So, the ladies roasted them on the fire along with some fresh greens and, of course, sago.
Sago is the staple food in much of PNG and is made from the starchy center of the sago palm tree. The tree is cut down, stripped of the bark, then pounded to get out the starch. That starchy pulp can then be prepared in a number of ways. The most unappetizing method is to simply boil it in water. This results in a very stringy, white, tasteless blob which I affectionately call “snot soup,” for obvious reasons… Needless to say, we’re not big fans of this method of sago preparation.
So, we were very pleasantly relieved to find that the Mubami people roast their sago inside of bamboo. Sometimes they roast it plain, but often they mix it with coconut, bananas, and other foods to give it a flavor. Sometimes they even mix in pork, fish, greens, or other savory foods, too. While the resulting reddish-brown colon-shaped sago still doesn’t look very appealing, it’s much more palatable than any other version of sago I’ve tried…if you can get past the rather unsettling resemblance it has to its digested version, that is…
After we finished lunch, we all made our way down to the dinghy. Getting into the dinghy from the muddy bank without falling into the water took a bit of effort. We took off south down the Wawoi to go visit Palieme. The new pastor and his wife came along, too, so that they could see the village where they would be working and living for the next few years.
We puttered along in the dinghy for about 15 minutes to Palieme, then got out and hiked up the hill to the village. It was a scorcher that day. We walked around the village for a few minutes and then the whole village gathered in the church building.
Walking through the church was an even more risky affair than walking through the village home. About 50% of the floor boards were rotted enough that they would not support pretty much anyone older than a child. The bottom step going up to the veranda of the church broke when Jennifer tried to climb up it.
About 40-50 people gathered in the hot, stuffy church to see why the white visitors had come, and after everyone got settled, Rex invited us to introduce ourselves and explain why we had come. We thought it best to let the pastor and his family introduce themselves first, so his wife introduced their family. Then, we explained why we had come. At this point, Jennifer was fairly confident that God was calling us to the Mubami, but still wanted a little more time to think it over and pray. When God calls a husband or wife into a ministry, he calls the spouse as well. So, even though I was confident of our calling already, I knew that Jennifer needed a little more time to pray and wasn’t quite ready for a commitment. So, I explained that we were here to prayerfully consider whether God would have us to come help them with Bible translation. I spoke in pidgin and Rex translated for me. Very few, if any, understood me when I spoke in pidgin or English. Their reaction was much the same as what we saw at Kamusi and Sogae. They passionately explained why they needed scripture in Mubami and explained that they thought they were the last language in PNG left that needed Bible translation. I explained that there were actually over 300 other languages in PNG alone that were still waiting for scripture, and many, many more throughout the rest of the world. As you might imagine, that was of little comfort to them, but it did help to know that they weren’t the last ones and that our organization hadn’t forgotten about them.
I asked them to pray for us to have clarity and promised to pray for them. It gave me great joy to be able to tell them that people back in America have been praying for the Mubami for three years now, and they were very happy to hear that, too. Phil and Adau explained that a Bible translation project is primarily the job of the people, not the foreign missionaries. Without a lot of commitment and local ownership, Bible translations rarely succeed. Phil and Adau explained that Adau and his wife, Domai—not Phil Carr—are the Bamu Bible translators and that if the Mubami wanted a Bible they would have to be willing to commit to the work.
The people seemed to agree with that and were enthusiastic about the idea of starting translation. We prayed and adjourned and cautiously made our way back out of the church and down the rickety steps and back to the boat.
Rex had told me that they had been working on building an airstrip near Palieme for several years now in preparation for a missionary coming to help them with Bible translation. It wasn’t finished, but they had all the plans made out for it and had started the work. We planned to swing by and take a look at it on the way back, but just as we were getting close to the airstrip we got caught in a torrential downpour. I attempted to shield myself with an umbrella, but eventually just gave up because there was no point. I was getting soaked anyhow, so I figured I might as well enjoy the cool down! I laughed to myself as I remembered an episode of Planet Earth II that we had watched just the week before our trip. In this episode, the film crew were filming freshwater dolphins in the Amazon River and got caught in a torrential downpour. I looked around us at the dense jungle on all sides, looked at Jennifer and said, “Hey, you remember that episode on Planet Earth?” We both laughed as we realized the insanity of where we were and what we were doing.
We got back to Sogae that afternoon, just as the rain was stopping, just in time to see a large tugboat pulling an enormous barge down the river piled high with logs. It was coming from Sasereme, another logging camp north of Sogae along the Wawoi, and was heading downstream to the ocean. It was a bit strange seeing such a large technological contraption so far out in the bush.
When nightfall came we again took bucket baths. We could have gone down to the river and washed in the river like they do, but it had rained in the afternoon and the path down to the river was a muddy, slippery mess. I imagine that it would have done more harm than good to try to bathe in the river! Plus, Jennifer was a little nervous about bathing in the river at night knowing that there are, at least occasionally, crocodiles in the area. The people had told us not to worry about crocodiles because “when they see black skin, they know not to come close.” Surprisingly, that didn’t give us much comfort. We didn’t vocally oppose bathing in the river, but I think they figured we were too clumsy to make it down and back without wallowing in the mud, so they just filled a five-gallon bucket with river water and brought it up to the veranda for us.
Bathing in a village setting is rarely a private affair—there’s almost always someone around who can see you—so, you have to stay partially clothed. Women usually bathe in shorts and a t-shirt or just a knee-length blouse, while men just bathe with shorts on. Still, for us Westerners, bathing out on the veranda where people can see you is, at best, an awkward affair. Two women took it upon themselves to stand there on the veranda on either side of Jennifer just to be certain that nobody watched her…except them, of course. The awkwardness of public bathing is just the price you pay for cleanliness and a little relief from the heat. Oftentimes, it’s the little nagging things—like lack of privacy—that wear on you in a village setting. Full immersion in another culture takes a toll, so every missionary has to figure out ways of compromising between the target culture and their own culture. For us, that’s probably going to mean me constructing some kind of outdoor shower stall to provide a little more privacy for taking a bath.
That night we had a good, hard rain. The metal roof amplified the sound so that the rain was deafening. Of course, the water found its way through the various nail holes to drip on us, but overall, it wasn’t too bad. Even though we got dripped on a bit, it was a more than fair trade-off for the coolness that made it easier to sleep that night.
Today we were supposed to catch a ride from Kamusi across to Sogae. Pastor Max spent most of the day yesterday trying to arrange a ride and he told us that there would be a truck coming for us today. So, like the Westerners we are, we assumed that a truck would be arriving today. Before breakfast, we packed up our belongings, neatly organized them by the door and waited for the truck to come. We sat around for a while chatting with whoever came by, and Jennifer enjoyed getting to hold a cute little Mubami kid in her lap.
While we were waiting, I had the chance to talk with a few of the Mubami men underneath Pastor Max’s house (homes here are built on posts raised about 8-10 feet off the ground). An elderly man named Gaulei showed me his tattered and torn Gogodala Bible. The Gogodala are a very large language group just south of the Mubami who have had foreign missionary influence since at least the early 1940’s. Their New Testament translation was completed in 1981 and they have been a powerful missionary force in the surrounding region. Four out of the six ECPNG churches in the Mubami area have Gogodala missionaries as their pastors. Gaulei proudly showed me his Bible and I couldn’t help but think that it seemed to have gotten more use than most Bibles I’ve seen in the US. To be fair, though, paper doesn’t fare too well in the tropics so Bibles age quickly.
I asked Gaulei to read me a passage, curious if he knew Gogodala well enough to understand the Bible in Gogodala. Typically, in a village setting like this, elderly men may know some other languages from nearby peoples, while young men with more access to education may know some basic English or Tok Pisin. Women and children typically don’t know any other language aside from their mother tongue with any significant fluency, though there were a couple exceptions to this norm.
Gaulei struggled through a couple verses with what I would probably classify as the equivalent of a third or fourth grader’s reading ability in the US. But, knowing how to sound out the words of another language is very different from understanding their meaning. I can stumble through reading German—not well, mind you—but I understand basically nothing of it.
“Do you understand what you just read?” I asked him. Gaulei stared at his Bible for a moment then looked at me and shook his head “no.”
I felt like Philip with the Ethiopian eunuch. The Ethiopian eunuch couldn’t understand the Isaiah scroll he was reading without help, either, probably because there was no Bible in his mother tongue at the time. He was probably reading in Greek or Hebrew. Without someone skilled in these languages to interpret for him, he would have been hopelessly lost. Even with Philip to translate and explain it for him, eventually he would need the Bible in his language if he ever hoped to reach his fellow Ethiopians with the Gospel.
Rex reiterated what he had told me yesterday. “He can’t understand it because this isn’t his language, it’s the Gogodala language. So, he can read the words but the true meaning—he’s not able to understand that.” Since there’s no secondary school (grades 9-12) in this area, the vast majority of children don’t make it past grade 8 in the Mubami area—most don’t make it that far—leaving them with far too little English to understand the Bible in what has been described as one of the world’s most complicated languages.
Around lunchtime, the people explained that the truck that was supposed to come get us had to first deliver some people to Diwami, but that upon its return it would take us to Sogae. That was fine by us—as long as the truck arrived by 1 or 2pm we should be able to make it to Sogae before dark. By 2:00, we were beginning to have some serious doubts about our travel plans. Someone told us that they had heard that the truck had to take a ferry across the Wawoi River and take someone a little further towards Balimo, but that when it returned we would all go to Sogae. Balimo is a very long way from Diwami, so we quickly got the point. PNGans are typically less direct than Westerners and have a cultural aversion to disappointing someone. They don’t like to deliver bad news. So, if they know what you’re expecting or hoping for, that’s what they will tell you. (One has to be very careful, therefore, not to ask leading questions, because you’ll almost always get the answer you’re looking for whether that’s the “truth” or not! This often-disregarded cultural phenomenon is probably the source of many misleading statistics.) They hadn’t lied to us, they had simply used a culturally appropriate way of telling us “Yeah, that truck ain’t coming today.” We haven’t been here for a long time, but long enough to be able to read between the lines of this gentle PNG let-down. So, we unpacked our stuff again, set up our beds, and resigned ourselves to traveling tomorrow.
Since we had some free time and I was starting to get bored, we walked down the logging road about a kilometer to see another Mubami village called Newtown. While it’s still a part of the Kamusi area, it’s in its own little area off by itself. There were about 10 or 11 homes, most made out of off-cuts of lumber from the logging company with metal roofs, typical construction for the Mubami area. We didn’t really spend much time at Newtown, just walked down there and then back to the church.
That night a group gathered in the church sanctuary around electric lanterns and we talked and ate dinner. I think three different people brought us three complete meals that night. Just as we were finishing the first meal, the second arrived, and then the third. We were stuffed. There’s just only so much rice and tuna I can handle in one sitting, and after having rice and tuna for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past two days, I was not terribly thrilled to see a third helping coming our way. So, we politely nibbled at it a little so as not to offend and then shared it out with all of the people sitting around watching us eat. (Which, by the way, is as awkward as it sounds.)
After eating we chatted for a couple more hours. Phil amused everyone with a funny story about an elderly couple vacationing in an Asian country where they didn’t speak the language. The couple had brought their beloved house dog with them on their vacation. One night, they went to a nice restaurant and brought their dog with them. Since they didn’t speak the language, when they ordered their food they just had to use hand gestures. Wanting to order some food for their dog, they pointed at their dog and then made the gesture for eating food. The waiter grinned, nodded to acknowledge his understanding, picked up the dog and walked back to the kitchen. Later, he returned with the couples’ food. They ate their meal and then flagged down their waiter to pay their compliments and retrieve their dog from his meal in the kitchen. They motioned for their dog and the waiter just gave them a puzzled look. Finally, the waiter mustered up what little English he knew to say, “You already ate it!”
Everyone, including myself, was dying with laughter at the mortification of the elderly couple who had just discovered that they had eaten their beloved pet. As I looked around the room at the men and women laughing, I felt for a moment like I was with a group of old friends. After just two days, they already become like family to me. I looked over at Jennifer who was sitting on the floor with a group of women and smiled because she looked perfectly at home, like she belonged there despite her different skin color, language, and culture.
It’s hard to explain why or how, but in that moment I realized that God had given me the answer I’d been praying for. Before we left, I hadn’t made out a list of “qualifications” for what I was looking for in an allocation. I know that lots of people do, and there’s not necessarily anything wrong with that as long as you’re willing to set aside your list if God says so. Some people’s list includes things like “an airstrip within 10 minutes,” or “cell service in the area,” or any other number of qualifications. But for me, such a list couldn’t answer the primary question I had which was simply this: “Are these the people you want me to serve, God?” That question, for me, was the only one that mattered. The rest is simply logistics. So, instead of making a list, Jennifer and I decided to simply pray that God would make his will clear to us. God knows us far better than we know ourselves, so I knew that He would know exactly what would make his will clear to us concerning the Mubami. And in that moment, as we all laughed so hard we cried, it was clear to me. These people were hungry for God’s Word and we had already formed a bond with them that I simply couldn’t explain. Like Jonathan and David, my heart had been inexplicably and inextricably tied to theirs and I simply couldn’t walk away. They were no longer statistics or stories, they were my brothers and sisters, people that Christ died for.
In hindsight, I’m grateful that the truck didn’t come as planned and I’m glad that I didn’t make out a list of qualifications. In all my planning and careful consideration, I’m pretty certain that such a list would not have helped me to discern the difference between God’s will and my own. And most of all, I’m thankful for that elderly couple who sacrificed their dog for a people group in Papua New Guinea that they had never met.
*This is the second of a seven-part series about our pre-allocation trip to the Mubami people of Western Province, Papua New Guinea. The purpose of our trip was to discern God’s will regarding us potentially starting a new Bible translation project in the Mubami language, which currently has no Scripture.
Day 2, February 28, 2018
This morning we sat around on the porch of the church building and chatted with people as they came by. We got to meet various church leaders and church members and Pastor Max busied himself most of the day trying to arrange a ride for us to Sogae via one of the logging trucks going through the area.
After an early lunch (more rice and tuna), we went to visit Waliho, a very hot 1.5km walk from the church we were staying at in Kamusi. While Waliho is just as close to Kamusi as Saloma or any other part of Kamusi it is technically a separate village that relocated to be closer to Kamusi from its original location further down the Guavi River. Waliho relocated closer to Kamusi so that the people could get jobs with the logging company. Since it’s one of the only employers in the area, many of the Mubami people are employed by the logging company in Kamusi.
It seemed to me that we were not as well received in Waliho as we had been at Saloma/Kamusi. There was only one man in the village when we arrived—the rest were in the bush working. There was something in the body language and conversation that left me with the impression that there was some underlying cultural tension that I wasn’t understanding. Then again, it’s equally likely—if not more so!—that I simply misread the situation. Cross-cultural body language is, after all, a tough read! The people told us that the men of the village would be back later that afternoon, so we told them we’d come back then.
We made our walk back towards the church and stopped at a trade store to buy an umbrella. I used to feel silly walking around with an umbrella when it was sunny and not raining, but after walking a while in the hot, tropical sun, you get over such matters of pride quickly! I was surprised by the variety of items available at the trade store. There was a boat motor, a couple bicycles, some cheap plastic toys, a few small solar panels, umbrellas, some clothes, and a variety of basic foodstuffs, among other items. It was a far cry from Wal-Mart and most of the items appeared to be relatively poor quality, but if you were in a pinch, they might suffice for a little while.
When we got back to the church at Saloma, we sat around for a little while chatting with people. There seemed to be a constant stream of visitors, curious to see who the visitors to their area were. There was a heavy rain in the afternoon, so we waited for it to pass and then made our trip back to Waliho to see if we could catch the men who would have returned from the bush by then. Unfortunately, we found that the men had indeed returned from the bush to the village, but then had departed again. We don’t know whether they intended to give us a “cold shoulder” or if perhaps they just had a lot of work to do that day. But, since you never know what people’s intentions are, it’s always best to assume well unless you know otherwise. The women and children were more than happy to see us, though, so we shared with them why we had come and took some pictures.
On our way back, we stopped by another neighborhood in Kamusi which has a second ECPNG church. Several houses surround the church and most of the people living in this area have relocated here to Kamusi from Ugu village, the southernmost Mubami[i] village. The church is called “Kamusi Urban,” somewhat of a misnomer if you ask me because, despite the relative development in Kamusi from the logging camp, it’s still a far cry from “urban.” We were told that Kamusi Local Church (aka, Saloma Rural Church) had been planted as a branch of Kamusi Urban for the express purpose of reaching Mubami speakers. The logging company has brought in a large influx of workers from all over the country, so the church services at Kamusi Urban are led in English or Tok Pisin, the languages of wider communication in PNG, and the pastor is a non-Mubami speaking Gogodala man. But, since most of the Mubami don’t know these languages, they were not being well served in these services. So, a group of the Mubami—with the blessing and help of Kamusi Urban—planted a sister church in Saloma to minister to Mubami speakers.
I found that encouraging for a couple reasons. First, it clearly demonstrates the need for a Mubami translation. If the Mubami people had enough trouble understanding basic announcements and sermons in English and Tok Pisin, how much more difficult would it be for them to read Scripture in these languages? Second, it demonstrated to me clearly that they understood that spiritual matters simply can’t be communicated well in a second language. Anyone who has ever tried to preach or share the gospel in a second language knows this struggle well. Abstract concepts like “grace,” “salvation,” “faith,” and even “love” are difficult to translate on the fly and they are always interpreted through a cultural lens. Language includes much more than simply letters and definitions, there’s a whole host of cultural information that is implied or assumed as well. The Mubami understand that and are willing to do what is necessary to make sure their people understand God’s Word as best they can. Unfortunately, that ability is seriously hampered by their lack of a Mubami Bible.
[i] Actually, the people from Ugu are quite insistent that their name is not “Mubami” but “Dausami.” They argue that “Mubami” was a name given by Australian colonial workers to their people and is derived from the name of the bones they traditionally wore in their noses. Everyone else that we met (not from Ugu village) insisted that “Mubami” was the original name and “Dausami” was the name given by Australian colonials to the people and is derived from their traditional dreadlocks which they called dauso. In either case, the Mubami now have neither nosebones nor dreadlocks and everyone seemed to agree that they speak the same language, with some minor dialectical differences. This will be an interesting sociolinguistic puzzle for us to explore over the years!
*This is the first of a seven-part series about our pre-allocation trip to the Mubami people of Western Province, Papua New Guinea. The purpose of our trip was to discern God’s will regarding us potentially starting a new Bible translation project in the Mubami language, which currently has no Scripture.
Day 1, February 27, 2018
Yesterday, in the early morning pre-dawn hours, a massive 7.5 earthquake hit the highlands. We felt it at Ukarumpa, but it didn’t affect us. On the way to Kamusi we flew to Walagu and Bosavi airstrips to drop off a couple MTTs (mother tongue translators) and pick up a couple expats (foreigners—fellow missionaries in this case) from their village stays. On our way there, the pilot flew over some of the hardest hit areas and we took some pictures and surveyed the damage. Whole sides of mountains had just crumbled. As people slept, their homes simply collapsed. Many were killed or buried alive and many thousands of people lost their homes, their gardens, and their villages. It was heartbreaking to see the damage that this earthquake inflicted. According to the news, it was the worst earthquake PNG has seen in 100 years. The expat lady we picked up in Walagu said that her water tank had buckled and broke, spilling out all of her drinking water. People are afraid to go back into their homes (and rightly so), and they are afraid to go out into their gardens, many of which are built into the side of the mountains. The aftershocks continue a week after the quake, some greater than a 6.0 magnitude.
After surveying the earthquake damage, we landed at Walagu and then Bosavi. Though most people back in the US would probably consider Ukarumpa a “bush” airstrip (‘bush’ is the Australian term for deep jungle), I would say that landing at Walagu and Bosavi gave a new meaning to “bush” airstrips for me! Walagu was the first time that I ever thought while landing, “Is it possible for a plane to spin out and roll on landing?” Bosavi airstrip was even more fun! But the pilot handled the conditions with skill and the plane held up just fine. These bush airstrips don’t get nearly as much maintenance as they do rain, so it made for a bumpy landing!
After leaving the Bosavi airstrip, we flew up over Mt. Bosavi and then the pilot took us down into the crater! It was breathtaking. I’ve never seen a volcano up close before and I had no idea how big the crater can be! I’d guess that you could easily fit all of my hometown of Cabot comfortably inside the crater. It no longer surprises me that scientists have discovered new species that are only known to exist inside that crater! It’s basically big enough to have its own zip code. After leaving Mt. Bosavi, we continued flying south towards the Mubami. We flew for a good 30 minutes or more over seemingly endless jungle. I thought to myself, “Now this is bush…”. The scenery reminded me of something I’ve seen in National Geographic films or Jurassic Park.
When we landed at Kamusi, I was surprised by how “developed” it seemed, at least compared to Walagu and Bosavi. The logging company has built a couple small stores (similar to convenience stores in the US), put in a long airstrip made of crushed limestone, and carved out logging roads to get their equipment around. There’s a large sawmill, a primary school (grades 3-8), and a good number of people living in and around Kamusi.
When we got off the plane, we were greeted by Adau and Domai—the MTTs for the Bamu language translation project where Phil and Chris Car work. They’re very old now, especially by PNG standards, and their New Testament translation is nearing completion. Back in 1995, Phil had made a trip upriver to Kamusi on a survey with Adau and Adau had been the one to translate an elderly Mubami man’s request for help with Bible translation. Unfortunately, at that time Phil had to tell the man that we simply didn’t have anyone to send to help the Mubami translate Scripture. That unknown elderly Mubami man is most likely dead now, and none of the Mubami seem to know who it was that made the request. So, Adau was very happy that we were there to consider working with the Mubami.
We were also greeted by a number of Mubami men, women, and children. A couple of the men identified themselves as members of the translation committee at Ugu village. We had some difficulty getting word to the folks at Ugu that we were coming, so I was very glad to see that they had received the message and been able to come. I’ve been reading, studying, and asking about the Mubami for three years now, so it was surreal to get to finally meet some of the people I had been hearing about.
Finally, we made our way to Kamusi Rural Church (aka, ‘Saloma Local Church,’ named after the creek that runs through that area), a Mubami speaking ECPNG (Evangelical Church of Papua New Guinea, the dominant denomination in Western Province) congregation in Kamusi. A crowd had gathered around us, curious to know why the waitskins were here (waitskin is not intended as a derogatory term—it just means ‘people with white skin’). The church leaders set a time for later that evening to convene for us to tell everyone why we had come. That night, about 80-100 people came into the church and some of the denominational leaders were present as well. It quickly became clear that, despite our best efforts, no one except a handful of people knew we would be coming, and no one seemed to know why we had come. We told them that a few years ago, our organization had done a survey in the Mubami area to figure out if they still needed their own translation. Some of them nodded, remembering when our colleagues had come back in 2014. “We read their report about your desire for Scripture in Mubami, and we are here to prayerfully consider whether God wants us to come and help you translate the Bible into Mubami,” I said in Tok Pisin. I wasn’t sure how many of the people would understand me, but a handful of the men and a couple women clearly understood and translated my statement into Mubami for the rest of the people. Faces lit up and people chatted excitedly. The elders hushed everyone so we could continue. We explained that there are many languages in PNG that are still waiting for the Bible and that we weren’t sure if God wanted us to go to the Mubami or if he had another place for us to go.
Even as I explained that we had not yet made up our minds, it was hard for me to not just say, “We’re here to help you translate the Bible!” How do you face people who have been begging for God’s Word for decades and tell them, “I’m not sure if God wants me to help you get his Word or not”? Experience has taught me that a need, by itself, does not constitute a calling, but still, I struggled to get those words out and maintain my prior commitment to cautiously pray and carefully consider my decision.
There were some legitimate concerns and questions that I had before I could definitively say “Yes.” Probably the biggest concern was motives—why did they want a translator to come help them? That may seem like a silly question, but there are many examples of people groups in PNG who have had ulterior motives for wanting a missionary, chief among these ulterior motives being cargo cults (PNG’s version of the prosperity gospel). It’s a widespread belief in many areas of PNG that waitskins are deceased ancestors of theirs, come to bring them material goods (a.k.a., “cargo”). Thus, white missionaries are usually well received and welcomed, but oftentimes their reception has ulterior motives underlying their seemingly enthusiastic embrace of the gospel. (This is one reason that Bible translation takes so long—it takes years to learn the language and culture well enough to avoid the numerous potential pitfalls in translation of Scripture!)
So I asked them, “Why do you want the Bible in Mubami?” Max Saiya, the pastor at Saloma Local Church, and Rex Amadi, the chairman of the Mubami District ECPNG, both passionately explained, “Our people are not well educated. We are bush people. I and few of the other men known Tok Pisin and a little English, but our wives and children don’t understand these languages. When we preach, we have to read Scripture in English, Tok Pisin, or Gogodala and our people don’t understand the Bible in these languages. We need the Bible in Mubami so that our people can understand God’s Word.”
“Well,” I thought to myself, “That’s as pure a motive as I’ve ever heard.”
That night, they brought us rice and canned tuna in brine for dinner—a special (and expensive) treat that they themselves don’t often eat. To us, of course, it’s one of the blandest meals imaginable. Hardly what you’d hope for after a long, hot day. But the kind gesture was not lost on us. We stayed up talking with the people until probably 9 or 10 that night. But, it had been a long day and we were ready for sleep. Someone brought us a bucket full of tank water for bathing (a precious commodity—their only source of clean drinking water) and the pastor let us use a corner in one of the two rooms in the back of the church for our bucket baths. So, we took turns taking bucket baths in the pastor’s office. The floors were simple wooden slats, so the water drained right through to the ground. I chuckled to myself as I imagined this scenario playing out with various friends and relatives back home and the looks on their faces as they asked incredulously, “You want me to take a shower where?” It was not my first bucket shower, thanks to POC, but it was the first time I’ve taken a bucket bath in the pastor’s office!
After our bucket baths, we settled in to sleep. Phil took the opposite side of the room we had taken our baths in and Jennifer and I took the other room. By the time we set up our mosquito nets and air mattresses, I was drenched in sweat again. I often wonder during village living if there’s even a point to bathing, but at least it provides some relief from the heat, however temporary.
As I lay there drenched in sweat, I was comforted by two thoughts. First, I was very glad I had thought to get these little USB powered fans and battery packs! They’re not much in terms of cooling power, but it’s better than nothing! The second thought was that whatever suffering I was enduring was nothing compared to the spiritual suffering that comes by not having God’s Word in your heart language. For the Mubami “The Greatest Story Ever Told” has not yet been told—not fully. It’s still locked behind a closed door of a foreign language. Hearing statistics and stories about people without Scripture is moving, but to hear the passionate plea for myself was heart breaking. It’s miserably hot here, and it seems like we’ve flown to the edge of the earth and jumped off. But how can I say “no” to such a request? I’ve traded my American Dream for God’s Dream, the dream of “a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” (Rev. 7:9-11) That is a trade I will never regret making. What a privilege it would be to play a part in bringing God’s Word to these people.
MTT–Mother Tongue Translators; our national partners who do the work of Bible translation
Expat–short for “expatriate,” a foreigner (like us)
Bush–an Australian and PNG term for deep jungle and undeveloped areas
Waitskin–literally, “white skin;” a non-derogatory Tok Pisin term for people with white skin, often used to describe foreigners in general.
Tok Pisin–a Pidgin/Creole of English, widely spoken throughout much of PNG. Literally, “Pidgin talk” or, alternatively, “Talk of the Birds.”
Cargo Cult–PNG’s version of the “prosperity gospel;” It takes many shapes and forms, but at its core is an attempt to manipulate Christianity in order to obtain “cargo”–stuff.
Tank water–Rainwater collected from the gutters into large water tanks. For most people, it’s the only source of clean drinking water. Once it runs out, life gets difficult…
For those of our readers who don’t follow us on Facebook, you might not be aware that Jennifer and I are currently in Australia on medical leave from Papua New Guinea (PNG). Just a week or so after finishing our Pacific Orientation Course (POC), Jennifer fell ill with a very serious case of bacterial sepsis. Based upon the symptoms and a tentative diagnosis from some of her doctors, we suspect that she contracted Scrub Typhus, a potentially life-threatening disease transmitted by the bite of an infected mite. Within four days of the start of her symptoms, her illness had progressed to a life-threatening case of sepsis, which required immediate and advanced medical care. The closest facility that could provide the necessary medical treatment to save her life was in Cairns, Australia, so she was evacuated to Cairns for treatment.
Because of a phenomenal team of doctors and nurses, thousands of people’s prayers, and God’s mercy, Jennifer was released from the hospital after a two and a half week stay to continue her recovery here in Cairns. She’s doing much better now and the doctors expect her to make a full recovery, though it’s going to take some time. It’s our hope that in about a month she will have recovered sufficiently for us to move back to PNG and resume ministry at the missionary center at Ukarumpa.
In light of the events of the past month, I’ve thought a lot about the meaning and purpose of suffering in the life of the believer. This is a topic that I’ve wrestled with a good bit, and I’ve written about suffering a good bit here on our blog–here, and here, and here, just to give a few examples. But there’s one saying that I hear from time to time that has caught my attention this past month.
“The safest place to be is in the center of God’s will.”
The first time I heard that saying I was a teenager. A missionary from Africa had come to my church and shared with us about his ministry there. After describing some of the challenges, risks, and dangers associated with being a missionary in Africa, he said that people often asked him how he could justify taking his wife and children into such a dangerous place. he responds by saying “The safest place to be is in the center of God’s will.”
Of course, he’s not the first believer to espouse this view. A quick search of Google will reveal that others have written articles on this topic, encouraging believers that you’re safer following God’s will than venturing out into a life of sin and rebellion against God. It’s an encouraging sentiment, and one that stuck with me for several years.
Too bad it’s wrong.
I mean, it sounds nice, sure, and it’s got an element of truth to it. Indeed it’s better to follow God’s will than to sin, but is it really safer? We’d all like to think that the risks we take as followers of Christ will all turn out to be the smart, safe decision after all. We’d like to think that following God’s call to accept that job with a cut in pay so you can spend more time with your children will somehow end up being the best career move you ever made. We’d like to think that those inner-city kids and the homeless people we minister to would all turn out to be nice, kind people who are just down on their luck. We’d like to think that when we forsake all, leave our homes, country, family, and loved ones behind, and move to a third world country that God would then be obligated to shield us from all that makes that country “third world.”
But that’s just not how it works.
Sure, things like that happen sometimes. Many a Christian employee has found that refocusing his time on his family ends up somehow netting him the financial security that used to elude him. Sometimes those homeless people you serve turn out to be lifelong friends. And some missionaries never experience serious illness or persecution. (I haven’t met them yet, but I’m sure they exist somewhere.)
But, we don’t even have to look into the Bible to refute this cute little saying. All it takes is some good ‘ol common sense and a little bit of history. Do you know what every disciple of Jesus, except John and Judas, have in common? Though not recorded in scripture, history tells us that every one of these remaining ten men died a brutal martyr’s death. And they’re not the only ones. Voice of the Martyrs estimates that “In this past century alone, more Christians were murdered for their faith than any other century in human history, an estimated 200 million.” One missionary I met who has served in the tropics for many years estimated that she has had malaria over 40 times. Her husband has had so many surgeries to remove skin cancer from his ear that he hardly has an ear left now. The child of another missionary couple with whom we went through training recently had cerebral malaria–a serious, often fatal form of malaria, which only turned out well for her due to a providential meeting with a doctor on the street. Just this past week, a missionary with our organization passed away from a sickness he contracted while hiking through the jungle to a nearby village. And–lest I forget–I’m currently sitting in Australia because my wife contracted a nearly fatal case of bacterial sepsis while ministering in the bush and had to be medically evacuated to Australia for treatment. Even if you’re just a believer following after Christ in Suburbia, God’s will is likely to take you into dangerous situations, serving sinful people, at great risk to yourself and/or your family’s personal well-being. If we’re talking about physical safety, I think we can say that following Jesus is most definitely NOT a safe choice.
I’m not even going to address the question of financial safety because, let’s face it, following a money management strategy that advocates giving away as much money as possible, exalts the poor, humbles the rich, and has as it’s primary proponent a homeless man with “nowhere to lay his head” (Lk. 9:58) is not likely to turn you into the next Bill Gates.
“Ah,” you might say, “But following Jesus certainly is the safest choice spiritually.” Well, that’s obviously true in an eternal sense, otherwise there would be no point at all to following Christ! But, on this side of eternity, following Christ can even be risky to your spiritual health. I had a seminary professor who loved to remind us that “Being a minister is hazardous to your soul!” Why? Because those who follow Christ paint a giant target on their back for Satan. If you look in scripture, those who are following God are often targeted for spiritual attack. Job, Judas, Paul, and Peter–all four followed God and were targeted by Satan for spiritual attack. Three ultimately withstood Satan’s ploys, and one (Judas) gave himself over completely to Satan. (But, even Job and Peter were rebuked at some point for caving into Satan’s schemes.) Of course, the true believer need not worry about being indwelt by Satan as Judas was, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t suffer Satanic attacks. In fact, it basically guarantees it. “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted…” 2 Tim. 3:12 (ESV)
Still, some people seem to think that following Christ is the safe bet. “After all,” they reason, “If it turns out that I’m wrong, I’ve lost nothing. I’ll at least have lived a good life. But, if the Bible is true and I am found an unbeliever, I’ll suffer eternal Hell.” Unfortunately, those people do not have Paul on their side. Paul seemed to think that the costs of following Christ were so incredibly high that if it all turned out to be a lie, “…we are of all people most to be pitied.” (1 Cor. 15:19, ESV) So, to those who think they have nothing to lose by following Christ, I think Paul would say “Then you’re not really following Christ. If you’re doing it right, you’re going to suffer loss.” Almost every single “hero of the faith” in the New Testament (and many in the Old Testament) died a horrible death because they followed Christ, and, I would argue, EVERY believer WILL suffer if they choose to follow Christ. When you have as the goal of your faith oneness with a man who died a brutal death on a cross, you are guaranteed to suffer.
The simple fact is this–following Jesus is NOT safe. It never has been, and it never will be. The only way in which following God’s will is safe is in view of your eternal destiny. But that’s not how this saying is most often used, and if that’s what you intend to communicate, then saying that “The safest place to be is in the center of God’s will” is unhelpful and downright confusing. It would require a disclaimer that smacks of a pharmaceutical commercial. “Except in the case of physical, mental, social, financial and other non-eternal destiny types of safety. Side effects may include: homelessness, spiritual attack, poverty, sickness, ostracization, crucifixion, shipwreck, flogging, and, in not so rare cases, death.”
So, how should we think about the cost of following Christ? When we make a choice based upon risk, we usually evaluate it based upon the likelihood and severity of both the risk and reward. There’s four questions to consider here:
What is the likelihood of incurring loss?
What is the severity of the loss that might be incurred?
What is the likelihood of receiving a reward?
What is the value of the reward that might be gained?
Having answered the first two questions (“100%” and “Severe, possibly death,” respectively), we should now turn to the last two questions. For the believer, the potential for reward for following Christ is guaranteed. (Note the guarantee in 2 Tim. 4:6-8 below.)
So, the only question left is of the value of the reward. And, since our rewards for following Christ are eternal, we can say that our rewards are “infinitely valuable.” Near the end of his life, Paul had this to say about his impending death:
For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, willaward to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing.
2 Timothy 4:6–8 (ESV)
The New Testament is rife with the subject of eternal rewards for following Christ.
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable.
1 Corinthians 9:24–25 (ESV)
“Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude you and revile you and spurn your name as evil, on account of the Son of Man! Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets.
Luke 6:22–23 (ESV)
Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.
Colossians 3:23–24 (ESV)
But recall the former days when, after you were enlightened, you endured a hard struggle with sufferings, sometimes being publicly exposed to reproach and affliction, and sometimes being partners with those so treated. For you had compassion on those in prison, and you joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one. Therefore do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward. For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised.
Hebrews 10:32–36 (ESV)
Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.
James 1:12 (ESV)
Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have tribulation. Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life.
Revelation 2:10 (ESV)
“Behold, I am coming soon, bringing my recompense with me, to repay each one for what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.” Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they may have the right to the tree of life and that they may enter the city by the gates.
Revelation 22:12–14 (ESV)
When the Bible speaks of the risks we must take as believers following God’s will, it doesn’t speak in terms of “safety” versus “danger.” The New Testament never offers safety as a motivation for following God’s will. Instead, it speaks in terms of “cost” versus “reward.” It was not for the “chance of safety” that Christ endured the cross, but “for the joy that was set before him” (Heb. 12:2); he gained strength to endure the cross because he set his eyes on the eternal reward that comes from following the Father’s will. For us, the incentives that scripture gives for the sacrifices we make here on earth to follow Christ include:
the crown of life (Jam. 1:12)
an inheritance with the Son (Col. 3:24)
a throne in heaven/co-reign with Christ (Rev. 3:21, 20:6)
“…a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and in the age to comeeternal life.” (Mk. 10:30)
rewards which will be so great that our earthly struggles seem insignificant (Rom. 8:18)
No doubt there will be more rewards than these listed here, but that gives you a glimpse. Can you imagine sitting on the throne with Christ himself?!?! In addition to these, scripture often doesn’t specify the nature of our reward, simply calling it a “reward.” But, even if no specifics were ever given in scripture concerning the nature of our eternal rewards, considering the source, we can rest assured they’ll be worth it!
The question is not, “Is following God’s will safe?” The answer to that is obvious, “NO!!! It’s the most dangerous thing you can do with your life!” But, following Christ is definitely worth it.
A hope of eternal reward–not the false hope of temporary safety–is what will give comfort to the believer in the midst of suffering. When you’re struggling to pay your bills, laying in a hospital bed, or being ridiculed or persecuted because you followed Christ, it will be of little comfort to hear that following God’s will was the “safe” choice. The worst day of my life was the day I watched my wife–the most precious thing to me in all this world–get loaded into a plane to be flown to another country for treatment and wondered whether I would return to America as a single dad. I love my wife dearly, so I don’t take this lightly. I can imagine no greater pain than losing her. But, even as I sat in that plane holding her hand, not knowing whether or not she would make it, I had a comfort and peace from God. And the thing that gave me comfort was knowing with all my heart that if God decided to take my wife, she would go to be with Christ. Her earthly sacrifice would be instantly rewarded with a crown of life and the words “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” She would spend all eternity with Him, and the cost she paid here on earth would have been worth it.
So, when we are called to make tough decisions and are weighing the cost of following Christ–be it to a new job, into a rough neighborhood, into a new ministry, or into a new country–let’s stop asking “Is it safe?” Let’s not fall prey to the delusion that following God will be safe. We ought to ask instead, “Do I believe that following God’s will be worth it, regardless of the cost?” And the answer to that, for the believer, should be obvious. When we finally get that perspective, we can live our lives in a way that shows the world that our Savior is worth whatever the cost may be. He is infinitely worthy. And then we can say with Job,
“And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”
Philippians 4:19 ESV
Well, after many years of preparation and training, we are finally here in Papua New Guinea. Way too much has happened in the month since we left the States to update you on all of it, but it you want a snapshot of our lives here, I suggest you check out our ministry page on Facebook.
The only problem is that when you look at all of the beautiful pictures of gorgeous sunrises, natural caves, hidden spring-fed pools, and lush jungle, you might leave with the impression that we’re on an adventure filled vacation.
But life is not all sunshine and roses. It often rains, and when it does, it pours.
There are many wonderful things about living in a new culture, but the fact remains that adjusting to a completely new lifestyle takes a toll on you–physically, mentally, and spiritually.
Just for example, back in the States I lived a fairly sedentary lifestyle. I have a fitness watch which tracks my steps for the day, and back in the States I would rarely exceed 7,000 steps in a given day, unless we were especially active–like spending the day at the zoo or something like that. But since we’ve left the US, I don’t recall a single day when I’ve tracked less than 10,000 steps, and many days have me exceeding 15,000. Yesterday, for example, I never left our compound, didn’t go on any hikes, and did nothing except the basic chores like preparing meals and such and my step count was 11,537. Why so high? We spent the majority of the day chopping firewood, preparing meals, cooking over an open fire, and running back and forth to the bathroom to retrieve drinkable water. In order to help prepare us for life in a remote village, on the weekends we prepare all of our own food outdoors over an open fire using no refrigeration–all while trying to take care of two little kids. If I’ve had a day more mentally and physically draining than yesterday, I can’t remember it. On top of these weekends, we have class daily from 8:00-4:00, and occasional jungle hikes and open water ocean swims. Then there are all the new foods. Some are pretty good, but others are…well…interesting. Food has become much more of a commodity which is consumed for fuel here, rather than for fun like in the US. The physical drain is intense for someone used to a sedentary American lifestyle. I’ve lost over 25 pounds since we left the US without even trying. (I’ve lost another 15 pounds since drafting this post almost a month ago!)
In addition to the physical demands, there are plenty of mental stressors, too. In the absence of local trash pickup, we are discouraged from using disposable paper and plastic goods. You don’t realize how dependent you are upon trash pickup until you’re forced to switch to cloth diapers (which must be hand washed…😳) and have to try to figure out alternatives to Ziploc bags and paper towels, which are nowhere to be found. When your kids are adjusting to new foods (read “explosive diarrhea”), cloth diapers can be the thing that just ruins your day. It seems like every other morning we wake up and the first thing we have to do is change diapers and wash bedding. It’s not a pleasant start to the day. On top of this, when you’re living is such close community with people you’ve just met from all over the globe, there are cultural stressors even amongst your fellow missionary colleagues. Add to that the exhaustion of spending hours a day learning a new language, making new friends, and learning the culture of the people to whom you minister, and even days which are physically less stressful can get the best of you.
Lastly, there’s the spiritual stress. You don’t realize how refreshing your Sunday church service is until you’ve sat through an entire service in a foreign language and only understood several words here and there. After a long, physically and mentally draining week, you look forward to the spiritual refreshment of Christian music and teaching, only to find yourself straining to understand bits and pieces of the sermon, and not recognizing any of the songs that are sung. Church service becomes just another culture and language learning session leaving you more exhausted than you were before. The Holy Spirit may be alive and well in the church you visited, but the spiritual truths of God’s Word are locked behind the gate of a foreign language and culture, inaccessible to you. One positive takeaway from this experience, however, was being able to empathize with the many people who attend service every week in PNG in a language that is not their mother tongue, read scripture in a language that is not their mother tongue, and sing songs that are not from their culture or language. It gives me a greater appreciation for Bible translation and mother tongue scripture use.
In addition to the stress of cross-cultural church attendance, Satan is no fool when it comes to wartime strategy. If the Word of God is the Holy Spirit’s weapon, then those who advance the Word of God through ministry, missions, and/or Bible translation are spiritual weapons dealers. We endeavor to supply people with the very weapon the Holy Spirit uses to vanquish Satan…which puts a giant bull’s-eye on our backs. Indeed, since we’ve been here, we’ve noticed a sharp increase in spiritual warfare. Kids have had bad dreams, seen apparitions, and there have been various illnesses that just won’t go away. Satan doesn’t play fair, so unfortunately, it’s often the kids that get the brunt of the attacks. Satan is no match for God’s power, but Paul still describes the fight as a “struggle” for us.
Of course, as a missionary entering the field for the first time, all of these stressors (and many more!) hit you all at once. When it rains, it pours. The stress of adapting to all of this change while struggling to be a good spouse, parent, student, and minister can be crippling.
The last few days, it has felt like all of this stress and change of the past month has finally caught up to me. I found myself thinking this morning, “I know that God is supposed to provide grace for each day, but I just don’t see it. Where’s the grace I need to get through the day? Where is God, and why doesn’t he lend me a hand?”
Then it started raining–really raining, not just meataphorically raining. We were supposed to go to the beach today. Now you might be thinking, “What a bummer!” But actually, the rain was just what the doctor ordered. See, a trip to the beach here is no mere vacation in the sand. It’s a big ordeal, especially with kids. There’s all the normal preparation of swimsuits, sunblock, last minute (cloth) diaper changes, etc., but then there’s also a very bumpy 45-minute drive down the mountain in the back of a packed truck with 50 other people. Then there’s baths for kids and the inevitable rush to the bucket-showers, and the long wait in line for your turn at one of the three showers in each bathroom which serve over 50 people. After a long stressful week, I was not really super excited about the beach trip.
So it rained. Rather, it poured. One of those relaxing tropical rainforest monsoon-season gully-washers. So, the beach trip was cancelled. I wasn’t terribly disappointed, though I did feel bad for the kids at first. But, as I watched the rain, it felt as if God was washing away all of the stress of the past week. The kids all made the best out of it and had a blast playing in the rain, throwing water from the downspouts all over each other, and rolling in the mud puddles. (Missionary kids, or “MKs” as we call them, are a creative bunch!) Turns out, most of the other parents weren’t thrilled with the idea of a beach trip either, so in the end, God provided just what everyone needed–rest for the adults, and water to play in for the kids. He brought the beach to us, all the way to the top of the mountain.
God provided just what I needed to get through the day.
“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. ”
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 (ESV)
Taking the Good News of Jesus "To the Ends of the Earth!"