On a research trip in 2020, the survey team sits together under a leaf shelter. It is attached to the jungle-materials house belonging to one of our guides, which we will sleep in. We had hiked from the coast along a narrow ridge to his village in the mountains, which we were to conduct research. From within the shelter’s shade, we see a great deal more mountain above us. The breeze blows chill and there’s a hint of rain in the air, but no running water of any kind on the ridge.
The fire in our midst grows in prominence as sunlight fades, and ease settles over the group as strangeness wears off. Our hands are busy with a mundane task: separating the leaves of what would be our supper from their stems. A huge pile of a garden plant had been brought – it looked far more than we’d need – but between getting rid of the stems, the leaves boiling down, and our hike-induced hunger, we would do justice to our verdant repast.
As the light dies, I listen as the mama of the house gives instructions related to the food. Watch with interest as the old man in the traditional loincloth sits for hours without saying a word. Enjoy my PNGan teammates joking and laughing with each other and our hosts.
I reflect on the trip thus far:
- the several dying languages found and documented (minimally)
- the competition between dialects (and loyalties) in two villages
- the language spoken in only one village, but vital and proud nonetheless
- the misunderstandings around what we were there to do – “no, just research, we don’t know about translation yet”
- The logistics and cultural expectations of caring for 12 people! – 6 surveyors, 3 guides, 3 boat crew
After supper it rains. Sky-water becomes ground-water, sending probing fingers into our shelter. Ditches are dug to channel it away.
As we sit together, faces barely lit by the fire’s embers, the future in uncertain. It’s likely that life will go on much as it has for these people. Living in small communities, eating from the land, looking for education and business opportunities where they can.
The big question is: will they continue to see God through the clouded lens of another language, or can that barrier be removed by producing vernacular Scripture? How much better that they can see clearly, so they can follow well! Unfortunately, one might argue that their view has always been blurry, and that they need opportunity to “taste and see” without that distortion to discover how much better it is!
Put another way, perhaps vernacular Scripture is like a new food; you don’t know it’s wonderful until you’ve tried it. Soul-food.
Several days later we learned that our participation in the preparation of our supper was perceived as remarkable. Properly dignified guests would perhaps have excused themselves from such duties. But our incarnational savior Jesus set an example of service, and demonstrated that he was very much concerned with – even focused on – society’s outcast, or those deemed unimportant. Pray for these people of the misty mountains, and those on the sandy coasts, and all those everywhere to see God. Pray, and look for a way to participate in God’s care for them. See Call to Action for suggestions.
“God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah.”
When the people heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and the other apostles, “Brothers, what shall we do?”
Peter replied, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.” Acts 2:36-39
