We have been considering the lives of various individuals from the 20th
Century whom I have chosen to refer to as “Giants upon whose shoulders we
stand” and who shook their world with the Gospel of Christ. Thus far we have
reflected on the lives of Eric Liddell, Amy Carmichael and Peter Marshall.
This evening we will consider
several people who participated in what might be called a mutual mission,
though their journey was separated by decades. And though their mission was
only loosely connected in terms of structure, the object of their mission was
singular and the same.
I have been using the JB
Phillips paraphrase of the New Testament since I consider it the most easily
readable modern English version, and I might say, the most beautiful English
rendering. You may turn to 2nd Peter, Chapter 1:12-15
I shall not fail to remind
you of things like this although you know them and are already established in
the truth. I consider it my duty, as long as I live in the temporary dwelling
of this body, to stimulate you by these reminders. I know that I shall have to
leave this body at very short notice, as our Lord Jesus Christ made clear to
me. Consequently, I shall make the most of every opportunity, so that after I
am gone, you will remember these things.
Let me begin by quoting a
segment from an article by a man named Steve Saint. All of this will become clearer
as we progress:
So much was the same as it
was then, and yet the circumstances were so different. The past three weeks I
had been carving a new airstrip out of the virgin jungle with members of the Huaorani
tribe, or better known decades ago as the Auca’s; some of whom murdered my
father and his friends just before my 5th birthday.
Mincaye was one of them. Mincaye,
with whom I had just gone hunting, who laughed and joked about everything, who
had tried the hula hoop on his first friendly contact with the outside. He had
been on the beach on that fateful day in 1956. There was no laughing on that
visit.
Dyuwi, shy, sweet Dyuwi, who hung
around our camp each night waiting for a break in the conversation so he could
thank Wangongi, (which means Creator God) for keeping us safe from falling
trees, jungle ants and poisonous snakes; he too had been there. Just a teenager
then, and certainly just as shy, he was nevertheless an up and coming killer who
knew what they had come to do and went about it…
Kimo, who brought his canoe full
of provisions so we would have plenty ot eat while we worked on the airstrip,
had also been there in 1956. He told me that the last of the five young
foreigners had fled across the river, away from the attack, and instead of
fleeing into the jungle and safety, had climbed onto a log and called out in a
poor rendition of their language, “We just came to meet you. We aren’t here to
hurt you. Why are you killing us?”
Why did these gentle, kindhearted
men I had been eating, sleeping and working along side kill my father and his
friends? Why did the missionaries not defend themselves with their guns against
primitive spears? Why leave five young women widowed, nine children fatherless?
What caused the Auca to kill the very men who had called out to them from the
airplane that they were friends, who exchanged gifts with them from a line
dropped from their circling plane?
Tonight we
will reflect on what I have chosen to call “Transitional Service” or most
especially in this case, “Trans-generational Service;” that is, we will
consider the momentary, fleeting nature of our Service to the Creator on this
earth, but also its inestimable importance in the light of eternity.
Time would fail me to spend too
much time on the personalities, mindsets, and mission of the five men who set
out to contact a virtually un-contacted group of Native Americans in the
country of Ecuador in 1956. Suffice it to say they saw and need and they set
out to fill it; to reach a band of historically hostile Indians with the Gospel
of Christ.
Jim Elliot might be thought of
as the leader of these five missionaries who flew in and landed on that sandbar
in the middle of the river that day.
As I have alluded, what began
as a seemingly friendly visit and after three days, the group of five men made
contact with and exchanged pleasantries with several
virtually naked savages, an opportunity which quickly deteriorated into a
mass
murder of the five missionaries whose only agenda was to reach an
un-reached tribe of Indians with the Gospel. Before the sun waned on the
horizon, the five missionaries lay dead on the beach; some of their bodies
drifting with the current and miles down the river.
These five missionaries deserve
to be named tonight since they laid down their very lives for the Gospel of
Christ.
They were: Jim Elliot, Nate
Saint, Ed McCully, Peter Fleming and Roger Youderian.
Seemingly an abject waste of
five precious lives. Three days on a sandbar, one momentary contact with
representatives of the tribe, a swift and conclusive end to their labors. An
ill-thought out mission. All was lost.
(By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Wednesday Night Teachings" Vol. 1)
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