By David White, Feb 1, 2010
t was Sabbath, and the roar of the DHC-6 Twin Otter turboprop drowned out our preacher as the plane banked into its approach to the grass landing strip just a few hundred meters south of us. Nearly everyone in the congregation turned toward the sound. Unperturbed by the noise, the speaker continued his sermon.
Quietly, about 20 of us slipped out and gathered in the field near the church. “Hey, Sox!” I called out. “Do you know the shortcut to the airstrip through the swamp?” Smiling broadly, Soxie turned and took off at a trot towards the ravine and the rich, green verdure of the sago swamp.
Just then, Larry Stewart, AFM’s videographer, came up and asked if we were going to meet the plane. “Yes” I said, “right now.” Turning on his heel, Larry ran back to get his camera bags. Larry was there to do a much-needed video update on the project.
As the group of us took off after Soxie, I called out, “Now remember, we don’t know for sure if the pastor will be on that plane.” Trying to blunt their potential disappointment, I continued, “We never got a confirmation from the university.” I hate being a wet blanket.
“What a spot to be in,” I thought as we jogged after Soxie. “Here we have nearly 20 folks ready to baptize and no one to do it.” PNG is one of the few countries that do not allow missionaries to perform baptisms. Knowing this, I had invited five pastors, including the mission president, to come and baptize our candidates, all to no avail. One pastor finally came, but he had not yet been ordained to perform baptisms.
The last few days had been a whirl. Just two weeks earlier, we had finished the roof on the new Balimo church. It didn’t have walls or a floor yet, but that didn’t matter—we could finish it later. Then Dale Goodson arrived from the States expecting to use the church as the venue for his classes, classes we had been anticipating for several months. He came with his wife Lety, his daughter Marianne, and Larry. The Erickson clan joined us just before Sabbath, and somehow we all managed to squish into our small two-bedroom flat.
For Dale’s classes, we had invited all the organized churches and church companies in our area, several individuals from the community and others from the Bamu and Fly River districts. Our plan was to have the classes and culminate on Sabbath with a communion service and several baptisms—that is, if we could find a pastor.
When I explained the situation to t
he Balimo church leaders, much to my surprise, they said, “No worries. The Lord knows we have a need here, and He will provide us a pastor.”
“Hmm,” I thought, “I wish I had such faith.” As a last effort, Cindy and I contacted an expatriate friend and lecturer at Pacific Adventist University (PAU) in Port Moresby, hoping he would come and perform the baptisms. He replied that he, too, was not ordained to baptize but would try to find someone else to help. That was the last we had heard.
Off in the distance, I heard the pitch of the airplane’s engines drop as it feathered its props, signaling a safe landing.
As our group reached the ravine, Larry caught up with us despite his heavy load of equipment. Larry is a big man standing nearly a foot taller than the average Gogodala and weighing nearly 40 pounds more. Everyone here calls him Big Rarry (the Gogodala language doesn’t have an L sound). As we ran down the edge of the ravine and into the swamp, Larry’s speed and agility surprised me as he dodged young sago palms with their three-inch thorns, jumped over fallen, half-rotted trees, and crossed palm-frond bridges spanning water and muck. He ran in faith saying he wanted to get a shot of the pastor stepping off the plane. It obviously meant a lot to him. Just then, Soxie reappeared having doubled back to make sure we didn’t get lost in the quagmire of the swamp. Seeing Larry’s heavy load, Soxie offered his help and shouldered some of the equipment.
The path turned, and the sago-palm canopy opened. We charged up and out of the swamp and arrived on the airstrip just as the plane shut off its engines. I cannot imagine what the bystanders must have thought when they saw 20 men emerge from the edge of the swamp at a full run.
Larry immediately pulled out his camera and began filming.
As the passengers deplaned, our group stood watching, gasping for air and dripping sweat. Scrutinizing each passenger, we looked for someone pastor-like. A well-dressed man stepped off, and hope sprang up within me. Then the man smiled, revealing dark-red betel-nut-stained teeth.
Finally, when I had all but given up hope, the last passenger exited. Here was our man, Pastor Kadasa. Larry got his shot as we greeted our special guest.
We quickly escorted Pastor Kadasa to the church and took our seats with the rest of the worshipers. That afternoon, 17 people were baptized into God’s remnant church. Praise ye the Lord!
