AST SEPTEMBER WHILE FLYING ALONG the rugged, beautiful coast of Papua New Guinea, just before the point where we would turn north and head out over open water to the Trobriand Islands, one of the pastors on board pointed and said, “See that tin roof down there on the beach? That is our Seventh-day Adventist church at the village of Berubona.” Intrigued by the lovely remote setting on a sandy beach, I replied, “Wow, it’s beautiful! Let’s go visit it sometime. How do we get there?”

“The only way to get to Berubona is either by dugout canoe or by dinghy [a 19-foot fiberglass work boat], and the mission’s dinghy is broken.”

“What’s wrong with it?” “It has a hole in the bottom.” “How long has it been like that?”

“About two years. We have tried to repair it, but we can’t get the materials, and besides, no one knows how. Without the dinghy, the only way for the pastor of the Tufi district to visit his many churches—-separated by deep fjords and long stretches of open water—-is to paddle a dugout canoe.”

A few minutes later we turned and headed north out over the emerald and indigo Coral Sea toward our picture-perfect South Sea island destination, the Trobriands.

The next few days defy description. How do you put into words the experience of hearts being united in love, of worshiping, singing, and praying with gentle, fun-loving islanders who have seen few, if any, Americans of like faith?

How do you describe celebrating a baptism with the turquoise water lapping on a white sandy beach fringed with coconut palms and circled by singing locals throwing flowers on the newly baptized? How do you capture the bright-eyed eager children gathered in a circle around a fire on the beach singing in three-part harmony, or fill the void of the empty pastor’s house and the empty schoolroom (because no pastor or teacher can be found)?

Maybe I couldn’t find a pastor and teacher for the Trobriand Islands, but perhaps I could do something to help the pastor of the Tufi district get to his many churches. I determined to at least have a look at the mission dinghy to see if it was fixable. So when we got back to Popondetta, I asked the mission president to drive me out where the boat lay like a beached whale.

They were right about the hole! The entire bottom was worn off from the countless landings on sandy beaches. A few hundred dollars’ worth of fiberglass (made possible by generous friends back in my home base) and about four days of hot, itchy work had the craft looking as good as new. Last February my wife, Mary Lane, and I flew the pastors of the North East Papua Mission to Tufi and joined them for the two-hour ride in the now-functioning mission dinghy out to Berubona for a pastors’ retreat. The story that un-folded during the next five days really began a long time ago.

Sick of Heathenism
Shortly after the turn of the century the chief of the village decided there had to be a better way of life. Sick of heathenism and of living in constant fear of the spirits, and tired of the killing and fighting that continually tore through his village, he invited the Anglican missionaries, recently arrived in the area, to come to his village. So it was that Berubona became an Anglican village, with significant improvement in the quality of life. Years went by. The chief was vigi-lant in the defense of his territory, determined that nothing would change. One day about 40 years ago when a group of Seventh-day Adventists landed on his beach, he drove them off with a loaded shotgun. Nothing was going to threaten the church he had brought to his village.

More years went by until one day six years ago the chief’s son, a young man by the name of Harold, attended an evangelistic meeting in the city of Lae. There he found that while the Anglican Church had indeed brought much good to the village, it had stopped short of teaching the full truth. He thrilled to the message of Christ’s soon return, and determined to take the Seventh-day Adventist message back to his village.

There, however, his enthusiasm was met with unveiled hostility. Eventually he found two other young men who also saw the beauty of the gospel and joined him in worship on Sabbaths. Slowly the little group grew, first meeting under Harold’s house and then, in spite of opposition, building a little church right on the beach. For four years they faced unre-lenting persecution, even to the shed-ding of blood. In spite of threats and abuse, however, the little group con-tinued to worship, until one week a group of angry villagers rushed into the church service with clubs and spears. Dragging the worshipers out onto the sand, they gave them a savage beating. But Harold would neither leave nor quit. He just kept on loving the people and sharing his faith. Impressed with Harold’s determination and his refusal to fight back, the persecutors finally gave up. For two years now this group has been meeting in peace and has grown.

When we waded ashore, there were 20 to 30 believers to welcome us with open arms and hearts. To have a White meri (woman) who would pad-dle a canoe up the river and help them work their gardens melted their hearts and formed a bond of sweet fellowship. In fact, we learned a little later that when the women heard the pilot was bringing his wife, they were frightened, wondering how they were going to manage to take care of a White meri with nothing but kuna (native mate-rial) houses and no facilities of any kind. It eased their fears a little when Pastor Kepsie, the mission secretary, assured them we were openhearted people and told them not to worry. But I think it wasn’t until they saw Mary Lane willing to be one with them that they genuinely opened their hearts.

The Rest of the Story
Before we left we decided to cross the river and walk through the Anglican village. Berubona is really two villages, one being right down on the beach and mostly Adventist, and the other across the river, largely Anglican. We stopped to speak with the leader of the Anglicans and took pictures of various family groups (which they love). One of the men asked, “When you leave, will you circle our village twice?” “OK, just for you, I will circle two times.”

Backtracking through the village to where the canoe was docked, we were waylaid by a woman rushing to give us a gift of tapa cloth (native cloth made of bark). We graciously thanked her and went on our way. Then another came with her gift.

The next day, loaded down with gift after gift of clay pots and other items, we rode the mission dinghy back to Tufi. As we flew the first load back to Popondetta, I made two circles and a low pass over Berubona. People were jumping so high and waving so hard I thought they might jump right into the plane. It was with a deep sense of nostalgia that I rocked my wings in a goodbye salute and climbed up to clear the ridge ahead.

Sometime later, while again on a flying assignment in the North East Papua Mission, I heard the rest of the story. Well, at least the rest as far as it goes right now.

It turned out that the man who asked me to circle twice nearly got in a fight with the woman who gave us the tapa cloth.

“They are circling for me!” he insisted.

“No, they are circling for me. I gave them the tapa cloth!”

“No, they are circling for me. I asked them to circle twice.”

“Well, I think maybe I had better go join the Adventists. They have a mission plane, and they are organized and care about their members.”

I haven’t heard an exact number, but from what the Tufi district pastor told me, the people are swarming to the Adventist church. They feel that very soon the whole village may be Adventist.

I remember when we dedicated the plane in Ethiopia, Della Hansen, for whom it was named, said the mission plane couldn’t preach or love people. Only people could do that. But it seems that in this case maybe the plane is doing some preaching. Of course, only God can bring the results, but it’s fun to be a part of it.

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Les Anderson is the director of Adventist Aviation Services for the Papua New Guinea Union Mission based at Goroka, in the central highlands of Papua New Guinea.