7. Jesus

“Wait. What day is this?” Suzanne, our tour leader asks. One of my fellow travelers says, “I think it’s Sunday. Why?” “Listen,” she says. As our boat gets closer and closer to a village, I can hear singing getting louder. “Sounds like Sunday morning worship to me. And there’s the church.” “Can we go?” “I’m not sure. Let me hop out and see.” She does, and we can. Within minutes my fellow travelers and I are standing in front of a church. It’s the first time I’ve seen one with no walls, an A-framed roof, and a floor hoisted up on stilts. It’s also the first time that I’ve climbed a wobbly ladder to join a congregation. I try to do so as inconspicuously as possible, which is almost laughable since I’m a white American woman, carrying my camera to join a group of dark-skinned worshippers mid-hymn. The climb is well worth it, and I join the group witnessing a joyful expression of hands clapping and devotional singing. It’s incredible to see and hear – even though I don’t understand what they’re saying. The only word I recognize is, “Jesus”, which is repeatedly exclaimed as hands go in the air and then the clapping resumes. Curious eyes of little ones look in my direction as I take a few quick images, and then I see that I’ve caught the pastor’s attention. He offers a welcoming nod which helps to calm the little bit of nervousness I have. I nod back, clap along and join in the happy celebration. A woman in a bright yellow-patterned dress touches my arm, motioning for me to stand near her. I do, and step between her and a young girl wearing a red plaid skirt and a green tee-shirt that has a cartoon of Santa and his reindeer on the front. “Ho Ho Ho… Merry Christmas” is printed under the sleigh that is filled with gifts. I’m surprised to see Santa’s jolly face here, especially after the last few days of focusing my lens on so much traditional attire. I smile at the young girl and keep clapping, enjoying the moment. When, “Jesus” is exclaimed, I join in that too. I raise my hands, which makes the young girl seem even more curious about me. I’m curious about her too. I wonder how many white people she has seen. I also wonder if she knows that all over the world, on Sunday mornings parishioners of many denominations are doing some version of what we’re doing right now. It gives me a sense of comfort thinking about this unity – especially being so far removed from western society, in one of the most remote parts of Papua New Guinea. Yesterday, on another excursion to a different village, a missionary named Michael, shared a little of his story. He told me about how he came from Australia to teach and spread the word of God. He explained that when the Bible was first introduced to this island in the early 1930’s it was often translated into the local language to help a tribe learn. With more than 800 languages spoken in PNG, it was a laborious undertaking to convert the scripture. But he said the people took it to heart because they were learning it in their language. He also said they were appreciative because the Bible’s teachings helped to calm the fears of spirits and enemies. He told me that years ago some women would chop off one joint of their finger to show sorrow to the spirits. He said the idea of Jesus Christ as savior provided a means for peace not only with each other, but also within themselves as they learned about God. Over time, less finger chopping occurred. However, stories of tribal conflict, cannibalism and witchcraft are still current topics in conversation. Although I’m not a very religious person, I am very spiritual. And I like knowing that whether it’s an elder, a girl wearing a Santa shirt, or a young mother and her child, Jesus helps to bring peace to those in need.