The light filtered through the tobacco smoke and the spider webs hanging off the macaw feathers poking out from the bamboo container hanging in the corner. My mouth felt dry and my knees were getting shaky as I watched the Kayapo warriors slip through the leaf door into the chief's palm-leaf and log house.

This was only about my tenth attempt at a "sermon" in this native language. They had asked for a "church service," specifying singing and "God's paper." Women didn't come. Speeches from elders were given to the men first, to see if it was good or not. The only woman in the now overcrowded, semi-darkness was the chief's wife. On her low bed of leaves and woven mat, stroking her favorite parrot, she was munching away at Brazil nuts. The parrot took a gob out of her mouth now and then.

It was 1970, in an area south of the Amazon and west of the large tributary, Xingu (Sing-oo) in northeastern Brazil. Surrounded by thick tropical rainforest, I was attempting to tell the creation story. The chief had heard through visits from people in other villages that they met on one day of the week for worship of God. So when my wife, Mary, and I moved into this new, untouched-by-outsiders village, we felt keenly the need to let God lead the tribe in making decisions about God and Christian cultural things.

The chief asked me what day people met—his big dirty finger pointing at the calendar on our log wall. I pointed to the days marked "Sunday." He smiled and said, "Oh, then we'll have 'togetherness' and 'singing' on the same day." So, that is how "church" got started.

"Come on, you lazy, hang-around-like-sloth people, get up and go to 'red-paper' day!" (Sundays were all marked in red on our calendar). "The stranger is going to talk to us about how God made the animals."

I was just enjoying the predawn cool drifting through the spaces in the log wall by our bed when "Big Rustle's" resonant voice filtered through with it. I shook out my shoes; a cricket fell out. (Fortunately, no scorpion!)

Walking into the village circle in my jeans and T-shirt, the cool morning mist penetrated just enough to give my body a good wake-up chill. The women chattered away to one another as they got their baskets and children ready to go to the gardens, about fifteen minutes away into the jungle.

"What a fun time we would have if friends from my home church in Calgary could be here!" I reflected. "'Church' would hardly seem like the word for what was going to happen here."

What God created
Of the forty Kayapo warriors in the chief's house, some wore decorative paint that expressed their feelings. Nearly all had a feather in their hair, through a pierced ear, or wore a headdress.

Then they sang!

I smiled, comparing it with our church at home. How different! Yet how much the same. Strong, resonant voices bearing words and melodies of faith and redemption, God and Christ. How glad I was to be a part of the birth of a new church in this out-of-the-way place. But how to relate that message to them in a vital way?

When the singing was done, I took my Indian club and traced on the ground some figures, each representing a day in creation. It was time to review our earlier lessons, then on to the different animals. "God created the anteater."

"Wuuh!" they all replied in wonder.

"And the wild pig. (Wuuh!) And the sloth. (Wuuh!) And the snakes (Wuuh!) And the turtle. (Wuuh!) And the monkeys. (Wuuh!)"

Then they began to add other animal names. It was my turn to grunt my assent after each one they named.

The chief's son piped up: "So, if God made the wild pig—does that mean that he can also control it?"

The men were quiet now.

"Of course, he can," I replied. "But he doesn't have to because he gave them survival instincts and the ability to do all the things they need to do."

Put to the test
His second question rocked me back on my heels: "So, we haven't eaten wild pig meat for the longest time. And we are hungry for it." (Here a mighty "Wuuh!" from the men.) My mind and heart were racing. Now your faith will be tested! said a voice in my head.

He continued his logic. "If we pray for God to send us wild pigs for meat today, will he do it?"

I was still. The tobacco smoke seemed thicker. The loghouse seemed more crowded. The parrot squawked and I gulped. Tumbling thoughts: excusing God if he didn't provide the pigs; of my shame if I didn't believe.

Suddenly I decided this was God's choice. "Well, God can make the pigs come to you, or not. You see, he knows what is best for you. Sometimes he gives us things to show his power and love and sometimes he waits for us to do our part."

I prayed, "God, you are able to send the pigs for food today. Do this if you want these men to know that you are the Creator and powerful God that you are."

On my "Amen" they tore through the door shouting and scrambling for their rifles, bows, arrows, and knives. Their throaty challenges echoed through the forest as they disappeared down many worn paths seeking "God's pigs."

I went home to tell Mary what had happened. We prayed together. Mary and I had morning devotions with a few Indians watching over the clay stove. The chief had stayed. His wife and a few children were there chatting and joking. Two older girls were sitting off to the side, one working through the hair of the other, searching for head lice.

Hogging the harvest
Old Big Rustle, the chief, cocked his head to one side and smiled. "Bep! (my Kayapo name) Listen! I hear them shouting on their way home!"

We all ran out into the village clearing to hear better … sure enough, there was shouting and chanting! The chief didn't say anything; he just smiled.

Into the village circle trotted two men, and with a grand flourish, each unshouldered a dead pig at my feet!

The chief slapped his leg again and again laughing and pointing first at me (the expression on my face, I guess!) and then at the pigs. Soon another hunter arrived with another dead pig.

Within two hours a total of nine pigs were brought in!

The women came rushing in with loads of potatoes and bananas. The barbecue of the year was about to begin! Huge fires were prepared. Rocks were heated to roast the meat and potatoes, covered with banana leaves and dirt. The excitement and happiness set off a din of chatter, laughter, and dancing around the village.

We ate well into the night.

That day God had revealed his loving identity to these people and given me the best church service of a lifetime! From then on, in that village "red paper" day became "God's pigs" day.

Our daughter is a Down Syndrome child. We have been teaching her to say the Lord's Prayer with us in church. Over the years, we've learned she has her own interpretations of everything so it didn't surprise us when we heard her say, " … and forgive us our debts as we forgive together." The more we think about it, we suspect that's what Jesus meant all along.
—Connie Blackmer

Faith on a full stomach may be simply contentment—but if you have it when you're hungry, it's genuine.
—Frank A. Clark

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