Manuel, an Harakmbut convert.

The Difference Fruit Can Make

      Over a year ago I entered into an Harakmbut village and preached my first message. That message was foundational for the tribe. I presented to them a God of justice and holiness. In the message I preached to them about God's law, using the Ten Commandments as my text.

     In that first church service the leader of the village said, "Pastor (for so they have called me since the beginning), I've broken all of these commandments you are talking about." This was just the sort of response for which I hoped. I replied in the form of a question, "How can you, breaking God's laws, go to His place and live with Him forever." I remember how those next few minutes seemed to drag on endlessly as the Harakmbut discussed amongst themselves in their language what the answer to my question should be. Freedom from guilt over past deeds had eluded them. Finally, as voices quieted and a relative stillness returned, the leader turned to me and answered for himself and his people, "Breaking God's laws, we cannot go to His place."

     That first "church" service seemed to accomplish much in the way of their understanding of sin and its consequences. But that is not where I left them. With hearts crestfallen from hopelessness I explained how Christ took the penalty of our lawbreaking--the penalty of death--and died in our place, so that God could forgive us and receive us. This infused them with a new hope.

      Things progressed positively for some time. But, as is often the case in tribal ministry, some were interested in more than what I had to say. They were looking for tangible gifts. They had become accustomed to outsiders giving them things--clothes, food, toys for their children, and medicines. It seemed that as I patiently worked to lay a biblical foundation in their lives, many were losing patience with me as their expectation for handouts remained unmet.

      In one service months later while I was preaching in this same village, an elderly man interrupted me with an open rebuke. Among his grievances were that I had not done anything to care for the elderly of the village. His demands, in his opinion, were reasonable enough. He wanted me to build a retirement center for the elderly, staff it with people for their constant care, and provide them with three meals a day, clothing and shoes.  

      It's usually hard to know what to say in awkward moments like these, but as Providence would have it, I didn't need to say much. Many already felt ashamed at the outburst. Remarkably, the service that day ended on a high note--we were asked to pray with the village leader's wife, who wanted to become the first Harakmbut convert to Christ under our ministry. In her own words, she asked us to pray with her because she wanted to "give all of herself" to Jesus.

      As a token of their gratitude, the leader left the clearing where we were having the church service and returned with a bulging sack of jungle fruit. What a difference fruit can make! We left in high spirits and with many requests to return and hold more services with them.

      In that same village we celebrated Christmas 2011 with them. What we had to give wasn't much, just a little Christmas candy and food, but the Harakmbut understand that it is costly to carry on ministry to them. Now, what they long for most are not our things, but our presence--a presence that assures them that we love them and that we are there to pray with them. In many respects, though they have no church building and we can only visit this village two to three times a month, I am their pastor. More have accepted Christ since that first bag of fruit. And they often shower me with their own gifts when we visit: a bunch of bananas, or some decorative creation they've made as a gift. I treasure those gifts, even though it hurts to accept them, because I know they share at great cost to themselves.

       And what of the retirement center? It is now completed, constructed entirely by Harakmbut men--a structure of old, weathered lumber, approximately 15' x 10', with a dirt floor, and a palm leaf-thatched roof. The furnishings consist of a long, roughly hewn wooden table with benches and one fire pit for cooking food. The ladies of the village make a large meal to serve to their elderly, even if it is just once a day. I had nothing to do with it, at least in terms of labor and funding. Our only influence was in the area of teaching--teaching them to care for their own: the sick and elderly. And it seems that some are listening.  

       But of all types of fruit--sacks of juicy, elbow-dripping oranges and grapefruit, large bunches of bananas, or even the fruit of concern developing in their lives for one another--the fruit that I long for the most is the kind that develops in the soul, convicts the heart, and brings about a spiritual rebirth. The fruit of which I speak is what John the Baptist called, "fruits meet for repentance." I witnessed that kind of fruit in Manuel's life not long ago.

       Manuel is, well, nobody really knows how old. A person's life was reckoned by achievements, not years, when he was born. Over eighty is the general consensus of his age among his people. Recently, while going upriver to Manuel's village we were caught in a torrential downpour-the real rainforest thing: rain so thick that visibility was reduced to just a few yards beyond the tip of the 30 foot canoe. We even passed the village and had to loop back because it was so difficult to make out the bank and see the familiar footpath. Once docked, we trudged up the slippery, muddy slope with our gear slung over our backs, 100% soaked and thoroughly chilled. Two services were ahead of us and the first order of business was to spread out clothing and supplies in hopes that they would begin to dry a little.

       It's funny how rain affects church attendance whether in comfortable air-conditioned sanctuaries in the States or church services conducted under palm leaf thatched roofs in the rainforest. Only two people showed up for the evening service "because of the rain". However, in spite of the poor attendance, Manuel's daughter sought us out with news that her aged father was wanting to talk to me.

       And so I found myself in front of Manuel, who speaks a seamless blend of Spanish and Harakmbut so that it is difficult to figure out anything he says. I asked his daughter to interpret for me to give us a fighting chance at successful communication. What gushed out of his heart and tumbled out of his aged lips was a sad story of a life laden with guilt. For dozens of years his deeds had chased him and had reduced him to a pitiable man. He was a murderer from his youth. Incapable of escaping the guilt, his life was a hopeless existence. But! He understood that God could cleanse the heart. Could God forgive a murderer? Oh, how he desired freedom from this wretched remorse.  

       It was obvious that Christ, the heavenly Bridegroom, was wooing another soul astray. And so, I led Manuel in prayer to receive Christ. He is now a man set free. Oh, the moving of God's Spirit to carry a man from destruction to heavenly destiny is remarkable! This is the kind of sweet-succulent fruit that I long to see, fruit that bursts from the soul and freely abandons the self life to become part of Christ's victorious bride.

       I visited with Manuel a few days ago. He is in a wheelchair now. He has lost all feeling in his legs. His clothes smell of urine and grime, and a festering sore full of gnats seeps fluid from his right ankle. His feet are so swollen that they look like they've been inflated like gangly balloons. Despite his physical struggles, he greeted me heartily with his normal cheery smile. We hoisted him-wheelchair and all--up the few steps onto the patio where we held our church service. I watched his little eyes sparkle as he tried to sing the choruses. I observed him doze off with a slight smile on his face as I preached.

       After the service we lowered him down again and talked to him some more. Suddenly, he looked up at me and with certainty told me that he would die soon. I asked him how he knew he would die. He said that he just knew. Looking at his physical condition, that is not hard to believe. Yet fear does not grip him at the thought of death; Manuel is at peace now. He's lived a long, hard life, but he's ending his earthly existence with contentment. Fruits of repentance that developed in the soul, convicted the heart, and brought a spiritual rebirth to a weary soul have made that same man alive to God. What a difference fruit makes!