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| When the missionaries came, the Hunter was one of the first to believe. |
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By Brian Johnson - 2008.07.01
The tourniquet was in place. It was time. To survive, there must be venison. To have venison, the ancestors must be appeased.
The Hunter winced as the tourniquet cut off the flow of blood to his arm. He was a good hunter. Some would say great even. His prowess had earned him three wives and respect in the village. But he knew he could not hunt alone.
It was time. The Hunter's cloth had been opened. It contained a stingray barb and the dried eyelids from the many deer he had killed.
The Hunter's nephew immersed the eyelids in water to soften them. Then the Hunter's arm was turned upward so that his thumb faced the sky.
He shuddered involuntarily as his nephew grabbed the skin above his wrist. He knew what was coming.
With one swift motion, the nephew thrust the stingray barb right through the Hunter's quivering flesh and out the other side, grazing the top of the bone.
After that, he painstakingly shoved each of the eyelids through the bloody hole.
His nephew then untied the tourniquet.
"There was blood everywhere," said the tribal pastor, as he recalled this painful childhood memory about his father, the Hunter. "But my dad wanted to do what the ancestors had said in order to ensure that there would be venison to eat. Yes, this is the way we lived."
His face lightened a bit as he remembered that his father is now in Heaven. When the missionaries came, the Hunter was one of the first to believe, and the nephew is also now a Christian.
The pastor continued, "We lived in darkness and deception. It's like we were in Ichiae's (Satan's) corral. How good to be set free from that corral of deception! How good to know the truth. I will never have this done to my arm. I won't cause my body to bleed. And neither will my sons. We are free because of the straight words of God!" |
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