Our first six months of missionary life for Annie and I in
Fiji has been a unique combination of the mundane (living and “surviving” in a
3rd world country), and the reverent. I’ve wanted for some time to describe this
ironic mix but already know in advance that words will be inadequate. When the Book of Mormon missionary, Ammon,
struggled to convey the reverent he acknowledged that he could say only “the
smallest part which I feel” (Alma 26:16); and Joseph Smith similarly bemoaned
the dark and narrow “prison of pen and ink.”
So at the outset, I’m aware that deep feelings will be difficult to
describe in a way that accurately reflects the experience we’re having -- but I
want to try.
What I now relate is something of a composite experience of
teaching in the homes of those who are inquiring into the beliefs of the Church
of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Eventually, some of them will decide for any number of reasons that they
do not want to “come unto Christ and be baptized in his name” at this time;
while others will have that magical experience of study and prayer that leads
them to feel the truth of what we have shared in such a way as to overcome all
the barriers of discipleship. They come
to know for themselves that God lives and that they are divine sons and
daughters of that God – a singular experience that changes everything. Regardless of what these “investigators”
experience, Annie and I are simultaneously having our own personal experience
with each person and every lesson.
Lessons don’t always go well, and Fijians are very hard to read (they have a cultural way of silence), but each
experience is sacred in its own way.
Try to picture sitting on a woven mat laid over a cement or
dirt floor in a little home. The mats
are treasured signals of sociality, painstakingly made from the leaves of the
Voivoi plant especially suited for that purpose. Once prepared by boiling, drying, splitting,
and weaving, they become the signal of an invitation to sit and talk. When you come to one of these bare-bones homes
unexpectedly, you may see those inside scurry to get their mat and spread it
out to welcome you. It will not do to
sit on the cement as they may have been doing before you arrived; no, the
conversation is always honored by laying out one or more mats so that all may
be seated on them. They are wonderfully smooth and “comfortable” even though
there is no padding – they just have a nice feel to them. Fijian culture dictates that guests of honor
sit in the “highest” location on the mat.
Sometimes that is literally elevated because the floors are often
uneven, but other times they have a way of knowing what is the head place and
what is not and they always solicit you to sit there (however, in our untrained
eye we cannot tell that location so we wait for them to signal us). When you enter, you try not to walk in front
of anyone (considered rude), and you get very low, bending over and apologizing
for the disturbance as you reach out to greet them with a handshake or perhaps
the women will pull you close to their cheek as they both smell you and give
you an affectionate kiss.
In the villages, the homes are varied but so much the same –
often a single room divided by hanging cloths for sleeping areas. Some homes are
very small, perhaps 12’x16’ and others larger with separate rooms. But there is often nothing much in them. Electricity is dear and may or may not exist,
as is running water. That means, of
course, you may or may not have light during an evening meeting unless a
kerosene lamp is brought out. There is often
no refrigerator, no outlets, no electrical appliances or entertainment (TV,
radio, music, etc.). We carry a little flashlight
to read scriptures from as needed (Fijians call flashlights a “torch”). Where electricity is available, they use it
sparingly being very conscious of its cost. If they do have electricity, they
may also have an old television hooked up to some ingenious antenna, like a
defrocked umbrella hanging on the roof edge. The walls are generally corrugated
metal, as is the roof with the studs and ceiling supports open to view. There are always windows and door openings
but not always a door, and the window holes may simply be an opening, or have
louvered glass, but rarely a screen.
They depend on the breeze to cool them, and everything – birds, insects,
rats and mice, frogs and geckos seem to come and go through the home as easily
as the owners; no one pays much attention to their presence and do not treat
them as intruders. Most homes have a little round kerosene stove on which to
cook inside as needed but all have a main outdoor “kitchen” (either attached to
the house, or a few feet away) where they do most of the cooking over a wood
fire. By kitchen, we mean that there is
a rude wooden counter with a piece of corrugated metal for a roof covering and
an elevated fire location made from stones or metal scraps. Toilets are
generally “outhouses” and people commonly bathe in a nearby stream or river.
When you visit a village, poverty is apparent everywhere
with dirty kids and ragged clothing but it’s amazing how well they clean up
each day when they leave the village for school or church and they look very
nice, taking pride in presenting themselves well. School kids all wear uniforms and generally
have one or two of them that they hand wash each day. At home they are playful and joyous, entertaining
themselves as millions before them by inventing games outdoors with sticks, rocks,
climbing trees and playing in streams. Their bare feet are hardened leather and
they run over stones and debris with no apparent notice. It’s really wonderful
to see and be with them. Jesus said;
“for ye have the poor with you always” and that their reward would be in
heaven. “They” may have to wait but in
so many humbling ways, Annie and I do not have to wait for our reward as we
meet with these wonderful people and feel blessed by our association.
Everything is simple but very functional here and every
Fijian knows how to live off the land.
That doesn’t mean you’ll live well, but around the home and village
there will be Cassava and Taro plants (“Dalo,” in Fijian), coconut and papaya
trees, perhaps some breadfruit and bananas will also be near. Cassava is the mainstay (on Viti Levu) – a
very starchy, heavy and dry root that grows readily and is filling but likely
has little nutritional value. I once
asked a family if they ate Cassava everyday because that was our common
observation (many eat it more than once).
Some of the kids said, “yes;” but the woman protested, saying, “maybe
not every day – we’d throw up.” However, if you’re hungry it seems you can
always get full on Cassava and it appears to us that along with some tea, that
may constitute the whole meal at times. Fijians
are almost universally cash poor but rarely starving and they will generally offer
you something to eat or drink even if that means they will have little left for
them – and they want you to eat first (while they all sit and watch you). We try not to do either, both for health
reasons and more importantly, to let them conserve the little they have for
their own family. If we do eat with
them, we try to prevail against tradition and encourage them to eat with us.
With all of the foregoing as context and background, back
now to impressions and experiences when we teach in these humble Fijian homes
and among a people so sweet and simple that they easily melt your heart:
We drove far out into a farming settlement last week to
teach a family of 2 boys and 2 girls, the mother and father, grandma and aunti. The parents are members of the LDS Church but
never taught their children before now and had not been active in church for
some years. It was getting dark as we
arrived and parked just off the main dirt road and began walking toward the
home on a hill about a hundred yards distant.
We walked down a muddy path to a stream and I was just in front of Annie
when I noticed a naked boy finishing his “bath.” We stopped and moved back slightly to give
him some privacy and then we all walked together up the hill to the home. The path is an old road, which has largely
been taken over by nature. Rivulets of
water flowed down its grooves, toads were hopping around, and we dodged the
horse manure as we picked our way up the hill.
Depending on the circumstance, we often show people the
brief or long version of the movie: “Joseph Smith – Prophet of the Restoration”
which depicts the early 1800’s life and experience of Joseph Smith and that’s
what we had planned for the lesson that evening (available on YouTube or at
LDS.org). The setting in the film is
foreign to modern Western culture but absolutely current in Fijian life. So there we were, sitting on a mat with the
family teaching about the essential role of prophets and of this one young man
in the year 1820 (Joseph Smith) who sought God and longed to know for himself
how and where to worship.
As we viewed the film, we saw the Smith’s simple log cabin
and I looked around thinking that the little house we were in was not likely
much different – it contains just what you need to live and not much more. The movie depicted farm animals and oxen
yoked to plow and there was not a notice of surprise because these Fijian
farmers see working “bullocks” every day with their yoked burden trudging
through the plowed ground or munching grass along the roadside. People in the movie rode horses for their
transportation and the horse of this Fijian family was just out back nibbling
on the grass. Somehow my mind wandered
as I noticed the insects crawling over the mat, flying ones biting us, and
geckos on the wall doing their best to decrease the number of irritating
pests. I thought back to a time in
another home when Annie asked if I had seen the large spider on the wall near
us and I remarked that I hadn’t because I was too busy digging bugs out of my
hair and watching the rats. But was this any different than in the pioneer days
of Joseph Smith? Not much I would
think. And how different is it really
than in millions of homes of humble people across the world – more homes than
the clean and pristine and wealthy ones I’m sure. This is life for most people, and they seemingly
pay little attention to their poverty and related circumstances. Despite the
heat and sweat and bugs and lack of modern conveniences, there in that little
home we felt the Spirit of God and testified that the story they had just seen
was true. They too are children of their
Father in Heaven who loves them dearly and wants for them to experience joy
that transcends the mundane eking out a living in the cane fields of Fiji.
Fijians are simple, but not unintelligent. When we teach them we do so in simple terms –
partly because of the language barrier and partly because life and faith are
simple things for them. We speak of
faith in the biblical terms of believing in something that is true but for
which we do not have complete knowledge; knowing that through prayer, study,
and obedience we can gain that knowledge.
We speak of living prophets and apostles today in just as much reality
as though we all were living in biblical times.
We speak of the Father and Son restoring the New Testament church
organized by Christ, and of the “plan of happiness” by which we may all return
to their presence after this life (and do so as families). It’s all very simple and we don’t have to
pour through scriptures to prove a point or carry on an extended intellectual
examination to establish a precept. We
ask them how they feel about these things and they say, “good.” We ask them if they believe them, and they
say “yes.” To them it doesn’t seem very
complicated. Of course it is always
easier to talk than act but that is something for them to determine on their
own. During the lessons, they count it respectful to simply listen and agree if
they agree, or to quietly let you move on if they don’t agree.
I think of all the years of academics in my career and my
deep love of thinking things through and examining every facet. I have felt invited and challenged by Peter
who encouraged believers to “be ready always to give an answer to every man
that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). I know Heavenly Father gave us a brain and
expects us to use it and I love the statement from Joseph Smith inviting our
best thinking: “The things of God are of deep import, and time and experience
and careful and ponderous and solemn thoughts can only find them out. Thy mind, O Man, if thou wilt lead a soul
unto salvation, must stretch as high as the utmost Heavens, and search into and
contemplate the lowest considerations of the darkest abyss, and expand upon the
broad considerations of the eternal expanse; [we] must commune with God.”
Though I’ve loved those years of constant examination and
critical thinking, I’m also aware of the pitfalls of pride and have observed
too many whose intellects had paralyzed their faith. James E. Faust observed that, “there is a
certain arrogance attached to intellect.”
And a Book of Mormon prophet says it best I think when he cautioned: “O
that cunning plan of the evil one! O the vainness, and the frailties, and the
foolishness of men! When they are
learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God,
for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their
wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not . . . But to be learned is good
if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (2 Nephi 9:28-29). I love that last line.
There are none of these intellectual trappings in Fiji, so
far as we have experience. You teach as
clearly and simply as you can and they respond in kind. We really come to know
how they feel as we watch them act on the information we’ve shared in the
coming days. At then end of each lesson
we have a prayer and if they enjoyed the evening and appreciated what you’ve
taught they smile and give three little muted palm claps – it’s strange to us,
but a sweet way of acknowledging their gratitude.
As we left that home last week, we stepped out into the warm
wind that was picking up strength, forecasting a coming storm. The family kindly asked if we needed the kids
to accompany us to our truck but we had brought our torches (flashlights), and
told them we’d find our way just fine. The whole night seemed heavenly to me in
such simple ways and I was filled with love for them, our opportunities as
missionaries, and for Annie. She had taught
and shared her testimony with directness and power, but always with tenderness
and affection. She did not complain
about the mosquitos or bugs or another night sitting cross-legged on a hard
floor. We shook hands in the Fijian way,
gave hugs and off we went onto the rutted path in the dark, Annie holding up
her dress to protect from the mud and both of us grateful again that we can
wear sandals here. We picked our way
down the path, crossed the stream and up the other side to the truck. Passing another little home we saw a man making
brooms from palm fronds and we wished him well.
It is the off-season for cane workers and he was finding any means
possible to earn a few precious dollars. This was a good night and I was filled
with appreciation.
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