If I were to play a drinking game with Peace Child and take but a single sip of wine every time I came across an exclamation point, I would be passed out by page 100. But if one can get past the excessive use of exclamation points – and, with some effort, I did – Peace Child tells a fascinating story.
It is the true tale of missionaries who go to live among the remote Sawi tribes of Netherlands New Guinea, learn their language from scratch, and seek to communicate the love, forgiveness, and reconciliation of Christ. But how does one communicate the gospel story to a headhunting, cannibalistic, vengeance-seeking, violent culture that seems, on the surface, to have no redemptive metaphors? How do you get across the meaning of the gospel to a people who so value treachery that when they first hear the gospel story, they think Judas the hero of the tale? When a people consider a man’s most admirable feat to be his ability to befriend and then betray his enemy, to successfully “fatten with friendship for the slaughter,” how do you tell the story of a God who sent his own Son to His enemies like a lamb to the slaughter?
Our missionary author does at last discover an apt Sawi cultural metaphor after he struggles to break the inter-tribal cycle of revenge, murder, and cannibalism, eventually threatening to leave the warring Sawi people if they do not establish peace amongst themselves. Desperate to keep the “tuan” (mainly for his medicine and tools), the Sawi do seek to make peace through a unique, ancient Sawi ritual that also serves as the very metaphor the missionary had previously sought for in vain: the exchange of a peace child. Eventually, the missionary discovers still more metaphors in Sawi culture that he can use to communicate the gospel, and I was again reminded that the transformative power of Christianity is housed in the vehicle not of law, but of story. Peace Child shows how God communicates most profoundly and universally with His diverse creation through story, using their storytellers to implant in their minds and hearts metaphors that are not always fully apprehended, but in which rest a dormant seed of the Truth that may one day be nurtured into bloom. Christianity itself is a story (“the greatest story ever told,” as the saying goes), one we liturgical Christians tell and live through every year, from beginning to end, in our rituals, pageants, and holy days. And again I am reminded of why I was drawn by liturgy and found myself moving from the starker rituals of evangelical Protestantism to the rich, inspiring story-telling of the liturgical Christian world.
This metaphor of the peace child, though it comes from a culture very different from my own, nonetheless helped me to again see the gospel afresh. The metaphor shifts the focus of the gospel story for me from the blood sacrifice/sin component of the story to the peace/ reconciliation component, the reconciliation that has occurred not just between God and man through the peace child Christ, but the peace and reconciliation that ought to occur between all men who lay claim to this peace child, who have taken the peace child not merely into their villages, but into their hearts, and even into their bodies through the Eucharist ritual. It was an appropriate book to read this Advent season, a book that helped me better appreciate why Christ’s birth should indeed be heralded with the words, “Peace on earth, and good will to men.”