God's Witness In True Myths: The Story of the Peace Child

Now as myth transcends thought, Incarnation transcends myth. The heart of Christianity is a myth which is also a fact. The old myth of the Dying God, without ceasing to be myth, comes down from the heaven of legend and imagination to the earth of history. It happens—at a particular date, in a particular place, followed by definable historical consequences. We pass from a Balder or an Osiris, dying nobody knows when or where, to a historical person crucified… under Pontius Pilate. By becoming fact it does not cease to be myth: that is the miracle. I suspect that men have sometimes derived more spiritual sustenance from myths they did not believe than from the religion they professed. To be truly Christian we must both assent to the historical fact and also receive the myth (fact though it has become) with the same imaginative embrace which we accord to all myths. The one is hardly more necessary than the other. ~C.S. Lewis 

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned. ~Isaiah 9:2 

If you asked me to lend you my favorite book, I would pull out a gem from 1974. Adorning the cover are two trees sandwiched in between raised huts on stilts – all black – against a brilliant backdrop of yellow and orange, as if the village were burning. Indeed, this book will make your soul burn. Your heart will race for the treachery, ache for the grand misunderstanding, weep for the sacrifices, thrill to the climax, and laugh for the glorious dénouement. It is a story my dad told me time and time again when I was young. It is the story of the Peace Child.

The year was 1962. Canadian missionaries Don and Carol Richardson, together with their seven-month-old son, Steve, boarded the Oriana and set sail from Vancouver, arriving in the Netherlands New Guinea (present-day Papua, Indonesia), less than a month later. The Regions Beyond Missionary Union was sending them to serve among the Sawi, an insular, indigenous people group renowned for their treachery, headhunting, and cannibalism.

“Tuwi asonai makaerin! (We have been fattening you with friendship for the slaughter!)” It was an ancient Sawi expression, shocking and violent, which expressed in three words one of the most profound undertones of Sawi culture: the veneration of betrayal. It was not enough to simply kill an enemy. The Sawi made an art of their violence. They would befriend their foe, lulling him into a false sense of camaraderie over a period of months. Then, when his suspicions had been calmed and his trust earned, they would suddenly turn on him in murderous rage. They would cut off his head and cannibalize him. The Sawi first fattened their foes with friendship before feasting on their flesh; they were experts in treachery. 

This was the world to which Don brought his family sixty-three years ago. When they arrived, everyone was in culture shock: both the Richardsons and the Sawi. For Carol, learning to live in the Indonesian jungle while caring for a baby was akin to re-locating to Mars. She now lived in a world of death adders and crocodiles, rats and cockroaches, malaria and hepatitis. She dwelt among a people who seemed to train their children for war from an early age, among men who would punish their wives by shooting arrows through their arms and legs.

And yet, for all the dangers, Don and Carol trusted the Lord as their Protector. They also admired many aspects of Sawi culture. Don pondered, “In spite of the many aspects of their lives which made me shudder, it was impossible not to respect the men around me. Every one of them was an accomplished naturalist, versed from childhood in the names and ways of hundreds of species of flora and fauna. Any one of them could survive independently in a wilderness where I, cut off from outside help, would waste away.”

Furthermore, Don was greatly in awe of the Sawi language; he saw it as a kaleidoscope of complexity and loveliness. Each verb had nineteen tenses in its indicative mood alone. Each of the nineteen tenses existed in both a first person and a non-first-person, for a grand total of thirty-eight verb endings for the choosing every time someone wanted to make a simple indicative statement. The Sawi were poets; an entire subclass of verbs was dedicated to personifying inert objects. “If a flower has a pleasant scent, it is saying fok! fok! to your nostrils. Is it also beautiful? It is saying ga! ga! to your eyes. When a star twinkles it is whispering sevair! sevair! If your eyes twinkle they are calling si! si! If mud squishes around your feet, it is murmuring sos! sos! In the Sawi universe, not only man, but all things are communicating.”

As for the Sawi, they could not understand why the tuans felt the need to cover their skin with so much cloth. Surely, this was unnecessary and even an impediment to life in a hot, muddy jungle. The tuans’ implements – lamp, yellow curtains, counter, table, chairs, tablecloth, plates, utensils, pictures on the wall, kerosene-burning stove – were completely foreign. But, at least these foreigners did have one point of commonality with the Sawi: they also loved to eat brains! What else could those limp, serpentine pieces of food be which Don Tuan was putting in his mouth with a four-pronged, metal tool? (Spaghetti!) 

Don worked hard to learn the Sawi language. He deeply desired to share the Greatest Story with his Sawi neighbors. When he felt he had learned enough of the language to be understood, he gathered together the Sawi elders. He began to speak of Jesus. When he arrived at the Last Supper, the men became very alert. Jesus serving the bread and wine. Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. When Don started talking about Judas, they leaned in closely. Their muscles tensed, and their eyes glimmered. What an ingenious strategy: Judas in close companionship with Jesus for three years, sharing food and traveling together. It would be very unlikely for Judas to betray his rabbi; he was part of the inner circle. And yet, he executed the terrible plot alone, without the knowledge of the other disciples. 

At this point, one of the elders, Maum, whistled a birdcall of respect. Kani and a few others placed their fingertips on their chests in admiration. Others laughed. Kani exclaimed, “That was real tuwi asonai man!” Why, this Judas, he’s a master of treachery. From disciple to traitor. ‘Tuwi asonai man’: he knows how to fatten his friend for the slaughter. 

In horror, Don realized that he had run headlong up against the most terrible conundrum: his hearers thought that Judas was the hero of this story. Jesus was the one who had been tricked and trapped, and now he was going to die. Judas was the stuff of Sawi legends. He would have been the one chanted about during the dances and recitations recounting the epic tales of past betrayals. What was Don to do? He was up against an ancient stronghold in Sawi culture – this exaltation of treachery which had run through the veins of generation upon generation of Sawi men, women, and children.

Discouraged, he left the elder meeting and determined to continue watching, learning, and praying. He could not have anticipated what was about to unfold.

Deep called to deep. The Indonesian rain forest coiled itself into potential conflicts, like a venomous death adder preparing to thrust and kill its prey. The threat of war rose up and caused a frenzy like the alcoholic brem bali, a traditional drink brewed from fermenting black sticky rice. The Sawi had many enemies; a dark cloud was descending. In particular, the village where Don and Carol lived, Kamur, was embroiled in conflict with Haenam, an adjoining village. Don had observed fourteen bloody battles between Kamur and Haenam; he knew that if the violence continued to escalate, he and his family could not remain among the Sawi.

The people of Kamur and Haenam opened their eyes and saw the faint, pink rays beginning to expand across the eastern sky. They thought of what Don had told them yesterday – that he and Carol would leave if their villages continued to fight. Families exited their stilt houses and began gathering together for an attempt at peace.

A Kamur leader named Kaiyo, holding tightly to his only child, six-month-old Biakadon, joined his brethren as they faced their enemies from Haenam. Kaiyo’s heart filled with sorrow as he pondered what he must do. He set his face like flint and gingerly stroked his son’s cheek. Before his wife, Wumi, could stop him, Kaiyo fled toward his enemies. The early rays were bursting across the rest of the sky, painting the heavens to welcome the morning – a juxtaposition that mocked Kaiyo’s sorrow. He willed his legs to run fast, even though his heart opposed every step.

Don and Carol were awake and puzzled to see the entirety of both villages amassing together. Would there be bloodshed? Suddenly, the desperate cries of a woman, running several strides behind a man carrying a baby, pierced the communal buzzing of that strange morning. Startled, Don’s blood pressure shot sky-high, and he watched in astonishment the scene unfolding before his eyes. The man, whom Don recognized as Kaiyo, was running toward Haenam, holding his baby, Biakadon, close to his chest. Wumi, screaming in grief, had been in hot pursuit. But, when her feet landed in a swamp, she lost her will and strength, collapsing in the slime and groaning, “Biakadon! Biakadon, my son!”

The risen sun gleamed on Kaiyo’s body as he reached the elders of Haenam. Don saw all the elders of the Haeman standing in a neat line. What was Kaiyo thinking? Surely, he would be murdered and beheaded – and his son too.

Don gazed in utter disbelief as Kaiyo handed his baby son to a Haenam elder, who solemnly handed the child to the next elder. On and on down the line, until every elder had held the small child. And then, every Haenam villager, male and female, came to lay a gentle hand on tiny Biakadon. Wumi, whose wails had softened to whimpers, was still on her knees in the mud in broken-hearted resignation. Haenam’s elders nodded slightly to each other and to Kaiyo, and then the same thing happened in reverse. A man from Haenam brought his baby, Mani, over to the people of Kamur, and a similar ceremony occurred with the entire Kamur village.

Thoroughly grieved and confused, Don carefully sought out a man named Ari. “I don’t understand. Why have your villages given babies to each other? Are you not afraid for their lives?”

Ari excitedly responded, “Don’t you know our customs by now, Don? You have lived with us for many months. Do you not know of the tarop tim – the peace child?” Don shook his head dolefully.

“I do not know.”

Ari continued, “You told us that unless the fighting stops, you and Carol must leave. There is only one way to stop the fighting with our enemies. According to our ways, we must give our enemy a tarop tim. The child will belong to them. As long as this peace child is alive, there will be peace between us and them. It is our solemn custom.”

Don stared at his friend, trying to process what he had just heard. Shock, humility, and gratitude filled his heart as he realized what the Sawi had sacrificed for peace – so that he and his family could stay with them. And a sudden wave of familiarity washed over him. He had heard this story before. And he realized in awe that he had stumbled upon the missing piece of his puzzle.

Three days later, Don sat, once again, with the elders of the Sawi. “I would like to tell you again the story of Yesus,” he uttered slowly. And so, he did. He told the old story once again. The elders yawned and shifted impatiently; they had heard this before. “Judas betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.” Yes, yes, this was old news. Suddenly, though, their ears perked up. “Jesus is God’s Peace Child – the once-for-all Tarop,” Don’s voice was heavy with emotion, “sent down from Heaven to reconcile us to God when we were His enemies.”

The elders, feeling slightly betrayed, stared dumbfounded and horrified, trying to digest this new, astonishing information. “But Don,” one of the men questioned, his eyes registering shock, “why did you not tell us this before? To betray a peace child is the most terrible thing that anyone could ever do!”

And suddenly, Jesus took his rightful place in the story. The verdict was in: Judas was the worst kind of traitor because he had betrayed God’s Peace Child. Jesus was the true Protagonist!

From ancient times, the Sawi had within their culture the stirrings of something stronger than the evil of treachery. The peace child was their own ancient myth, harrowing the soil of their hearts, preparing them to embrace God’s Peace Child.

The Gospel transformed the Sawi and their culture. Many submitted to Jesus as Savior and King. The violence, treachery, and cannibalism tapered off, especially among the three contiguous villages closest to the Richardson’s home. From 1974 to 2005, the Sawi population more than doubled. When Don first arrived in Irian Jaya, he estimated their population to be 2,600 people in eighteen villages. Constant violence and warfare, as well as multiple diseases (malaria, yaws, dysentery, filariasis, hepatitis, cholera, influenza, meningitis, dengue, measles, whooping cough, and mumps) - irritated by poor hygiene – threatened population growth. Because of the gospel’s transformative power and medical aid, the Sawi population was close to 6,000 in 2005. Population growth that had previously required several thousand years took place in one generation. 

And what of the Sawi peace children? “Biakadon died as a young Christian adult years ago.” Mani, later renamed Yohannes, became an excellent scholar in the missionary primary school, and he was able to move on to a middle and high school forty air miles away in the Asmat area. Yohannes then became the first Sawi to achieve higher education when he graduated from a Christian teacher-training college. In 2005, Yohannes was working as an elementary school principal in a Sawi village. His accomplishment inspired many other Sawi to reach for higher education. Sons of former headhunters began graduating from institutions, such as Bird-of-Paradise University near Jayapura, West Papua.

“The world’s largest circular building made strictly from un-milled poles was constructed in 1972 as a Christian meeting place by the Sawi.” In 1973, the Sawi New Testament translation was completed; now, they can read God’s word in the language that speaks to their hearts. A revision was published in 1994.

The Sawi are not the only ones whose culture contains redemptive analogies. In the book Eternity in Their Hearts, Don Richardson considers twenty-five different cultures and pinpoints legends and traditions within them which mirror events in Genesis 1-11. God has not left himself without witness within cultures. The ancient Jews had the ăzāzêl (the scapegoat), the high priest, and the snake lifted up in the wilderness, among many other things, which foreshadowed the coming Messiah. The Greeks had the logos, which John appropriates in his gospel: And the Logos became flesh and made His dwelling among us. C.S. Lewis was right about the power of the true myth. I wonder if he knew that many cultures have their Narnia – their cultural story which plows the ground to make way for the True Myth. Lewis had his toy garden, Squirrel Nutkin, Balder the Beautiful, and Aslan; the Sawi had the peace child – their field tiller, which softened the soil of their souls for the planting of the Branch from Jesse’s root (Isaiah 11). 

Don understood the pitfall of elevating an extrabiblical redemptive analogy above Scripture itself, which is why he prayed, “As You prepared the Hebrews and the Greeks, so also the Sawi were not too insignificant or too pagan to receive this much of Your providence. And yet Your Word, not their analogies, is the standard. I see now more than ever why You are called the God of wisdom and the God of love and the God of power. I praise you!”

Lest we be guilty of worshiping the creation rather than the Creator, may the story of the peace child propel us to deeper worship of the Prince of Peace.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. ~Isaiah 9:6 

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!”  ~Revelation 7:9-10