Reflections...

A radio talk by David Gill, delivered as the "Thought for the Week" programme on Hong Kong's RTHK on 14 March 2004.


It was a voice from the crowd. “You speak English, sir?”

Oh no, I thought, here we go again. I had just arrived in Jayapura, in Irian Jaya, for an assembly of the Communion of Churches in Indonesia. It was a sweltering evening and I was tired, spiritually as well as physically. Ahead lay the prospect of yet another meeting. Wandering up the main street to get my bearings, the last thing I needed was the attention of some tout eager to sell me an allegedly Swiss watch or the wondrous delights of some local night spot.

But the truth will out. Yes, I spoke English.

“May we speak English with you for a few minutes, sir?” Plural. There were three of them. Teenagers.

Well, why not, I thought. It has to be more fun than talking to myself. When the inevitable sales pitch comes I’ll push off and leave them to it. But meanwhile, OK, let’s speak some English.

All three, it transpired, were heading home from an evening course in English. They often spoke the language with each other at school, to the bemusement of classmates, and with minds like blotting paper they were mad keen to soak up more.

The leader of the pack, named Lively, told me he hoped to be a medical doctor, or maybe an evangelist. Eko, the Irianese in the trio, was doing work experience with a local travel agency. Stepanus, with eyes set on becoming a tour guide, planned to add German and perhaps Japanese to his linguistic portfolio.

Yes, they knew of our big Christian meeting in Jayapura. Their pastors had told them all about it. Was it true, they asked, that some young people in my country, Australia, did not go to church? Why? How could anyone try to live without God? My fumbling explanation of young Australia’s secular mindset produced polite incredulity.

Nice kids. By the time we went our separate ways Jayapura felt like a much more friendly place, my weariness was evaporating and the Christian faith had begun to seem just a shade more believable.

We collided again a few days later, at a big rally marking the birth of the Evangelical Christian Church of Irian Jaya, and over coffee my education was resumed. Next morning they turned up at the hotel, to escort me to the conference center, and since what they had to say was rather more interesting than the official proceedings inside I ended up playing truant from the first session.

On the last day, as I threw things into a suitcase, they appeared at the door bearing farewell gifts. And a request. Would I pray with them before leaving? From three teenagers back home that might have sounded a bit, well, odd. From them it rang absolutely true. So pray together we did.

I reflected, gratefully, on the kindness of those youngsters who had given so generously, so unselfconsciously, of their friendship, vitality and faith. I remembered how our paths had first crossed, what seemed like ages before, and how chillingly close I had come to telling that voice in the crowd to leave me alone, that I did not want to be disturbed.

Yes I had flown in to attend a Christian meeting, right enough, but somewhere along the way I had lost sight of some basic Christian convictions. Like how not wanting to be disturbed can be the greatest of all obstacles to renewal. And the fact that, sometimes, it is much more blessed to receive than to give.