Before we went to bed the first night here, Neil cautioned us not to get too alarmed (moderate alarm would apparently be appropriate) if during the night we heard snakes attacking rats in the ceiling and tumbling to the floor. Fortunately, it poured torrential rain most of the night, and we heard no vermin skirmishes. Oliver, the master rat killer, also set out five rat traps—four “killers” and one “live” trap. We checked the traps in the morning and found 0 dead rats and 1 live rat trapped. Oliver and Boaz admired the catch briefly before impaling the rat through the brain using a #2 Phillips screwdriver. That was all before breakfast.

After breakfast Neil began receiving a succession of messengers at the window with updates on local news. Despite potential distractions, the church leaders were intent on gathering to discuss the prospect of beginning the Folopa translation of the Old Testament. Before long, Oliver and Boaz were joined by James and Isa. Neil began brewing the tea. As we added chairs around the dining room table, Luke Ali (Luke’s father) and Lydia Ali (Lydia’s father) arrived. Neil began buttering the WOPA (whopper) biscuits. Mae Ali (Mae’s father) and Matu joined the gathering. Tea and WOPA biscuits were served. WOPA biscuits are large hard crackers. As the men chewed the biscuits, it sounded like they were grinding gravel. The men collected their thoughts as they drank boiling tea. Although they were concerned about my and Heath’s lack of Folopa understanding, we reassured them that they should have the discussion in Folopa. Neil occasionally summarized and interpreted for us, but it was fascinating to just listen to their expressions, convictions, and emotion accompanied by emphatic gestures. The Folopa discussion was salted with Tok Pisin and peppered with occasional English words. The mood was serious. It was obviously an important discussion for them. Eyes squinted. Fingers pointed. On points of deep truth and agreement the men inhaled abruptly “huh” or sucked their teeth. Each spoke at length and in turn. Important points were repeated by other voices. Several recounted their own testimonies of the journey of faith, recognizing God’s sovereign hand.

As all of this took place around Neil’s dining room table, I couldn’t help but think about church councils through the ages. It is easy to imagine those councils as pale, wizened men in white robes seated in hallowed halls with classical music playing in the background. The Folopa men are dark with muscle, scars, and sweat, with worn leathered hands and feet, robed in second-hand clothing sold by the pound. The local soundtrack is birds and children. Yet it was impossible not to be impressed by these men. As the Folopa spoke their first and second turns, the silences between grew longer. Then they asked me to speak. What do I have to offer these men? I know nothing of their language, culture, history, or spiritual health. I know little of their testimonies or walk of faith. I’m not a prophet. I don’t know what God has in mind for the Folopa. I don’t even know if I will ever see them again in this life. Why should they care what I think? But they do care. For some unfathomable reason they want to know what I think.

Unable to even falter in Folopa, instead I ventured in English. I started by admitting my complete inadequacy to offer them counsel. I affirmed that God had placed them here in Fukatabe at this time in Folopa history with leadership credibility, authority, and responsibility. The decisions they are making are not for Neil and certainly not for me. Their decisions are for their brothers and sisters, wives, sons and daughters, nieces, and nephews, and grandchildren. I encouraged them to consider future generations of Folopa as they weigh the costs of translating the Old Testament. And make no mistake, there are real costs to the individuals and community as they take on these responsibilities. I testified to the lessons I’ve learned from Old Testament mentors Abraham, Joseph, David, Joshua, Caleb, Solomon, Job, Jonah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and others. The list is long. The lessons are valuable. I admitted that no one could guarantee the impact of translating the Old Testament, but we can be sure of the outcome if we don’t begin—the truth of the Old Testament will not reach the Folopa. I offer technical resources, encouragement to Neil, and my prayers. The rest is between God and these Folopa leaders. The choice is theirs.

They also asked my son-in-law Heath to speak. Heath reminded them that the challenges and problems the church here is facing are common to man. They are not alone in these struggles, and the truth of God’s Word is more powerful than Satan’s opposition. The tea and WOPA biscuits were long gone, but through discussion the consensus emerged. They want to move forward. They believe that Oliver is the right man to lead the translation, and they are committed to supporting him in the effort. They trust the outcome to God. It was a moment of eternal significance, marked appropriately by the Folopa and us by joining hands and raising them together in unity.

The decision is made. The work begins.

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