The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1928, Page 42

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42

THE LUTHERAN PIONEER.

Se een

sound reechoed through the woods. But nothing

stirred.

“Yes,” said Zake at last, “I see that it was a lie.
We Papuans always lie. That is all we can do.”
To make doubly sure, Zake insisted that they spend
the night in the village. There they talked until
past midnight. Next morning the women had to
handle the hogs of the village in order to see that
they were just as good and gentle as ever. The
incident made a deep impression.

When the missionary was about to leave, he
asked, “Who is right, you or Anutu [God] ?”

“Anutu is right,” was the answer he received.

(From Keysser, Anutu im Papualand ;
by W. A. F., in Lutheran Missionary.)

How Long Face Got His
“Good Medicine.”’

We shall let Long Face tell his own story: —

Many people are Indians. I am an Indian. We
are a proud race, proud of our history, which has
been handed down from mouth to ear by our old
men for generations. We have no books. We love
to hear our fathers tell of the prowess of our nation
in war as we sit around the common camp-fire long
into the night.

We are different from the white man. Our faces
are different from the white man’s, our language is
different, our habits are different; and, above all,
our religion is different. We have the same religion
that our fathers had for generations, as many gen-
erations as the grass of the field. It has been handed
down in the same way that our history has, by word
of mouth from our great medicine-men.

At a certain time of life all the young men of
the tribes are expected to have certain religious ex-
periences. One of them is for each one to get his
“good medicine.” Now, medicine with us is not
anything that we take inwardly, but is our sign,
emblem, charm, or amulet, which, we believe, brings
us good luck and protects us from our enemies.

- When the proper time came for-me to get my
religious experience, I received instructions from
the medicine-men of my people. I must have my
“medicine.” All alone I went up upon a high hill,
a portion of a mountain, a few miles from my
father’s teepee. There I stayed several nights and
days without food. After I had fasted the required
time, I began to torture myself in the prescribed
way. I had a big knife with me. First I cut off
portions of my fingers. The blood flowed freely.

In my half-starved, weakened condition it did not
take long for me to go into a trance, or swoon.
In this condition I dreamed many dreams, but in
them I saw nothing that could be my “medicine.”
When I revived, I realized that my suffering had
been in vain and that I must do it all over again.
So I took my knife and cut slits in my arms, and
from them tore long strips of the living skin and
flesh. Upon my arms I can show you the scars
that were made in that process. Again I went into
a deep swoon, deeper than the others, and in my
dreams I saw a great grizzly bear. When I awoke,
my joy knew no bounds, for now the great bear
of my native mountains was my “good medicine.”
Not until now dared I partake of food or return to
my people. From that time on until the coming of
the missionary my trust was in the spirit of the
great bear. I did not allow myself to be anywhere
without some part of his carcass, done up in my
little medicine-bag and suspended from my neck.
A tooth, an ear, a claw, or some hair must form
part of the “good medicine” that was placed in
a leather bag upon a pole in front of my teepee.

When I really understood the story the mis-
sionary told me about the white man’s God and the
Jesus road, I forsook my old religion; for I realized
how much better was the religion of the white man.
I was very much surprised when I found out that
the white man had known the better way as long
as my fathers had known the other way. For gen-
erations we had known the white man. Their
hunters and traders had been with us. We had
shown them where and how to hunt the great game
of our plains and mountains. We had never fought
against them, but we had been on the war-path with
them against the Sioux, and yet they never told us
about their God or the Jesus road. When they
came to live in our country, we went to their towns
to trade, we walked the streets of their cities. White
men were eager to sell us their wares if they could
get our money. Some, even in spite of the law,
tried in every way to sell us their terrible fire-water ;
but no one had ever told us of the white man’s
religion. Indeed, we used to think that they did
not have any. Why should my fathers, my people,
and myself have been left without any knowledge
of the true God so long, when all around us there
were those whom some of us met every day who
had heard all about Him?

The Pith and Pathos of Home Missions.
Se

Tue Lord Jesus is everything in redemption;

for He is both the Buyer and the Price. — Spurgeon.