On the shores of a long narrow lake, surrounded by the virgin forests of the old Northwest, a man sat beside his campfire. In his lap opened before him, the Word of God. As the hour of twilight came, and great, long fingers of sunlight stretched out across the sky in brilliant colors of rose, orange, scarlet, and gold, he listened to the musical sound of the Indian evening call.
“Ya-a-a-ah Ha-a-ah we-e-e-e hay-y o-o-oh.”
Then, from across the long, narrow lake by the shore of which he was seated, came the answer of the tribesmen.
“Ya-a-a-ah Ha-a-ah we-e-e-e hay-y o-o-oh.”
Then back came the echo from the great sandstone cliff at the far end of the lake.
“ Ya-a-a-ah Ha-a-ah we-e-e-e hay-y o-o-oh.”
As the last sounds of the Indian evening call reverberated and died, and as the last brilliantly colored ray of the sunlight disappeared in the west, there was a motion among the sapling fir trees that encircled the spot where the man sat by his campfire. The boughs parted and an Indian entered.
The Indian was tall. His bronzed forehead was high and noble. He was a chieftain of the tribe. Raising his right hand in a sign of peace, he saluted the man of God in silence. The other, having stood to his feet to receive him, returned the sign of peace. No word was spoken. Both men stood near the campfire, watching the dancing flames listening to the crackle of the fire. At length it was the Indian who broke the silence,
“White man, tell Indian chief about white man’s God.”
Then welled up in the heart of the missionary praise to God for this opportunity long sought, now provided by His grace. Looking out across the long blue lake, he began,
“You know the lake and all the people of the lake—the fish, the beaver, the otter, and all the creatures that dwell in the lake. All of them move according to the will of God, live and die according to the Word that God speaks. All belong to God because he made them. He is the God of the lake.”
The Indian chief gazed out across the long lake, and then, turning to his host, he nodded and spoke slowly, “The God of the lake? Yes, the God of the lake.”
Then stretching his hand out toward the forest, the man of God continued. “Well do you know the forest, and all the people of the forest— the deer, the fox, the wolf—the wild creatures of the woodlands, great and small. All of them move, find their substance, live, give birth, and die according to God’s will and plan. They are God’s for He made them. He is the God of the forest.”
After a moment of silence, the Indian chief answered, “Yes, the God of the forest… the God of the forest.”
The missionary stretched out his arm in the direction of the great wide plain. “Well you know the prairies and all the people of the prairie who dwell on the surface of the plain—the antelope, the bison, and all that moves on the face of the prairie. All move, live, and have their being according to God’s will, for He made them. They are His, for He is the God of the plain—the God of the prairie.”
The tall Indian listened in silence and then, nodding his head imperceptibly, repeated the words, “Yes, the God of the prairie.”
Stretching both arms above him into the great, sparkling, diamond-studded abyss of the skies, the man of God continued, “Well do you know the skies, the heavens, the people of the skies, the stars, the planets, the constellations and all that moves in the skies—all move according to the will of God. They are His because He has made them. He has ordered their course in the heavens, for He is the God of the heavens—the God of the skies.”
Looking up into the sky in awe, the Indian chieftain spoke, a tone of wonder in his voice, “Yes, the God of the skies as well.”
The missionary continued. “You know man—the red man, the white man—all men were made by God. He has ordered our ways. He has given us life. He has made us. The God of the lake, of the forest, of the plains, and of the heavens is the God of man as well—the red man, the white man—of every man on the face of the earth. There is but one God.”
“The people of the lake, the people of the forest, the people of the plain, the people of the sky, the fish, the beasts, and the very stars move in accordance to God’s will and obey Him. Of all His creatures, only man does not move in accordance to God’s bidding, does not live according to God’s will, but rather is disobedient, rebellious against Him. Man was made by God, but man has become God’s enemy by his own desire. Man seeks to do the thing that is against God’s will, and instead of seeking Him, he seeks to flee from His presence. Man is fleeing from God.”
Well did the Indian know the ways of His people. Well did he know of the fighting that would go on among the men and women of his village. Well did he know the wickedness of the heart of man. The men of his village were prone to seek the warpath, to go to rob and kill. He nodded his head slowly and said, “Yes, man is God’s enemy.”
Then the missionary began to explain to the forest dweller the great and glorious story of God’s grace. God had an only Son and sent Him to the earth as a man to suffer and to die so that man, who was His enemy, would become His friend.
When he heard these words, the Indian chief looked up in amazement, his eyes wide with wonder. How could such a thing be? Would not God destroy man rather than save him?
As much as he tried, the missionary could not explain to the Indian how God’s love went far beyond the sin and rebellion of man. He sought in every way that he knew to explain that God is so gracious that He is willing to forgive man’s sin, and was willing to make the great sacrifice of sending His own Son to suffer and die so that men might be brought back to friendship with God, instead of enmity against God.
But everything was without avail. The Indian persisted in saying, “Indian chief no understand. Man, God’s enemy. God destroy man.” At length the two lapsed into silence.
It was autumn in the great north woods. The tall maples and oaks discarded their summer verdure to display their brilliant leafy banners of yellow, red, gold, scarlet, and crimson. Then these colors had faded into the brown of late autumn. And these leaves had fallen, leaving great stark skeletons stretching against the autumn sky. The chill autumn breezes had spread the brown carpet of dried leaves over the floor of the forest.
The missionary, reaching out with a stick, made a great circle in the leaves, not far from the fire, and the keen, observant eye of the Indian noticed that in the very center of the circle was a little worm, crawling across the dry leaves. When he had drawn the circle, the man of God reached over, took a flaming brand from the fire, and touched it to the leaves, here and there, till there blazed a complete circle of leaping flames. As the fire burned among the leaves, it came closer and closer to the center of the circle, cutting off all means of escape from the little worm. The flames burned closer and closer to the worm—the tiny creature squirmed, sought a way of escape, but found none. And as the fire closed in and dried up the moisture from its wriggling body, it cringed and curled up to die.
Then the man reached down his hand into the burning flames and touched the ground in the center of the circle, right at the spot where the little creature lay. The worm crawled up on the man’s hand, lifted it up and held it safely away from the fire.
During all this time the Indian watched carefully. His keen eye missed no detail. Then the missionary raised his eyes to the chief and spoke the softly, “I was just like that worm—helpless and lost. I deserved to be destroyed because I had been God’s enemy. Because of all the badness in me, the fire of the condemnation of the wrath of God was closing in around me. There was no escape. I was powerless to save myself. I had no hope.”
“But then God’s strong Son—whose name is Jesus—came to the earth and let them nail Him to die on a great cross. You see, He suffered for my punishment. He bore the flames of God’s wrath in my place. He reached down to where I was to save me out of the fire.”
“He came to the world that He had made,” continued the missionary, “and the world turned its back on Him. He came to his own people, and they didn’t receive Him. They turned Him away. But in all the earth those who said ‘Yes’ to Him, received Him. To all of them the strong Son of God gave power to become His own and to turn from bad to good—from death to life—if they were willing to look up and trust Him—like this little worm trusted me to save it from the flames.”
Where once the leaping flames danced brightly, now only glowing embers remained, and the moon, which had hovered over the horizon when first the two men met, now rode high in the sky. They knelt together beside the fire.
The Indian raised his hands and heart to Heaven and cried out, “Oh, Great Spirit God, oh, strong Jesus God, reach down here, save bad Indian from fire, make bad Indian good Indian by Your strong power.”
The Indian leaped to his feet—his face shining in triumph. He stood for a moment, gazing into the star-studded sky, then turned and disappeared in silence midst the trees of the forest.
The man of God knelt beside the fire saying, “Oh, everlasting Father, speak to this man’s heart, show him how to grow, to obey Thee, to fulfill Thy will for his life.”