service. The enthusiastic singing of the songs they had written themselves made the rafters shake and the straw on the roof quiver! A Xavante pastor led the Bible study, exhorting his people to live a Christian life and to share the Gospel with others. After the worship service, they apologized for not having adequate hospitality for Neto and myself. They did not know we were coming, so there was no food that they could offer. I told them not to be concerned because we had food in the airplane. Then the Xavantes took us to a little room behind the pulpit in the church and seemed very excited about showing me some thing. When we got there, all I saw were sacks of rice, beans and corn. For a moment I thought to myself, “They told us there was no food in the village, but they certainly have a lot of food here.” But the Xavantes explained this was their “missionary room.” Every harvest they put aside a certain amount of food to promote the preaching of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Each month, several church elders were singled out to take the message of salvation to other tribes in their part of the Amazon. To make sure they would not lack anything, food was given to these Indian missionaries so they could complete the task. I could not help but think this was perhaps the only place in the world where people go hungry rather than hinder the preaching of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The following morning, after a not-so-comfortable night of sleeping on the narrow church benches, Abraham, the village chieftain, asked me to visit a neighboring village with him. We had to walk about five or six miles, and as some of the younger men ran ahead of us, Abraham and I brought up the rear, reminiscing. I asked him, “Do you remember when we first met?” “Of course, I do. I went out to try to kill you.” ‘’Why didn’t you then? You
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