Dear Mrs Chau, my files say, according
To reports, your son was killed carrying
Out the Great Commission, that is, and I’m
Just reading from my notes, ‘Go ye, and teach
All nations.’ We know he brought fish,
A football for the kids, and a Bible,
Waterproof. About his life there, his time
With the Sentinelese, we only wish
We knew more… except they shot him full
Of arrows and buried him on the beach.
All we know of the islanders is that
They stick to one holy creed and one fact:
No outsiders, ever. My new boss called
Me today. He told me he heard once, years
Ago, that a Christian scholar, who hired
As a go-between a local fisherman,
Did (quietly) spend a few hours with the old
Men of Sentinel. I’m told he was inspired
And on the morning he spoke the sun
Stood tall, the sky blue, bluer than the seas.
The scholar gave them great good news: Man was
Sinful from birth, and therefore the wages
Of sin, let me re-check that quote my wife
Found, Ma’am, is death. This was no fable.
Should they beg pardon of Y-H-W-H, unseen,
Unheard, they might be spared raging, endless
Fires. That’s when the arrows flew and the man
Of God fled. Maybe he treasured our life
Here more than the life to come; between
Our hopes and fears often a great abyss.
Mrs. Chau, be well. His great commission
Was done. I’ll call if we find his Bible.