Tomohon. It’s a place that more than likely you have never heard of. It’s a village just turning into a city, and hence going through some growing pains, nestled in the saddle between two volcanoes, Lokon on the west and Mahawu on the east. On the south, but more distant lies Soputan and to north about forty-five minutes away is the bustling city of Manado, the capital of Sulawesi Utara. Sulawesi, if you are looking on a map of Indonesia, is the bent or crooked K looking island to the east of Kalimantan (Borneo) and was called Celebes for many years. Manado, and Tomohon, are near the tip of the bent section pointing roughly east.
If you look to the east of Sulawesi you wull see a much smaller, similiarly shaped island called Halmahera. This is the sight of the recent volcanic activity you may have seen in the news. And while many villagers on its shoulders are evacuating, there is no chance of it affecting Tomohon, due to the distance and the sea between them.
The beauty of this valley laying between two sleeping giants is almost beyond words. The lush green of the old forest on the bottom side of Lokon is sprinkled with plantations, farms and groves, and the velvety green of the new growth forest follows the rips and wrinkles carved by the last activity over ten years ago.
Mahawu, though less imposing, still rises high enough to hold off the sunrise, leaving the dark of night hanging over the town. The rim of its crater lake forms the horizon to the east and the deep green of the forest contrasts sharply with the blue of the sky.
The physical beauty of this place stands in sharp contrast to the hearts of the people. There is great spiritual darkness here, and already we have found it a place of spiritual warfare.
On the surface, there is a telling difference between Tomohon and places like Jakarta or Bali. There are comparatively few followers of the majority religion here, no call to prayer echoing out over the city. One does not se women wrapped up in shoufa or burkas, no domes or minaerets dotting the skyline, as they do Jakarta. Unlike Bali, the people do not celebrate their good fortunes with rice and incense offerings, ceremonially wash themselves at temples or gird their trees for the “gods” modesty.
Rather, it is no unusual thing to hear hymns being sung carrying over the houses in the early morning or late evening air. There are churches all over the town, their spires rising above the trees like arrows pointing to heaven. There are pastors, priests, nuns, ministers and such to spare and even a Christian university and Christian radio station. Even the public transportation often has stickers proclaiming God’s power or majesty.
How can this be, then, a land of spiritual darkness? When you can by an Alkitab at a bookstore downtown and dogs roam the streets and eating pork is like crossing the street.
To borrow a metaphor from Scripture, here the tares are all but choking the wheat, the goats are trampling the sheep underfoot. Here in the heart of the Minahasan people group, the missional efforts of the Dutch and Portuguese have faded in to a cultural Christianity that for the most part denies the power of God and the truth of Christ and the work of the Spirit and what remains is empty, worthless, hellish tradition.
In some ways this sounds familiar. Almost to close to home. Perhaps painfully close to home.
There is a difference. Am almost immeasurable difference.
The American and the European, though their cultural Christianity may be leading them to spiritual death, has only to go to the nearest bookstore, the nearest mega retailer, or even the nearest library and they will find copies of God’s Word in their language, their heart language, the one that speaks to them best and clearest.
Here, the Alkitab (Bible) is read, when it is read at all, in Indonesian. However, the people in their homes, in their gardens, in there hearts speak the language of their village, one of many in the area. Even in the metropolis of Manado the language spoken is not Indonesian it is their own dialect of Malay.
Without the word in their language, these people are left to the teachings of others and the traditions of the church, just as those during the time of Luther.
And so as I wrap this up this evening, more than one kind of darkness hangs over Tomohon. One will fade away at sunrise, the other will persist until the peoples of Minahasa all have the message of Christ in all of their tongues. Because only then will it penetrate their hearts.
