Harry Brown, president of New Generations, tells the following story in his book Designed to Spread: Yingongan was a member of a primitive tribe of former headhunters and cannibals who were steeped in witchcraft and idol worship. They lived in Irian Jaya, Indonesia—a land so remote that until the mid-60s, the tribes there thought they were the only people on earth. When Yingongan was a boy, he often heard a legend around the fire at night. The elders said that someday, people with faces like the clouds would arrive and bring the words of life. Then one day, when he was a young man, he heard drums echoing in the hills that announced strangers had entered the valley—they were Western missionaries with faces white like the clouds. These missionaries gradually learned the language and made relationships with the people. And over time, bit by bit, they shared the words of life.
Yingongan and some of his teenage friends decided to go up in the mountains to discuss what they were hearing. When they arrived where they wanted to go, they set up camp and sat down to discuss the “words of life” that they had been hearing. Yingongan continued in a very matter-of-fact way: “And then we heard the sound of a rushing wind and saw flames of fire appear on our heads, and we began to speak in languages we did not know.” I was awe-struck. Here I was, at “the ends of the earth,” hearing a first-hand account of how God repeated the miracle of Pentecost with these young men. The story evolved to where the Holy Spirit moved in such power that almost everyone in their tribe became followers of Jesus. The effect was unbelievable. Witchdoctors burned their fetishes, tribal warfare ceased, and everyone abandoned the practice of cannibalism. Light had truly driven out the darkness in a place where darkness had reigned supreme from time unknown. I have seen a lot, but I had never seen or heard of anything like this. I was ecstatic and determined to tell everyone who would listen about the incredible things that God had done. I also proposed that someday, I would return once again to talk with Yingongan.
A number of years later, I went back to Irian Jaya and eagerly sought out Yingongan. After we greeted each other warmly, I cheerfully asked him, “How have things been going?” Yingongan’s face fell. He looked at me mournfully and said, “Our children are not following Jesus. They have gone back to worshiping the old gods. There is war again, and around the fire, I even hear the young ones talking about what it might be like to kill and eat their enemy.”
I was shocked and horrified. I blurted out, “What happened?” The words Yingongan spoke scarred my soul. “We didn’t disciple our children,” he answered. And he turned and walked away, and I haven’t seen him since.
