My Pilgrimage to Goodenough Island
By Marcia Lohrmann Luecke
PROLOGUE
March 6, 1944
War was raging throughout the world. The 24th Division of the US Army was establishing strongholds on one island after another in the South Pacific, on its relentless drive to rescue the Philippines from the Japanese. My father, the Lutheran Army Chaplain assigned to that Division, found himself, along with other Army personnel, stranded on a small craft far off the coast of Goodenough Island, a small, remote island North and East of New Guinea. The ship had lost all power and communication capabilities, and was rapidly drifting farther out to sea without the capability of notifying the base back on land of their plight or location.
My father determined that he would try to swim the entire way from the ship back to the island and attempt to summon help. Two other officers volunteered to accompany him. Of the three, they were the only ones to survive.
Half a world away, in another hemisphere, my mother was worshiping in a small church in a tiny southern Illinois town. Suddenly feeling as though she were going to black out, putting her head down and closing her eyes, she had a clear vision of my father, lying prone on the beach of that South Pacific island, with others bending over him, desperately, unsuccessfully, trying to resuscitate her husband.
The soldiers on the ship were saved. So was my father. But not for this life. For the life eternal, which began for him that day. I like to think that the 33 years he walked this earth, and the manner of his death, mirrored the 33 years, and sacrificial death of His Savior, Who called him out of the turbulent waters of this planet, to walk beside Him, beside the peaceful waters of the river which flows from the throne of God.
THE PILGRIMAGE
April 13, 2017, Sydney, Australia
After a lifetime of longing to know more of my father whom I had never met, and about whom I had heard so many glowing accounts ever since his death when I was only 18 months old, I had finally determined to see for myself the place where he lived his final days, and where he died. So on this day, having traveling completely to the other side of the globe, and down to another hemisphere, finally I began the final leg of my Journey to Goodenough Island.
I was up before dawn, at 4 AM, in order to make the early flight out of Sydney. There would be a short layover in Brisbane, then a transfer to the international flight to Port Moresby, located in, and the Capital of, the separate country of Papua New Guinea. From there, the itinerary called for us to take a different airline, and smaller plane, on to the small town of Alotau, located on Milne Bay. There we were to meet our guide, Jeffrey Evernett, and our helicopter pilot, Steve. The plan called for spending the night at a small Hotel on the shore of Milne Bay, and then on the next day, Saturday, to make the charter helicopter flight of 50 minutes across the New Guinea mountains, and then many miles over the waters of the South Pacific, to Goodenough Island. It was a flawless, exciting plan - devised, unfortunately, by mice and men, (or in this case, mice and women.)
Our connecting flight, via Brisbane, Australia, arrived in Port Moresby's airport on time, and we found our way from the International airport to the domestic airport without serious impediment, other than the unbelievable heat and humidity which struck us like an overzealous sauna, Oh, then too, there was the minor incident when I slipped off the edge of an outdoor bench in the crowded area where we were waiting to catch the bus to the other terminal,— landing (gracefully, my sister-in-law tells me!) with my lowest back left rib striking a metal pipe, and causing quite a bit of pain and subsequent difficulty in moving, which annoyingly worsened, as the trip went on, But this did not serve to damage my spirits in any way.
What did seriously threaten to intimidate my spirits, at the very least, was the completely unexpected announcement, after over an hour of waiting, well past the time we were due to take off, that our flight to Alotau in Milne Bay had been canceled! There would not be another flight to that location until the following morning!
With much fear and trepidation, my sister-in-law and I proceeded to wend our way back through the Security corridors and out to the customer service window, in front of which there was already a lengthy line, or more accurately, a crowd, of distraught fellow passengers, only a few of whom appeared to be “plain vanilla” in pigmentation, (as my daughter's best friend in high school, from a different ethnic background, had often jokingly called us.) In other circumstances, this would not have been a concern, or even consciously thought about. But here, it clearly marked us as tourists and foreigners - obviously easy targets, were we to go out alone on the streets of Port Moresby, which we had heard, is one of the most crime ridden cities in the world. In fact we had specifically been warned, that if ever we were to stay in a hotel there, we should never venture outside its walls, even for a few yards, if we were to avoid danger.
I must admit, much to my chagrin, that I was just plain terrified. In which case, I had learned from earliest childhood, the only solution is to pray– hard. There are dozens, If not hundreds of passages in the Bible which speak about trusting God in challenging circumstances. Even my own confirmation verse, Proverbs 3:5-6, addresses just such a situation, and should have been the very first one which came to mind. Yet without human explanation, the rather obscure passage which did come to mind was Chapter 3:17-19, from the book of Habakkuk, (which the average person probably does not even realize is the name of a book in the Bible!) It says, in summary, that even in situations when there seems to be no hope, yet we should still praise God, and trust Him. Before I had even gotten to the last words of that passage, and my praise to God and mental verbalization of my trust in Him, as I turned and looked up, I saw, what appeared to me to be, I must say in all candor, some sort of miracle.
Walking up to us, with big smiles on their faces, was a young, handsome, clean cut, "plain-vanilla" couple, - carrying a sign, no less - with the names printed on it: Marcia Luecke; Eunice Shoemaker.) Emblazoned on the shirt the man was wearing, was the logo, Heliscope. To explain, this is the name of the company with which I had contracted, while still back in America, to fly us from Milne Bay, to Goodenough Island. There had been absolutely no mention of the fact that this company had employees in Port Moresby, nor had there been any obligation of that company to intercept our travels at that point. Yet this young couple had come, for reasons even they could not explain. On more or less of a whim, they had decided to try to meet our plane when we transferred in Port Moresby from the International terminal to the domestic flight terminal. They had come, merely as an unexpected gesture of good will, to share a friendly greeting, and wave us on our way to the domestic flight to Milne Bay. Now, having heard the announcement that our flight was canceled until the next day, they immediately took over, providing their wholehearted and knowledgeable assistance in helping us remedy this frightening plight in which we found ourselves.
Obviously we did not know these people from Adam (and Eve!) and certainly had no inkling of what their religious beliefs, if any, might be. Yet I was so overwhelmed with this instantaneous answer to my prayer, which I had silently uttered in the words of Habakkuk 3:17-19, that I couldn't help let words spill out of my mouth, telling them of my prayer for help, uttered just seconds earlier, and I specifically quoted that same passage from Habakkuk. I told them that their appearance, in my mind, was clearly the miraculous, instantaneous answer to that prayer. Without a word, the young man, whose name turned out to be Geoffrey Calder, pulled out his cell phone, touched one button on it, and showed to me the text which was printed on the screen. It was the identical passage which I had just silently prayed. “This is the passage which appeared on my cell phone today,” he said. “I subscribe to a website that provides a different random Bible verse each day, for inspiration.’
After that, no one spoke for a while. Later, Eunice told me that, that was when she knew that God had our backs. Everything was going to be just fine. I had known it when I first saw them. The Bible passage, which God so graciously provided to them and to me, (from the heavenly realms, if I may be so bold) was just additional confirmation, like icing on the cake.
To make a long story even longer, Geoffrey and Leanne, his wife, invited us into their own home to spend the night, and went to great lengths to help us book a new flight for the following morning to Milne Bay. We, of course, insisted on taking them out to dinner that night. They drove to a restaurant in Port Moresby, where we discovered we could only gain entry by going through a security checkpoint, and which was protected by armed guard-(just to drive home the point of the dangers of Port Moresby, especially at night.) As we chatted over our meal, we learned that Geoffrey and Leanne had a long history of doing God’s work. Among other things, Geoffrey had worked as a pilot making helicopter flights on medical missions, rescuing people in emergency medical cases, often out of remote jungle areas. Leanne, for her part, was even the daughter of missionaries. So God clearly had ready candidates to serve as our guardian angels in Port Moresby! By the end of our time together, it was clear that, even though we were completely on the other side of the globe, and in another hemisphere, - we had family there.
April 14- Friday
Geoff & Leann took us to the airport and waited to be certain that this time we had gotten safely through security and were actually boarded on the plane to Alotau They promised to meet us the following Monday when our itinerary called for us to come back through there to transfer to our return flight on to Brisbane and Sydney. Once again we thanked and blessed our “guardian angels “and flew on to Alotau.
There we met our guide Jeffrey Evernett at the Waterfront Lodge, as well as our pilot Steve. He suggested we not fly to Goodenough Island on Saturday, but rather, go on the following day, which was Easter Sunday. He said he would first fly us to an Anglican Cathedral located on the other side of the mountains from Milne Bay, where we could worship on Easter. Then after that worship service he would fly us on to Goodenough Island. He had already spoken with the Bishop at that Cathedral, who was eager to include foreign visitors in their Easter service. That sounded like a better plan than the former one, and we agreed.
April 15 – Saturday
Thus on Saturday, instead of Sunday, as originally planned, our guide Jeff Evernette, toured us around Milne Bay, and among other things, explained the local World War II history, including the information about the attack by the Japanese in the Milne Bay area,. As we visited t the site where the battle has occurred, we encountered a number of local native women and children on the beach, gathering various fruits and nuts and other plants from the trees and other vegetation growing in the area. Some of these they would take home as food for their families, and the surplus they would take to the market to sell, in order to get cash to buy other items. Besides this source of income, many, if not most, of the local people had no way to obtain the simple necessities of life. Nonetheless, they seemed quite happy and content, taking life as it came, day by day, without stressful worrying about the future. Those of us living in more ‘technologically advanced" societies would do well to learn from their outlook on life!
After taking us to a World War II Memorial which had been dedicated to a native son of the area, who had been a hero in saving others, during the battle there in World War II, our guide also drove us up nearby mountain side to get us a view of the entire Bay Area, and pointed out to us the relatively small modest home of the governor of the province, which was situated on a hilltop overlooking the village of Alotau. He then took us to a native history and WW II museum, to which he himself, as a local historian, had made numerous contributions relating to the artifacts and history of the ancient tribal artifacts and customs of the area, and also regarding more recent history of the region. That evening, Eunice and I had dinner in the thatched-roofed wooden pavilion on the waterfront next to our small hotel, enjoying warm water lobster for the first time, as we watched the beautiful sunset over the Bay, and saw the moon and stars gradually appear in an entirely different configuration from that of our northern hemisphere. That was, in and of itself, an educational and almost mystical new experience!
April 16- Sunday
On Easter morning we rose early and boarded the helicopter to fly North, across a high mountain range to the only Cathedral in the province. The Anglican Bishop and pastor were kind enough to come outside into the large church yard, in full liturgical garb, to welcome us as we got off the helicopter. They then led us into the Cathedral where all the other native worshippers were seated, cross-legged and barefoot, on the concrete floor, singing “Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Alleluia!” So we joyfully joined in singing that familiar Easter hymn! The Bishop thoughtfully had had the only chairs in the sanctuary set up for us, and he even personally gave us hymnals, worship books and Bibles, and then left us, in order to lead the service. It was such a joy to see the celebration and worship of Christ's Resurrection among these indigenous people, who have descended from a vast mixture of different, mostly non-Christian, tribal customs, who are still experiencing so little prosperity, yet be so full of praise and joyful thanksgiving at the celebration of the Resurrection of our mutual Savior and Lord!
Later we re boarded the helicopter & flew across a very long stretch of water, passing over a number of smaller islands and reefs As we were looking down upon one site, near the edge of a small island, our guide told us that a World War II plane had gone down at that location, and that to this day, divers and historians visit this area to study and write about it.
We finally arrived over the shores of Goodenough Island. Because the island has no cell tower or other means of communication with the outside world, except for two- way radio between the Mission at Wataluma, and its Mother House located on the mainland, our guide had not been able to communicate with anyone there, to find out any information from them about where the army had been encamped on that island during World War II. Therefore, in order to gain information about where to locate the area in which I was interested, he suggested we land in a an area where we could see a circle of small thatched-roofed huts, in order to try to find out if anyone there might remember where the American Army had set up camp on the island during World War II.
All the villagers swarmed out to see us when they saw our helicopter landing. Jeffrey, who speaks their language, got out and asked them where the US Army was based in WW II. After much gesturing from the native people, our guide returned to the plane and told us the eldest man there in the group had said that the site was located somewhere on the side of the mountainous area, and that the natives believed that they could lead us to it, but that there was no trail through the jungle and up to the mountainous location. The elderly man had said that it could be recognized because there were bamboo plants at that spot, and no bamboos grew anywhere else on the entire Island.
Steve, the helicopter pilot, then strongly suggested that we (Eunice, the guide, & I) leave the plane, and spend the day with the natives in that village, and try to hike up to the location where the army had been camped! Clearly the entire region was covered in jungle growth, and it was obvious that it would be difficult, even for the native people, to reach that area. Plus the heat and humidity were already extremely high, and both Eunice and I were dressed in skirts and sandals, and in absolutely no condition to hike up the side of a mountain through the jungle! We were mystified as to why our pilot, would even suggest such a thing! That was when he told us that he had "another job" that day, and would have to leave us somewhere on the island, and hoped to be back to pick us up at 3:30 that afternoon! I must admit that I was rather upset at the thought of being stranded on a mostly unpopulated Island, under the guidance of native villagers, most of whom spoke little English, if any! It had been my understanding that the helicopter would be at our disposal there for the entire day, to take us to various locations on the island in our quest to find the places where my father had served and died.
After much discussion, we finally agreed that Steve would fly us along the mountain side to search for the location where in the Army had been camped and try to land there. He would then fly us to the beach where my father had died, and give us time to disembark and perform the service of remembrance which I had planned, in honor of my father. He would then fly us to the Catholic. Mission at Wataluma, which was actually the only location which Jeffrey had ascertained was still currently in existence on the island. That would at least be a safer location at which to spend the remainder of the day, until the helicopter could return to pick us up at 3:30 pm, and take us back across the water and the mountains to Alotau on Milne Bay. Everyone agreed to this plan, so after leaving a box of the children's books (which had been donated by a mission associated with Heliscope), with the leader of the group of natives in the thatched-roof huts, we once again took flight.
It took quite a bit of searching from the air, but we finally spotted a large, relatively flat grassy area, on the side of the mountain, which appeared to be the only place on the island where there were bamboo plants growing. That was the key landmark which the village leader had mentioned as being the Identifying characteristic of the area where the American army had been camped during World War II. However, due to the dense undergrowth, it was not possible to land a helicopter at that location,, and under the circumstances, I had to be satisfied to have at least seen the spot where the encampment site has been located.
We then followed the river which was located at the edge of the site, to its mouth at the sea, There we set down the helicopter and got out. After making our way down to the beach, I asked our guide, Jeffrey, to stand beside me and hold up the Memorial Plaque of the Resurrected Christ with its various inscriptions, while I read aloud portions of REV 21 & 22, and prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for my father’s life & ministry, his own sacrifice of his life in his attempt to save others, and for the certainty of his salvation and eternal life.
I then held up the memorial figure of the risen Christ, and also read aloud the words I had engraved upon the top (crowned head of the figure), beginning with his name, dates of birth and death:
“Markus E. Lohrmann
(Dec 26, 1910 - March 6, 1944)”
I then read the words I had engraved on the plaque surrounding the blue cascading waters which are embedded in the center of the plaque --words defining the water symbolism on the figure-
"From the waters of Baptism, (Mark 16:16),
Through Tears of Joy and Sorrow,
To the Waters of the South Pacific,
To the River Flowing from the Throne of God. (Rev 22:1).”
After concluding my brief commemorative memorial, I decided to gather some tree nuts that had fallen on the beach, a few shells, as well as some sand from the beach. I then waded into the waters where he died - rejoicing that I am sure my father is now wading in the waters of the river of life that flows from God’s throne.
As I stood in those waters, looking out to sea, mediating and praying, (unseen by me), the pilot and guide saw a crocodile swimming toward me underneath and through the water! They urgently called me back into the plane, and I did not even realize the danger that had threatened me until much later. Once again, I truly believe the Lord was protecting me from unseen dangers!
After climbing back into the helicopter, we flew to the nearby “village” named Wataluma. There is a Catholic mission there, which was established in the 1800’s. Currently the Mission runs a secondary school there, which boards over 800 students- not quite half of whom were away for their once-a-year visit to their homes on the other islands, for the Easter break. No one knew we were coming, since there is no communication with the outside world from the island, (except by 2-way radio with another mission somewhere far away) but many children had run to meet our helicopter when they heard it approach. It was raining lightly and two girls rushed forward, covering me with their umbrellas. We were ushered to their “guest house” where we were joined by their school principal and another official from the school, who had also heard the descent of the helicopter, (which had immediately taken off and flown away as soon we disembarked.) They asked students to bring us chairs from somewhere on the campus, and our guide Jeffrey and I explained to them the reason our visit.
Since the island is so isolated, accessible only by dinghy, or a rare helicopter visit, they were quite unaccustomed to outside visitors of any sort, let alone two little “plain vanilla” ladies from the other side of the globe! After telling them my father’s story, we also explained that we had brought two large boxes of children's books, which could be used in the school for the children. For this they were very grateful.
I could hear singing coming from the near-by church, and thinking that perhaps their Easter service had not yet ended, I walked over there. It turned out that this was not the actual main Church of the campus, but was, rather, the chapel for the school. Through the large open windows I saw 8 or 10 teens sitting on benches in a group singing Easter hymns, 3 of them playing guitars! I ducked inside and listened. They were very surprised but happy to see this unexpected guest, and were thrilled when I asked to sing along. One girl ran to get songbooks and we chose various ones, many of which I did not know, but they sang well and I learned the melodies quickly, and sang along. When I then asked if they wanted to hear a story, they nearly jumped out of their skins with eagerness! I’m sure that has never happened before - a storyteller literally dropping out of the sky into their midst!
So I told them why I had come to Goodenough Island, as the fulfillment of a lifelong dream to see the place where my father had died. After telling them how his death had occurred during WW II, on the very shores of this Island, I used the opportunity to retell the Gospel story, in that, just as Jesus was willing to sacrifice His life to save others, so my father had been willing to risk his life to bring help to the men in that boat, who were drifting away from the island without the power which would have enabled them to return safely to the island, or to communicate with anyone at the army base onshore. And just as Jesus had risen from the dead to give us eternal life, so my father is now in Heaven with Jesus, awaiting that final Résurrection.
As I was finishing the story, Eunice came up to the church with the Catholic Nun, Sister Shanty Joseph, who was basically the headmistress of the Mission. She invited us to the convent for tea and special Easter bread she had made. She explained some of the history of the mission and the school, and I shared with her the story of my father’s death during World War II on Goodenough Island, and showed her the memorial which I hoped to leave there in my father's memory.
Later she and the school principal made a loud speaker announcement to the entire campus, calling everyone to their largest assembly hall to meet their unexpected guests, and hear the story about my father, and the story of my reasons for coming there to honor his memory. As the students and other teachers were assembling, I talked to the group, and suggested we sing together. Since it was Easter day, I tried to lead them in “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today”- but their melody for it was different from the one we use in the United States, and it wasn’t working. That was when I spotted Natasha, the beautiful 17 year old girl with whom I had been singing in the chapel earlier, who had been leading that group with her guitar. She was too embarrassed to come forward readily in front of nearly 500 of her fellow students and teachers, so I went over and basically dragged her up front, causing much laughter and applause from the group. I calmed her down, telling her quietly that I seriously needed her help- so together we sang & led the group in some of their own familiar Easter hymns.
Finally everyone had arrived, including the school principal, the other official, the other teachers, and of course, Sister Shanty Joseph, who had so warmly welcomed us earlier. They had placed chairs for me and these officials across the front of the assembly Hall. The students and other teachers all sat on the floor to listen. Once again I told them the story about my father. I was amazed to see that their attention was rapt, to put it mildly! Then I went into a longer account of the Gospel, as, I honestly believe, God put words in my heart & mouth. I simply spoke in the same direct & personal manner I use with the Confirmation kids back home. I talked about how God loves us so much, but that we all do things that are wrong, that we regret, but then often do again, despite our best intentions. Since God the Father is perfect, He sadly said that He couldn't allow us to come live with Him in His perfect Heaven, because we aren't clean, and He is a just and perfect God. Justice requires that we be punished for our wrongdoing. (As I spoke, walking back & forth across the hall, I could see in their eyes & expressions, and actually feel, the children’s genuine & heartfelt grief over this!)
I went on to tell how Jesus, God’s Son, said, “No! I want them to be in Heaven too! I don’t want to live here without them! I will go down to earth! I will live the perfect life that each of them is not able to live. And I will take the punishment they deserve, in their place!” And then I reminded them of Jesus’ birth that we celebrate at Christmas, and of Jesus' life of sinlessness, His crucifixion, and finally of His Resurrection that we were celebrating that very Easter morning, which proves that God has accepted Jesus’ substitution and sacrifice on our behalf. I reminded them that it also shows that when we believers die, we will go to live with Jesus in Heaven, on that very day, just like Jesus promised to the thief on the cross!
After the message, I offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God for Jesus' sacrifice & Resurrection, and prayed that He help each of us to be willing to sacrifice for others like He did — even it is only to sacrifice our pride & selfishness when we are reluctant to tell others about Jesus, so they can also believe and join us in Heaven.
After that prayer, I held up the Memorial in the shape of the risen Christ, engraved in my father’s memory. I read each part & explained how it described my father’s life--
Engraved on the circular plaque affixed to the head or facial portion of the figure are the words:
“Memorial
World War II
Chaplain Markus E Lohrmann
Dec 26, 1910 - March 6, 1944
Matthew 28:19)”
At the top of the chest portion of the figure is a rectangular plaque, affixed just above a blue, cascading waterfall embedded in the figure, containing the words:
“From the Waters of Baptism
(Mark 16:16)”
Affixed to the figure just below the cascading waters are the words:
“Through of Joy and Sorrow
To the Waters of the South Pacific”
Still farther down on the figure, just below that inscription, is an upward spiraling blue swirl of "water"- and just below that symbol the final plaque is affixed, reading:
“To the River Flowing
From the Throne of God
Rev 22:1”
After reading the inscriptions to the children, I presented the Memorial figure to the School Principal, to be hung at a fitting place at the Mission on Goodenough Island, in memory of my father, and the life he sacrificed to bring aid to his fellow officers, even as Christ sacrificed His life to bring salvation to all of us. He accepted the memorial plaque on behalf of the school, saying that he would confer with the Bishop, (who had left the Island by dinghy to perform other Easter services on other islands that day just before we had arrived.) - concerning where to hang the Memorial.
Since we had brought along several boxes of books for the school for the children, from a mission known to the helicopter company, which had agreed to transport them to the children of the Islands, I also presented these boxes of books to the Principal and the other official, who were very appreciative. After that I closed the Assembly with a prayer of thanksgiving for Jesus' sacrifice and Resurrection which we were celebrating that day, as well as for His great love for each of the children there, and prayed again that each of us be given the strength to willingly make our own sacrifices of selfishness and pride, so that we too might place the needs of others, before our own, especially their need to hear the Gospel from us, and their need to see Jesus’ love for them, embodied in our loving words and actions toward others.
After that prayer, Sister Joseph led the children in singing a benediction over me - the most beautiful prayer of blessing in song, that I think have ever heard- or probably ever will hear again, this side of Heaven. That brought tears of great joy, humility and thanksgiving to my own eyes!
After walking back to the guest house, accompanied by the children, we sat and waited for the helicopter to arrive from the mainland, to take us back to Alotau on Milne Bay. The pilot had said he’d be back by 3:30 PM, which came and went. 4:30 came and went. Our guide, Jeffrey, said he thought that we could still safely leave the island if our pilot arrived by 5 PM. We were very worried, but heaved a huge sigh of relief when we heard the distant roar of the helicopter just after five. We ran to the plane, from which Steve, our pilot alighted. His expression was extremely grave, and without a word, he grabbed the lifejackets, helped us into them with great speed, and practically threw us onto the helicopter. We quickly buckled in and pulled on our headgear and microphones. As we headed out from the island over the water, I could see the storm clouds and rain off to the right of our flight pattern. No one spoke. Heavy rain began pouring down, making visibility extremely difficult. As we were over the middle of the large bay or ocean area, our pilot tersely stated, “We are not going to be able to make it. We are too low on fuel. We are not going to be able to make it. We will have to turn back, or change course. I will try to find a place somewhere, where we can land.
Needless to say, Eunice and I each began our own silent, fervent prayers! After changing course once or twice, Steve said that he thought he could find a place to land on the very, outermost edge of the peninsula protruding from the island on which Milne Bay is situated, albeit on the other side of the mountains, in a jungle area. I don't think I was ever so relieved and thankful in my life as when we finally touched down in that area, instead of crashing into the waters of the South Pacific! Eunice and I told each other later, we had each had the thought that, perhaps, just as I had to come to the South Pacific to memorialize my father's death in those waters – that perhaps, in future years, our children would be making that same pilgrimage, in our memory!
At first, the area seemed to be completely abandoned, except for a weather-worn, rather dilapidated building on stilts which was clearly uninhabited. But slowly, one by one, out of the jungles, appeared several native people, who had obviously heard the helicopter approach and land.
Steve and Jeffrey climbed out of the helicopter, and spoke with some of the men in the group. Meanwhile, it was dusk, almost dark, and Eunice and I were very concerned about spending the night in the jungle, or, even in one of the thatched-roof huts, in which, apparently some of the native people were kindly suggesting that we join them. Eunice kept saying, "We would be glad to sleep in the helicopter!" Taking the hint, Steve told the generous would-be hosts, that he thought the ladies would be more comfortable staying in an area where he and Jeffrey could be near us.
Someone hiked to another area, and brought back a rather ancient-looking tractor, pulling a large, rusted flatbed trailer, and we were urgently instructed to climb aboard, before it got much darker, and the badly gutted, partially overgrown trail out of the area would be nearly impossible to find. They took us, with much jostling and bouncing about, up a long, rather steep, hillside trail, and around many bends, to a flat area, where there was a house built on stilts. To our surprise, it was actually a rather current, at least 20th century, small timber house! We learned that it was the official residence of the man who was the elected leader - (governor or mayor?) of that area of the province.
Even more surprising, we could see that there were numerous people there, having a sort of celebration. We were told that many of them had walked for great distances through the jungles to attend. Apparently this was due to the fact that the “Member" of the Papua New Guinea Parliament (or Congress), who was now campaigning for reelection, had arrived earlier that day. Lo and behold, he had been transported to that location by our very own Steve in our very same helicopter! One of the reasons for the delay in getting to Goodenough Island to pick us up, AND for the low fuel, apparently, was that the "Member", as the group was wont to call him, had unexpectedly brought along with him two journalists, and a huge amount of heavy equipment. Since that would not fit inside the helicopter, it had necessitated the procurement of a huge metal basket which then had to be attached along the entire left side of the helicopter. All of this extra weight caused the necessity for more fuel, which the pilot had had no time to procure. Additionally, Steve had, before delivering the Member to this location, also had to take him to still another island for a campaign rally, at which several altercations had broken out, causing still further delay in flying the Member and his retinue to this current location, earlier in the day.
The plan had originally been for the "Member" to then meet and greet all of the thatched-hut–dwelling natives who lived in the area at this gathering we encountered, spend the night at this official residence, and then perform a "dedication" of a school which was being built in the area (of which, so far apparently, only the foundations had been laid.) Nonetheless, after the official ceremony was completed on the following day, our pilot was to have returned with this helicopter to pick up the "Member" and return him to the mainland. Unfortunately, the communications tower, which supposedly had previously been working, currently was totally inoperative so there was now no possibility of communicating with the outside world from this location either!
Our pilot informed us that, although the helicopter was not equipped with sophisticated communications ability, he had been able to push a button which signaled Heliscope headquarters that the flight plan had been altered, due to bad weather, and then send a second signal that we were low on fuel. There was a tracking device attached to the helicopter, so the headquarters on the mainland would know that the plane was now stationary, and at what location, but they would have no way of knowing whether or not the helicopter had crashed, or landed safely. Since it was now completely dark at night, and we had no more fuel, there was no alternative but to stay at this location, and pray that help would arrive eventually.
Although we were completely unexpected guests, (obviously!) we were warmly welcomed, and offered mats upon which to sit on the floor, and freshly caught yellowtail tuna which the host himself fried and offered for our enjoyment. He even assured us that they were very honored to have us as their guests. It turned out that there was only one actual bed in the house. All of the other (2 or 3) rooms were furnished with woven reed mats on the floor or, at best, a couple of thinly padded floor mattresses. The "Member" chivalrously gave up that one bed, which had been previously allocated to him as the honored guest, (and the additional floor mattress which was also in that room), for the use of Eunice and myself. He then proceeded to sleep with the other men on mats laid out across the living room floor. Apparently the two women journalists were sleeping in another side room, on mats on the floor, as well.
When we arrived, the entire house was in total darkness, except for flashlights, lanterns, etc. Apparently in our honor, the host turned on the generator, which reluctantly sputtered and rumbled into action making a nearly deafening noise. He smilingly commented that we should enjoy it while it lasted, because there was no telling when the generator would simply shut itself off. But it did provide light and power to charge cell phones or other digital devices – not that anyone could use them since the cell tower was inoperative! Eventually everyone who was staying at the residence bedded down as best they could find space. Others filtered away into the surrounding jungle areas, presumably to their own or neighboring huts, within walking distance. During the night, we were awakened by the sounds of a torrential rainfall, the likes of which Eunice and I had never heard! Fortunately for us, the roof in our particular area of the house did not leak, unlike that of the living room area where our guide and pilot were sleeping! We later learned that there was extensive flooding in the area, and, in fact, we saw the evidence of it ourselves, the following morning.
April 17- Monday
When morning finally did arrive, we joined the others in the common room and outdoor porch area, hoping and praying that some sort of rescue would arrive.
We did not have to worry about going hungry, because, in anticipation of the day’s much anticipated activity – the dedication of the long–hoped–for school, some women from nearby dwellings brought small sandwiches made of white bread and peanut butter, and some other foods which they had prepared for those participating in the celebration. There was more yellow tail tuna one of the men had caught in the nearby ocean, and some sort of sausages which others had brought for the group to share, so no one went hungry. We "foreigners" where the only ones who were seated in chairs. Everyone else set on mats on the floor. One of the journalists present heard about the story of my pilgrimage to Goodenough Island. She asked if I would be willing to let her interview me, and publish a story about our adventures in Papua New Guinea. I was happy to comply, and had a very enjoyable discussion with her. But I have no idea where, when, or even if, the account might actually be published.
Later in the morning, our pilot, Steve, enlisted the aid of local people, who picked him up in what appeared to be a huge earthmoving device, and went down to the sea shore, where a dinghy had arrived with a load of diesel fuel, The people generously had agreed to allow us to borrow some, since Steve said the plane, in an emergency, should be able to use diesel fuel. But before he began the attempt to siphon the diesel fuel into the helicopter, we saw in the distance, out over the ocean, an orange helicopter approaching our location! Sure enough, Steve's emergency signal from the helicopter the night before, had allowed Heliscope to accurately determine our location, and realize that we were too low on fuel to be able to leave that jungle area without help. They sent one of their other helicopters loaded with enough drums of fuel to get us over the waters, over the mountains, and back to Milne Bay. Both Eunice and I were ecstatic! We, along with our guide, Jeffrey, as well as others from the house, hurriedly climbed onto the flatbed trailer and were driven back down the side of the mountain, over the same steep, bumpy trail, now partially inundated with floodwaters from the torrential rains that had fallen the night before. But we arrived safely at the clearing where both helicopters now sat side by side, to see Steve already siphoning the much-needed fuel which the rescue helicopter from Heliscope had brought, into our little red helicopter.
With much joy and excitement, we finally boarded the plane, and waved goodbye, with much heartfelt thanks, to our native hosts, and rising up (It truly felt like a “resurrection!) over the jungle area, we flew out over the waters of the South Pacific, across a great expanse of water, to the northern shores of the part of Papua New Guinea, upon the other side of which Alotau is located. We then climbed to greater heights, in order to clear the high mountains, and finally descended to the southern sides of the high slopes to the welcome sight of Alotau and Milne Bay. We landed near our Hotel, our hearts overflowing with thanksgiving and praise to the God who had saved us from sharing the same fate as my father so many years before–death in the waters of the South Pacific.
The Long Journey Home
The rest of the story is anticlimactic, perhaps. Needless to say, all of our family members had been panicked, frantically calling and emailing one another, since no one, including the helicopter company, had heard directly from us for the last 24 hours, except for the emergency message that we were low on fuel and heading into bad weather. They could not know for sure, whether or not the plane had landed safely, or gone down in the waters of the South Pacific, or perhaps had crashed after it had reached shore over the jungles, from which the plane’s tracking device continued to emit its tracking device location signal, but no information regarding whether there had been a safe, or a crash landing. Many prayers where offered for our safety, we later learned, obviously with very positive results from the Heavenly Realms!
Returning to Sydney, to continue on the rest of our planned trip, proved to be a bit of a dilemma, since, obviously we were too late for our previously booked flights. We were able to book another flight to Port Moresby, but it would arrive too late to make any connections that day from there to Brisbane, and on to Sydney. When we finally arrived in Port Moresby, we were greeted, once again, by the smiling, loving faces of our, by now, dear friends, Leanne and Geoffrey, the same “Guardian Angels" that God had provided for us on our incoming flight from Brisbane the Friday before, the day our flight from Port Moresby to Alotau had been canceled. Once again they scooped us up and took us with them, without question, like family, cheerfully saying “Welcome Home!” as we hopped down from their pick-up truck at their apartment. They helped us book another flight for the following day which took us on to Brisbane, and then connecting to Sydney. A phrase from a Christian song I had heard in years past, came to mind: “You've got family there.” Clearly, no matter how far away from home one roams, even to the other side of the world and to another hemisphere, God has gone before you, and He will lead you to your brothers and sisters there, in Christ's family.
And even this is not the end of the story of God’s ever-present care for us on this journey. In Brisbane we had to go through customs because we were exiting one country, Papua New Guinea, and entering Australia at Brisbane’s International airport. It seems that the Customs rules in Australia are far more stringent than in many countries, and it was determined that my ‘tree nuts”, sea shells and the sand which I had picked up on the shores of Goodenough Island, where my father died, could not be brought into the country of Australia legally.
But after hearing the story of why I had made the pilgrimage to Papua New Guinea, to honor my father and his sacrificial death during World War II, the senior Customs official, Matthew Howard, took it upon himself to offer to bag up the forbidden items in a sealed container, and impound them, holding them in Impound from that Tuesday until the following Friday, when our Cruise ship, Royal Caribbean’s Voyager of the Seas, would dock at the Port in Brisbane.
He then arranged to have one of his customs officials personally deliver that package to the ship’s purser, who then delivered it to me on board ship, with my promise that it would not be taken off the ship during its itinerary around Australia, until we reached the next country at disembarkation, which was Singapore. Not only did this plan works seamlessly, but this amazing, considerate man, sent countless emails and text messages to the ship, and to me, until he was absolutely certain that those materials were safely in my hands. He even asked that I let him know whether I was able to get them safely home to America.
I do not know whether this man, personally, is a believer, but I am certain that he was being used as God’s instrument, and that Matt Howard was demonstrating, once again, the sacrificial love which flows through humans from only one source– our loving Heavenly Father.
The rest of our trip was unremarkable, by comparison. Well– that's not quite true. Concerning the aforementioned mementos from the beach – I did declare them on Customs forms, both in Singapore, and also when we entered the United States at San Francisco. I was pleasantly surprised that Singapore had no prohibition for such things. But I did see that on the United States customs forms there were sections which might conceivably have applied to the sea shells, seeds, etc.
Although I was very tempted not to declare them, my conscience would not allow me to do this. So as I stood in a very long line, waiting to be assigned to one of the many customs officials in San Francisco, I merely prayed a prayer of thanksgiving that God had allowed me to keep them so far, and placing in His hands the outcome of what would happen next. I prayed that He would choose the particular customs official who might be sympathetic to my plight. It should not surprise anyone to learn that the San Francisco-based customs official to whom I was "randomly assigned" had grandparents whom he had frequently visited, who lived in North Royalton, Ohio, the suburb where our own church is located, and where my husband is one of the pastors, Royal Redeemer Lutheran Church!
Now, I ask you, what are the statistical odds for that "coincidence"? The customs official asked me why I had chosen to go to all of the places I listed on the form, Including Papua New Guinea. Obviously this gave me the opportunity, once again, to tell my father's story, the reason for my pilgrimage. He noted that that island was where I had picked up the items which I had declared on the Customs form and then, without inspecting any of my baggage, he just smiled warmly and said “Go on – You're cleared.” And I guess, perhaps, that phrase pretty much sums up this Pilgrimage, my life, and the life of my sainted father.
The phrase, which comes straight from the message of the Gospel, resulting from the sacrificial death and resurrection of our Lord, after which God basically says, to each of His children who have accepted that gift of salvation and are waiting at the gates of heaven for permission to enter: “Go on - You’re cleared!”
March 6, 1944
War was raging throughout the world. The 24th Division of the US Army was establishing strongholds on one island after another in the South Pacific, on its relentless drive to rescue the Philippines from the Japanese. My father, the Lutheran Army Chaplain assigned to that Division, found himself, along with other Army personnel, stranded on a small craft far off the coast of Goodenough Island, a small, remote island North and East of New Guinea. The ship had lost all power and communication capabilities, and was rapidly drifting farther out to sea without the capability of notifying the base back on land of their plight or location.
My father determined that he would try to swim the entire way from the ship back to the island and attempt to summon help. Two other officers volunteered to accompany him. Of the three, they were the only ones to survive.
Half a world away, in another hemisphere, my mother was worshiping in a small church in a tiny southern Illinois town. Suddenly feeling as though she were going to black out, putting her head down and closing her eyes, she had a clear vision of my father, lying prone on the beach of that South Pacific island, with others bending over him, desperately, unsuccessfully, trying to resuscitate her husband.
The soldiers on the ship were saved. So was my father. But not for this life. For the life eternal, which began for him that day. I like to think that the 33 years he walked this earth, and the manner of his death, mirrored the 33 years, and sacrificial death of His Savior, Who called him out of the turbulent waters of this planet, to walk beside Him, beside the peaceful waters of the river which flows from the throne of God.
THE PILGRIMAGE
April 13, 2017, Sydney, Australia
After a lifetime of longing to know more of my father whom I had never met, and about whom I had heard so many glowing accounts ever since his death when I was only 18 months old, I had finally determined to see for myself the place where he lived his final days, and where he died. So on this day, having traveling completely to the other side of the globe, and down to another hemisphere, finally I began the final leg of my Journey to Goodenough Island.
I was up before dawn, at 4 AM, in order to make the early flight out of Sydney. There would be a short layover in Brisbane, then a transfer to the international flight to Port Moresby, located in, and the Capital of, the separate country of Papua New Guinea. From there, the itinerary called for us to take a different airline, and smaller plane, on to the small town of Alotau, located on Milne Bay. There we were to meet our guide, Jeffrey Evernett, and our helicopter pilot, Steve. The plan called for spending the night at a small Hotel on the shore of Milne Bay, and then on the next day, Saturday, to make the charter helicopter flight of 50 minutes across the New Guinea mountains, and then many miles over the waters of the South Pacific, to Goodenough Island. It was a flawless, exciting plan - devised, unfortunately, by mice and men, (or in this case, mice and women.)
Our connecting flight, via Brisbane, Australia, arrived in Port Moresby's airport on time, and we found our way from the International airport to the domestic airport without serious impediment, other than the unbelievable heat and humidity which struck us like an overzealous sauna, Oh, then too, there was the minor incident when I slipped off the edge of an outdoor bench in the crowded area where we were waiting to catch the bus to the other terminal,— landing (gracefully, my sister-in-law tells me!) with my lowest back left rib striking a metal pipe, and causing quite a bit of pain and subsequent difficulty in moving, which annoyingly worsened, as the trip went on, But this did not serve to damage my spirits in any way.
What did seriously threaten to intimidate my spirits, at the very least, was the completely unexpected announcement, after over an hour of waiting, well past the time we were due to take off, that our flight to Alotau in Milne Bay had been canceled! There would not be another flight to that location until the following morning!
With much fear and trepidation, my sister-in-law and I proceeded to wend our way back through the Security corridors and out to the customer service window, in front of which there was already a lengthy line, or more accurately, a crowd, of distraught fellow passengers, only a few of whom appeared to be “plain vanilla” in pigmentation, (as my daughter's best friend in high school, from a different ethnic background, had often jokingly called us.) In other circumstances, this would not have been a concern, or even consciously thought about. But here, it clearly marked us as tourists and foreigners - obviously easy targets, were we to go out alone on the streets of Port Moresby, which we had heard, is one of the most crime ridden cities in the world. In fact we had specifically been warned, that if ever we were to stay in a hotel there, we should never venture outside its walls, even for a few yards, if we were to avoid danger.
I must admit, much to my chagrin, that I was just plain terrified. In which case, I had learned from earliest childhood, the only solution is to pray– hard. There are dozens, If not hundreds of passages in the Bible which speak about trusting God in challenging circumstances. Even my own confirmation verse, Proverbs 3:5-6, addresses just such a situation, and should have been the very first one which came to mind. Yet without human explanation, the rather obscure passage which did come to mind was Chapter 3:17-19, from the book of Habakkuk, (which the average person probably does not even realize is the name of a book in the Bible!) It says, in summary, that even in situations when there seems to be no hope, yet we should still praise God, and trust Him. Before I had even gotten to the last words of that passage, and my praise to God and mental verbalization of my trust in Him, as I turned and looked up, I saw, what appeared to me to be, I must say in all candor, some sort of miracle.
Walking up to us, with big smiles on their faces, was a young, handsome, clean cut, "plain-vanilla" couple, - carrying a sign, no less - with the names printed on it: Marcia Luecke; Eunice Shoemaker.) Emblazoned on the shirt the man was wearing, was the logo, Heliscope. To explain, this is the name of the company with which I had contracted, while still back in America, to fly us from Milne Bay, to Goodenough Island. There had been absolutely no mention of the fact that this company had employees in Port Moresby, nor had there been any obligation of that company to intercept our travels at that point. Yet this young couple had come, for reasons even they could not explain. On more or less of a whim, they had decided to try to meet our plane when we transferred in Port Moresby from the International terminal to the domestic flight terminal. They had come, merely as an unexpected gesture of good will, to share a friendly greeting, and wave us on our way to the domestic flight to Milne Bay. Now, having heard the announcement that our flight was canceled until the next day, they immediately took over, providing their wholehearted and knowledgeable assistance in helping us remedy this frightening plight in which we found ourselves.
Obviously we did not know these people from Adam (and Eve!) and certainly had no inkling of what their religious beliefs, if any, might be. Yet I was so overwhelmed with this instantaneous answer to my prayer, which I had silently uttered in the words of Habakkuk 3:17-19, that I couldn't help let words spill out of my mouth, telling them of my prayer for help, uttered just seconds earlier, and I specifically quoted that same passage from Habakkuk. I told them that their appearance, in my mind, was clearly the miraculous, instantaneous answer to that prayer. Without a word, the young man, whose name turned out to be Geoffrey Calder, pulled out his cell phone, touched one button on it, and showed to me the text which was printed on the screen. It was the identical passage which I had just silently prayed. “This is the passage which appeared on my cell phone today,” he said. “I subscribe to a website that provides a different random Bible verse each day, for inspiration.’
After that, no one spoke for a while. Later, Eunice told me that, that was when she knew that God had our backs. Everything was going to be just fine. I had known it when I first saw them. The Bible passage, which God so graciously provided to them and to me, (from the heavenly realms, if I may be so bold) was just additional confirmation, like icing on the cake.
To make a long story even longer, Geoffrey and Leanne, his wife, invited us into their own home to spend the night, and went to great lengths to help us book a new flight for the following morning to Milne Bay. We, of course, insisted on taking them out to dinner that night. They drove to a restaurant in Port Moresby, where we discovered we could only gain entry by going through a security checkpoint, and which was protected by armed guard-(just to drive home the point of the dangers of Port Moresby, especially at night.) As we chatted over our meal, we learned that Geoffrey and Leanne had a long history of doing God’s work. Among other things, Geoffrey had worked as a pilot making helicopter flights on medical missions, rescuing people in emergency medical cases, often out of remote jungle areas. Leanne, for her part, was even the daughter of missionaries. So God clearly had ready candidates to serve as our guardian angels in Port Moresby! By the end of our time together, it was clear that, even though we were completely on the other side of the globe, and in another hemisphere, - we had family there.
April 14- Friday
Geoff & Leann took us to the airport and waited to be certain that this time we had gotten safely through security and were actually boarded on the plane to Alotau They promised to meet us the following Monday when our itinerary called for us to come back through there to transfer to our return flight on to Brisbane and Sydney. Once again we thanked and blessed our “guardian angels “and flew on to Alotau.
There we met our guide Jeffrey Evernett at the Waterfront Lodge, as well as our pilot Steve. He suggested we not fly to Goodenough Island on Saturday, but rather, go on the following day, which was Easter Sunday. He said he would first fly us to an Anglican Cathedral located on the other side of the mountains from Milne Bay, where we could worship on Easter. Then after that worship service he would fly us on to Goodenough Island. He had already spoken with the Bishop at that Cathedral, who was eager to include foreign visitors in their Easter service. That sounded like a better plan than the former one, and we agreed.
April 15 – Saturday
Thus on Saturday, instead of Sunday, as originally planned, our guide Jeff Evernette, toured us around Milne Bay, and among other things, explained the local World War II history, including the information about the attack by the Japanese in the Milne Bay area,. As we visited t the site where the battle has occurred, we encountered a number of local native women and children on the beach, gathering various fruits and nuts and other plants from the trees and other vegetation growing in the area. Some of these they would take home as food for their families, and the surplus they would take to the market to sell, in order to get cash to buy other items. Besides this source of income, many, if not most, of the local people had no way to obtain the simple necessities of life. Nonetheless, they seemed quite happy and content, taking life as it came, day by day, without stressful worrying about the future. Those of us living in more ‘technologically advanced" societies would do well to learn from their outlook on life!
After taking us to a World War II Memorial which had been dedicated to a native son of the area, who had been a hero in saving others, during the battle there in World War II, our guide also drove us up nearby mountain side to get us a view of the entire Bay Area, and pointed out to us the relatively small modest home of the governor of the province, which was situated on a hilltop overlooking the village of Alotau. He then took us to a native history and WW II museum, to which he himself, as a local historian, had made numerous contributions relating to the artifacts and history of the ancient tribal artifacts and customs of the area, and also regarding more recent history of the region. That evening, Eunice and I had dinner in the thatched-roofed wooden pavilion on the waterfront next to our small hotel, enjoying warm water lobster for the first time, as we watched the beautiful sunset over the Bay, and saw the moon and stars gradually appear in an entirely different configuration from that of our northern hemisphere. That was, in and of itself, an educational and almost mystical new experience!
April 16- Sunday
On Easter morning we rose early and boarded the helicopter to fly North, across a high mountain range to the only Cathedral in the province. The Anglican Bishop and pastor were kind enough to come outside into the large church yard, in full liturgical garb, to welcome us as we got off the helicopter. They then led us into the Cathedral where all the other native worshippers were seated, cross-legged and barefoot, on the concrete floor, singing “Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Alleluia!” So we joyfully joined in singing that familiar Easter hymn! The Bishop thoughtfully had had the only chairs in the sanctuary set up for us, and he even personally gave us hymnals, worship books and Bibles, and then left us, in order to lead the service. It was such a joy to see the celebration and worship of Christ's Resurrection among these indigenous people, who have descended from a vast mixture of different, mostly non-Christian, tribal customs, who are still experiencing so little prosperity, yet be so full of praise and joyful thanksgiving at the celebration of the Resurrection of our mutual Savior and Lord!
Later we re boarded the helicopter & flew across a very long stretch of water, passing over a number of smaller islands and reefs As we were looking down upon one site, near the edge of a small island, our guide told us that a World War II plane had gone down at that location, and that to this day, divers and historians visit this area to study and write about it.
We finally arrived over the shores of Goodenough Island. Because the island has no cell tower or other means of communication with the outside world, except for two- way radio between the Mission at Wataluma, and its Mother House located on the mainland, our guide had not been able to communicate with anyone there, to find out any information from them about where the army had been encamped on that island during World War II. Therefore, in order to gain information about where to locate the area in which I was interested, he suggested we land in a an area where we could see a circle of small thatched-roofed huts, in order to try to find out if anyone there might remember where the American Army had set up camp on the island during World War II.
All the villagers swarmed out to see us when they saw our helicopter landing. Jeffrey, who speaks their language, got out and asked them where the US Army was based in WW II. After much gesturing from the native people, our guide returned to the plane and told us the eldest man there in the group had said that the site was located somewhere on the side of the mountainous area, and that the natives believed that they could lead us to it, but that there was no trail through the jungle and up to the mountainous location. The elderly man had said that it could be recognized because there were bamboo plants at that spot, and no bamboos grew anywhere else on the entire Island.
Steve, the helicopter pilot, then strongly suggested that we (Eunice, the guide, & I) leave the plane, and spend the day with the natives in that village, and try to hike up to the location where the army had been camped! Clearly the entire region was covered in jungle growth, and it was obvious that it would be difficult, even for the native people, to reach that area. Plus the heat and humidity were already extremely high, and both Eunice and I were dressed in skirts and sandals, and in absolutely no condition to hike up the side of a mountain through the jungle! We were mystified as to why our pilot, would even suggest such a thing! That was when he told us that he had "another job" that day, and would have to leave us somewhere on the island, and hoped to be back to pick us up at 3:30 that afternoon! I must admit that I was rather upset at the thought of being stranded on a mostly unpopulated Island, under the guidance of native villagers, most of whom spoke little English, if any! It had been my understanding that the helicopter would be at our disposal there for the entire day, to take us to various locations on the island in our quest to find the places where my father had served and died.
After much discussion, we finally agreed that Steve would fly us along the mountain side to search for the location where in the Army had been camped and try to land there. He would then fly us to the beach where my father had died, and give us time to disembark and perform the service of remembrance which I had planned, in honor of my father. He would then fly us to the Catholic. Mission at Wataluma, which was actually the only location which Jeffrey had ascertained was still currently in existence on the island. That would at least be a safer location at which to spend the remainder of the day, until the helicopter could return to pick us up at 3:30 pm, and take us back across the water and the mountains to Alotau on Milne Bay. Everyone agreed to this plan, so after leaving a box of the children's books (which had been donated by a mission associated with Heliscope), with the leader of the group of natives in the thatched-roof huts, we once again took flight.
It took quite a bit of searching from the air, but we finally spotted a large, relatively flat grassy area, on the side of the mountain, which appeared to be the only place on the island where there were bamboo plants growing. That was the key landmark which the village leader had mentioned as being the Identifying characteristic of the area where the American army had been camped during World War II. However, due to the dense undergrowth, it was not possible to land a helicopter at that location,, and under the circumstances, I had to be satisfied to have at least seen the spot where the encampment site has been located.
We then followed the river which was located at the edge of the site, to its mouth at the sea, There we set down the helicopter and got out. After making our way down to the beach, I asked our guide, Jeffrey, to stand beside me and hold up the Memorial Plaque of the Resurrected Christ with its various inscriptions, while I read aloud portions of REV 21 & 22, and prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for my father’s life & ministry, his own sacrifice of his life in his attempt to save others, and for the certainty of his salvation and eternal life.
I then held up the memorial figure of the risen Christ, and also read aloud the words I had engraved upon the top (crowned head of the figure), beginning with his name, dates of birth and death:
“Markus E. Lohrmann
(Dec 26, 1910 - March 6, 1944)”
I then read the words I had engraved on the plaque surrounding the blue cascading waters which are embedded in the center of the plaque --words defining the water symbolism on the figure-
"From the waters of Baptism, (Mark 16:16),
Through Tears of Joy and Sorrow,
To the Waters of the South Pacific,
To the River Flowing from the Throne of God. (Rev 22:1).”
After concluding my brief commemorative memorial, I decided to gather some tree nuts that had fallen on the beach, a few shells, as well as some sand from the beach. I then waded into the waters where he died - rejoicing that I am sure my father is now wading in the waters of the river of life that flows from God’s throne.
As I stood in those waters, looking out to sea, mediating and praying, (unseen by me), the pilot and guide saw a crocodile swimming toward me underneath and through the water! They urgently called me back into the plane, and I did not even realize the danger that had threatened me until much later. Once again, I truly believe the Lord was protecting me from unseen dangers!
After climbing back into the helicopter, we flew to the nearby “village” named Wataluma. There is a Catholic mission there, which was established in the 1800’s. Currently the Mission runs a secondary school there, which boards over 800 students- not quite half of whom were away for their once-a-year visit to their homes on the other islands, for the Easter break. No one knew we were coming, since there is no communication with the outside world from the island, (except by 2-way radio with another mission somewhere far away) but many children had run to meet our helicopter when they heard it approach. It was raining lightly and two girls rushed forward, covering me with their umbrellas. We were ushered to their “guest house” where we were joined by their school principal and another official from the school, who had also heard the descent of the helicopter, (which had immediately taken off and flown away as soon we disembarked.) They asked students to bring us chairs from somewhere on the campus, and our guide Jeffrey and I explained to them the reason our visit.
Since the island is so isolated, accessible only by dinghy, or a rare helicopter visit, they were quite unaccustomed to outside visitors of any sort, let alone two little “plain vanilla” ladies from the other side of the globe! After telling them my father’s story, we also explained that we had brought two large boxes of children's books, which could be used in the school for the children. For this they were very grateful.
I could hear singing coming from the near-by church, and thinking that perhaps their Easter service had not yet ended, I walked over there. It turned out that this was not the actual main Church of the campus, but was, rather, the chapel for the school. Through the large open windows I saw 8 or 10 teens sitting on benches in a group singing Easter hymns, 3 of them playing guitars! I ducked inside and listened. They were very surprised but happy to see this unexpected guest, and were thrilled when I asked to sing along. One girl ran to get songbooks and we chose various ones, many of which I did not know, but they sang well and I learned the melodies quickly, and sang along. When I then asked if they wanted to hear a story, they nearly jumped out of their skins with eagerness! I’m sure that has never happened before - a storyteller literally dropping out of the sky into their midst!
So I told them why I had come to Goodenough Island, as the fulfillment of a lifelong dream to see the place where my father had died. After telling them how his death had occurred during WW II, on the very shores of this Island, I used the opportunity to retell the Gospel story, in that, just as Jesus was willing to sacrifice His life to save others, so my father had been willing to risk his life to bring help to the men in that boat, who were drifting away from the island without the power which would have enabled them to return safely to the island, or to communicate with anyone at the army base onshore. And just as Jesus had risen from the dead to give us eternal life, so my father is now in Heaven with Jesus, awaiting that final Résurrection.
As I was finishing the story, Eunice came up to the church with the Catholic Nun, Sister Shanty Joseph, who was basically the headmistress of the Mission. She invited us to the convent for tea and special Easter bread she had made. She explained some of the history of the mission and the school, and I shared with her the story of my father’s death during World War II on Goodenough Island, and showed her the memorial which I hoped to leave there in my father's memory.
Later she and the school principal made a loud speaker announcement to the entire campus, calling everyone to their largest assembly hall to meet their unexpected guests, and hear the story about my father, and the story of my reasons for coming there to honor his memory. As the students and other teachers were assembling, I talked to the group, and suggested we sing together. Since it was Easter day, I tried to lead them in “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today”- but their melody for it was different from the one we use in the United States, and it wasn’t working. That was when I spotted Natasha, the beautiful 17 year old girl with whom I had been singing in the chapel earlier, who had been leading that group with her guitar. She was too embarrassed to come forward readily in front of nearly 500 of her fellow students and teachers, so I went over and basically dragged her up front, causing much laughter and applause from the group. I calmed her down, telling her quietly that I seriously needed her help- so together we sang & led the group in some of their own familiar Easter hymns.
Finally everyone had arrived, including the school principal, the other official, the other teachers, and of course, Sister Shanty Joseph, who had so warmly welcomed us earlier. They had placed chairs for me and these officials across the front of the assembly Hall. The students and other teachers all sat on the floor to listen. Once again I told them the story about my father. I was amazed to see that their attention was rapt, to put it mildly! Then I went into a longer account of the Gospel, as, I honestly believe, God put words in my heart & mouth. I simply spoke in the same direct & personal manner I use with the Confirmation kids back home. I talked about how God loves us so much, but that we all do things that are wrong, that we regret, but then often do again, despite our best intentions. Since God the Father is perfect, He sadly said that He couldn't allow us to come live with Him in His perfect Heaven, because we aren't clean, and He is a just and perfect God. Justice requires that we be punished for our wrongdoing. (As I spoke, walking back & forth across the hall, I could see in their eyes & expressions, and actually feel, the children’s genuine & heartfelt grief over this!)
I went on to tell how Jesus, God’s Son, said, “No! I want them to be in Heaven too! I don’t want to live here without them! I will go down to earth! I will live the perfect life that each of them is not able to live. And I will take the punishment they deserve, in their place!” And then I reminded them of Jesus’ birth that we celebrate at Christmas, and of Jesus' life of sinlessness, His crucifixion, and finally of His Resurrection that we were celebrating that very Easter morning, which proves that God has accepted Jesus’ substitution and sacrifice on our behalf. I reminded them that it also shows that when we believers die, we will go to live with Jesus in Heaven, on that very day, just like Jesus promised to the thief on the cross!
After the message, I offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God for Jesus' sacrifice & Resurrection, and prayed that He help each of us to be willing to sacrifice for others like He did — even it is only to sacrifice our pride & selfishness when we are reluctant to tell others about Jesus, so they can also believe and join us in Heaven.
After that prayer, I held up the Memorial in the shape of the risen Christ, engraved in my father’s memory. I read each part & explained how it described my father’s life--
Engraved on the circular plaque affixed to the head or facial portion of the figure are the words:
“Memorial
World War II
Chaplain Markus E Lohrmann
Dec 26, 1910 - March 6, 1944
Matthew 28:19)”
At the top of the chest portion of the figure is a rectangular plaque, affixed just above a blue, cascading waterfall embedded in the figure, containing the words:
“From the Waters of Baptism
(Mark 16:16)”
Affixed to the figure just below the cascading waters are the words:
“Through of Joy and Sorrow
To the Waters of the South Pacific”
Still farther down on the figure, just below that inscription, is an upward spiraling blue swirl of "water"- and just below that symbol the final plaque is affixed, reading:
“To the River Flowing
From the Throne of God
Rev 22:1”
After reading the inscriptions to the children, I presented the Memorial figure to the School Principal, to be hung at a fitting place at the Mission on Goodenough Island, in memory of my father, and the life he sacrificed to bring aid to his fellow officers, even as Christ sacrificed His life to bring salvation to all of us. He accepted the memorial plaque on behalf of the school, saying that he would confer with the Bishop, (who had left the Island by dinghy to perform other Easter services on other islands that day just before we had arrived.) - concerning where to hang the Memorial.
Since we had brought along several boxes of books for the school for the children, from a mission known to the helicopter company, which had agreed to transport them to the children of the Islands, I also presented these boxes of books to the Principal and the other official, who were very appreciative. After that I closed the Assembly with a prayer of thanksgiving for Jesus' sacrifice and Resurrection which we were celebrating that day, as well as for His great love for each of the children there, and prayed again that each of us be given the strength to willingly make our own sacrifices of selfishness and pride, so that we too might place the needs of others, before our own, especially their need to hear the Gospel from us, and their need to see Jesus’ love for them, embodied in our loving words and actions toward others.
After that prayer, Sister Joseph led the children in singing a benediction over me - the most beautiful prayer of blessing in song, that I think have ever heard- or probably ever will hear again, this side of Heaven. That brought tears of great joy, humility and thanksgiving to my own eyes!
After walking back to the guest house, accompanied by the children, we sat and waited for the helicopter to arrive from the mainland, to take us back to Alotau on Milne Bay. The pilot had said he’d be back by 3:30 PM, which came and went. 4:30 came and went. Our guide, Jeffrey, said he thought that we could still safely leave the island if our pilot arrived by 5 PM. We were very worried, but heaved a huge sigh of relief when we heard the distant roar of the helicopter just after five. We ran to the plane, from which Steve, our pilot alighted. His expression was extremely grave, and without a word, he grabbed the lifejackets, helped us into them with great speed, and practically threw us onto the helicopter. We quickly buckled in and pulled on our headgear and microphones. As we headed out from the island over the water, I could see the storm clouds and rain off to the right of our flight pattern. No one spoke. Heavy rain began pouring down, making visibility extremely difficult. As we were over the middle of the large bay or ocean area, our pilot tersely stated, “We are not going to be able to make it. We are too low on fuel. We are not going to be able to make it. We will have to turn back, or change course. I will try to find a place somewhere, where we can land.
Needless to say, Eunice and I each began our own silent, fervent prayers! After changing course once or twice, Steve said that he thought he could find a place to land on the very, outermost edge of the peninsula protruding from the island on which Milne Bay is situated, albeit on the other side of the mountains, in a jungle area. I don't think I was ever so relieved and thankful in my life as when we finally touched down in that area, instead of crashing into the waters of the South Pacific! Eunice and I told each other later, we had each had the thought that, perhaps, just as I had to come to the South Pacific to memorialize my father's death in those waters – that perhaps, in future years, our children would be making that same pilgrimage, in our memory!
At first, the area seemed to be completely abandoned, except for a weather-worn, rather dilapidated building on stilts which was clearly uninhabited. But slowly, one by one, out of the jungles, appeared several native people, who had obviously heard the helicopter approach and land.
Steve and Jeffrey climbed out of the helicopter, and spoke with some of the men in the group. Meanwhile, it was dusk, almost dark, and Eunice and I were very concerned about spending the night in the jungle, or, even in one of the thatched-roof huts, in which, apparently some of the native people were kindly suggesting that we join them. Eunice kept saying, "We would be glad to sleep in the helicopter!" Taking the hint, Steve told the generous would-be hosts, that he thought the ladies would be more comfortable staying in an area where he and Jeffrey could be near us.
Someone hiked to another area, and brought back a rather ancient-looking tractor, pulling a large, rusted flatbed trailer, and we were urgently instructed to climb aboard, before it got much darker, and the badly gutted, partially overgrown trail out of the area would be nearly impossible to find. They took us, with much jostling and bouncing about, up a long, rather steep, hillside trail, and around many bends, to a flat area, where there was a house built on stilts. To our surprise, it was actually a rather current, at least 20th century, small timber house! We learned that it was the official residence of the man who was the elected leader - (governor or mayor?) of that area of the province.
Even more surprising, we could see that there were numerous people there, having a sort of celebration. We were told that many of them had walked for great distances through the jungles to attend. Apparently this was due to the fact that the “Member" of the Papua New Guinea Parliament (or Congress), who was now campaigning for reelection, had arrived earlier that day. Lo and behold, he had been transported to that location by our very own Steve in our very same helicopter! One of the reasons for the delay in getting to Goodenough Island to pick us up, AND for the low fuel, apparently, was that the "Member", as the group was wont to call him, had unexpectedly brought along with him two journalists, and a huge amount of heavy equipment. Since that would not fit inside the helicopter, it had necessitated the procurement of a huge metal basket which then had to be attached along the entire left side of the helicopter. All of this extra weight caused the necessity for more fuel, which the pilot had had no time to procure. Additionally, Steve had, before delivering the Member to this location, also had to take him to still another island for a campaign rally, at which several altercations had broken out, causing still further delay in flying the Member and his retinue to this current location, earlier in the day.
The plan had originally been for the "Member" to then meet and greet all of the thatched-hut–dwelling natives who lived in the area at this gathering we encountered, spend the night at this official residence, and then perform a "dedication" of a school which was being built in the area (of which, so far apparently, only the foundations had been laid.) Nonetheless, after the official ceremony was completed on the following day, our pilot was to have returned with this helicopter to pick up the "Member" and return him to the mainland. Unfortunately, the communications tower, which supposedly had previously been working, currently was totally inoperative so there was now no possibility of communicating with the outside world from this location either!
Our pilot informed us that, although the helicopter was not equipped with sophisticated communications ability, he had been able to push a button which signaled Heliscope headquarters that the flight plan had been altered, due to bad weather, and then send a second signal that we were low on fuel. There was a tracking device attached to the helicopter, so the headquarters on the mainland would know that the plane was now stationary, and at what location, but they would have no way of knowing whether or not the helicopter had crashed, or landed safely. Since it was now completely dark at night, and we had no more fuel, there was no alternative but to stay at this location, and pray that help would arrive eventually.
Although we were completely unexpected guests, (obviously!) we were warmly welcomed, and offered mats upon which to sit on the floor, and freshly caught yellowtail tuna which the host himself fried and offered for our enjoyment. He even assured us that they were very honored to have us as their guests. It turned out that there was only one actual bed in the house. All of the other (2 or 3) rooms were furnished with woven reed mats on the floor or, at best, a couple of thinly padded floor mattresses. The "Member" chivalrously gave up that one bed, which had been previously allocated to him as the honored guest, (and the additional floor mattress which was also in that room), for the use of Eunice and myself. He then proceeded to sleep with the other men on mats laid out across the living room floor. Apparently the two women journalists were sleeping in another side room, on mats on the floor, as well.
When we arrived, the entire house was in total darkness, except for flashlights, lanterns, etc. Apparently in our honor, the host turned on the generator, which reluctantly sputtered and rumbled into action making a nearly deafening noise. He smilingly commented that we should enjoy it while it lasted, because there was no telling when the generator would simply shut itself off. But it did provide light and power to charge cell phones or other digital devices – not that anyone could use them since the cell tower was inoperative! Eventually everyone who was staying at the residence bedded down as best they could find space. Others filtered away into the surrounding jungle areas, presumably to their own or neighboring huts, within walking distance. During the night, we were awakened by the sounds of a torrential rainfall, the likes of which Eunice and I had never heard! Fortunately for us, the roof in our particular area of the house did not leak, unlike that of the living room area where our guide and pilot were sleeping! We later learned that there was extensive flooding in the area, and, in fact, we saw the evidence of it ourselves, the following morning.
April 17- Monday
When morning finally did arrive, we joined the others in the common room and outdoor porch area, hoping and praying that some sort of rescue would arrive.
We did not have to worry about going hungry, because, in anticipation of the day’s much anticipated activity – the dedication of the long–hoped–for school, some women from nearby dwellings brought small sandwiches made of white bread and peanut butter, and some other foods which they had prepared for those participating in the celebration. There was more yellow tail tuna one of the men had caught in the nearby ocean, and some sort of sausages which others had brought for the group to share, so no one went hungry. We "foreigners" where the only ones who were seated in chairs. Everyone else set on mats on the floor. One of the journalists present heard about the story of my pilgrimage to Goodenough Island. She asked if I would be willing to let her interview me, and publish a story about our adventures in Papua New Guinea. I was happy to comply, and had a very enjoyable discussion with her. But I have no idea where, when, or even if, the account might actually be published.
Later in the morning, our pilot, Steve, enlisted the aid of local people, who picked him up in what appeared to be a huge earthmoving device, and went down to the sea shore, where a dinghy had arrived with a load of diesel fuel, The people generously had agreed to allow us to borrow some, since Steve said the plane, in an emergency, should be able to use diesel fuel. But before he began the attempt to siphon the diesel fuel into the helicopter, we saw in the distance, out over the ocean, an orange helicopter approaching our location! Sure enough, Steve's emergency signal from the helicopter the night before, had allowed Heliscope to accurately determine our location, and realize that we were too low on fuel to be able to leave that jungle area without help. They sent one of their other helicopters loaded with enough drums of fuel to get us over the waters, over the mountains, and back to Milne Bay. Both Eunice and I were ecstatic! We, along with our guide, Jeffrey, as well as others from the house, hurriedly climbed onto the flatbed trailer and were driven back down the side of the mountain, over the same steep, bumpy trail, now partially inundated with floodwaters from the torrential rains that had fallen the night before. But we arrived safely at the clearing where both helicopters now sat side by side, to see Steve already siphoning the much-needed fuel which the rescue helicopter from Heliscope had brought, into our little red helicopter.
With much joy and excitement, we finally boarded the plane, and waved goodbye, with much heartfelt thanks, to our native hosts, and rising up (It truly felt like a “resurrection!) over the jungle area, we flew out over the waters of the South Pacific, across a great expanse of water, to the northern shores of the part of Papua New Guinea, upon the other side of which Alotau is located. We then climbed to greater heights, in order to clear the high mountains, and finally descended to the southern sides of the high slopes to the welcome sight of Alotau and Milne Bay. We landed near our Hotel, our hearts overflowing with thanksgiving and praise to the God who had saved us from sharing the same fate as my father so many years before–death in the waters of the South Pacific.
The Long Journey Home
The rest of the story is anticlimactic, perhaps. Needless to say, all of our family members had been panicked, frantically calling and emailing one another, since no one, including the helicopter company, had heard directly from us for the last 24 hours, except for the emergency message that we were low on fuel and heading into bad weather. They could not know for sure, whether or not the plane had landed safely, or gone down in the waters of the South Pacific, or perhaps had crashed after it had reached shore over the jungles, from which the plane’s tracking device continued to emit its tracking device location signal, but no information regarding whether there had been a safe, or a crash landing. Many prayers where offered for our safety, we later learned, obviously with very positive results from the Heavenly Realms!
Returning to Sydney, to continue on the rest of our planned trip, proved to be a bit of a dilemma, since, obviously we were too late for our previously booked flights. We were able to book another flight to Port Moresby, but it would arrive too late to make any connections that day from there to Brisbane, and on to Sydney. When we finally arrived in Port Moresby, we were greeted, once again, by the smiling, loving faces of our, by now, dear friends, Leanne and Geoffrey, the same “Guardian Angels" that God had provided for us on our incoming flight from Brisbane the Friday before, the day our flight from Port Moresby to Alotau had been canceled. Once again they scooped us up and took us with them, without question, like family, cheerfully saying “Welcome Home!” as we hopped down from their pick-up truck at their apartment. They helped us book another flight for the following day which took us on to Brisbane, and then connecting to Sydney. A phrase from a Christian song I had heard in years past, came to mind: “You've got family there.” Clearly, no matter how far away from home one roams, even to the other side of the world and to another hemisphere, God has gone before you, and He will lead you to your brothers and sisters there, in Christ's family.
And even this is not the end of the story of God’s ever-present care for us on this journey. In Brisbane we had to go through customs because we were exiting one country, Papua New Guinea, and entering Australia at Brisbane’s International airport. It seems that the Customs rules in Australia are far more stringent than in many countries, and it was determined that my ‘tree nuts”, sea shells and the sand which I had picked up on the shores of Goodenough Island, where my father died, could not be brought into the country of Australia legally.
But after hearing the story of why I had made the pilgrimage to Papua New Guinea, to honor my father and his sacrificial death during World War II, the senior Customs official, Matthew Howard, took it upon himself to offer to bag up the forbidden items in a sealed container, and impound them, holding them in Impound from that Tuesday until the following Friday, when our Cruise ship, Royal Caribbean’s Voyager of the Seas, would dock at the Port in Brisbane.
He then arranged to have one of his customs officials personally deliver that package to the ship’s purser, who then delivered it to me on board ship, with my promise that it would not be taken off the ship during its itinerary around Australia, until we reached the next country at disembarkation, which was Singapore. Not only did this plan works seamlessly, but this amazing, considerate man, sent countless emails and text messages to the ship, and to me, until he was absolutely certain that those materials were safely in my hands. He even asked that I let him know whether I was able to get them safely home to America.
I do not know whether this man, personally, is a believer, but I am certain that he was being used as God’s instrument, and that Matt Howard was demonstrating, once again, the sacrificial love which flows through humans from only one source– our loving Heavenly Father.
The rest of our trip was unremarkable, by comparison. Well– that's not quite true. Concerning the aforementioned mementos from the beach – I did declare them on Customs forms, both in Singapore, and also when we entered the United States at San Francisco. I was pleasantly surprised that Singapore had no prohibition for such things. But I did see that on the United States customs forms there were sections which might conceivably have applied to the sea shells, seeds, etc.
Although I was very tempted not to declare them, my conscience would not allow me to do this. So as I stood in a very long line, waiting to be assigned to one of the many customs officials in San Francisco, I merely prayed a prayer of thanksgiving that God had allowed me to keep them so far, and placing in His hands the outcome of what would happen next. I prayed that He would choose the particular customs official who might be sympathetic to my plight. It should not surprise anyone to learn that the San Francisco-based customs official to whom I was "randomly assigned" had grandparents whom he had frequently visited, who lived in North Royalton, Ohio, the suburb where our own church is located, and where my husband is one of the pastors, Royal Redeemer Lutheran Church!
Now, I ask you, what are the statistical odds for that "coincidence"? The customs official asked me why I had chosen to go to all of the places I listed on the form, Including Papua New Guinea. Obviously this gave me the opportunity, once again, to tell my father's story, the reason for my pilgrimage. He noted that that island was where I had picked up the items which I had declared on the Customs form and then, without inspecting any of my baggage, he just smiled warmly and said “Go on – You're cleared.” And I guess, perhaps, that phrase pretty much sums up this Pilgrimage, my life, and the life of my sainted father.
The phrase, which comes straight from the message of the Gospel, resulting from the sacrificial death and resurrection of our Lord, after which God basically says, to each of His children who have accepted that gift of salvation and are waiting at the gates of heaven for permission to enter: “Go on - You’re cleared!”
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