My dad told once told me a story about his dad, John Henry Bramble: the fighter pilot. Though I have not been able to verify this actually happened to Grandpa, friends in the military and others with connections to New Guinea tell me it likely did.
My Grandpa John was a fighter pilot stationed in the area of Papua New Guinea during World War II. One time while on patrol, his unit engaged in a dog-fight with the Japanese and, as luck would have it, Grandpa John’s plane was shot down. He was fortunate enough to eject in time, and parachuted down onto one of the islands.
Something to know about New Guinea: during the war years, the islands were inhabited by cannibals (Some claim there are still remnants there who engage in this dietary practice). A native welcoming party quickly tracked Grandpa John down. There was a language barrier, but Grandpa could tell they were very pleased to see him. His uniform especially caused quite the excitement among the fashion conscience of the group. He also couldn’t help noticing most of them were sporting necklaces and other jewelry made from American silver dollars.
Yes, Grandpa John was sure these natives were familiar with American food. He couldn’t help wondering if they preferred white meat. Grandpa was invited back to their village and his hosts weren’t taking “No” for an answer.
Back state side in Sioux City, Iowa, a telegram arrived informing my grandma Mayme that her husband was now listed as M.I.A. My dad was a young child at the time, but he could remember her reaction. There were a lot of tears, but his mom – my grandma – rounded up her neighbors and family to pray for Grandpa’s safety. He wasn’t a Christian, and Grandma didn’t want him eaten before he’d had a chance to repent.
While Grandma was praying, Grandpa was being taken to the natives’ village. Once again, the people were excited to see him and made quite the ruckus about his uniform. He saw more silver dollar jewelry. The natives were very proud of this jewelry and showed it off to Grandpa with gusto, chattering in their dialect with great enthusiasm. His captives went through Grandpa’s pockets, confiscating any coins he had and showed them off to the impressed villagers. Grandpa decided his days were numbered.
For the most part, Grandpa was treated well during his stay in New Guinea. He was allowed to walk freely around the village, but could not leave it. He was fed (he never asked what was being served, and admittedly didn’t want to know), any wounds were treated by the local witch doctor and, overall, he was taken good care of. Of course, Grandpa wondered how long they would spend fattening him up, before he was invited to be the main guest at dinner – if you know what I mean.
After he’d been there a few weeks, his captives took him on a canoe ride down the river to an American outpost and traded him in for 50 American silver dollars.
That’s when Grandpa John found out that the American Government had an agreement with the natives of the islands. If any “civilized” person was found – be he Japanese, American, British or other – the natives would be paid 50 silver dollars for turning said person over to American authorities, no questions asked.
My grandfather’s life was bought for 50 pieces of silver.
And that is what redemption is: even before Grandpa John knew he would need saving, the American government had a way to redeem him back. There was a plan in place to pay his price.
That’s exactly what Jesus did for us. Even before we realized we were lost, before we found ourselves in hostile territory and facing our own destination, He’d made a plan to redeem us back. He paid our price with his own blood. All we have to do is believe He’s there for us.
How incredible is that?