…Huuuu.
I couldn’t help but sigh, thinking we had barely managed to defuse the situation before it escalated.
A war nearly broke out. If we had gotten entangled in an age-old tribal feud on the other side of the continent, there would truly be no end to it.
I’m not afraid of losing.
I’m afraid of a resentment that won’t die until one side or the other is gone.
In any case, if the problem had intensified, and one of our Community’s people had been killed by another tribe for the first time.
Even I wouldn’t have been able to control the outcome.
“He was exiled for missionary work? Shouldn’t we protest?”
“I question whether it’s truly all right to let this go. It’s not as if our missionary harmed anyone.”
In any case,
“That’s enough.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“I, too… feel the weight of this responsibility. I will humbly accept whatever punishment the Council hands down, so please, say no more.”
The missionary who caused the problem, Richard, came before the Council himself to quash the controversy.
“If a stranger, for reasons you cannot comprehend, terrified your family and relatives and took them away, would you simply accept it?”
“That’s.”
“Let’s not discuss this matter further. I believe it’s best to give Richard Peterson an appropriate punishment for the purpose of re-education, and then give him the opportunity to have his clerical position restored after he serves it. Now, let’s vote.”
To prevent any unnecessary further division, I made it clear that we were in the wrong.
This wasn’t just any problem; it was about missionary work. It was about an act that Christians believe to be the noblest of deeds. If handled poorly, it could become a religious hot potato. It was better to deal with it decisively like this, rather than letting it fester.
We were at fault.
The missionary we dispatched had committed acts of disrespect and atrocity against them. It was right for our side to apologize and put the matter to rest.
Since I had strongly insisted on an apology and taking responsibility, the vast majority of the council members—most of whom were natives who had only recently become Christians—accepted my opinion, and we were able to overrule the opposition by an overwhelming margin.
After settling that, the next step was clear.
Guns, steel axes, cats, various jewels, glass ornaments, and so on, I gathered a large pile of the trade goods the natives preferred and boarded the ship once more.
I made a mistake, so I had to go take responsibility.
After a month or two, I reached the lands of the Mohawk once again. To be honest, given the rather large area Richard had terrorized, I had my doubts about whether we’d even be allowed to enter their territory, but,
“We would like to know if we may enter your lands with peaceful intentions.”
“Oh, m-my God! The Virginia people have retur… Ah, no, please, come in.”
“Thank you.”
The atmosphere was strange.
No one stopped us. The warriors saw us and cleared a path. When we approached, people opened their doors.
But, once we were actually in the village?
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Lord Nemo?”
“Yes, Vicente. Speak.”
“It’s like a tomb. I want to get out of here immediately.”
The atmosphere was suffocating.
No one was hostile. They just, peeked at us, and if we happened to meet their eyes, they would quickly look away and leave.
No one threatened us, either. If we so much as tried to approach them to talk, they would all just, slink backward.
When we offered our apologies and gifts, they would snatch them away, mumble a word of thanks, and get out of the way. Even the chiefs of each village seemed anxious, looking around nervously, clearly wanting me gone.
Thud.
The next village I entered was the same.
This was where Richard had been most active.
As I passed the stockade and entered the village, the paths were eerily empty. And yet, I could feel eyes on me. They were probably watching us from inside their homes. At the same time, I could hear a strange, busy shuffling sound from all directions. We walked through this haunted atmosphere to the large house in the center of the village.
A wrinkle-faced old man put out his tobacco pipe and gestured to us.
“I heard you would be coming. Welcome. I suppose.”
He didn’t sound welcoming at all.
Not long after we started talking, the chief coughed, stood up, and moved away. His attendants and those who appeared to be shamans, who had been sitting nearby, also got up and retreated en masse.
“It seems they have cleared out this house for us to use as our lodging.”
Of course, it looked more like they were fleeing. But I decided to accept it as such.
.
.
.
No matter how I thought about it, it was strange.
They weren’t this wary last time.
This was far too much caution to be just because of Richard’s rampage. If that were the only reason, they would have shown hostility.
Why on earth are they acting like this?
Anyway, as we spread out our bedrolls, built a fire, and prepared a meal…
Rustle.
Rustle.
A few curious kids were peeking at us from a distance.
Our strange clothes and unfamiliar language must have piqued their interest.
I casually held out some grapes I was holding. The children hesitated for a moment, then approached.
They began to whisper amongst themselves in small, fast voices.
Dad said not to meet these people… He said the ceremony is soon, and we don’t know what might happen! We can just take the food and leave! What’s the problem! But, Dad said… he said these people would stop us from doing our ceremony…
What?
“Children.”
When I spoke, the kids startled and whipped their heads toward me. What must they be hearing? Probably an outsider speaking their language perfectly.
“What was that you said? A ceremony?”
But as soon as I asked, the children fled in terror, not even taking the grapes I’d offered.
“…”
“W-Was something wrong?”
“No. Nothing.”
I shook my head at Vicente’s question, my mind racing.
Hold on.
Thinking back, it was strange when they besieged Richard, too.
According to the database, the total number of warriors in the Iroquois League, including the Mohawk, rarely exceeded ten thousand. But they mobilized thousands of warriors to capture a few dozen people, and just laid siege? And they only surrounded them, never attacking directly, right up until I arrived?
“Vicente, what do you make of their attitude?”
“Extremely rude, I’d say.”
“Besides that. What did you see in their eyes when they looked at us?”
“…”
“…”
“They were afraid.”
That’s possible.
But they’ve met Europeans before. Would they be afraid of us just for being outsiders?
That can’t be all.
When I posed this to Vicente, he shrugged.
“Well, they know we’re much stronger than they are, don’t they? If we were to fight, they would certainly lose. So they’re avoiding a fight.”
That could also be true.
But I had a feeling that wasn’t the whole story.
Night fell, and the others went to sleep. I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling, so I went out for a walk. The village was completely silent, as were the clearings nearby.
And as I looked around…
Rustle.
I saw the charred remains of something. Looking closer, I recognized the shape.
“A signpost?”
‘Thou shalt not make any graven image.’
Reading the words, I knew who had put it there. When I dug underneath it, I saw several wooden figures.
Broken, half-burnt, and scorched ‘idols.’
It seemed this was where Richard had destroyed and burned their “pagan idols.” I unconsciously put my hand to my forehead.
What on earth was he thinking, doing this…
…Huh?
Wait a minute.
“…he said these people would stop us from doing our ceremony.”
“…they know we’re much stronger than they are.”
I quickly turned on my phone. And I checked today’s date.
December 19, 1608.
The winter solstice was just a few days away.
***
“It is, a relief they left a few days ago. For them to come right before the sacred day, how could it not be called unclean?”
When the chief spoke, everyone nodded. Their faces were filled with relief, their bodies trembling with anticipation.
They lit a fire and burned incense, the elevating smoke driving away the night’s cold and darkness. This winter was not as murderous as the last, so more people had gathered.
They gathered for the sacred game. They held peach pits, charred black on one side, and tossed them, keeping score and predicting the year’s harvest.
They remembered the last ceremony. They remembered the rioter holding a cross, who had come in and destroyed everything before leaving. He had declared that all spirits, save the one he served, were demons.
But, they, they couldn’t stop him.
Because they knew what stood behind him.
“One point, here!”
“Two points for this side!”
They deliberately shouted and sang with exaggeration, trying to shake off the gloomy memories of last year. They feasted and reveled, praying for a good harvest in the year to come.
And.
Thud.
At the sudden sound of a footstep, all laughter died.
Everyone inside the longhouse turned their gaze outside. They saw a long shadow.
They saw ‘Him’.
“My apologies for arriving uninvited.”
‘He’ was quiet, calm. Respectful, even.
He spoke the clan’s language smoothly, setting everyone on edge.
And.
“I understand now, what it is you fear.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
With that one sentence, he stepped into the middle of their ceremony. He quietly sat down opposite the chief and the shaman.
“You are an uninvited guest.” The chief’s voice trembled, but he spoke with dignity. “The man you sent, insulted our traditions. And you.”
Rustle.
He looked around for a moment, then walked toward a wooden image of a spirit. Everyone went pale, but no one said a word.
That was right. They could do nothing.
This is what would happen if they joined the so-called ‘Community.’ Their families would be abducted before their eyes, their ‘idols’ destroyed, their shamans insulted.
Their entire world would be negated.
And.
‘He’…
Thud.
…placed a flower before the wooden statue.
The meaning of the gesture was clear without any explanation. As they all stared, mouths agape, he turned his head and spoke.
“I have come to pay my respects to your traditions.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Will you grant me, that honor?”
Everyone was silent, looking only at the chief. The chief seemed to be in deep thought, and then…
He held something out.
It was a handful of a peach pits, burned on one side.
“Would you, care to toss these?”
And so, all night long, ‘He’ and the villagers tossed the peach-pit dice and counted the score.
It looked like the coming year would be a bountiful one.
***
“The Angel, participated in a pagan ritual? He offered a flower to an idol?”
“It is exactly as I said. I participated in their winter solstice ceremony and showed respect for their culture. They will no longer fear us. The Grand Council of the Iroquois League has concluded its vote and will soon be joining our network.”
“B-But, to break the commandments.”
“Did I worship that idol? I simply bowed my head and placed a flower before it. The Lord knows where my heart is.”
It was already done, and it couldn’t be undone. I spoke slowly to the horrified council members.
“And what can we say to a people whose faith was just insulted, whose families were just abducted by our own missionary? How hollow would it sound to tell them to find ‘true faith’?”
To be honest, I didn’t think it was that big a deal. Even in Korea, there are Christians who participate in ancestral rites. Of course, it’s not a simple problem. Traditional rites and faith aren’t exactly in separable domains.
Even non-Christians look for Santa Claus, but didn’t Santa originate from the Catholic Saint Nicholas? And what’s more, Santa shows up on Christmas, Jesus’s birthday.
Every one of these issues can blur a religion’s identity and weaken its authority. And if our church’s authority weakens, my authority will also be shaken.
“Still, this is the right thing to do. It is better for missionary work that they welcome us as guests, rather than tremble in fear of us.”
But, whether you look at it practically or morally, this is correct.
At least, that’s what the values of the 21st-century modern society I came from tell me.
This also happens to be the era when the famous Matteo Ricci is alive in China. He achieved great success in spreading Catholicism by permitting ancestral rites. Conversely, when Catholicism later suppressed those rites, Catholics in China and Joseon were scorned and persecuted, and their influence withered.
No one is going to welcome people who trample on their traditions and denounce them as devil worship.
A more recent example makes it even simpler.
Has anyone ever developed a favorable view of Christianity after seeing news reports of Christians cutting the heads off statues of great men, breaking village guardian posts, or setting temples on fire?
I doubt it.
Eventually, if the Mohawk people become Christians, their rites will just remain as fun, traditional games and festivals.
And if they don’t convert?
…What can you do if they refuse to convert?
Should we kill them as devil worshippers and drive them from their homes?
Should we suppress their faith and force them to bow before a cross?
Should we abduct their children and forcefully raise them as Christians?
In the original history, that’s what happened.
“When Paul went to Athens in the Acts of the Apostles, he was distressed by all the idols he saw, but he still respected the citizens there. Did he smash their idols and insult them?”
“That’s.”
“He knew that if he suddenly started breaking and destroying their idols, the people would turn hostile. That is why he praised the citizens’ ‘religious devotion’ and then slowly spoke of the coming of the Lord.”
“…”
“And. Look at the mansions built in England by those who claim not to worship idols. They are overflowing with statues of old Greek and Roman gods. Why don’t they smash those?”
“Is that not for decoration, rather than worship?”
“Correct. And one day, if the Mohawk convert, they will say the same thing.”
But not in my Community.
***
…I don’t know if months, or years, have passed.
Richard’s sense of time had grown dull from the hard labor—building roads, moving heavy rocks, and running all day to collect registers from other citizens. By the time he realized his work was done, he was once again wearing his priest’s vestments, a Bible in his hand. This time, instead of a ship, he took a carriage across the Appalachian Mountains. He reached the land that would, in the distant future, be called Ohio.
And when he arrived at his assigned post…
People saw him, smiled, and held out their hands. A Community trading post was already being built here, so they weren’t particularly hostile to outsiders.
“Welcome. We hope the spirits of this land greet you kindly.”
At those words, Richard tensed.
He looked at the person before him. The tattoos, the clothes.
From what he had been taught, this man was the local shaman. The center of the idol worship.
Richard closed his eyes for a moment…
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
…and smiled brightly as he spoke.
As if meeting a new neighbor, not a devil worshipper.