Inside, the men stood in a circle facing each other and one of them said, “Well, what do you think?”

Another said, “I think this might be just what we need to show our ‘visitors’ who we really are. They said our story’s bunk? Well then let’s show them what people who believe in ‘bunk’ are capable of.”

The old elder responded with a questioning look of concern, “What are you talking about? They never said it was bunk; the round brown fruit is just foreign to them. They didn’t know what to think.”

“I agree,” said another leader. “Maybe they could have shown more respect for our traditions, but they’re leaving anyway, why not just let them go?”

“They deserve to get a good thumping after all the hospitality we’ve shown them,” said the fist pumper. “Besides, they might actually be thinking we’re weak enough to be invaded. If we give them a good sendoff they’ll think twice about coming back and taking what’s ours.”

The old elder said, “What’s gotten into you men? There’s no reason to think they’d invade us; they’re just going back where they came from, that’s all.”

“I’m telling you they deserve a good kick in the rump, and if they were having any thoughts about returning, they won’t after we’re through with them.”

While the leaders were deliberating, the people outside continued to clamor for action until finally one of the bolder men challenged the “mob” saying, “What are we waiting for? It’s clear we’re under threat; let’s go; we’ll take ’em by surprise.”

Inside the house the leaders who had argued for action prevailed, and the “committee” decided not to intervene. The oldest leader, still not convinced, said, “How far are you going to let this go? Are you going to let people get killed in the process?”

One of the more avid supporters of the action held up the palms of his hands in a stopping action and said, “It’s not going to go that far, we’re just going to let them bust a few heads, that’s all.”

Another said, “That’s right; give ‘em a few lumps to remember us by. In fact I’ll go out there right now and make sure that nobody takes anything that can be used as a weapon. It’ll be strictly hands only.”

Before anything else could be said, the shouting of the people outside became a unified chant, “Stop the invasion. Stop the invaders.”

This prompted all the leaders to quickly file back out and one of the advocates for action raised his hands prompting the chant to subside. “We don’t want any weapons used; we just want to make sure they won’t come back … alright?”

Someone from the crowd yelled back, “What if they’ve got weapons? Are we supposed to just run away?”

This prompted a roar from the crowd, and above the din someone else shouted, “We’ll take ‘em by surprise and run ‘em off our island, and they’ll never come back!”

This prompted the crowed to surge toward the beach with the elders following behind, still arguing among themselves about whether this should be allowed or not.

“I’m telling you this is getting out of hand,” said the old leader as he struggled to keep pace, “and it’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous for the new people maybe, but we’ve got to protect our island,” was the response.

“Protect it from what, a handful of people who just needed a place to rest for a while?”

“You heard them last night,” said another, “they thought our story was ridiculous. That’s what’s dangerous!”

As this was said the tumult up ahead intensified as the people reached the beach and began to clash with the newcomers. There was much shouting as the men came to blows; and the women and children could be heard shrieking and crying as the violence intensified.

When the leaders finally arrived, they found bedlam. Fists were flying in a melee of men assaulting one another. Blood quickly began to flow as the violence increased, and the injured either fell where they stood or struggled to get out of the fray. In the process any object at hand became a weapon: rocks, tree limbs, anything. Even the brown fruit became a weapon as it was hurled at the newcomers as they retreated into their boats. Then the women and children were rounded up and forced into the boats, while the injured who were still alive were dragged to the beach and thrown on the vessels as well.

Once this was done the boats were pushed out onto the water. The newcomers, wounded and exhausted, slowly turned their vessels toward the open ocean and began to paddle away, while the islanders shouted threats of further violence if they ever returned.

As they disappeared from sight, the fervor of the islanders slowly ebbed, until all were silent. Many continued to gaze out toward the sea, but gradually, one by one, they left the beach and headed back to their homes, helping the wounded islanders along as they went.

Finally only the leaders were left to survey the scene. Looking around they could see that several men had been killed.

The oldest leader, stood over one of the corpses and said, “Was it worth it? Was this really necessary?”

As he said this another leader came alongside him. Staring down at the corpse, he said, “It had to be done. Besides, he’s not one of ours, is he?”

Just then another leader called out, “Hey, look at this.” The others turned to see him crouching on the ground and one or two walked over to see what he was doing.

There on the ground was some brown fruit that had broken open. The man crouching had taken a piece of the white meat from inside the husk and was cautiously examining it. First he raised it to his nose and sniffed, and then he stuck out his tongue and licked it lightly. When he did this one of the men standing there said, “What are you doing; you don’t want to eat that.”

The man responded, “It actually tastes pretty good.” He bit off a small piece and began to chew it slowly. As he did this a look of delight spread across his face. “This is really quite good.” Holding up the fruit to the men, he said, “You should try some.”

One of the men quickly turned away and said over his shoulder, “I don’t want to have any more to do with that fruit today; I’m going home.”

The other man bent over for a closer look, then, wrinkling up his nose said, “I don’t think so. My wife’s got a nice stew waiting for me at home; I’d rather stick with what I know is good.” And he walked away.

None of the others were interested, and, after a brief discussion about how to put things back in order, they wandered away toward their homes leaving the man who was eating the fruit alone.

He took another piece of the meat and ate it; then he raised the husk to his mouth and drank some of the milk. It wasn’t long before he began to notice something happening inside him. At first it scared him; he thought it was the first signs that he was going to get sick. But it soon became apparent that, instead of becoming nauseous, he was actually feeling better. He felt more energetic, and the aches and pains that he usually felt through the course of a normal day all seemed to disappear. He felt lighter, more buoyant. He began to skip around the beach like a child. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt this good.

Then he felt a warm sensation on his arm. Looking down he saw that he had spilled some of the milk on himself when he had taken a drink. It felt … soothing. He could tell that the milk was doing something to his skin, something good. As he looked down at his arms a thought occurred to him. He walked back over to the fruit husk and dipped his hand in the milk and spread it on his other arm, on a spot that had been bruised during the melee. Immediately it felt better. In fact the bruise started to disappear, and in a few minutes it was gone. He was astonished! What is going on? he wondered.

As he contemplated the situation, he went back over to the fruit. He picked up a piece of the husk that still had some of the white meat and milk in it and stared at it. Then he suddenly turned and started off toward his village and said to himself, “I’ve got to tell my wife about this.”

And that, boys and girls illustrates why Christian history is so weird.

The End

In case you haven’t recognized it, the round brown fruit, the coconut, represents the Gospel. The “Good News” needs to be experienced as a revelation, and it needs to be understood in light of that revelation. Without a personal experience of God’s revelation of Himself in Jesus Christ, and a solid understanding of the implications of that revelation, the Gospel is reduced to a tradition without substance; a ritual without meaning. All that’s left is an appreciation of the importance of the message, but an appreciation that lacks the force of divine, life-changing power. And it’s in this diminished state that the “Good News” becomes propaganda used for the manipulation and abuse of people, rather than the means of their salvation.

Given the meandering history of Christianity, it might appear that the situation is hopeless, that the Gospel’s intended impact will ultimately be lost. However, I can confidently say that this will never happen because the vitality of the message is overseen by God Himself. It always has been and it always will be. This means that no matter how distorted or obscured things get, the Lord will continue to insure that His purposes are realized. He’s overseen the production and preservation of the inspired text. He’s continued to extend His offer of salvation to each succeeding generation, using whatever means were available. And He has assured us that no matter how extensive and powerful the forces of resistance might be, His Word will prevail.

The only thing that remains to be said is, Halleluiah! I encourage you to press into that revelation and appropriate for yourself all of its depth and dynamic, learning to serve the Lord with confidence and power, and rejoicing at all that He has provided for us now, and in the age to come.

Praise the Lord!