I ride my motorcycle to the far side of the island to pay for the first search. On the way back I stop at a single mother’s house to thank her for her prayers. She has sent her daughter Annamarie to wish me luck in my search, and has asked her Catholic group to pray for Ben’s safety. She has been praying since Ben’s disappearance, and asks Mother Mary to bring him home safely. I knock on her door and she appears to hug me. We both start crying. She assures me Mary will take care of Ben.
As I stare at the statue of Mother Mary in the church, Annamarie also looks just as sad. This is the first time ever I became obsessed with a statue. I’m Protestant, and I never much liked Catholics. Now I’m changing for reasons beyond my understanding. I want to be part of the Catholics. Anna inquires about my plans.
“I’m broke. I can’t afford to search anymore, so now I’ll just pray.”
Anna invites me to talk to the Catholic priests, the nuns in the villages, and invites me to pray with her. When she takes me to meet her village priest, he and the catechist leads me into the church. “Let’s ask the Most Powerful One to deal with it. He’s the only One who can save Ben and his friends.”
We kneel in the church, and I have to copy what they’re doing, although I have no idea what it means. Then I dip my fingers in the holy water, make the sign of the Cross, and say the Rosary. They take it in turns to pray, and I can’t believe it – they’re crying, suffering just like me. The priest steps forward with the bible in his hands; kneels and prays; reads God’s words. Before facing us he cries, wipes his tears, and then says, “Taoati, don’t worry. They’re alive and well, but waiting to find land or be picked up by a ship. The Lord has spoken to me.”
I’m happy and excited to hear the news, but I ask, “When?”
“In His own time, when God is ready. He’s piloting every move, and He’s in charge. Actually, there’s not three, but four, they just can’t see Him.”
The priest suggests we should pray in the mornings, at five o’clock, when it’s quiet and peaceful. This is when the Lord can listen, so that’s what we do for nine days. He concludes that, after a period, there will be good news. I stay with Anna in her village, and ride to the end of the island, visiting my sisters, or bringing food for my new family, the Catholic priest, the catechist, and Anna. The catechist looks after the Banraeaba Village parish. He conducts a service through the week; he prays, conducts the hymns for the congregation, but on Sundays, a Catholic priest from the headquarters in Teaoraereke, where the Fathers and nuns live, comes over for the mass, or a proper service.
We hire some transport to go and pray at Tiiba’s house. She’s amazed how the Catholic group prays so loudly, how they yell and cry out.
“People will think we’ve left our church, and become Catholics!”
Later we return to the village and continue with five o’clock prayers. Other times I go by myself, and cry my heart out.
“Jesus, you gave me one son, and now you’re taking him away. Have mercy on me, give him back to me, I beg you.”
Villagers who pass by the church join me in my prayers. The news spreads and people, old and young, from all over the island, join in praying for my son and his two friends. They tell me about a Seventh Day Adventist Solomon Island pastor whose prayers are so powerful God listens to him. I searched for him at the Mission Headquarters but he was always out.
When I visit Tiiba on occasions, there are other groups present, like the Church of the Seventh Day Adventists, who are well known for their harmonious singing, and their musical keyboards. They sing and pray for our lost family members. Sometimes I wonder, “Is this a way of saying that they’ve passed away? Is this continuous singing and praying a way of clearing their path to heaven?”
“No!” I silently answer.
Early one morning the Catholic priest appears and invites the group members to join him for dinner at his parish. He says it’s to celebrate the fact that Ben has been found. I can only stare at him in shock and disbelief.
“When?”
“This morning. It’s only a matter now of returning them to us in Kiribati.”
“Is it really true?”
The priest looks at me seriously.
“Don’t you want your son to be saved?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then you cannot disbelieve, because it’s not Ben talking, it’s Him, God, talking through Ben.”
All I can do is cry with shame. I’m like the disciple, Thomas, who can’t overcome his doubts, unless he places trust in Jesus. I should know better. With tears flowing freely, I apologise to God and my friends, adding I won’t be going with them for breakfast. I will stay in the church and ask forgiveness for doubting Jesus. How could I doubt Jesus at this most desperate time? They all laugh at me and the priest says, “Taoati, you have achieved distinction. We are dumb, because we didn’t study at university. Nevertheless, at this point, it appears we’re much cleverer than you. Jesus has already forgiven you, there’s nothing you can hide. Come on, let’s cheer up and have something to eat!”