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In Tonga, obedience was understood to be a prerequisite for a mission. As I watched the missionaries, I realized that honest obedience is actually the ultimate expression of faithfulness, for you can’t have one without the other.
I was in a store one morning when the store owner looked at a large clock over the door and saw it had stopped during the night. He called to his clerk in the back room and said: “Bill, what time is it? The big clock stopped last night and I need to reset it.”
I looked at my watch, but before I could give him the time and before his clerk called back, he suddenly said: “Oh, never mind, Bill, it’s nine o’clock. I can see the Mormon missionaries leaving their fale (hut).”
I looked at my watch. It was nine o’clock straight up. I turned to the owner as he was setting the large clock on the wall and asked, “You can set your clock by when the Mormon missionaries leave their house?”
“Of course,” he replied. “They always leave at nine o’clock sharp, never a minute before or after.
It’s one of the things we rely on around here.”
I thanked him, completed my business, and then drove a few blocks away to wait for the missionaries to come by. When they arrived, I got out of the car, gave them each a big hug, and thanked them for being so obedient. I said: “You may not know it, but this village sets their clocks by your departure time. Thanks for doing what is right.”
They looked at me a little puzzled, almost as if to say, “Well, what did you expect? The mission rule is to be out working at nine o’clock, so of course that is exactly when we leave.”
As I drove home I wondered how many people set their clocks (both physically and spiritually) by the actions of the missionaries. I have learned from long experience with missionaries all over the world that they will rise or sink to whatever level of obedience we establish for them. This obedience cannot be in words only, but must have honest expectations that are met and reinforced.
Once every three or four months on the main island, we had a “transfer meeting.” All the missionaries laboring on Tongatapu came to Nuku’alofa with all their possessions. Each missionary carried his or her own mat into which they rolled their pillow, sheet, towels, clothes, and personal effects. They also had a hand-woven basket into which they put their scriptures, other teaching supplies, and occasionally a loaf of bread or a green coconut to drink. They seldom wore shoes and they slept on the floor in members’ homes, and since they ate with the members, they didn’t need to carry pots and pants or other bulky items. They normally had about three changes of clothes, which usually lasted them throughout their mission. (They used very little money except for a few bus and boat fares that either we or the members gave them.) Thus, from the transfer meeting they were prepared to either return with the same companion to the same location or be assigned to a new area or a new companion or both. There were usually in excess of a hundred young men and women at these meetings.
Beforehand, I met with my counselors, the missionary assistances, and others and got their feelings about transfers. After receiving their input, I spent most of the day in fasting and prayer, reviewing the missionaries’ individual reports and making a list of changes that I felt the Lord approved of. The vast majority of the changes that I felt should be made were in line with the recommendations I had received. It was a testimony to me that the Spirit gives the self-same message to those who are humble and desire to do what is right.
However, there were inevitably a few changes that I felt should be made which were different from the recommendations I had received. Sometimes I tended to “fight” with the Spirit, as certain impressions I had didn’t seem to make any sense.
One such occasion involved a certain Elder Vai, a wonderfully successful zone leader who had only four months left on his mission. He had joined the Church while attending school at Liahona and was the only member in his family. His father was a preacher in another church and was very unhappy when his son became a Latter-day Saint. The father was confident, however, that his son would come back to “their” church. You can imagine the father’s frustration when his son announced that he wanted to go on a mission.
His father told him not to go and said he would not help him in any way, and in fact, would do everything possible to stop him from being a “Mormon missionary.” But Elder Vai was converted to the truth, and threats could not keep him from doing what he knew was God’s will. Even when he was a new missionary, his sparkling eyes, happy countenance, and determined spirit told me that he would be a strong missionary.
In our initial interview he mentioned his father’s anger and stated that under the circumstances, it would probably be best for him not to be assigned to his hometown. Since nearly all of our missionaries were local Tongans, and since Tonga is a fairly small country, basically everyone “knew” everyone else, and close “relatives” were literally everywhere. Still, we generally avoided sending young men and women back to the villages they grew up in, this policy being based on the Lord’s statement, “A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country and in his own house” (Matthew 13:57).
During his mission Elder Vai had fulfilled every expectation I had of him, but now, with four months of his mission remaining, I was feeling that he should spend those four months in his hometown! “But that’s crazy,” I kept saying to myself. I knew he would do whatever I asked of him, but I also knew this would strain his faith almost to the breaking point. What to do? I went to the Lord time and time again desiring a different answer, but each time the only thing I felt good about was to assign him to his home village for his last four months. This was against all reason, against the recommendation of my trusted counselors, against my own thinking, against our policy, but for some reason it seemed to be in accordance with the Lord’s will.
I kept struggling all day. Why, I wondered, was there such a conflict in my feelings? If it was right, I should just do it. However, I wondered what part common sense and reason should play. It is very difficult to be a leader in Tonga because whatever you ask the members to do, they do it. You simply must not make a mistake. I finally decided to announce the transfers in a particular order and leave Elder Vai and his companion till near the end, secretly hoping that the Spirit might in the meantime direct things differently.
The meeting began with a power that defies description. No one has heard real missionary singing until they have heard one hundred-plus Tongan missionaries praising the Lord with all their hearts and souls and voices. It brought goose bumps to every person present.
After a wonderful meeting and an appropriate feast provided by the Relief Society, we reassembled for the “transfer” portion of the meeting. Everyone sat with the present companion until his or her new companion was announced.
We went down the list, taking time for each change to be well noted by all and the new companions seated next to each other. As we reached the last ten missionaries and the last five areas yet to be assigned, a hush came over the missionaries. Everyone knew that neither Elder Vai nor his home village had yet been assigned. You could feel the tension. It increased as the unassigned missionaries dropped to eight, then six, and the unassigned missionaries dropped to eight, then six, and the unassigned areas dropped to four, then three. I announced the next set of missionaries and their area. Now there were only four missionaries and two areas left.
I looked at Elder Vai. He had his head buried in his hands. I looked at the other missionaries. I sensed a strong plea: “Oh, President, please don’t. He is such a good elder. Don’t do this to him!” The tide of feelings from those gathered missionaries was sweeping over me. I had to make the announcement. What should it be? Should I respond to a clear feeling of preference from the missionaries or should I ask yet again for assurance from God as to His will, which I knew had not changed?
Not wanting to suffer this questioning any longer, I stood and announced the next two missionaries to serve together. This left only Elder Vai and one other elder who would obviously be his companion. Now I needed to announce where the first two would serve. I hesitated as I felt two hundred-plus eyes burning towards me and powerfully beaming the same message – “Please don’t, President. Please don’t send Elder Vai to his hometown.”
I took one more deep breath. I knew what I had to say: “Elder X and Elder Y will serve in Mu’a.” This meant that Elder Vai and his companion would be going to the only area left – his home village! Almost immediately there was an incredulous universal gasp.
Tears of joy and sorrow were shed during both the closing song and the prayer, but eventually the missionaries, two by two, gathered their rolled mats and baskets and with their new companions left for their new areas. Elder Vai’s new junior companion sat silently, not knowing for sure what to do. Finally, when only the two of them were left, I went over to talk to them. I could see pooled tears in Elder Vai’s eyes. His only comment was, “President, just assure me once more that this is God’s will.”
“It is,” I replied. “I know it is.”
“Fine, then, we’ll be on our way. Pray for me.”
“I will, and so will hundreds of others.” Since his home village was not too far away, I asked him to come in each Sunday evening and personally report to me how things were going.
They departed, and I was left alone to ponder on what I had done. Or had I done it? It had to be God’s will; no one else would do it. I knew He would bless and justify that decision. He had to, I thought. We had been obedient – both Elder Vai and myself – now we needed His blessings and His fulfillment. Oh, how I pleaded with God for both!
It is hard to know how messages in Tonga get transmitted at times. Even before Elder Vai and his companion arrived at their new area, word had reached his family about his new assignment.
The next day in church, Elder Vai’s father stood before his congregation and announced what everyone already knew; that his son had disappointed him by becoming a Mormon, had then added insult to injury by becoming a missionary, and now was showing the ultimate disrespect by actually coming to his own town to try and convert his own people to his newfound religion.
“I know these Mormons, though,” the father said. “If none of you listen to my son, and if no one lets him in their home or even smiles at him and never helps him in any way, and if you all ask your neighbors to do the same, he will soon be gone, for these missionaries want ‘results.’”
The people did as he asked. The first week went by and Elder Vai reported that they had not gotten into a single nonmember home nor given a single standard discussion. We knelt in prayer and asked for the Lord’s guidance. At the end of the prayer, we felt they should continue trying for another week.
The father, in the meantime, congratulated his congregation on their fine work and assured them that while his boy might come back for another week, he surely would not stay long if they continued to snub him.
The next weekly report was equally as dismal, but after prayer Elder Vai and his companion returned again. The father assured his congregation that the end had come or was very near, but the next morning sharply at 9:00 a.m., Elder Vai and his companion began their fruitless effort to find someone to teach. There was another small village close by which was in their area and where they made a few contacts, but most of them quickly faded away.
At the end of the third week, I could sense that Elder Vai’s spirits were starting to drag. He had been so used to success that this situation gave him a new and uncomfortable feeling. We talked a lot and he assured me how determined his father was. I asked him if he was still willing to do whatever the Lord willed. He said he was, and after prayer, I gave him a big hug and said, “Elder, I don’t know why, but I feel you should go back to your area.” He and his companion returned without looking back.
The fourth Sunday, the father was less vehement in his denunciation of his son, but still congratulated the people on their shunning him and assured them this whole chapter was now over. When the fourth Monday dawned, however, and Elder Vai and his companion started tracting, there were a lot of raised eyebrows and whispered questions. But still there was no change in the policy of “no contact.”
Unbeknown to Elder Vai, this was the first Sunday his father had not said a word to his congregation about his son. His silence on the subject was noted by all. They wondered if a transfer had already been made and the battle was over. But Monday morning promptly at nine o’clock, Elder Vai and his companion emerged from their home and began walking down the street looking for someone to teach.
As they turned the corner, they saw a man waving at them and motioning for them to come to his house. Elder Vai couldn’t believe his eyes. That was his house! That was his father!
The two missionaries went over to the house. The father wanted to know what gave his son the determination to keep coming back even though he was rejected on every side. His son assured him that truth always prevails and, since he knew that he had the truth, time was on his side. He explained: “As long as I know I am doing the Lord’s will, other problems don’t really bother me much.”
Intense discussions followed, and within a short time, Elder Vai’s mother and father and some other family members were ready for baptism.
On the appointed day Elder Vai suggested that they wait until evening and then quietly slip unnoticed to the beach. It was now the father’s turn to teach his son. “Son, I thank you for bringing me and your mother and our family the truth. I know it is true and I am not ashamed of it. Your mother and I will dress in white clothes in our home and promptly at noon tomorrow, we will walk the entire length of the village to the seashore, where we would be pleased to meet you dressed in white to baptize us. We want the whole village to see.
That, of course, is what happened, except that Elder Vai, rather than meeting them at the seashore, came to their home and walked along with them.
Elder Vai finished his mission in his hometown, and before he left, more than forty souls had joined the Church. In an exit interview, I asked him how he felt.
“President, when we are obedient, the Lord blesses us, and when we continue to be obedient despite all obstacles, He fulfills all of His promises. I know it is so. I hope I can remember it my whole life.
“I hope I can, too,” I replied.
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