Our heavily loaded bus was returning to Baguio, when it stopped suddenly in the middle of nowhere and a family with three children climbed aboard. I new in my Spirit that they were Christians the minute I saw them. There were no Bibles visible, the children were dressed inexpensively but modestly. However, there was nothing to give them away except the joy of the Lord on their faces, as they hurriedly searched for a seat on the crowded and now moving bus. Buses in the Philippines, with a few exceptions, are the roughest of transportation with no leg room, hard seats and little comfort besides the windows being up or down, if they work at all.

This young family desperately searching for a seat ended up in the large seat at the back of the bus behind us. The bus which had been smoking and was badly overheating, eventually pulled over for repairs at a primitive gas station. Remembering the first rule of evangelism, which is to be friendly and talk to everyone you can, I started a conversation with the father of the family. It was quickly evident that we were both Christians and not only Christians but we were both pastors. Pastor Danny thanked me for coming to the Philippines as a missionary and told me about his work as a church planter.

He had planted two successful churches in the past, which he had left in the hands of other capable men once their membership exceed fifty people. He had two new church plants he was currently working with, one in Bawang (90 miles from Baguio) and another in Aguias (60 miles from Baguio). He preaches in one during the morning and the other one at two o’clock in the afternoon. He and his family were on the way to their second church in Aguias when they boarded our bus. In the tradition of the old time circuit rider preachers, Pastor Danny had preached at one church for three years straight without missing a Sunday and at the newer church plant for seven months.

In a brief time, I found out that Pastor Danny was a carpenter, "like Jesus" he said with a big smile. He worked all week as a carpenter in Baguio. Every Friday night he and his family came down the Mountains into the lowland jungles for visitations and evangelism on Saturdays. Each Saturday he prepared or completed his preparations for his sermon for Sunday. Every Sunday he led worship, taught Bible classes, and preached twice in two different locations thirty miles apart. Behind the joy in his face, I could now see a weariness in his eyes. Having pastored churches bi-vocationally for years in La Feria and Houston, Texas, I knew what a demanding task he had undertaken.

As the bus began to move again, I could not help but feel compassion and admiration for him. I felt like he needed pastoring and someone to come along side him to help him in his ministry. In minutes our bond became strong, as so often happens with brothers in Christ, it seemed like we had known each other for years. Despite the Kingdom of God brotherhood, which made us seem like old friends, I was surprised when he asked me to come and preach in his church. Without a hesitation I agreed, after all this is why we came to the Philippines, to preach and teach, and whenever possible, to bear our Filipino brother’s burdens. We quickly exchanged telephone numbers before he departed for his second sermon of the day at an unmarked bus stop.

The next week the text messages flew as we made arraignments for the coming weeks services. On Sunday morning, Netahaniel (my oldest son) and I, set out by uncomfortable and crowded bus for Bawang, ninety miles down the Mountains. We waited in the Market, our noses and eyes being overwhelmed by the sites and smells of the open air market. Pastor Danny’s wife showed up just as we were beginning to wonder if we had messed up our directions and were in the wrong place. After a long walk through the market, out of the township, past Brahma cattle, water buffalos and dry rice patties, we arrived at the new church plant. The believers were already gathered under the porch of a nice home. Introductions were made, shortly after the services started. We were surprised by an unexpected request that we sing a song to them.

Fortunately, I had Nethaniel with me and he carried the day by playing their Guitar and singing on a moments notice. I was never more proud of him than I was that day when he stood up without warning and played that song. I took a picture of him playing while a chicken pecked at the ground beside him. Later I shared my testimony, and Pastor Danny preached. As Pastor Danny preached a rooster came up beside him and crowed. Pastor Danny never missed a beat on the first or second crow. I leaned over and told Nethaniel, " watch close, lets see if he denies Christ before the rooster crows the third time." As I expected, he was still affirming Christ even after the fourth crow.

After lunch we were off to Aguias. When the bus dropped us, I learned that the bus stops in proximity to a swinging bridge and walkway which spans the river and leads to the village of Aguias. Having crossed these bridges before in the Philippines (and in the army) I was not apprehensive at all. However, as I neared the bridge I noticed that this particular bridge was about 200 yards long, strung very loosely on slack cables, the cross boards were not made of finished or cut boards but of unevenly spaced sticks, two to three inch in diameter, many of them split or cracked. These sticks were randomly placed some two inches and others eight inches apart. Over these there were two heavily aged and weathered 1" by 6" boards, laid and partial nailed to the sticks under them. These nails were one of the reasons for the splits in the sticks underneath them, the other was that they were aged and weathered from over exposure to the elements. Whatever strength they originally had had obviously been reduced by constant use and years in the sun, wind, rain and heat. As I stepped out onto this precarious contraption, I couldn’t help but remember that a large Filipino from the villages rarely weighed 140 pounds and I weighed at least a 100 pounds more than that. The bridge creaked, groaned and rocked, as I gingerly started across trying to step on two sticks at a time with each step. My theory was that if one broke the other might still hold me.

To give you an idea of how precarious the situation was I actually thought maybe I should leave my Bible behind so that when I fall through the bridge at least my Bible wouldn’t get wet in the river. I also thought it wouldn’t hurt to have one more hand available to hold on to the cable hand rails, when the boards gave way. I was not thinking if the boards gave out but when the boards gave way. However, my second thought was what use was I as a preacher without my Bible (and notes), if I should arrive safely in the village on the other side. I warned my son to stay back and cross after me. I was thinking if I didn’t make it across at least we wouldn’t be stranded on different sides of the river and a little space between us would give him a better chance of not joining me in the river. I prayed a quick prayer under my breath and started across.

I had gone about 20 yards when I stopped and told my son to get out your camera and take a picture of me on the bridge. I was thinking this will make a good before and after picture. After I fall through the bridge and get out of the river, we can take a picture of me all disheveled and wet from head to toe from my sudden, although not unexpected, accidental baptism in the river.

I went down into the lowest part of the bridge and it began swinging from side to side as I tried to tippy toe across two boards at a time. The bridge was rocking and swinging from side to side so much that my son later told me he thought I was purposely trying to scare him as he followed me from a safe distance. In reality, I was doing everything I could do to stay upright, hang on to the hand rail cables which ran on each side of the bridge and not drop my Bible in the river. The bridge was rocking so radically that the hand cables, which were normally at hip level for me ( and above the waist for Filipinos) dipped to the point that they ended up at my knees. If I continued to hold on to the cables, when they were at knee level it left my head and torso hanging precariously over the rail and resembling a person pushing the rail downward in an attempt to jump head first over the rail and into the river bellow. It also felt like I was about to go over the rail head first into the river. When I let go of the dipping rail it left me trying to transfer my weight uphill to the upper side of the rocking bridge without any hand to hold on with. My Bible and a bottle of water were in my other hand making it difficult to grab anything. This forced me to lean or push on the cable or hook one finger around the cable.

After what seemed like an eternity I passed violently back and forth through the lowest part of the bridge, while gingerly searching for strong sticks to support my weight. I started up the steep assent of the bridge and the violent jerking and swaying decreased and the quality of the bridge improved with three 1" by 6" boards nailed over the sticks, instead of the two that had been on the other side. The sticks even seemed to be more evenly spaced and closer together. The assent improved as I neared the embankment. I exited the swinging bridge sweating and quite tired from pumping adrenaline, struggling to maintain my balance, while not falling through the holes in the bridge. The heat and humidity of the jungle low lands did not help me maintain my cool. I breathed a quick prayer of thanks to God and waited for my son to finish crossing the bridge.

When he got off the bridge he was a little upset at me and told me in no uncertain words that "my messing around and rocking the bridge, while trying to scare him, had nearly caused him to fall off the bridge several times".

I assured him that I had not been trying to scare him by shaking the bridge and that I also nearly fell from the bridge half a dozen times because of its poor construction. Once he realized that we shared the same fate crossing the bridge and it had been a very dangerous crossing for me also he calmed down. We both looked back at the bridge with a look of bewilderment on our faces as we realized we would be crossing it again on the way home.

As we made our way up through the Mango groves along the banks of rice paddies, we skirted small villages some homes made of block and concrete and others of Bamboo poles woven together. The flooded and dry rice patties, and the Bamboo "Nipa Huts," reminded me of pictures of Viet Nam during the war. We eventually wound our way through the villages and found our way to the bamboo church building. It was the epitome of an isolated native church. Bamboo walls, a dirt floor and bamboo pews. It was the most beautiful little church building I have ever seen.

As we waited at the church building the word went out through Pastor Danny, who arrived before us, and several children that church could start. Promptness is not a Filipino attribute and in the remote areas clocks and promptness are even more rare. As we waited for the believers to assemble we watched two young rooster fighting in the church building and two dogs amble in and out of the church building. Slowly one after another the Christians began to assemble. We greeted and talked with them as they arrived. The children’s Bible School meeting was in a separate open sided hut. We attempted to take pictures of the early arrivers but they shyly turned away from the camera. When the magic number was reached the service began with praise and worship, testimonies and a special song by Nethaniel again.

It was so hot in this bamboo building that I completely soaked one handkerchief in perspiration just wiping my face and neck before I preached. I saved the other handkerchief for the time I was actually preaching. This second handkerchief was also soaking wet with sweat, when I finished. My shirt, when it finally dried, had large rings of salt across the chest and back, from being soaked with sweat for hours on end.

When I stood up to preach a mangey hairless dog ambled into church and laid down in the front row and went to sleep. I have to admit it is not nearly as discouraging when a dog sleeps through your sermon as it is when a person does. No body seemed to notice as chickens and dogs ambled in and out the service. I preached as I always do, in a new location, on the need for personal evangelism. I challenged the church to be "seed sowers" and I gave them tracts to pass out in their village, and I coached them on how to fulfill the great commission in their villages, where they are the minority. I encouraged them with the biblical commands to "do the work of an evangelist," to share their faith "in season and out of season." The sermon was received warmly and they welcomed the tracts and were encouraged with the idea that it is not just the ministers job but everyone’s role to share their faith. They seemed to like the idea that they could "do the work of an evangelist."

After many joyful goodbys, we watched the renewed and invigorated believers, as they departed from their meeting place with hugs, hand shakes and their famous Filipino smiles. As we made our way back along the rice paddies and mango trees, we attracted much more attention than we had with our arrival. The unbelieving men, women, and children came out to stare at us as we departed their villages.

After we explained to Pastor Danny about our last adventure on the bridge he advised us to cross it like a tight rope. He told us to keep your feet directly in front of each other because "this bridge is very difficult." Very difficult was an incredible understatement. I explained that I did not trust the bridge because of my weight and he said "its not strong, this bridge made for little people, but keep feet in front of each other." This did not renew my confidence but I had already crossed it once so I new it was not an impossible task. Surprisingly, Pastor Danny’s technique did result in a steadier and less dramatic crossing. It still was not "a walk in the park" tippy toeing over the gaps in the bridge.

As we exited the bridge Pastor Danny told me, "next time you bring your family, Filipinos like to see you have family." I promised him I would try, not knowing how I would get Celina (my wife) and Joshua (our 5 yr. old) to start out on that bridge let alone walk across it.

We reached the main road and eventually caught a passenger bus. We were upward bound out of the lowlands, and off to our mountain home in Baguio. Once again I was grinning from ear to ear with joy. It is amazing to experience God’s work in our lives, and to see God fulfill my life long dream to preach in a jungle church, as a missionary. Of all the places I have preached in the Philippines, Mexico or America, this bamboo hut, church building, in the jungle, is my favorite memory, so far. I have always felt like a preacher and evangelist but this bamboo church made me feel more like a missionary than anything I have experienced so far. I praise God for the church in Aguias and I hope to be able to serve God in it again. To God be the glory!

"They that wait upon the Lord, Shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint." Isaiah 40:31

See the Pictures from Aguias here.

Carl Henderson and family
Mission of Reconciliation