October 24 | Moments Almanac | Dig

Welcome to Moments Almanac for October 24th. It was a little communion table on a tiny island in South Pacific, and there were 12 new believers, some bread, some wine, and a missionary who had waited nearly 11 years to see a moment like this. His name was John Patton. And if you had known what it cost him to reach that table, you might have wondered how he could have held the bread without trembling. Our story begins in 1858. John Gibson Patton was a Scottish missionary who believed God had called him to take the gospel to a chain of islands in the South Pacific, now known as Venatu. He and his young wife Mary had dreams of ministry, dreams of sharing Christ, dreams of building a life together, but within months those dreams were shattered. Mary died shortly after giving birth to their son, and seventeen days later their baby boy died too, and Patton buried them on the island, thousands of miles from home. A new father, a young husband, two graves. There are losses so profound that words seem almost disrespectful. This was one of them, and yet Patton stayed. He continued preaching, he continued learning the language, he continued loving the people who wanted nothing to do with him. For years his ministry on this remote island was marked by hostility, threats, and danger. Eventually he was forced to leave. By almost any human measurement, his first missionary assignment had been a failure. He lost his wife, his child, his home, and nearly his life, but he had still not lost his calling. Years later, Patton returned to the island with his second wife, Margaret. This time they settled in Annawa. And there, of all things, a hole in the ground would help change everything. You see, Annawa had a problem. Fresh drinking water was scarce, and Patton believed he could find water by digging a well. The islanders thought he was out of his mind. Water came from the sky, everybody knew that, but water from the ground? That sounds ridiculous. Still, Patton began digging. One foot, five feet, ten feet, twenty feet. The earth grew deeper, the work grew harder, and the people watched. I wonder how many times Patton remembered those two graves on Tanna, how many times he wondered whether all this labor would lead to anything? But he kept digging. And at approximately thirty feet water, fresh water from the ground. The islanders were astonished. The missionary who had been telling them about living water now had brought them water they could actually drink. And something began to change. The opposition softened. Trust grew. People listened, and the gospel began to take root. Now here's where our story arrives at october twenty fourth. The year was eighteen sixty nine, it was Sunday, and John Patton was preparing to celebrate the Lord's Supper with the first group of believers at Annawa. He had spent months teaching them. Twenty had been admitted into his communion class, but after careful examination twelve were ready. Twelve, not twelve hundred or twelve thousand, twelve. And on that Sunday they gathered around the Lord's table. Patton explained the gospel, he spoke of Christ's sacrifice, he prayed, and then he took the bread and the wine, and he placed them into the hands of those new believers. In his autobiography, Patton would remember the scene with overwhelming emotion. He described the joy of seeing people who had once lived in fear and violence now reaching out to receive the symbols of Christ redeeming love, and it was a moment that he had prayed for, worked for, and wept for, and waited for. The entire service lasted three hours, three hours, but nobody in Annawa seemed to be in a hurry. They were witnessing something new. A little community gathered around a table, remembering a Savior who had given his life for them, and I wonder somewhere in that service Patton's thoughts might have returned to another island, another season, two little graves, all those years of disappointment, all those years that seem to go unanswered, because this is something that we sometimes forget about missionary stories. We love the harvest, but we don't always see the years of planting. We celebrate the breakthrough, but we don't always understand the heartbreak that came before it. We remember the communion table, but we forget the shovel, and perhaps that part of the story is what speaks most clearly to us today. Sometimes faithfulness means preaching to a crowd, and sometimes it means sharing bread and wine with twelve other people, and sometimes it looks like digging a hole one shovel at a time, not knowing whether you'll ever find water, not knowing whether anyone will believe, not knowing whether the work you're doing will make any difference at all. But you just keep digging, because faithfulness is not measured by what we can see. And on October twenty fourth, eighteen sixty nine, John Patton got to see a little of that growth, and that's what I love about today. It's not the story of a crowning of a king or some battle that was won, or some famous legendary event. It was just one missionary in the middle of nowhere who was faithful. There's beautiful symmetry in it all. Patton dug into the earth and found water. He labored for lives of people and he saw the faith take route, and finally he set a table with bread and a cup and proclaimed a truth greater than all his sufferings. Sometimes the most extraordinary things that God does begin with the most ordinary acts of obedience. So I hope you keep digging today. And I hope you'll join me tomorrow for another story, another day with Moment Salmanac. Until then, take heart. Notice the scattered moments and share the grace.