A movie review- End of the Spear

I'll tell you upfront that I liked this movie, End of the Spear. It was a movie I needed to see. I'll leave the reason why it was so important until the end, just to keep you following along.

The story in the case of the movie is about the efforts of Christian missionaries to take the gospel to remote, warring tribes along the Amazon River in Ecuador. These five missionaries, Jim Elliot, Pete Fleming, Ed McCully, Roger Yoderian and Nate Saint were murdered on a sandbar in January 1956 after making initial friendly contact with the Waodani tribe. This is a compelling tale of the lives of the tribesman, the missionaries and their families and the events that eventually brought them together.

Steve Saint is the son of one the bush pilot missionary that flew the airplane and much of the story is told from his 9 year old point of view. Steve Saint knew that his father's killers were among those that his mother and aunt and other missionaries ministered to through a polio outbreak and later through acceptance into the the tribe's families. The climax to this story is when Steve as an adult is taken by one of the tribesman to the very sandbar where the 5 were killed and the remains of his father's aircraft and the first-person story of that tragic day's events in 1956 are revealed to him. I found an interesting interview with Steve Saint here that tells how he came to grips with his past and even moved his family to Ecuador to continue the ministry that began with his father's death.

I also found some interesting thoughts on this movie and plenty of comments regarding the story at a blog I've never visited before today, Pensees blog.

Now, why is this movie so important to me? In the winter of 1955/56, my parents were members of a church in Minneapolis, Minnesota that had an active part in supporting these missionaries. These missionaries were killed on January 8, 1956. I was born on February 1, 1956 and I was named Nathaniel by my parents, because it was biblical, but also so that I could be called Nate, in honor of the bush pilot, Nate Saint.

This story has always been a part of who I am, no matter where in my walk I happened to be. A few years ago I happened upon a used copy of Through Gates of Splendor. It is the telling of the story, written by Elisabeth Elliot, the widow of one of the slain missionaries. Reading that book gave me a deeper understanding of the compassion that was part of their ministry so far away. I need to dig it out and read it again.