The Devil is real, and he is not happy.

My two Alangan companions and I arrived at the Batangan village of Tamisan late one Tuesday afternoon, excited to be there. We came ready to dig into language study, and we had high hopes that the village would soon let us move in, or would help us find a host village further upriver. However, as we walked into Jose’s house where we normally spend the night, we immediately knew something was very wrong. No one in the house would look at us. Even the children, who had always been curious and happy despite their parents’ initial suspicion, wouldn’t turn to face us. We stood confused outside the house for a few minutes, trying to think of what we might have done to offend them. Just a few days earlier, Fausto had given us permission to come and go as we pleased, and we thought we had left on good terms with everyone. Now we were being treated like criminals.

We quickly decided we had better go straight to Fausto, let him know we were there, and make sure everything was still okay. Jose, who happens to be Fausto’s son, finally told us we could leave our bags in the house, and then he walked out. Dropping our bags, we followed.

We arrived at Fausto’s house to find it full of people with more milling around outside. Fausto was nowhere to be seen, so we sat down outside to wait and see what would happen. We saw Jose inside talking in hushed tones with several men. After a few minutes, he came out and told me they were about to call a meeting about us, but it would be a while before everyone gathered. I assured him that was fine, and we sat down again to wait.

A meeting? I thought to myself. What happened? Just a few days ago, everything was fine. Did I do something offensive? Are they going to kick me out? Or are they just meeting to decide what village I should go to?

After a season of intense prayer, I decided just to make the best of the situation. I had come prepared to do some serious language learning, so while we waited I pulled out my pocket notebook and began asking people around me how to say things in Tawbuid, the Batangan language. Instantly, a happy, chattering crowd gathered around me. Since Tamisan is a lowland Batangan village, the people have a lot of contact with the outside world, and they realize the value of learning English. For the next two hours, we had a great time swapping vocabulary and cultural practices.

As night fell, people began to gather for the meeting. While the people waited, a few of the men started an arm-wrestling competition. Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like it. Batangan arm wrestling is more like full-body wrestling, except there is only one point of contact—the hand, forearm or just the middle finger. They are very serious about their arm wrestling. There are very few rules, and the wrestlers put everything they have into each match, plus a little more. As they wrestle, they throw each other back and forth, scrambling in the dirt, grabbing for anything—including audience members—to gain leverage on their opponent. So intense is their focus that I saw one pair of wrestlers fall into the edge of a cooking fire and keep on wrestling without even noticing.

Finally at about nine o’clock, the meeting got started. The elders sat in a huge circle outside Fausto’s house, with the local evangelical church leaders on one side and the village civil leaders on the other. Jose led out. First, he asked me to explain again publicly why I was there and what I wanted in Batangan territory.

Remembering Jeremiah’s prayer when he spoke before the king, I sent up one last quick prayer for guidance and then laid out my intentions and motives. I explained that I was indeed a missionary, and that my intention was to go deep into the mountains where Christ has not been preached. I assured them that I was not trying to go behind anyone’s back, and that is why I had come here to speak with Fausto. I was not in Tamisan to steal members from the local church. I merely hoped to learn their language and provide medical help while I prepared to move deeper into the mountains.

The church leaders spoke first. They said they already were Christians and so had no need of my presence. They would prefer I stayed out of their village and simply moved on with my plans to reach the highland Batangan. When they were finished, I reiterated that I was not there to steal their sheep. My goal was to work among the highland Batangan. In fact, as civil leader of the tribe, if Fausto could point me toward the right village, I would prefer to go straight to the highlands. I had only come here in order to be open and up-front, and I hoped to learn as much as I could about Batangan language and culture in preparation for going into the mountains.

Fausto spoke next. “You’re lucky,” he said, “very lucky indeed. Your religion happens to already have representation among the lowland Christian Batangan. Proceedings are underway right now to freeze the number of religions among the Batangan. You are lucky that you are already in. This dry season, a meeting will be held with representatives from the entire Batangan tribe, and we are going to deal with this issue of religions once and for all.

“Regarding your wish to enter the interior, the highland Batangan don’t want people coming up and evangelizing them. They have commissioned me to keep people like you out. I’m very sorry to speak so bluntly, but I must. There are highland Batangan here in the audience, and you can ask them if I am lying.

“If you must work among the Batangan, you have your people in Bangalabong. Go there, take your medicines there, learn the language there, and if anyone from the interior wants religion, let them come down to you. After all, if highland Batangan become Christian, they are expelled from the tribe, so they will have to come to the lowlands anyway.” (This last statement tells me that the evangelical church currently working among the Batangan is not culturally indigenous.)

Wow! I thought. That was quite a mouthful. What am I to say? I knew I couldn’t let the meeting end without keeping my foot in the door, otherwise anything else I ever did among the Batangan would be viewed as directly opposing the governance of the tribe. As Fausto talked, I prayed and wracked my brain. Fausto seemed to have sealed the case pretty well, but there was one possibility. “Sir,” I asked, “may I have clarification on one point? Do I understand you correctly that if, perchance, a highland Batangan were to ask me to come to the highlands with him, then you would not have anything against me accepting the invitation?”

Fausto chuckled. “Well, that would be their fault now, wouldn’t it?”

With that, Jose concluded the meeting. The evening was far from over, though. Jose suggested that, to relieve stress, we have some more arm-wrestling matches. After a couple of rounds, they asked me, probably out of politeness, if I would like to arm wrestle someone. They knew lowlanders arm wrestle differently, so they set up a Western-style arm wrestling match, and of course I was soundly beaten.

“Okay,” I said. “Now I want to wrestle Batangan-style, and I want to wrestle Jose.”

The crowd let out a whoop. I doubt they had ever seen anything like this before. I didn’t know how it would end up, but a broken arm or wrist seemed like a very real possibility. Jose and I squared off. One of the men counted down, and we started. Jose began a little timidly, not sure if I was serious. But I was very serious and put everything I had into it. He responded in kind, and we thrashed around in the dirt for the next ten minutes, grabbing for rocks, roots, audience members’ feet, and anything else we could reach to brace ourselves. To my shock, we ended in a tie. I had won the right-handed match, and he had won the left-handed match. Other than some scrapes and bruises, I had escaped relatively unscathed.

As we sat back down to recuperate, Jose, who had been so cold that evening and had been so suspicious of me on my first couple of trips, now treated me like his best friend. I silently thanked God for pouring out His blessing. Things had looked pretty hopeless during the meeting, but, between my conduct in the meeting and the arm wrestling afterward, God had guided, and I had won the respect of many villagers.

My new friend Jose told me that if the elders weren’t going to let me come and learn the language there, then he would teach me as much as I could write down before the sun rose the next morning. Somewhere around three o’clock the next morning, with more than twenty notebook pages full of words, phrases, and grammar notes, I was ready to pass out. Jose reluctantly let me go to bed, but I don’t think he slept a wink the entire night. I heard him tune his radio to a Christian station, and he listened until morning.

Our departure from Tamisan was delayed until nearly ten o’clock as villagers streamed into our hut, asking for a few more phrases of English, expressing their support for me and wishing I didn’t have to leave. I’m not sure what God has in mind for Tamisan, but I’m sure this will not be our last visit. The people want more, and we pray that God will water the seeds we planted.

Back home, the Alangan Adventist church leaders and I met to discuss what we should do next. God showed us several more potential ways of getting into Batangan territory; some faster, and some slower. Bangalabong has several drawbacks in terms of location and politics, so before we make any serious agreements with them, we are going to make one more try for the interior from the Alangan-Batangan border. We won’t push or do anything to undermine Fausto’s authority, but we will see if God opens a door.

I’m beginning to feel like I’m trying to get into a closed country. I think of several missionaries I know who have struggled for years to establish beachheads in their target countries. Others have been forced to work on the borders. I have new sympathy for them and others like them who have endured much greater struggles than I have to reach their people for Christ.

Ramon, who understands local culture and politics far better than I ever could, is certain that Fausto himself will not try to prevent us from working in the interior. The first time we met with Fausto, he told Ramon that missionaries are under orders from God Himself, and no human has the authority to stop them. Ramon is sure that Fausto was pressured into saying what he did in the meeting.

I pray that Ramon is right. I pray that we will soon be able to enter the Batangan tribe. I pray that God will bring the right people to us so we can use the opening Fausto left for us. This is God’s work, however, and we are on His timetable. He didn’t bring me here for nothing. Many great missionaries, like Judson, Carey and Taylor, worked for most of their lives to open territories and never saw most of the fruit of their work. I have only begun. Following in their footsteps, and in God’s strength, I will be patient and continue to fight.

• Twitter