I woke up the other morning because two Maoris were knocking at my door.
Maoris are the original Polynesian people of New Zealand. I knew many of them when I was a young elder in the LDS Church, serving a mission there in 1962.
These two gentlemen were wearing dark suits and name tags. They looked like IBM representatives, except their faces were tattooed with the markings of ancient warriors and one of them was carrying a spear.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“We want you to join the Maori Church,” said the taller of the two. His name tag read Brother Kiwi.
“I’m happy with my religion,” I said.
His companion, whose name tag read Brother Pahodakowa, studied me carefully.
“Do you eat people?” he asked.
“What do you think I am? A cannibal?”
“That is why we are here,” said Brother Kiwi. “Our people have a proud history of cannibalism, and we think you should consider it.”
“You came all the way from New Zealand to tell me I should eat people?”
“Yes,” said Brother Pahodakowa. “We are on a mission to convert the world to cannibalism.”
“That’s insane.”
“Not at all,” said Brother Kiwi. “It is an excellent way to reduce the exploding population, discourage war, and improve table manners.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a Christian. Eating people is not part of my belief system.”
“Of course it is,” said Brother Pahodakowa. “Every Sunday, millions of Catholics eat the body of Jesus Christ.”
“I’m not a Catholic.”
“We know,” said Brother Kiwi. “According to our records, when you were a younger man, you came to New Zealand and told our parents that the only way they could get to heaven was to join the Mormon Church.”
“That was different.”
“Naturally,” said Brother Pahodakowa. “It always is.”
“I went there to enlighten people.”
“Yes,” said Brother Kiwi. “And we are here to enlighten you. We even have a special division called Mormons for Maoris. Very small so far, but enthusiastic.”
“You can’t come to my country and tell me to become a cannibal.”
“Why not?” asked Brother Kiwi. “You came to ours and told us to become Mormons.”
That slowed me down for a moment.
“Our ancestors had a religion that served them for centuries,” said Brother Pahodakowa. “Then the Europeans arrived with muskets, rum, missionaries, paperwork, and the exciting news that everyone else was wrong.”
“Christianity brought civilization,” I said.
Brother Kiwi smiled politely.
“Our ancestors noticed that the European God considered Sunday holy,” he said. “So some Maori warriors stopped fighting on Sundays out of respect for your religion.”
“That was very civilized of them,” I said.
“Yes,” said Brother Pahodakowa. “Unfortunately, the Europeans did not always get the memo.”
He opened a chart.
It listed wars, massacres, crusades, inquisitions, invasions, bombings, and other achievements of civilization.
“As you can see,” said Brother Kiwi, “civilized people are very efficient. You can kill thousands of strangers before lunch and still be home in time to say grace.”
“Many of those were complicated historical conflicts,” I said.
“Ah,” said Brother Pahodakowa. “Complicated. That is what civilized people call murder when there is a flag involved.”
“We never industrialized cannibalism,” said Brother Kiwi. “That was your contribution.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” asked Brother Pahodakowa. “Our ancestors killed an enemy one at a time. Personally. Up close. They knew exactly what they had done. Then they ate him and spent the rest of the evening thinking about the preciousness of life.”
“That does not sound like respect for life.”
“Compared to dropping bombs from the sky on people whose names you will never know?”
I had no immediate answer.
“Take a pilot,” said Brother Kiwi. “He drops one bomb and kills a thousand people. If he had to personally chew every victim, how many bombs do you think he would drop?”
“That’s a disgusting argument.”
“Thank you,” said Brother Pahodakowa. “It is one of our best.”
“Besides,” said Brother Kiwi, “you already have many people in your country who annoy you.”
“That may be true.”
“See?” said Brother Pahodakowa warmly. “You are halfway Maori already.”
“I am not going to kill and eat anyone.”
“Not today,” said Brother Kiwi. “Conversion is a process.”
“And who would I start with?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
The two missionaries looked delighted.
“Now we are having a meaningful discussion,” said Brother Pahodakowa.
Brother Kiwi reached into his briefcase and handed me a pamphlet.
On the front was a smiling family seated around a dining-room table.
“We have recipes,” he said.
I woke with a start.
It had all been a dream.
I lay there for a moment, breathing hard, wondering what had awakened me.
Then I heard another knock at the door.
I opened it.
Two nice young men in dark suits stood on the porch.
They were smiling.
They were holding religious tracts.
For reasons I could not fully explain, I was thankful neither of them was carrying a spear.
