the heathen

Author Jack London wrote some of my favorite short stories. But I remember distinctly the impact of one of those stories that went well beyond entertainment value. The story was written in the first person by a character named Charlie. This man was an American adventurer/trader in the Pacific Islands. Aboard a ship headed for Tahiti, he first met the man known simply as the “heathen.” His real name was Otoo, and his only distinction was that he was the only resident of Borabora who had not accepted the “white man’s” religion. These two men were soon to be bound inextricably in a friendship forged through trials, as the ship on which they traveled was headed directly into the path of a hurricane.
Once the hurricane hit, the ship was torn apart, and all of its passengers but three were killed. These three were Charlie, the Heathen, and the Captain of the ship. In time, Charlie saved the life of the Heathen, and the Captain died due to his own selfishness. Once they landed safely on a local island, having survived two days on the open sea sharing a hatch cover between them, they took part in a local ritual. The natives of the area, when expressing a friendship deeper than what we would call “blood brothers,” exchange names. This is considered the strongest of bonds, and for the rest of their lives, the participants call each other by their own name. These two men exchanged names, as in their words, they had been two days on the lips of death, but “death stuttered.”
Shortly thereafter, as an act of thanksgiving to Charlie for saving his life, Otoo joined his friend in seeking their fortunes and adventure in the Pacific Islands. Their friendship spanned 17 years, as they grew to have the utmost respect for one another. Otoo sacrificially gave of himself time after time to insure Charlie’s safety and prosperity, always deferring to the man he called “master,” but who was simply his closest friend. Otoo protected and served Charlie, was a mother and father to him, a financial counselor, a confidant, and later, a tutor for his children. And finally, the Heathen ended his life in one final act of unselfishness, saving Charlie from a shark attack in the Solomon Islands.
When I think about the preparations which are currently being made for Thanksgiving, as mothers are defrosting turkeys, and children are starting to starve themselves, so that they can eat those three extra helpings of stuffing on Thursday, it’s often very easy to be cavalier in our thanks. But in a nation where we have so much to be thankful for that we have a national holiday simply to thank the Lord, shouldn’t we work to make it the most meaningful expression that we can?
A man known only as the Heathen to most of his acquaintances literally lived and died to show the immeasurable gratitude he held for another man’s act of kindness. What an example of how we should live every day, not just the fourth Thursday of November. God gives us His name, if we ask, and He not only saves our lives, but gives us something to live that life for. Could there be a greater motivation for giving thanks?