Even With Snowmobile, Alaska Missionary Finds It Slow Going

Far from the multimillion-dollar evangelical empires, a young missionary carried the Gospels above the Arctic Circle, over dirt roads and frozen tundra.

He lived as the Eskimos have for centuries, without running water or indoor plumbing. With his wife and two children, he survived off the kindness of others for a while, then dragged 100 logs across 40 miles of wilderness to build a house near the Kobuk River. The home is a testament to his commitment to the village and its people.

James Barefoot has been called here by the Lord, like the century’s worth of missionaries before him who braved unforgiving weather and loneliness to share their faiths with the natives. Some were defeated by the sacrifices required, but Barefoot has promised himself and the Lord that he won’t be among them.

“Some people can’t handle the cost of being here: We’ve left our families, we’ve entered a very different culture and we’re the minority. We have to compromise a lot,” he said, “but we are convinced God wants us here, he has a purpose, and he’s going to work it out.”

Century-Old Endeavor

Missionaries minister in every corner of this vast frontier, through the airwaves, on the rivers, in churches and in village visits of a week, a summer or a year. The earliest came more than a century ago, most from mainstream churches, the Roman Catholics, Episcopalians and Presbyterians.

The latest wave are Christian fundamentalists, like Barefoot’s father, who came to Alaska 20 years ago. The elder Barefoot founded Polar Evangelism in Fairbanks, and it still sends young missionaries into the native villages.

Ten years ago, the younger Barefoot and Bible college classmate Harvey Fiskeaux spent a summer cruising the Yukon River in a boat called “God’s Fishwheel.” They traveled from village to village to witness for Christ. These summer missions continue on “God’s Fishwheel II,” a 23-foot aluminum boat equipped with a canopy, bunks and propane stove.

“It says on the bottom: ‘Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.’ That’s what Jesus told Peter and James and some of the disciples,” said Fiskeaux, now director of Polar Evangelism. “And this is God’s fishwheel, because we’re not on the river fishing for fish, we’re fishing for the souls of men.”

The size of the catch does not interest these religious trollers. They are satisfied that they are doing what the Lord intended merely by casting their line.

Lives Turned Around

“The transformation of lives has brought us more recognition than anything,” said Don Nelson, who came to Alaska in 1955. “Now they’re no longer beating up the wife, slapping their kids around or drunk all the time. They’ve become the leaders in the village. (The natives) don’t need more religion, they need an experience with the Lord to change their lives.”

Nelson spent years living in villages but became dissatisfied with his limited influence. Today, he calls himself the “Fanatic From the Far North,” founder of “God’s Tower of Power, the Gospel Station at the Top of the Nation.” It is 50,000 watts of Bible-thumping evangelical Christianity, country music and community service.

The call letters, KJNP, stand for King Jesus North Pole. Its AM frequency, 1170, represents the 11 faithful disciples and the 70 who were called to be witnesses.

“The reason we believe the Lord burdened him with the radio is that you have a hard time putting missionaries in every village every Sunday,” said Nelson’s wife, Genevieve, at the couple’s complex of log-and-sod buildings, which they call Jesus Town, near the community of North Pole.

“It’s getting harder and harder to get people to go to the villages. A lot of (the natives) have to come to the Lord through the radio.”

Churches Had Territories

Decades before such things were possible, the earlier missionaries divided up Alaska. The Roman Catholics staked out the Yukon River. The Episcopalians went to the upper Yukon region. The Society of Friends went to Kotzebue area, which included Noorvik. The Swedish Covenant went to Nome. The Russian Orthodox missionaries dominated in the Dillingham area.

“Now things have changed,” said Father Jim Poole, who runs KNOM radio in Nome. “There’s more competition. Where churches have been for 100 years, others are coming in.”

The conflict between fundamentalists and more established denominations has broken up families and communities.

“Sometimes I’ve felt like starting my own group, but I don’t think that would be good,” said Barefoot, who serves as pastor at Noorvik’s Friends church. “I’ve seen some small villages where a second church came in. People really got upset. It divided the town, and it really carried on, year after year.”

The evangelicals say they try to foster cooperation, even if they believe their way is superior. The native people are willing to listen to any point of view for a day or a week, but to have lasting impact takes singular dedication.

“We realize that what we’re doing is not the best answer,” Fiskeaux said. “The best answer is what Jimmy Barefoot is doing.”

Few Whites in Town

The four Barefoots--Jim and Evelyn, both 33, Jamie, 9, and Tanzi, 5--make up a third of the white population in Noorvik, a village of 600 accessible only by boat, plane, snowmobile or dogsled. The surrounding tundra freezes diamond-hard in winter and springs underfoot like a soggy mattress in summer.

Pre-fabricated houses line the town’s two unpaved streets. In the summer, mosquitoes swarm ceaselessly and the sun never sets. In the winter, a wicked wind rips across mountains of snow, and the sun never rises.

From the inside, the Barefoots’ snug log house, with blue carpeting, comfortable furniture and mail-order knickknacks, could be almost anywhere. They joke about the lack of indoor plumbing, which only about half the town’s homes have. “Someday,” Barefoot says.

On the outside, however, there are no malls, theaters or museums. The cultural opportunities lie in the land and the life style--hunting moose and caribou, fishing, training dogs for sled teams. The Barefoots’ female husky bore a litter that Barefoot hopes will someday pull his sled. He is eager to master a tradition that few young natives practice these days.

“The cultural change has broken down communication between adults and young people; families aren’t as together as they used to be,” Barefoot said. “The Eskimos really have a heritage of working together (as families) but that’s not necessary anymore. So the kids have a lot of time on their hands.”

Problems From the City

Television, VCR movies, snowmobiles and motorized three-wheelers have replaced the old ways for many, and modern life at the top of the world has fostered modern problems such as alcoholism and other addictions, teen-age pregnancy and child neglect.

Barefoot saw that as a minister to youth in the village, and it influenced his decision to settle here. His willingness to forsake the modern conveniences of Alaska’s urban centers sets him apart from other missionaries.

“Seems like a lot of people want to come up and minister to the natives, and that’s good,” Fiskeaux said, “but it would do me good to see more dedication in it, more sense of sacrifice. Everyone seems to want to live in a nice house in Fairbanks with running water and a twin-engine airplane to go out and minister.

“That’s not really what the people need. They need somebody to go in there and hurt with them, bleed with them and die with them.”

In Noorvik, Barefoot counts the suicides, four in the five years he has been there. Alcoholism is the biggest problem, although the town is dry by law.

Sets Living Example

“People are uncomfortable around me sometimes because of what I represent,” Barefoot said. “They know I represent living right. When they’re sober we’re friends, but when they’re drunk, they show some resentment.”

That resentment has historical roots. Some natives still smart because white missionaries punished them for speaking their own language instead of English. Today, the push is to revive the Eskimo culture and language now alien to many young people. Among the elders, the memories of paternalism linger.

So Barefoot does not proselytize. Instead, he tries to set an example by being a good friend, neighbor, husband and father.

“Because the white missionaries in their work here were very authoritative, I think they were a little intimidating at times,” Barefoot said. “It’s necessary for me to be careful not to give the impression like I know it all. It can be very humbling sometimes, maybe humiliating sometimes, because you’re convinced you’re right and everybody else is convinced you’re wrong.”

Occasionally, that has meant ignoring good sense. A four-hour winter trip to Buckland, 75 miles south, took three times as long when the group became lost trying to follow the directions of a Noorvik elder.

Barefoot and his companions rode in circles for hours in the dark at 35 degrees below zero, chasing mysterious lights and sustaining themselves with nips from a bottle of seal oil. The ice on one bay was so thin that it rippled under their machines as they crossed.

Tread carefully, on the ice and in the ministry: That’s the lesson Barefoot and others have learned from the mistakes of those who came before them.

“I’ve seen many failures,” said Bonnie Carriker, who did missionary work across Alaska for 15 years and has spent the last 20 at KJNP.

“The main thing is, you can’t go in there and cram religion down their throats. You have to love (the people) and you have to gain their confidence, or you don’t make it.”