Who is your Messiah?

Reflections on the John Frum cargo cult

Today I discovered one of the most beautiful religious songs I’ve ever heard, rivaling some of my favourite Orthodox hymns. And yet, it is not Christian at all—far from it. It is a song by the so-called “John Frum cargo cult,” a small (~500 members today) movement centred around a figure known as “John Frum,” who is believed by his followers to one day return to bring wealth, prosperity, and justice. The cult is based exclusively on the island of Tanna in Vanuatu and began in the 1930s. During WW2, it grew rapidly, as U.S. troops arrived with planes, radios, and crates of supplies (cargo). Believing these goods to be gifts from John Frum, his followers built shrines, marched in military-style parades, and flew American flags in expectation of his return. Even today, they gather in red cross-adorned huts and observe rituals in his name, waiting for the day when John Frum will return.

I’ve been trying to figure out why I was impacted so deeply by their music and why I even felt some sense of empathy and understanding. They sung about John Frum with the same desire and hope that Christians (at their best) sing about the Lord and His final revelation. And yet, all their hope is in vain, because John Frum is not returning with cargo, and he may never even have existed (John “Frum” may have been based on someone who introduced himself as “John from America”).

And then I realized that the reason I felt a sense of empathy for them is because I truly can relate to them. I saw myself—my old self—in them. To live with false hope is to live without Christ (or else there is simply nihilism—and I was never a true nihilist, and I’d wager that no one truly is). To be a human in this world is to chase after that which we desire and hope for yet lack. I look back upon my past life (not, of course, to say I’ve completely overcome the “old man” in me) and I see the same futile hope that I hear in their song. Every lie I told, every joint I smoked, every arrogant remark I made—I did all of these with the hope that I’d discover my own John Frum through them, only to discover pain, shame and dissatisfaction in the end.

We all get up in the morning with faith, hope and love; to live is to be faithful, hopeful and loving. To get out of my bed I must have faith that there is floor underneath me, I must hope that it will not collapse under me, and I must love it enough to place my feet on it. Salvation is no different than regular ol’ living, aside from it being the perfection and telos of life. Salvation is to live in God; being faithful, hopeful, and loving towards Him.

If we orient our lives towards anything other than God, we will never be satisfied in the ultimate sense. Death brings an end to everything in this world. Despite this, every atheist gets up in the morning and has faith, hope and love for different things and people. All of this is absurd if it ends in death, because our desire for life is limitless, and death (speaking from an atheist POV) is the ultimate limit. We can strive for different things for a certain time, and we only do this because we think it is at least possible that our desire will be fulfilled. But if death is the end, then our desire will never be fulfilled, and life is utterly meaningless. Many people live their entire lives trying to avoid this fact.

The John Frum cult is a particularly clear example of how Messianic hope is ingrained in the human soul, which will construct imaginary Messiah’s to justify continuing on. But this cult is not unique; to live is to have Messianic hope, it is to believe that the things we relate to will satisfy our desire. Every thing we think can satisfy our desire becomes our Messiah, but all of them are false save one; the One who conquered death