Twilight, new moon dancing through the sky where leaves twisted on the trees. Curt stared up through the window, laying across the backseat of the family car. Dad was driving. “We never go to church on Sunday nights.” Curt complained.

“There’s a man coming to town tonight.” Mom said. “He’s been a missionary and there’s going to be a reception afterwards.”

“There’ll be cake.” Dad promised. “And he’s got some interesting stories to tell, the boys have been going on and on about it all week. They saw him last week at the Hill.”

Curt fumbled with his phone. None of the games on it were any good, plus there was no room on it any more so it ran slow. “Can I have a new phone?” “We’ll see.” Dad said.

They had church in the Valley, it was closer to the house, Mom said all the time. Curt had been to the Hill once, he remembered. It was all stone, marble, lots of statues. There were hundreds of goblets and candles he wasn’t allowed to touch. In the valley they gathered on rugs in the grass and sat on rows of folding chairs spread out under the stars at night, large flaming sticks propped around the area. Church in the Valley drew a small crowd of people from the City, but none of them ever wore new clothes or dressed up like the people who Curt saw at the Hill. He knew most everyone in the Valley though, all the kids at least. Some of them wouldn’t be here, not this late, Curt thought. He tapped his phone again, scrolling past the boring apps.

“Hi friends!” A white-haired, pink faced man squirreled through the crowd and shook Dad’s hand. “And how are you little feller?” He rubbed his thumb across Curt’s chin. “It’s a great night for God, ain’t that great?”

“I have heard great things about the work you’ve done.” Mom said, shaking the man’s hand. “This is our son Curt.”

“Pleased to meet you little guy, don’t feel like you gotta give me any money at the love offering later!” Straightening up, the man introduced himself. “I’m Joel M. Moc – no k. Just a c there if you look me up. I’ve got to say I’m happy to see you three come out this way on this Sunday evening. See this here’s not just the work of the Lord, it’s a civic service I supply, I provide, I do not believe you have the chance to say no to the Lord’s will, not you fine yes, fine upstanding Christian folk like you!” He paused, winked, and shook Dad’s hand one final time. “Can’t wait until you hear the service, amirite?”

Dad laughed. “Not all slideshow? Good to meet you Joel.”

They sat down in the chairs, others already sitting and talking. Curt saw Sammy, a kid his age sitting two rows over and engrossed in his playstation. “Sss. Sammy!” Curt half-whispered. “Hey!”

Sammy waved, distracted, and focused back on the lights flashing in his hands.

Curt sat back, stared up at the stars. “It’s cold.” “No it’s not honey, it’s in the upper seventies.” Mom responded.

“But I feel cold.”

“Hi everyone, I’m Pastor Spencer and tonight we’ve got a special guest, Missionary Moc is a gentleman who some of you had the pleasure of speaking with already, he’s spent the last fifteen months in the field helping people achieve greatness even in the harshest conditions. As I’ve no doubt you’ll find his sermon fascinating, I’ll leave most of the details for him to present, but I do want to say what an honor it is to have him here in the valley, preaching under our stars. Later this evening there will be a love offering, Missionary Moc has a lot of work left to do out in the field, and he himself will tell you that a dollar just doesn’t go as far as it used to, ain’t it the truth?”

“Yes!” The crowd responded as one. Curt’s throat hurt a little.

“Hallelujah, ain’t it the truth. So our speaker works with indigent tribes, indigenous tribes I think it is, works with tribes that aren’t even literate! People don’t even know how to read, let alone read the words of our lord and saviour. He works with a translator and a team of medics and entrepreneurs to bring literacy and pull these people out of the abyss. Our church took a special donation this morning during early service, and we’re having another love offering tonight – for every dollar donated the Church on the Hill has promised to match us, so let’s make them proud!” Pastor Spencer looked to his left. “Looks like he’s ready, so without further ado, let’s pray.”

Everyone bowed their heads. Curt was supposed to close his eyes, but he looked over at Sammy and saw Sammy wasn’t closing his eyes either. Sammy was still playing his game, even. Curt was shocked. Dad would probably slap the game out of his hands and break it with his foot.. Dad would totally stomp on his game if he played it during prayer. Stunned, Curt missed most of what Pastor Spencer was saying, and when everyone moved again as one in raising their heads and opening their eyes, Missonary Moc had taken the podium.

“Friends, friends, Pastor Spencer spoke a moment ago about the illiterate among us. Now we all know how important books are, and learning is, and how we as a people are all benefited by literacy, not just because it let’s us read God’s book. Read the word of God. We know what he says! It’s there in english for us to read. Now think how important it was for your faith to read these words of God when you’re in a moment of crisis. Think how important words are to your very existence! Could you even get to a grocery store, let alone know what you’re buying, if you couldn’t read? Not very well, my friends, not very well. Now imagine that’s been taken from you, taken and you don’t have it, you don’t have that ability to read even a single word. Not even read the letters ‘H’ – ‘O’ – ‘L’ or the sometimes vowel ‘Y’ – nothing at all. Some one gives you a holy bible it’s like any other stack of paper, any other book. There’s nothing sacred in front of you if you don’t know it’s holy!”

Missionary Moc tapped his podium for emphasis, “We’re not just bringing people out of that abyss Pastor Spencer spoke about, we’re pulling them up out of the wages of sin and giving them the wages of the lord, which is mercy! Education! The fruits of the spirit, of spiritual labor! Our team includes not just a translator, who’s been putting the entire New Testament into the tribe’s native language, but who’s educating the tribe themselves on their own written language. It’s quite a feat, but we’ve managed to arrange it so that we take the children six days a week into a large building, where we check them for any abuse, provide them with proper medical attention. They have a meal twice a day, organized by charity donations from the UN, and without that meal some of these children simply wouldn’t survive – they’d have to be out with their fathers and mothers all day, fishing, working in the fields. Now they learn how to read, how to count, and some of them as young as four are already reciting the names of the apostles by heart! That’s the kind of change we bring to these people!”

“Amen!” A man Curt couldn’t see said aloud.

“We’re not stopping there though. The wages of sin is death, but the wages of poverty are sin itself. Helping these tribes means empowering them, and that means educating them and proving them with economic prosperity. A number of Christian entrepreneurs have donated their time and much of their money to the Llama II Initiative, something Doctor Sheffield has seen fit to initiate two years ago. Bringing the latest advances in nanotech and biosciences to help a starving tribe in one of the most remote sections of the world, the project brings to the village an incredible advance. We’re already importing genetically modified seed that produces much more abundant crops, and for years people have been sending goats, cows, and other livestock around the globe to tribes in need, and that’s where we step in…”

“My daddy says those things eat their poop.” Sammy shouted. Curt turned. The crowd turned. “Shhh” Curt heard Sammy’s mommy say.

“They do eat their poop! That’s a smart kid, Sammy, was it?” Missionary Moc smiled, pointed. “You still playing with your playstation? Why don’t I show you all a picture so you can look up here while I’m talking, okay?” He raised a small screen on a tripod, pressed a button and the screen lit up. “This here is a real Llama.” A fuzzy, long-necked llama, nose and face turned away from the camera. “It’s great for riding, you can make clothes with its fur, all around excellent companion, not as mean as a camel. Good starting stock for the Llama II, which is what Doctor Sheffield began. It’s a biological process, something he’s been working on for years, decades really, that creates the perfect livestock. Food, clothing, strength for plowing, easy to ride, an ongoing source of nutrition, milk, everything–all in one animal. Even more important, the delivery. It’s expensive to ship a goat around the world, especially by airplane. Entrepreneurs from christian churches around the world got together and worked out the logistics when the first charity organizations came together, and let me tell you there’s some amazing people doing the work of God. I’ve met people from all walks of life, all of them more concerned with giving to the needy than even their own self-interest, and I’ve taken from all of them what I can and do hope to share with you tonight, the message of a brighter future for everyone, a world where the word of God has been spread to even the most remote corner of the globe.”

Missionary Moc stopped for a moment. “I forgot to advance the slide, this is a Llama II” the screen filled with a strangely similar monstrosity, a face like a Llama up high with a larger, secondary mouth at it’s chest level.

“It has got two stomachs, two digestion systems. So it does eat its own poop, but right away, before it sits around too long. It roams in the fields, eating, pooping, eating the poop, fertilizing as it goes. I know, I know, it sounds disgusting to you, but it’s all quite scientific. And the landowners love these, they’re amazing workhorses. There’s only one sex, they don’t reproduce yet, but they make amazing meat eggs that are just delicious. The tribespeople love them.”

Missionary Moc clicked the remote again. “This is our village, you can see the school in the back there” a white, tin-roof structure that reminded Curt of an airplane hanger, cement floor, rows upon rows of folding chairs and folding tables. “Here’s the feast we had before we left” dirt floors, smiling people wearing dirty clothes holding plates of food.

“Here’s the view from the sky above the village” a structure through the trees, some of the Llama IIs milling about.

“We’ve been spreading the word of God, and medicine, and building rapport with the local governments around the area. Tonight I ask you to give of yourselves, give love to these people who most want for God’s word. Spread the joy of salvation to these people deep in the jungle, who don’t even know how to read!”

Missionary Moc stepped aside, and Pastor Spencer moved front and center. “The ushers will now come forward, and we’ll pass the plates while we close with a song. Everyone, please turn in your hymnals to 322, Onward Christian Soldiers.”

“It was the right thing to do.” Dad said. “That was an awful lot of money, sweetheart.” Mom said. The car sputtered and shook on the way home. Curt pouted on the way home, he’d been promised cake.