Our recent trip to the South Pacific brought together strands of my life in a strange and wonderful way.

We flew into Henderson Field from the sea where so many ships had gone down during the war, and I could make out the familiar terrain: the coconut palm trees along the shore, the grassy foothills, and the massive mountains. Driving from the airport to Honiara, the capital of the Solomon Islands, we could see some familiar sights, but they were so different now. Bloody Ridge, where the Marines repulsed the most dangerous attack from the enemy, the Matanikau River, where I lost some of my men as we struggled across a sandspit, and Point Cruz, where I was wounded. All these places had been uninhabited when we were there, but now a little native village lies on the side of Bloody Ridge; the Matanikau River is on the edge of the small city of Honiara. Naval vessels and freighters were docked at Point Cruz.

And now, instead of landing as a Marine, I came to visit as a bishop. Archbishop Ellison Pogo invited me to preach and celebrate in the cathedral, a handsome open building in Honiara. More than 1,000 people came to the Sunday Eucharist at 7 a.m. The liturgy unfolded with dignity, the people sang with gusto, and the many children sat with solemn eyes as I told them a story. It was amazing to look out over the congregation and to realize that I had almost been killed a few hundred yards away.

The Anglican Church in the Solomon Islands is vigorous. We visited Selwyn College, named after the first bishop of that region, and the Franciscan Friary, where, as a former protector general, I was welcomed warmly.

We visited the battlefields. I serve on a committee which is attempting to commemorate those sites properly. On the summit of two hills, not far from each other, the war memorials of the Japanese and of the Americans face each other.

A fishing boat took us across "Iron Bottom Bay" to Tulagi, the island where our unit first landed. Tulagi is the newest diocese in the Anglican Communion. Its recently ordained bishop, the Rt. Rev. Charles Koete, showed us around. I drove past the hill where we had dug in, saw the former cricket field the British had used, where our Roman Catholic chaplain celebrated Mass after the battle, the white altar cloth shining in purity in the midst of bloody Marines and the smell of the dead.

The bishop showed us his new cathedral. I looked at the beach near where it stood and realized that was the very spot we landed on Aug. 7, 1942. What a blessing!

From Guadalcanal, we proceeded to East Timor, via Singapore. On that beleaguered island, peace has not yet come. We visited there in 1949 and came to know Carlos Belo, the courageous young bishop who has become a symbol of freedom for his people. Since that time, my wife, Brenda, and I, together with my colleague Arnold Kohen, have done what we could to exert pressure on our government to be more vigorous in its opposition to President Sukarno's oppressive regime.

The United States had a hand in this tragedy. It was with the approval and the assistance with arms of the United States that Indonesia invaded East Timor in 1975. As a result, 200,000 people, out of a population of 700,000, were killed. Since then, the Indonesians have exerted a harsh and bloody occupation. People, especially the youth, are often tortured or "disappeared," if they are suspected of being in favor of independence.

The day after we arrived, we accompanied the bishop on a pilgrimage, four hours by car into the interior. The purpose of the pilgrimage was to place a statue of the Virgin Mary on top of Mt. Ramalau, the highest peak in East Timor. The night before the ascent, Mass was celebrated in a natural amphitheater. More than 25,000 young people surrounded us. The presence of the Spirit was vibrant; the reverent wonder on the faces of the youth I shall never forget. But beneath the devotion and the beauty of those people, terror reigns. The next day a young man was stabbed to death and the assassin murdered by the crowd. The pilgrimage was called off. We returned, brokenhearted.

Time and again, whenever the church attempts to rejoice and express its faith, violence erupts, and the violence is presumed to be initiated by the military. When Bishop Belo celebrated Christmas Mass at the cathedral after receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, an assassination was attempted. Six years ago, more than 100 young people were shot down by the military in a cemetery as they memorialized a fallen comrade.

Under the brave leadership of Bishop Belo and his predecessor, the Roman Catholic Church in East Timor has grown from about 40 percent of the population to more than 90 percent. Here truly is a witness to the meaning of the body of Christ.

Two Islands, Guadalcanal and East Timor, the one known for a battle long ago and now at peace, the other still carrying the cross of persecution; both stand as strong witnesses to the kingdom.

The Rt. Rev. Paul Moore, Jr., is the retired Bishop of New York