A Fresh Advance

With increasing responsibilities Hsi felt increasingly the need for prayer. From the first he had been prayerful. But now the customary hour, morning and evening, and daily seasons of public worship, he found to be insufficient. Longer, more quiet times were needed for waiting upon God, that His mind might be made known and His fulness received. Instead, therefore, of allowing his work to drive him, and absorb his time and thoughts, he deliberately set everything aside for hours and sometimes days or nights of prayer — often with fasting. At these times it was he usually obtained new thoughts and plans for the work, and fresh visions of God’s faithfulness, as well as a deeper consciousness of his own insufficiency.

On one of these occasions, early in 1884, he was surprised to find the city of Chao-ch’eng laid as a burden on his heart. The more he prayed the more he was distressed about its people, living and dying without any knowledge of the way of salvation.

But what could he do to meet their need? So far he had made no attempt to commence work inside a city. His sphere seemed more among the rural population, and all his Refuges were established in country places. It was quite another matter to make headway in the governing centres of the province, among people with city-bred ways and notions, and much more prejudice against the Christian faith.

Besides, what was the use of thinking of extension anywhere just then? He had no means in hand even for travelling expenses, much less to open a new Refuge. The idea was impracticable, surely. It could not be of God. And yet, the more he prayed, the more his heart was burdened for the city.

Vainly he told the Lord that he could do nothing; he had no money; it was impossible. Chao-ch’eng, with its strategic position, its great opportunities, its notoriously wicked, opium-loving population — souls for whom no man cared — seemed to stretch appealing hands in the darkness. And the Master who knew all, waited, expectantly waited, his response. “All power is given unto me,” He seemed to say, “and I am with you alway.”

It was strange how difficulties vanished one by one, and all his wise objections seemed to melt away. Money? Was it money that would open the hearts of the people and win souls? If the Lord wanted that work done, could not He provide whatever would be needful? A city; and so far away? Yes, but the walls of Jericho fell, without hands. And was it after all so distant? As he began to think, he saw that, though the place was two days’ journey from his village, it was not really beyond easy reach. For it lay on the main road to the capital, and, strangely enough, the already opened Refuges formed a complete chain from Fan-ts’uen to within five miles of its southern wall. Whose hand had planned it so, preparing those stepping-stones all the way?

But there were practical details to be considered: who, for example, would undertake the work? Hsi could not go himself And if any of his helpers were suitable and willing, how could he send them without money even for the journey?

“What hast thou in thine hand?” seemed the question.

“Why, Lord, nothing but a little medicine! Only these anti-opium pills.”

“Well, is not that sufficient, with My blessing?”

And as he thought again, he saw that perhaps it was. If the men were forthcoming who would go in faith, taking what pills he could give them, just to travel on foot from Refuge to Refuge until they reached the village near the city, and there wait for the Lord to lead them in — why should it not be done?

Convinced at length that the thing was feasible, Hsi called his household together for prayer, and told them how he had been led. He made it very plain that the work would be difficult; for the people were turbulent, and strongly prejudiced against what they considered a foreign faith; and also that he had nothing to offer toward starting the new Refuge, except a first instalment of three thousand pills, and the promise of faithful co-operation in prayer. But he believed the thing was of God, and that He would supply all that was needed, and make the work a blessing. Was it strange that among that little company there were others who believed it too?

After that, it did not take long to decide on the new enterprise, and in a day or two Brothers Si and Cheng completed their simple preparations and set out upon the journey. Carrying their books and bedding, the medicine, and a small supply of food, they made their way thirty miles northward to Fan’s village, where they were welcomed at the Refuge, and told their story.

“What!” exclaimed their hearers in astonishment. “You have no premises in the city, and no money to rent. No capital to start upon. Nothing but three thousand pills! What can you do at Chao-ch’eng except land yourselves in embarrassment?”

But when the circumstances were explained, it all looked very different. Fan and the rest were full of sympathy, and promised to remember the brethren in prayer. They also supplied them with provisions for the next stage of the journey, and sent them forward to So-pu.

Thus encouraged. Si and Cheng went on, staying a night or two at Pan-ta-H and other Refuges by the way, until they came within sight of the city. Beyond the last Refuge, in a village near the southern suburb, lived an inquirer whose name had been given them, and all they could do was to make their way to his dwelling and tell their errand.

To him it seemed a hopeless proposition. But he invited them to stay a few days, and was careful to give no encouragement.

“The people of the city are rough and ignorant,” he explained. “A Refuge, no doubt, is needed. But knowing you to be connected with the foreign religion, they might foolishly object to your settling among them.”

This seemed more than likely, and the brethren decided to spend a day or two in prayer before attempting to make friends inside the city.

Meanwhile the Lord was working for them. News travels fast; and in the streets and tea-shops of Chao-ch’eng people were already talking of their coming. Unknown to them, the fame of Hsi’s Refuges had reached the city; and in spite of prejudice, not a few of its opium-smoking inhabitants were ready to welcome so hopeful a project of deliverance.

Thus Sit and Cheng received an unexpected visit. While they were still praying, their host called them to the door, where two gentlemen were waiting who craved the privilege of an interview. These visitors seemed eager and friendly. They were evidently men of the city, and had brought money with them, several thousands of cash being laid in strings at their feet.

After exchanging elaborate salutations. Si intimated that they were overwhelmed by the honour conferred upon them.

“We have learned with satisfaction,” replied the strangers, “that you, sirs, have come among us with benevolent intentions, and are about to open a virtuous establishment for the cure of victims of the foreign smoke.”

With suitable modesty, Si answered that it was their desire to be of service, if the worthy citizens would grant them residence within their walls.

“As to that,” exclaimed the visitors, “pray give yourselves no concern. We, your younger brothers, desire to rent and furnish premises for the honourable Refuge immediately, and beg that we may be privileged to enjoy the benefits of your far-famed cure.”

Money was now produced to pay for the medicine in advance, and it appeared that the strangers were ready, then and there, to undertake all necessary arrangements. The capital invested was to be returned, or interest paid, as the Refuge became self-supporting.

With wondering hearts, Si and Cheng looked on, as difficulties were removed and their prayers answered beyond all they had asked or thought. Nothing could have been more propitious; and soon as honoured guests they were escorted through the streets of the city in which they might so easily have found themselves unwelcome intruders.

It seemed like a dream at first, too wonderful to be true, as they saw the house rented, furniture sent in, and lamps, crockery, kitchen utensils, flour, oil, tea, and other necessaries abundantly provided. As quickly as possible they set to work, for their new friends were anxious not to lose a day in beginning the treatment. In a word, there was scarcely time to send home the good news to those who were praying for them, before the Refuge at Chao-ch’eng was an established fact.

From the first the blessing of God rested in a special way upon that enterprise. It soon grew to be the largest of all the Refuges for which Hsi was responsible. The cure of the earliest inmates was so satisfactory that scores of others followed, and within six months a hundred patients had been successfully treated. Many of these men turned from idolatry and became earnest Christians. As in other places, regular Sunday services had to be established, and ultimately a church was organised, which to-day numbers over three hundred members.^

This fresh advance introduced a time of encouragement and blessing all round. With greater freedom in the matter of funds, Hsi opened several new Refuges. And in each place souls were saved and little churches gathered. At Teng-ts’uen, in connection with his medicine shop, he also commenced a Refuge; and in his own home he arranged for the treatment of both men and women patients. This added considerably to the work carried on in his household; but helpers were springing up around him, and as opportunities multiplied they learned increasingly to draw upon divine resources.

Thus at the close of 1884, little more than five years from the time of his conversion, Hsi was the leader of already quite an extended work. Eight or ten Refuges had been established: from Teng-ts’uen south of his own home, to Chao-ch’eng city forty miles to the north; and in villages and hamlets all ‘September 1903.

along the line, little companies of believers were meeting regularly for worship.

But Hsi was not yet satisfied. A beginning only had been made. Constrained by the love of Christ and the need of perishing souls on every hand, he was more than ever eager to press forward, carrying the Light far into surrounding darkness.

Still northward from Chao-ch’eng, a day’s journey nearer the capital, lay another important city, about which he was much exercised at this time. Beautifully situated, populous, and accessible, Hoh-chau was practically still without the Gospel. Passing missionaries had called there on their journeys, but any seed thus sown did not appear to have borne fruit. For months Hsi had wished to open a Refuge in this city, but his hands were full of other work and his funds taxed to the utmost.

Still he prayed for Hoh-chau, not less burdened about its needs because for the time being he could do nothing else to help. Every morning at family worship he remembered the city, definitely asking that God would send workers there.

At length Mrs. Hsi, full of sympathy, came to him and said:

“We have prayed a long while for Hoh-chau. Is it not time to do something? Why not send men and open a Refuge there, as at Chao-ch’eng and other places?”

“Gladly would I,” replied her husband. “But such work is costly, and we have no money in hand.”

“How much would be needed?” inquired the little lady. “Thirty thousand cash? That is indeed a large sum.” And she forthwith went her way.

But Mrs. Hsi could not forget the needs of Hoh-chau, and all day long she kept wondering if there were not something she could do to send the glad tidings to that city. But thirty strings of cash! At one time she might have managed it. But now she had so little of any value remaining. And yet she did long that those people might hear of Jesus.

Next morning Hsi prayed again for Hoh-chau, pleading its needs before the Lord, and asking that soon it might be possible to open a Refuge there. The little service ended, Mrs. Hsi instead of leaving the room as usual, walked up to the table, and laying a little package before her husband, said quietly:

“I think perhaps the Lord has answered our prayers.”

Wondering what she could mean, Hsi lifted the parcel. It was heavy, and folded in several wrappings. At length, inside a coloured handkerchief, he found to his surprise a complete set of all the jewellery a Chinese woman values most — the gold and silver rings and bracelets, the handsome hairpins, ear-rings, and other ornaments that form her husband’s wedding-gift.

With tear -dimmed eyes he looked at his wife, understanding now the change in her appearance. The adornments of a married woman in her position were all gone. No rings were on her fingers, no silver hairpins showed below the dark braids of her hair, which was simply tied with cord and fastened with a strip of bamboo.

“It is all right,” she answered gladly, to his half remonstrance.” / can do without these. Let Hoh-chau have the Gospel’.’

Hsi took the gift that meant so much, and with it a Refuge was opened that soon became a centre of light and blessing in the city. Numbers of patients were successfully treated, and before long a work was established that grew into a regular mission station which continues to this day.

Thus opportunities for usefulness multiplied, and Hsi was more than ever prayerful and busy. The city Refuges called for special supervision, both the spiritual and the financial side of the work. The very stress of circumstances kept him much cast upon God; and difficulties, of which there were many, served but to strengthen faith.

Yet it must not be supposed that he was perfect, or without the defects of his valuable qualities. On the contrary, with all his faith and devotion, he was intensely human. Though the Divine Spirit was manifestly working in his heart, there had not yet been time for him even to recognise all his failings, much less to overcome them. And those failings, as with most strongly marked characters, were very apparent.

For one thing, Hsi was a born leader, and could not but feel it. Others felt it also, and in spite of his tendency to be too masterful at times, were ready to follow him anywhere. This weakness, however, gave rise to a good deal of friction that might have been avoided. But he deeply felt his need of more humility, the meekness and gentleness of Christ, and prayed for it accordingly.

Then too he was very independent. This showed itself in his attitude about money matters. He never accepted a salary of any kind, or looked for financial help even to the mission with which his work was connected. But it showed itself also in ways that could not but cause anxiety. He was none too teachable, as we have seen already, and his faith and devotion led him to go ahead at a rate that was sometimes alarming. His preaching lacked balance and sobriety, and his enthusiasm needed to be tempered by experience. But he was not easy to advise in early days, much less control.

Indeed it is an open secret that herein lies one of the most serious problems of missionary work: how wisely to develop the native leader, giving him plenty of room and the responsibility that alone can draw out the best that is in him, and yet temper his inexperience and save him from injurious extremes. A great deal of loving forbearance is needed; and it is well to remember that it is needed on both sides. It takes just as much grace for a man like Hsi to work well with the foreign missionary, as for the missionary to work well with him. This aspect of the question is in danger of being overlooked.

With the best intentions, for example, Hsi was put in a predicament, about this time, that called for more real humility than many of us would have possessed.

One of his Refuges through which a number of converts had been gathered, was a little out of the line of his other operations, in a village nearer the city of P’ing-yang. The missionary of that city, who was also in charge of the district, feeling that Hsi had all he could manage without going out ot his way to visit this particular village, appointed another man, his own paid evangelist, to live there and take pastoral charge of the work. On the occasion of their next meeting, he informed Hsi of this arrangement, adding:

“You need not trouble to go over for the services any more. The work in and around your own home, and in the Refuges, is as much as you can properly attend to.”

No doubt there was a good deal to be said for such an arrangement, from the missionary’s point of view. But practically, however burdened a father or mother may be, it is not easy to relieve them of the care of their own children, especially when the ties between them are unusually tender and the change is not desired.

Hsi felt it keenly, but did not dispute the point. He always recognised the duty of submission to the authority of foreign missionaries in the exercise of their proper functions. So he tried to conform to the arrangement, and support the poor evangelist, who was finding his position far from desirable.

But when it dawned upon the villagers that they had lost their spiritual father, that he would come to lead the services no more, nor be available to give the loving sympathy and help in all their needs that they had counted on so long, the result was open rebellion. Hsi did his best to keep the peace, and induce them to submit, as he had done. But to them it meant too much. They could not bear it. So the evangelist, good man though he was, was left to empty benches and a forlorn cause. No one would attend the chapel; and those who could, walked miles to reach the nearest place where they could meet and hear the man they loved.

While it went on the matter was most painful, and Hsi found it difficult to steer between Scylla and Charybdis. But in this case it was not long before the trial was removed. The missionary, after years of faithful service, was obliged to go home on furlough, and for a time no one could be sent to replace him. The mission-house in P’ing-yang was left desolate, and the Christians without a pastor. Elder Song did the best he could to look after things in the city, and Hsi had to take general oversight of the work both there and throughout the district. The evangelist wisely sought other employment, and the little church in question returned to its former relationships.

It was wonderful how the people followed Hsi and loved him, even when they felt his faults the most. God had made him a blessing to them in the best of ways. Many owed him life and health, as well as all that made life worth living. And then they knew, even when he was most impatient or dogmatic, that he would willingly sacrifice all he had for their well-being, and was daily pouring out his very soul in their service.

A brief passage from his manuscript referring to this period shows something of what lay below the surface.

“The devil,” he writes,” seeing that God was using me during these three or four years by the power of the Holy Spirit, sought to involve me in pride and self-consciousness. He caused ignorant men to address me as ‘Pastor,’ and I could not stop them. Some even behind my back went so far as to speak of me as the ‘Living Jesus.’ I knew that all this was just the devil’s scheme to get me to take glory to myself and forsake the cross of Christ.

“Therefore I humbled myself still more, and sought to have in all things the heart of a bond-slave, exerting my whole strength to lead men to repent and forsake sin, and thus yield no place to the devil. Not that I was able of myself to do this; it was all and only through the grace of God.”