The Refuges as Mission Stations

It was the summer of 1893. Hsi was on his way to Hoh-chau to conduct a conference among the Christians of that district, where the work was going forward with much blessing. As he travelled, many thoughts were in his mind, with regard especially to a new departure that for some time had been under consideration.

Years before, in the early beginning of the Refuge work, how little could he have anticipated all that God had brought to pass. Then it had been a question of saving a few opium-smokers in one country district, without any thought of the development of an organised church or a mission station, much less several. But as the movement spread and the blessing of God rested upon it, souls were saved and whole communities interested in the Gospel, until a wide field seemed open before the Refuge -workers, wherever their patients were scattered.

At that time the question had arisen as to whether these opportunities should be embraced, and the Refuge -keepers permitted to enter upon general evangelistic work. And just there Hsi’s wise judgment, under the guidance of God, came in to prevent what might have been a serious mistake. It is no use pushing people beyond their capacity, or hurrying them into responsibilities for which they are not prepared. These men were themselves, in most cases, only young converts, saved from lives of open sin. They had all they could do, in their busy days, to find time for prayer and Bible study, without which their own spiritual life could not develop; and among the patients under their care and the people who thronged about them, they had all the opportunity they could improve for living and preaching Christ. Hsi was practical and thorough, and was concerned about doing well, as well as doing much.

“After prayer and fasting,” he writes, “I drew up rules for the Refuges, including the regulation that those in charge should preach only on the premises, and not attempt to evangelise in the surrounding country. This seemed to me necessary because the workers were, for the most part, inexperienced and weak in the faith; and because they were not as yet familiar with the dialect and customs of the new localities in which they found themselves. But in travelling myself from place to place, visiting the Refuges, I have embraced every opportunity of preaching the Gospel, both in cities and villages, frequently healing the sick and casting out demons. So that in this and other ways many believers have become connected with various Refuges, and attend the services on Sundays, though they have never been smokers of opium.”

But as time went on conditions began to change.

The Refuge-workers grew in grace and in experience. Their labours were made a blessing, and established them in the regard of even unfriendly communities. Every one could see the good they were doing, and feel the sincerity of their motives and the devotion of the lives they led. In all directions they had friends; and many were the grateful patients who would willingly open their houses for meetings. If only the staff in each Refuge could be increased, so that the more experienced workers might be free to go out for days or weeks at a time, preaching and teaching the Gospel, much good might be accomplished in districts where there were no other missionaries.

This was a different proposal; and coming as it did from friends whose judgment he valued, could not but have weight with Pastor Hsi. He saw the need and the advantages; and felt the force of the argument that no preachers could be more welcome or have more influence than the men who were known to be giving their lives to a difficult and trying task, in such a way as to win the gratitude of all classes. But there were serious questions involved, and Hsi was cautious, and had to be very sure a thing was of God before he went into it. Sad experience in the Hung-tung district had convinced him that people may be thrust out too quickly into public work. Many a promising young convert had been encouraged and even urged to preach the Gospel, whose life was not sufficiently under the influence of the truth to make his testimony effective. The result was failure in case after case. Exposed to the temptations of a position for which they were unfitted, they were carried away by pride or self-seeking, the occasion for which need never have arisen.

But quieter years followed; and undoubtedly, now, many among the Hung-tung Christians were ready for such work. They were not only preaching the Gospel naturally, of their own accord, but were living consistent lives, full of helpfulness for others. Some had acquired a fair knowledge of Scripture, and showed ability as preachers that made them welcome among their brethren. These men, added to the staff of the Refuges, would both increase the value of existing work, and make possible an aggressive movement that might lead to widespread blessing.

It was characteristic of Hsi that he generally knew when the right time had come for doing a thing, as well as the right thing to do; and also that, when he knew, he stopped at nothing. Early in the year he had come to feel clearly that the plan was of God: and now, as he travelled to Hoh-chau, he was thinking out the necessary steps for carrying it into effect. It was practically, though he little realised it, putting a finishing touch to his life-work.

“At Hoh-chau,” he writes,” during the conference, I was led to draw up new regulations for the Refuges; in the faith that the Lord would send forth additional workers, -that henceforth there might be two responsible men in each place — one to care for internal arrangements, and the other to preach the Gospel in all the regions round about. It seemed right, and was decided, that these evangelists should take no provision for their journeys; because, seeing the Refuges distributed medicine freely for the cure of various diseases, not only would patients who had been delivered from opium-smoking willingly receive them, but many others also would gladly offer entertainment free of charge.

“Some of the brethren were afraid that, with such an increase of workers, there would be an insufficiency of means. But I took the words of Scripture, and exhorted them, saying: ‘” Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness,” and your Heavenly Father will certainly supply all your need.’ I also will constantly trust the holy words of Jesus, and press onward without fear.”

Thus it was that the Refuges grew into regular mission stations. For the plan worked well by the blessing of God. Not a few of the men in charge developed considerable preaching and pastoral gifts. And the last years of Hsi’s life, that were slipping away so fast, were gladdened by seeing little churches spring up and become a blessing, where otherwise there would have been none.

And now come and let us visit, in thought at any rate, one of these Refuge centres, to gain some idea of what is going on. Let us choose Chao-ch’eng city, one of the best examples, as we have already watched the progress of things there more or less from the beginning. It is a long journey from your distant home: a month or more by steamer to Shanghai, and then some six weeks inland. But one of us has travelled the road before, and knows pretty well how to manage in native inns at night, in boats, and carts, and even mule-litters over the mountains. It is a beautiful journey, too, in some places, and full of interest everywhere. And as, of course, we are wearing native dress, we shall not attract too much attention.

Weeks have passed, and now we are in Shan-si. The capital is left far behind us. We have crossed the P’ing-yao plain, green with summer crops; followed the Fen River into its beautiful valley; climbed the Ling-shih Pass; spent a Sunday at Hoh-chau; and after a long morning’s journey — yonder, shimmering in the heat of noon, lie the north wall and massive gate of Chao-ch’eng.

Now we have entered the city. Crowded and busy are the streets through which our cart jolts slowly. There is no difficulty in finding the Refuge. Every Chao - ch’eng man knows it. There it is: that wide doorway round which the people are standing. You must expect a crowd. For a “great gathering” is being held to-day, in honour of some missionary travellers passing through the province.^ Here we descend from our clumsy vehicle with what grace we can, and pass in to a large square courtyard, round which the rooms open.

What a throng of men! Every corner is packed and crowded. And the guest-hall seems to be overflowing with women and children. No room for us there, evidently; nor under the blue awning that covers the centre of the court. Every seat is filled already; and the meeting is about to begin. What hearty singing! But this sunshine is intensely hot.

1 What follows is a description, written on the spot, of a visit to this Refuge in the summer of 1894, when Mr. and Mrs. Hudson Taylor were travelling through Shan-si, and Dr. and Mrs. Howard Taylor were among those that accompanied them.

Let us take shelter here in the dark kitchen; it seems comparatively empty.

Alas, the reason is not far to seek! Dinner is preparing for a hundred guests, and the place is a perfect oven. Still, from the brick bed we can see through this little window all that is going on, and it will be a new experience, for you at any rate, to sit cross-legged on a Chinese kang. It is certainly a drawback that this particular k’ang should be heated from the cooking range, instead of separately in the ordinary way. It must be comfortable in winter; but to-day, with the temperature well over ioo° in the shade, and a huge fire to heat the flues, it is distressing. However, there is nowhere else to go; and the bricks are not unbearably hot through this thick matting.

How pleasant it looks out there in the courtyard, where the trellised vine casts a green shade, and ripe grapes hang just out of reach. Flowers in abundance lend colour to the scene; and the white garments, shaven heads, and long black queues of the men — rows and rows of them under the awning — make a picture not easily forgotten. Faces young and faces old are there; some fresh and full of promise; some wrinkled and seamed with care; a few bearing sad traces of the havoc wrought by opium; others showing marked signs of the transformation made by grace.

Pastor Hsi is speaking. No wonder these people leave their farms and workshops, and come through the heat of a midsummer day to hear preaching like this. He is giving a heart-stirring address on The True Vine, showing the secret of a life always fresh and full of power, because hidden with Christ in God, Tears in many eyes, and the look on these eager faces, tell of a fresh vision of things unseen.

Now comes our opportunity. The meeting is over. Half the people, living in or near the city, are going home to dinner; only a hundred or so remain. We shall be able to move about a little, and ask questions to our heart’s content. But first will you not take a basin and chopsticks, and try some of this Chinese macaroni stewed in gravy? Quite appetising, I assure you.

Here from the doorway of the women’s room we can see to better advantage, and it is not quite so hot as in the kitchen. What a bright, interesting scene it is. Such greetings, laughter, friendly conversation; such busy preparations for the meal! Mats are spread under the awning, upon which, grouped around little tables, the older men are seated; and the rest, supplied with basins and chopsticks like ourselves, sit comfortably on the ground, or perch on the steps of the side houses. And there, in the midst of them all, under the spreading vine, is dear old Pastor Song, manager of the Refuge, and spiritual father of almost every one in this large company.

What a picture he makes, surrounded as with a halo by their loving reverence, seated on that low wooden bench, with the flowers behind him and the cool green leaves overhead, his face all aglow as he looks from one to another of his large, happy family. Dear old man; small, spare, and stooping, with a little whitey-brown queue, and a strongly marked, benevolent face: dear old wonderful man, who, without learning or special gifts, simply by the power of the Holy Spirit in his loving heart, has drawn all these to Jesus — he is worth coming to China to see!

But let us ask whether all these men are Christians; there may be a good many outsiders here to-day. Elder Liu is coming. He can tell us.

“Christians?” he responds with surprise. “Why, certainly; without exception. And all brought to the Lord here in this Refuge.”

“But surely these men cannot have been opium-smokers? Some here and there show signs of it; but the majority”

“Do you not understand?” he interposes eagerly. “All these men have been opium-smokers! every one. They have all been delivered and brought to Jesus, here in this Refuge; and twice as many more, who are not with us here to-day.”

The busy hours slip by; most of the guests depart; the missionary travellers set out again upon their journey; but we linger to spend a quiet evening with Song and his helpers, and learn more of this story. At last the duties of the day are done. In the guest-hall Song has gathered round us all the comforts his simple menage affords. Supper over, he lights the fragrant incense to keep tormenting flies away, draws up the best chairs to the open doorway, pours boiling tea into his china cups with bright brass saucers, and forgetting his usual shyness sits down to answer our questions as if we were old friends.

Silently the shades of evening draw around us, For portrait, see group of Church officers.

and a cool breeze replaces the burning heat of day. The low hum of countless mosquitoes sounds through the open doorway, and one and another of the household gather in to hear what is being said. But the dear Pastor’s shining face is the thing to see, as he tells us his story.

Long years ago he was himself a confirmed opium-smoker, hopeless of deliverance. Trouble had brought him to it. In the terrible famine-time, he lost all his relatives; wife and children starving to death before his eyes. Lonely and suffering, opium was his only comfort; and as the famine passed away and he was able to earn a little money again, it all went to keep the pipe burning.

There were plenty of other opium-smokers like himself in the village. Their condition was truly pitiable. The longer they smoked the worse they became. But not one of them could give it up. The daily misery of living under the tyranny of the habit was one degree better than the agony of trying to get free.

But a strange thing happened in their village. A man named Fan brought back from the city tidings of a new and wonderful doctrine; something about Someone named Jesus, who could deliver people from their sins. This man was full of it. He could talk of nothing else. He even went so far as to say that Jesus could save an opium-smoker, and take away all craving for the drug.

Certainly Fan’s own life was different since he believed in Jesus. He was a new man. Everybody could see it. And when at last he gave out that the Missionary was coming to stay in his house, and was bringing medicines with him, to help any man who wished it to break off opium, Song was the first to decide that he would make the attempt. Tremblingly, he came and put himself under treatment; not at all reassured by the fact that he was the only one to venture, and that he had never seen a foreigner before.

He suffered terribly; for his craving was great, and but little medicine was given. But he kept on; cheered by the things the Christians had to tell, and by the hymns they were always singing. Day by day more men came to the Refuge; and as Song began to get over his worst experiences, he found many little things he could do to help newer patients. His craving cured, he could not bear to think of leaving. He had no home, no friends. Nobody cared what became of him. There in the Refuge he had found love and sympathy, and heard of things that brought new life and hope. Would they not let him stay and work for his living? He would cook, carry water, attend to the patients, do anything.

So it was arranged. And Song became the
first helper in the Opium Refuge work.

Still he was scarcely to be called a Christian. Hard at work from early childhood, he had never been to school or learned to read. He was slow and dull and sad; bad-tempered too; and in fits of passion would use terrible language. But he was feeling after better things; longing to find what the Christians had, that made them seem so happy.

One day alone in the East Room, he saw the Missionary’s New Testament lying on the windowsill. It was a large book, attractively bound, and Song went over to look at it. Reverently he took it in his hands. The characters were clear and beautiful. Even his dim eyes, half-blind with weeping, could make out many of the easy words. Long he stood pondering, and turning the pages. That wonderful Name came so often 1 He could find the characters on almost every leaf — Je-su, Jesus. It was his first Bible study.

Very gradually the change came; but it was complete. From the Refuge he was promoted to help in Hsi’s medicine shop, and then to a position in his home in the Western Chang village. There, as a member of Hsi’s household, he came out brightly as a Christian; and his growth in spiritual things was so marked, that when a helper was needed for the ladies at Hoh-chau, Song was chosen. Eight months in the hallowed atmosphere of that home, left him for all life a better man.

Finally, through many vicissitudes, Song was led “by the grace of God,” as he loves to put it, to the Refuge in this city of Chao-ch’eng. After helping for some time in a subordinate position, he was put in charge of the whole concern about six years ago. [i.e. in 1888.]

Every year since then, the number of patients has steadily increased. The work is self-supporting now, and is kept going nine months of the year. Song and his helpers are always busy; for when not needed in the Refuge, they are out preaching in the city and district, in which they are the only missionaries. The loving, consistent life of the old Refuge-keeper has made him many friends; and whether

Christians or not they believe in his God, as the God that answers prayer. Six hundred patients have passed through his hands since he took charge of the Refuge. Many of these, not becoming Christians, have relapsed into opium-smoking; but fully two hundred are saved men to-day, and members of the little church. Two hundred reclaimed lives, centres of light and blessing, for the faithful labour of six years!

“It is almost always the case,” explains Song, “that unless a man truly believes in Jesus, he will sooner or later go back to his opium. Illness or trouble comes, and at once he turns to the enticing fumes to drown his misery. Then truly his last estate is worse than the first.”

“But it is not hopeless,” adds the old man, with a smile. “Then is our opportunity. ‘Alas,’ exclaims the poor victim, ’ this surely has come upon me because I did not believe in Jesus when He was so near! ‘This will draw him back again to the Refuge. And he comes in a different spirit; his heart is ready to receive the Lord, Many believe at the second time.”

“But do you take them in again, if they have once gone back?”

“Take them in? Why, of course we do! And we love them, and deal with them more tenderly and prayerfully than ever, for perhaps the fault was partly ours. Oh, we are glad to welcome them back the second time! So many will then give their hearts to the Saviour, without whom they cannot stand.”

“Yes, I know all that is true,” puts in a deep, manly voice at our side.

“How do you know?” we ask, turning to the speaker; a fine young fellow, and, as we have been told, a gifted preacher.

“I have good cause to know,” Hsii answers gravely’7’^ for I was one of those saved the second time.’’

“Hsu, is it possible? Were you ever an opium-smoker?”

The strong, handsome face is shadowed with deep feeling; and we think with wonder of the work God has done through this man, and the many souls saved in his Refuge on the P’ing-yao plain. Oh, what a story is in dear old Song’s face, as we look from one to the other, and Hsii replies:

“Yes, I too was saved from the depths. It was all through the loving tenderness of my father here.”

Silence falls in the twilight. A number of the Christians have gathered in. All hearts are one in love and sympathy too deep for words. A flickering candle lights the finely contrasted faces of the old Pastor and young Hsii, close beside us, and behind them the listening group.

“You have told us the story. Tell us now the secret. How is it that here you have such fruit for your labours? It is not always so.”

The old Pastor pauses a moment; but the young man begins eagerly to speak:

“No, no! wait, brother. Let us hear the Pastor first.”

But the old man has not much to say by way of explanation. He himself is the answer. And this he does not perceive.

Y “Let me tell you,” Hsii continues. “For I was saved here and I know. It is all his love that does it, by the grace of God;” and the young man puts his arm around the old Pastor, to whose eyes the tears have come. “He not only preaches for us. He lives it. He cares for his patients with a mother’s tenderness, night and day. He cheers them when they are sick and troubled; reading, talking, singing to them; never leaving them till they are better. And best of all he prays for them, often with long fasting: and his prayers have the real power. The more miserable and degraded the sufferer, the more his heart goes out to him with the very love of God. Do you wonder we poor hopeless, helpless opium-smokers respond with all our hearts — ‘This Gospel truly is good: we too would believe.’”

“And do the patients suffer much at times?” we query, anxious to hear more.

“Oh yes!” exclaim many voices. “Often the Pastor is up six or eight times in the night. Some of the men, in their anguish, almost give way; others become so exhausted that it seems as if they must die. At times we have even thought that they were dead. And in their extremity he never leaves them. He thinks nothing of being up all night if necessary, praying for them, preparing food and medicine, and as they get better, singing and comforting their hearts.”

“Oh, that singing,” puts in old Lee, a deacon of the church, “how well I remember it! The only hymn that used to comfort me was ‘Je-su ai 0.’ He must have sung it for me a hundred times. ‘Jesus loves me, this I know.’”

Just a rough, weather-beaten old Chinaman, his neck and face one unbroken succession of wrinkles, his back bent, his queue reduced to a few gray hairs. But such a spirit in him; such glowing love for Jesus! He had been a desperate character before Song found him and led him to the Saviour.

“It was the singing that did it.”

And even as he spoke. Song softly started the dear old hymn, soon joined by all the rest. It seems to be the old man’s habit to fill up all the intervals of life with singing, which no doubt partly explains his cheery brightness and power to help.

“And do you never weary in the work, dear Pastor?”

“Yes, sometimes,” is his quiet answer. “And then I pray; asking the Lord to forgive my cold and sinful heart; and I have peace again.”

The moon is setting now, and it is late. As we retire for the night they are singing still, having an extra meeting out in the cool courtyard.

Dear Song. Did you hear his last request? He declined all compensation for our entertainment to-day, or that of the missionary party.

“Oh no,” he said, “I cannot take it. It has been the Lord’s goodness to send you here. All we ask is that you will pray for us, that we may be truly filled with the Holy Spirit.”