Sundays by the Way (Continued)
Before leaving Hingping we were taken to see the Girls’ School, in connection with which Miss Anderson has had many definite answers to prayer. Though the need for schools is so great, to train the young people of Christian families for lives of useful¬ ness, the money necessary for buildings and equipment is not always forthcoming from mission funds. Gifts are given for the purpose by the Chinese themselves, and often they come from friends at home who recognise the importance of such work. In connection with the Hingping school it has been encouraging to see how the Lord has provided, sometimes from most unexpected quarters.
On one occasion Miss Anderson learned a lesson that has often stood her in good stead. She was needing money for the support of her family of orphans, as well as for school purposes, and had been much in prayer about it. Funds did not come, and she began to feel that she could wait no longer. Anxiety took the place of faith and led her to write to her brother in America, upon whose sympathy she knew she could count, asking for a certain sum. No sooner was the letter posted than she realised her mistake. It had hitherto been a blessed experience to trust in the Lord, telling her wants to Him alone, but now she had taken a step which she felt was not for His glory. There was nothing to be done. She could not get the letter back; and yet, since it concerned His faithfulness, might not the Lord find some way of dealing with the matter so as to overrule even her mistake?
It seemed a daring thing to pray that He would send the letter back; but that was just what she did, almost in spite of herself, and the Lord answered in His own gracious, wonderful way. By the very next mail she received a remittance which was exactly the sum she had asked her brother to send, and three months later the letter to him was returned, unopened. It was the only time she ever had a letter to one of her family returned from the post office. Her brother had been away, she afterwards learned, travelling on business, and the unclaimed letter was sent back. Truly we deal with One to whom it matters much that we should learn to trust Him.
Generous giving among the Chinese Christians was another proof of life in the Hingping church. We were specially touched by the dear old Bible-woman, who had made over all her savings and possessions to Mr. Bergstrom for the work. More than seventy years of age, she was a fine rugged personality, humorous and kindly, and for eighteen years had been invaluable among the women. Her salary had never been large — only a few thousand cash a year in addition to board and lodging. Yet she was a regular giver to the collections and was always doing good in other ways. When asked how this was possible, she said with a merry look:
“Well, you see, I work for Si-niang (Mrs. Berg¬ strom) all day, and I work for the Lord at night.”
This meant that she denied herself hours of sleep to spin and weave cotton into coarse calico on her hand-loom, and the money from its sale she rejoiced to use for the Lord.
Yet, even a living, giving, self-propagating church is not free from a constant tendency to declension. Mr. Bergstrom said it alarmed him to see how quickly a church, like an individual, can run down and fall into a cold, backsliding state. At certain seasons of the year, especially, he felt the need for watchfulness and prayer. For if such a process were not checked, a few months would suffice to lower the tone of the whole work and rob it of spiritual power. The summer season, from the fifth to the eighth moon, he spoke of as specially dangerous — the hot months when the harvest is being reaped. People are so busy, hard at it from morning till night, and it seems too hot to come to meetings. When they do come, many are tired and cannot keep awake. Even the New Year with its well-known temptations he considered less perilous to Christian life than those summer months. Mid-spring, again, calls for special care — when everybody goes out to the graves, and there is much demon - worship, feasting, and excitement. These are seasons at which he feels that both Chinese and foreign workers should be specially watchful in shepherding the flock. This tendency to drifting emphasises also the need, not for rare and extraordinary seasons of revival so much as for a continuous filling and re¬ filling of the Holy Spirit. To maintain the life of the church at the right level, by the blessing of God, through prayer and the ministry of the Word, this devoted missionary feels to be his chief responsibility and privilege.
“Diversities of operations but the same Spirit” was a thought frequently brought home to us as we travelled from station to station. In this same district, for example, worked by our (C.I.M.) Associates of the Scandinavian Alliance, an experience came to us that was unique in its way and very precious. We were spending Sunday in the city of Pinchow. The missionaries in charge were away on furlough, but their eldest son and his bride were carrying on the work and entertained us with delightful hospitality. Into their dining-room they welcomed that Sunday evening a group of country Christians who had come a long distance and wanted to have an extra meeting. Such a rough, unkempt, mud-bespattered company they were — small farmers and farm - servants from cave - dwellings in the mountains. Their speech was hard to understand and their stolid faces betrayed little in the way of interest. They were indeed sons of toil, sons of the North, but, as we soon discovered, true sons of God.
One of the group, perhaps the roughest looking, had just recovered from a serious illness, and must have found it difficult to come on foot into the city. With evident weakness, yet with something of inward radiance, he told in a quiet, natural way how the Lord had been teaching and blessing him. It was so quiet and simple that it was a few minutes before we realised that we were listening to one of the most beautiful spiritual testimonies one had ever heard. More and more the inward radiance shone out, until one was lost in thankfulness to God for the wonder and beauty of His work in unexpected places. It was an hour to realise, as we often do in China, the meaning of the Master’s word: “Many that are first shall be last, and the last first.”
He only told quite simply how the Lord had been leading him in the matter of sin and inward victory. He had had three illnesses, and each had been a time of spiritual blessing. In the first there began to dawn upon him a sense of how deep and terrible was the evil of his own heart. One listened almost breathlessly at that point. Yes, a clear, overwhelming conviction of sin had come to him, believer though he was; a sense of guilt before God that it seemed all the sacrifice of Christ was needed to atone for — even had there been no other sinner to redeem. He told of his resolution to lead a very different life, and of the love to Christ that filled his heart as he saw how much he had been forgiven.
Then he went on to speak of a further experience. Recovered from that illness, he had set out on what he felt would be a more consistent life. He was alive to sin in himself as never before, and was determined to overcome it. In the main things were better. He was more watchful and much more conscious of failure. But, alas! his quick temper and impatient spirit were still beyond control. Many things that he now knew to be wrong he had no power to overcome, and the surprise of this discovery was not less than the pain it caused. Why could he not live the life he longed to live, the life he had come to see a Christian should live?
Twilight fell in the crowded room, and one could no longer see the toil-worn faces. We forgot that we were there as visitors, as teachers, as anything at all: we were just listeners as the earnest voice went on, telling with a hush of something words could not utter what God had done for a soul. It was through another illness — for again he had weeks of suffering when it seemed he could not recover. In that time of weakness there had come to him the understanding that it was only through Another’s life, Another’s power, that he could become victorious over sin. One longed to be able to write down, just as he said them, sentence after sentence that might have been spoken in a Keswick Convention or a Victorious Life Conference. It was grievous to be losing the Chinese phrases that told of this wonderful experience. For he had entered by faith, then and there, into the life that means peace and power — the Exchanged Life, in which it is “no longer I that live, but Christ that liveth in me.”
And then the third illness, for he had to hurry on, was the illness from which he had just recovered. Doctors had given him up, his relatives had given him up, and his wife was weeping beside him as he tried to tell her what to do for the children when he was gone.
“But have you not often said,” she sobbed, “that your Jesus healed people who were sick, and even raised the dead?”
“Yes,” he assented wonderingly.
Photo by Dr. G. E. Morrison.
THE SOUTHERN END OF THE PASS ACROSS THE
TIEN MOUNTAINS.
“This was the great highway travelled for centuries, millenniums rather, between the rich plains of China and the marts of India, Persia, and the western world.”
To face page 23 “Well, I will worship Him if only He will heal you now! I will be a Christian like you are.”
He was too weak to pray aloud, but she knelt up on the brick bed and began at once to cry to the Lord, She told Him all her trouble, simply as a little child, and prayed for forgiveness for not having decided long ago to be a Christian. From that hour her husband began to recover, and the blessing of his third illness, he told us, was the conversion of his wife.
We had crossed the border into the province of Kansu before another Sunday — crossed it in the white mist of a December morning, seeing little of our surroundings. The road ran along a high plateau, as we gradually discovered, with strange wide chasms falling away on either side, hundreds if not thousands of feet. Big trees lined the track mile after mile, remains of the great avenue planted by the Viceroy Tso all the way out to Ti-hwa-fu, a three months’ journey into Central Asia. For this was the great highway travelled for centuries, millenniums rather, between the rich plains of China and the marts of India, Persia, and the western world. For days we had been passing caravans and trains of camels; carts laden with grain, drawn by many animals; carts piled with bales of medicinal herbs for the drug stores of great cities; mules carrying coal in huge lumps, wool in bundles, or long narrow sacks of wheat; barrows laden with a variety of merchandise; droves of pigs, or flocks of sheep and goats — all driven and urged on their way by the roughest-looking muleteers, shepherds, and mountain-men. The carts that travelled with us were a shade more civilised, carrying cigarettes for the American Tobacco Company, though our own Jehu was picturesque enough for any adventure, with his shock of unkempt hair, baggy trousers, yellow leggings, and patched coat of a rich shade of terra-cotta.
Darkness was closing in that Wednesday night as we neared the first city over the border, our carter giving his wild warning cry before entering the narrow defiles by which we had to descend from the heights. Half-way down we emerged at a group of houses — lights and shops on either side — where we had to wait for a train of heavily laden carts coming up from the city. Far below we heard the shouts of drivers and the crack of heavy whips, and suffering in the suffering of the animals could only pray for the coming of that day for which the whole creation groans. We were thinking, too, about the friends with whom we were to spend Sunday and the reception that awaited us. Presently lanterns drew near, climbing the hill, and we heard inquiries for the foreign travellers. Cordial greetings followed from messengers who had come to meet us, and when the road was clear they went ahead to lead the way.
Down and down we plunged in the darkness, coming on flaring lights a mile or so below, where there was a busy suburb of the city, with food stalls, inns, and crowds of buyers and sellers. Slowly we made our way through the throng, turning at last into a quiet street, an open gateway, and a sort of stable-yard. Out of the dark came kindly voices, then Mr. Gjelseth’s tall figure appeared, and there were hearty handgrips, a real Scandinavian welcome! Mrs. Gjelseth came running from their home across the way, and climbing down from the cart one almost felt as if in a dream — a dream of Norway or Switzer¬ land — for all around were mountains, black against the sky, save where a church near at hand raised a slender steeple, dimly seen among the stars.
The church built by our Norwegian friends had brought good luck, it appeared, to the Chinese city. Ever since its completion Kingchow had prospered. Before that time, the leading merchants had been mostly from other places, but since the church was built, business had largely passed into the hands of local people. Harvests had been good, the city had been free from brigandage, and it had sent forth no fewer than sixteen of its sons as officials to hold rank in other places. So the position of the church, outside the wall and guarding the South gate, had proved exceptionally favourable, and its sonorous bell was heard with satisfaction far and near.
Within the Christian community, though such ideas were recognised as superstitious, there was also cause for thanksgiving. Our own arrival just at that time seemed to be a definite answer to prayer. A Conference had been arranged some months previously to take place that very week, and it was only after the date was fixed that Mr. and Mrs. Gjelseth heard of our coming to the province. They did not know when to expect us or even the route we were taking, a letter having miscarried, but the Christians began at once to pray that we might reach Kingchow in time for the meetings. Day after day went by and we knew nothing of these prayers, but when we got in late that Wednesday night we found the mission-house full of rejoicing, for the Christians were already gathering and the Conference was to begin on Friday!
Over the precious experiences of those days we must not linger — believers quickened, souls saved, and for us fresh lessons of the power of Christ in the lives of old and young at opposite extremes of the social scale.
Rarely had we met a more attractive personality than the charming lady, over seventy years of age, who was living in the mission-house, delighting to serve the Lord as “a door-keeper” since she was too old, she said, to do much else. She was the widow of a high official who had been proud of her beauty, which was still remarkable; for her eyes were as bright and her teeth as perfect as in girlhood. It was only after her husband’s death that she came to know and love the Lord, and then, finding a little room opening out of the Women’s Guest-Hall in which she could just manage to live, she asked to be allowed to come and give the rest of her days to helping in the work. She longed to win some souls to Christ, and though she could not go out preaching, her feet being far too small, she could k’an-men at home — that is, look after the household when Mrs. Gjelseth was out and receive the women visitors. It was lovely to see her welcoming with equal grace ladies from wealthy families, children who ran in and out, up-to-date teachers from the Government Schools, and patients coming for medicine. The country Christians loved her, and would sit for hours with her on the k’ang, while the girls of the mission school turned to her as a mother. She took the same food that they did, prepared in the same kitchen, though her brother’s family in the city frequently sent her extra delicacies.
Her tiny feet, though unbound as much as possible since she had become a Christian, called forth a story of suffering that time could not obliterate. Her father had been an official of high rank, and so devoted to his little daughter that he could not bear the thought of having her feet compressed. The mother was equally fond of the child and shrank from causing her distress, so she was allowed to run about happily until she was ten or eleven years of age. But then she was so free and like a boy that they became alarmed. Relatives were scandalised. She ran and climbed trees and was as independent as her brothers. There was nothing of the young lady about her at all! So the foot-binding had to come, and was worse than if it had begun earlier. Poor child, her suffering was so intense that for more than a year she hardly slept at night. Her father would walk up and down supporting her for hours, when all the household was asleep, to try and ease the pain, which was intolerable if she kept still. But all his love and all her anguish could not undo the bandages.
Their reward came later, such as it was, when she was the acknowledged beauty of the circle into which she married. Her feet were the distinction quite as much as her face and manner — though now her one regret is that they hinder her in serving the Lord. She has arranged with her family that she is to live and die in peace among the Christians and is to have a Christian funeral.
Very different were the connections of the young Bible-woman who is one of the treasures of the Kingchow church. Given to Mrs. Gjelseth in child¬ hood, she was saved from a life of misery and shame. For her parents were both opium-smokers, and she was to have been sold to the highest bidder. But the father heard of the missionaries, and through them of One who is mighty to save. He was delivered from his opium craving, and became an earnest, humble Christian. Three months later he sent to ask Mrs. Gjelseth to come to his village, as he was very ill and wanted to make arrangements about his child. She found him alone, dying, in a poor cave-dwelling, and set his mind at rest by promising to keep the child who was already in her care. The father had still another burden on his heart.
“I do believe in Jesus,” he said with difficulty. “If I had been in the mission-house now, He would have come to take me, wouldn’t He? But He could not come to such a poor, dirty cave as this.
“You often said,” he went on wistfully, “that He would take me to heaven. But do you think He
would be willing to come to such a place -” And
he waited for her answer.
Earnestly she reassured him. Jesus had been poor — born in a stable for our sakes. Jesus had died for him; he need not fear. Jesus would surely come.
“Oh, I am so thankful, so happy!” he whispered, as the thought possessed him. “Then I can die in peace.”
After praying with him and doing what she could for his comfort, the missionary left, promising to bring his little girl to see him next day. He was lying all alone when they came, just as she had left him, and on the still face was a smile that said so plainly:
“Jesus did come, you see, even to this poor place!”
The child of that cave-home is a woman now, well educated and deeply spiritual. Her whole heart goes out in love to the Lord and love for souls. To spend an hour with her in prayer was a precious experience. Passing through a bright, busy little city a week or two later, in which there were no missionaries, one could not but feel what a joy it would be to settle there among the people with that dear girl for a fellow-worker. One’s heart was specially drawn to the people of that place — little thinking that only ten days later the terrible earth¬ quake was to leave a thousand dead beneath its ruined homes.
Our last Sunday on the road found us twenty miles beyond that city (Tsing-ning-chow), and though the inn was of the poorest it was a day for which to thank God. Snow and sleet had kept us from doing a full stage, and the place we came to for the Sunday’s rest was of the poorest. But there were needy, hungry souls there, who found us out in the inn. All day was spent in hearing their stories and telling them of Jesus. Our words were well understood, and several men and boys lingered as if they could not hear enough of the glad tidings of salvation. Some who were with us that day doubtless perished in the earthquake, which was particularly bad just in that region, but from one man we subsequently heard by letter as well as through fellow-missionaries. He so definitely gave himself to Christ, opium-smoker though he was, that joy-bells were ringing in our hearts that day as well as in heaven. What mattered the discomforts of the dismal inn; the fear of robbers that made our landlord give wild cries at intervals all night, to show that we were not asleep; the damp room, so cold that with all our bedding we lay shivering for hours, and so full of smoke when a fire was kindled that our eyes streamed with tears — what mattered lack of privacy or rest if only that precious soul were saved and kept to life eternal?
Two of a chain of forts guarding the western approaches to Lanchow City, the capital of Kansu.
It will be noted that the cart track is also a river bed, “one interminable stretch of rocks and stones.”