The Life and Work of the Rev. G. Theophilus Dodds

‘HEN in 1879 I wrote “The White Fields of France,” I could go back to the simple but happy beginning of the M’All Mission in Belleville so modestly related by himself. He commenced alone; in fear, and yet in faith. It was a peculiar undertaking; and as to its future what could he say? There did not seem to be much of hope; and there was enough of difficulty to discourage ordinary men.

Comparing his first Belleville meeting in the Rue Julien Lacroix and its 106 sittings, in January, 1872, with the more than threescore meetings all over France into which that solitary station has grown, he will greatly rejoice; feeling

As did the Egyptian traveller when he stood

By the young Nile, and fathomed with his lance The first small fountains of that mighty flood.

In 1872 the prospect was not a bright one. In 1879 it was immensely brighter. And now, in 1883, it is brighter still, save for one heavy sorrow that has overshadowed it, of which we cannot yet penetrate the issue or the meaning. What the light is that may come out of this darkness remains to be seen.

In 1879 I could point to widening scenes of labour, and tell of new labourers raised up for these. Men and means were not indeed coming forward in proportion to the vastness of the field; but still the work was advancing; — no new disappointments, no formidable difficulties, and no serious checks. Many hearts, both at home and abroad, were cheered with the reports that came in from different quarters. A small periodical was started in that year, into which was gathered a great amount of intelligence from different stations and districts, with extracts from letters and journals of the various labourers. It grew in variety and interest in each issue, and gave to the Church at large the freshest and most reliable information that was to be found. Modest in tone, select in its materials, and well- written in all its articles, it was of great service to the Mission in England and Scotland. Its brief pictures of Paris missionary work were of the most telling kind, revealing the interior working of the enterprise; taking the reader into the very heart of the various operations. Its quiet but vivid sketches of the different scenes were relished exceedingly.

Since then there have been changes, many and important, though the spirit of the Mission and its general machinery have remained the same. The fields have not grown less white, and they have not yet been reaped. The work has not become less hopeful; the sphere of activity has not been narrowed; the success has not been diminished.

But the workers are not quite the same. “The greater part remain unto this present; but some are fallen asleep.” There have been changes; and it is with one of these changes that this volume has to do. It is certainly not a volume which I ever expected to write.

I thought that we might count upon many years of vigorous work from one whose name occurs frequently throughout “The White Fields of France.” The promise was bright. He was just the man for the work. It would hardly have been possible to find one so singularly fitted for the singular service. Anything like failure seemed unlikely. He was in the prime of manhood, or rather in the vigour of youth, when he took the sickle in his hand: only twenty-seven years old; in sufficient health, both of body and mind; thoroughly imbued with a true missionary spirit, and “counting not his life dear to him that he might finish his course with joy, and the ministry which he had received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the Grace of God.” Hopeful, fervent, and buoyant, with all his large gifts and accomplishments, he girded himself eagerly for the enterprise to which he had been called.

His service was to be shorter than we had imagined. God’s measure is not man’s measure, and length of service does not always mean length of life. To do much in little time, and without parade or noise, has been the feature most memorable in some of the truest workers whom the Master has raised up, and the Church delighted to honour.

In the case of Mr. Dodds, much was accomplished in five years. Why the five were not made fifty is not for us to say. If the shorter space had been so useful, what would not the larger have been? The outfit seemed to be all lost; and it was no common outfit. The Master, however, it seems, could spare him, though we were saying that we could not. Who is to carry on his work? is a question not for us to answer, but for Him who gave and took him. The work was His, and so was the workman. The field remains, and He will see to the reapers. The lesson for us is to work while it is day.

No Christian dies too early; and no workman is

Bwth and Education.

taken from his work too soon. The short time and the sudden removal are no doubt parts of the great agency by which the work is to be expanded and matured: perhaps I may specially add deejpened; for work, like that among the Paris ouvriers, needs times of deepening and consolidation. How the sacrifice of one of its best labourers is to accomplish this, we see not. Man could not venture on such sacrifices; for he cannot calculate effects. But He to whom all such calculations are easy, and all such results open, can and may. We have but to look on, and wonder and believe. “What I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter.” His way is in the sea; His path in the great waters; His footsteps are not known.

In our judgment, the labourer could ill be spared, when the fields were widening and the open doors multiplying. But in the judgment of One far wiser than we, his services were no longer required. The Master had got out of him all that He purposed; and the reaping must now pass into other hands. He knew, too, that His servant needed rest, — much more even than we knew, who saw him in his weary nights and busy mornings. Our hopes were broken; but these human hopes are not the measure of the Divine will. That will contains something better for us and for France than all that our hopes had sketched or fancied. The Lord of the harvest knows what He is doing. There is nothing capricious in His movements. He knows when to raise up, and when to cast down. He knows, too, what workmen are needed, and what are not needed. The work is His, not ours. The instruments are in His hands, not in ours. We refer the whole case to Him; and hand over to Him both failure and success. He holds Himself responsible for both.

On the 9th of September, 1882, George Theophilus Dodds rested from his labours, at the age of thirty-two. Far from father and mother, brother and sister; far from his dear friends in Scotland, and from those no less dear, in the land of his adoption, he lay down upon a sick-bed from which he was not to rise. In a lonely dwelling, on the edge of a barren moor, five miles from the nearest post-town; no village near; in just such a retreat as in a day of health would have been very desirable, he was strangely stricken down; and the rest which he had come to seek was exchanged for one more perfect and enduring. After twelve days of illness, in great prostration and pain and weariness, with only his beloved wife and two dear Christian friends to soothe his death-bed and close his eyes, on the afternoon of a bright sunny Saturday he passed away.

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