Climbing Unawares

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE and 1896 were years of serving tables, chiefly Christian, but occasionally, when opportunity offered, Hindu as well. Festivals were held all over the district; and to all these festivals as many of the missionary party as could be spared went, and shared in the proceedings. Concerning one such gathering there is a bright little note:

“Meetings for men and women separately. An experienceof-the-past meeting; most interesting accounts of first introduction of Christianity in various villages. A happy festival.”

There is much that is depressing in the sight of nominal Christianity, and the journal bears witness to the fact. But to those in the midst of a heathen land there is something exhilarating in the sight of a company of people who do acknowledge the true God, and would turn with abhorrence from idolatry. “Take the most worldly of the congregations, and imagine if you can what would happen if someone attempted to put an idol upon the Communion table,” he said to one who, shocked and distressed by discovery upon discovery as to the nominal character of much of the Christianity of India, was almost tempted to wonder if there were any reality anywhere. It was enough; the dullest imagination dare not pursue that thought; the mere suggestion of what would happen, were such sacrilege attempted, was enough to prove all was not wholly nominal. And again: “If a great persecution came and purified the Church, we should be surprised perhaps to see how many would burn at the stake rather than deny Christ.”

But he never shut his eyes to the painful side of things because it was painful; and once when a fellow-worker of extremely optimistic views who had been rating another for grieving over the Church as “dead,” prayed, after taking a mission for Christians, “0 Lord, save this poor corpse of a Church,” he went to the rebuked one half amused, half thankful: “It’s all right about E. His eyes are being opened; and when once they are opened, he’ll say stronger things than any of us, and mean them every word!”

But discouraged he never was, if discouragement means that weakness of spirit which makes the hands hang down and the knees feeble. His happy duty, like that of all true missionaries, was to go on loving the people, hoping for them, serving them, knowing that however things may seem, his labour would not be in vain in the Lord.

With the exception of the festivals and sundry raids into the district, the record of the month is: “Office, hard at it and little to show for it.” Occasionally there are appreciative notes about younger fellow-missionaries’ first attempts in Tamil preaching:

“Hawkins preached so nicely his first sermon in the vernacular in our Palamcottah full service.... Douglas fired away bravely in Tamil.... Storrs in Tamil, so earnest and solid and real.”

Nothing seemed to give more delight than a living message from a fellow-missionary, whether in Tamil or English. Many can recall the keen eyes fixed on the preacher, and wondered at the earnest heed that was being paid to something perhaps very simple. But then simplicity always pleased him if there were reality behind: “Harcourt took my place and preached. His delightful simplicity is refreshing.”

But it was no flabby charity. “Y. preached; very nice, but too much scolding. Far better let [the then bone of contention in the Tamil Church is mentioned] alone in sermons just now. L. preached. He thinks the world is getting better and more Christian” (no commentary, only two significant notes of exclamation). “Mere vague nonsense” summarises one sermon, and “ashes” another. But this is rare. Never had preachers a humbler listener. “I go to learn,” he said once, when to judge by repute there was not likely to be much taught. The most immature fledgeling of a preacher, if only he were in earnest, could count upon his sympathy.

It was the same with books. With the exception of scientific books and standard works of history (he admits to a great hunger for history), his books are annotated. The books on history and science are usually marked for the illustrations they suggest. Others, if the subject-matter suggested doubt, have query marks down their margins; and all are marked profusely where they carried their reader with them. “I enjoyed the notes in the margin as much as the book,” wrote a friend lately in returning Sir William Ramsay on The Seven Churches. But with books, as with people, the occasional queries never detracted from the approving underlinings. A book, however, which appeared to him pernicious in tendency had short shrift:

“Reading Drummond’s Ascent of Man, and not at all convinced of its soundness of argument; petitio principii with a vengeance.... Finished it. Very specious and misleading.”

“Do you ever read without a pencil?” asked one also addicted to the use of pencils. “Not often; especially not this sort of a book” (pointing to one whose conclusions he did not follow). “You see, if my books fell into other hands, I would not have it supposed I endorsed all that is in them.” “Not proven” was a characteristic comment. “If my mathematics have done nothing else for me, they have taught me to distinguish between hypothesis and proven fact.”

But the journal of this year, though touching upon people and books, is more taken up with less interesting matter — coils of accounts, correspondence, and so on; broken by journeys here and there, with, sandwiched between them, meetings, interviews, and private talks. Bandy journeys were rarely bliss to this traveller. “Sleepless and tormented” is an explicit entry. But nothing mattered if only there were something worth while at the end. “Have enjoyed greatly this direct spiritual work” is a note after a service of meetings for Bible-women. For he took pleasure in the homeliest form of service.

“I should have thought it a good deal to ask,” said one, in reference to a similar piece of work proposed at a specially busy time. It did seem a good deal to ask a man who was at home in large affairs and hard pressed by many engagements, to spend three or four days sitting down among a few women. A look of surprise was the only answer. It was the same where work among children was concerned. The preparation was as complete in its measure as for the largest convention, and the pleasure seemed sometimes in inverse ratio to the apparent importance; for the little and humble was often welcomed and accepted, when (the guidance being clear against it) that which in man’s view was great was declined without a pang.

The time was not without anxiety. A proposal had been made by the Church authorities at home which those most conversant with the facts on the field believed contained a menace for the future. The matter has been laid to rest, so it is better left undisturbed; but it gave the C.M.S. missionaries of Tinnevelly infinite trouble, and they were as one in resistance. An entry of October 26th is suggestive of the tension of the time:

“Writing to Parent Committee about the question, and my convictions that I must resign unless proper assurances are forthcoming. May I be willing to be led by the Master!”

A prayer that must have come from the ground of his heart; for few things would have caused him greater grief than severance from the C.M.S., and the thought of forcing the Committee’s hands, it need hardly be said, was far from his intention.

The next month brought a fresh contingent of missionaries to South India; one of whom, who was detained for a time in Madras, noticed with surprise that when the subject of the Tinnevelly brethren’s action, which was the topic in C.M.S. circles there, was discussed, the mention of the proposed resignation of “Walker of Tinnevelly” always created a sensation. Tinnevelly without “Walker of Tinnevelly” seemed even in those days an impossible thing to contemplate, and there were many hopes freely expressed that this man of strong convictions would not be forced to resign. Happily matters did not come to this pass, and the incident might be left untold were it not that it shows one side of that many-sided character. He could set his face as a flint.

May, like most Mays thereafter, was spent at Ootacamund (Ooty is the shortened name by which it is familiarly known in S. India); and as always, with the exception of long walks and an occasional day on the Downs, the journal reads like a continuation of life on the Plains. For the Chairman of Council, whoever he may be, takes his office with him wherever he goes; and even if it had not been so, then, as afterwards, there was always any amount of work saved up for “the holidays.” Among other items this year was the charge of St. Thomas’s, one of the churches of Ooty. It is beautifully situated on the gentle slope of a hill, with the lake at its foot. Round about are the garden-graves of many English sleepers. On a sunny morning it is a picture of glad, sacred peace; but in the evening, even if it is fine, the brightness and the t°auty somehow seem to stay outside, and when it is wet it is dismal indeed. A church interior with very few people, sitting far from one another, and farther from the unfortunate preacher, in a dim grey atmosphere, cannot be called inspiring. (How is it that there is so little radiance at the best of times in worship?) “If preachers are human, they must find this depressing,” was the inward thought of one who entered the place for the first time on an evening after the thundery rain of May had set in. In the season the services are taken by missionaries; Mr. Walker took them in 1895, preaching always in the evening.

“It was a wonderful time,” writes a friend. “It was not only the splendid preaching which filled the church to overflowing, so that chairs had to be put all down the aisles; it was the way he visited, just like a pastor, looking up the sick and caring for everybody. I shall never forget the help of that season. We had never known anything like it; and it was wonderful to see the church packed, and people turned away.”

“What a pity it is he is not a real clergyman,” was the remark, made in all good faith, by one of his hearers, wife of a “real clergyman “; by which, of course, is meant not a mere missionary, but a Government chaplain. The mere missionary heard it and laughed. But laughter is far from his journal:

“Rain fell before the service, and so thinned congregation badly. Felt ’ down ’ in consequence. But God can speak to a few as well as to many. Oh to see souls being blessed!

“Prepared sermon; felt slack after strain [a long spiritual strain just over]; not much desire and life in it.

“Asked God to give a fair evening, and full church, and great blessing. He gave a beautiful evening and an overflowing church. May He command the blessing too!

“Preached to full church. My last address in St. Thomas’s this year. Have tried to preach Christ. May God bless the message!”

That year the Ooty Convention, now annual, was conducted upon holiness lines, Dr. Soltau of Burmah, then in Ooty, being chief speaker: “A very solemn, searching time. Dr. Soltau’s address touched my conscience and life. God help us all to put away the leaven and to live holy lives at home!” is his journal note.

An early reminiscence has told how he avoided what he thought of as holiness teaching. In speaking of the matter late in the nineties, he said, “The Spirit taught me directly through the Word what I now see to be the truth upon this subject “; and he taught that truth as he believed it was taught to him, with no uncertain sound. But as early as 1885 we find him preaching in his farewell sermon at St. James’s on “No more continuance in sin.” He had dealt just before with cleansing, under the heading, “No more atonement for sin “; then came this passage, somewhat striking from a young curate who thought of Frances Ridley Havergal as one who walked in perilous places:

“In Job xxxiv. 32 we read: ‘If I have done iniquity, I will do no more.’ I want to be very careful to declare to you the whole counsel of God; for it is quite possible to hold a gospel which is not a perfect Gospel. I fear there are many who think of salvation from hell rather than from sin. But the Gospel proclaims salvation, full and free, from sin, from the power of sin. It is perfectly true that God saves from the punishment of sin; blessed be His holy Name for that: but the Gospel, if it is to be a Gospel of peace to this longing soul of mine, must give a Saviour who will deliver from the power of sin; I want to have done with it. And thank God, this is the salvation of the Lord our God: we are to be saved not only from the guilt but from the power of sin; there is to be no more continuance in sin. When God’s people crossed the river Jordan, God broke down the bridge behind their back; and there is a startling truth in the Lord’s declaration to Israel: ‘Ye shall return this way no more ‘: between them and the land of Egypt and that wilderness in which they had journeyed so long, there rolled the waters of the Jordan. So God has broken the bridge behind our backs; there is to be no more compromise with the world, no more flirtation with sin, no more indulgence in forbidden fruit, for between us and the former state of sin rolls the river Jordan of eternal separation. ‘Therefore,’ says St. Paul in another figure, ’ ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God.’ >:

Straight teaching, called by whatever name. But now there was something added, even a clear showing forth of the way of deliverance, which led many a life into new freedom and victory and peace. He was always strong upon the importance of spiritual sincerity. “No heart purity without a clean sweep of doubtful things as well as sins.” And no leaven, known as such to him, was ever tolerated in his quarters.

A year or so later, he and Mrs. Walker received an invitation from the Mission Council of the Keswick Convention to become Keswick missionaries. As the invitation did not affect their relationship to C.M.S., but only held in it hope of more backing up in prayer, they accepted the proposal. No mention of the matter occurs in either journal or letter; but he greatly looked forward to increased power and grace in India through increased sympathy and prayer in England.

Looking back one day, and contrasting his present with his past attitude as regards the Keswick movement, he told of how he had watched things from the outside. What would the meetings do? The ends of the earth were still unevangelised; Christians were still massed in England: would the annual convention end in being a mere “talky talky,” a sort of spiritual picnic; or would it send men and women out to obey the last command of Him they owned as Lord? When this began to result, he began to draw towards Keswick.

The Bible -readings for missionaries connected with the hill conventions were for most of the succeeding years his charge and his opportunity. Among the hundreds of letters received during the weeks of late August and early September, 1912, few are without a reference to those sometimes wonderful gatherings. What seems to have impressed people most was the sanity and robustness of his teaching. The sentimental and anaemic had no attraction for him, and to the end he was suspicious of anything unbalanced. “He’s like a man with one foot on the precipice edge and the other dangling over,” he said once of an earnest but not very discriminating brother; on the other hand, he was not afraid of going as far as the promises go, and had no sympathy with those who would whittle down those promises and assurances till there was nothing vital left in them. He agreed with Hudson Taylor, “God may mean more than He says, but never less “; and he himself in his experience and therefore in his teaching was climbing unawares.

In July, meetings on the same lines were held for Tamil Christians. “Practical holiness meeting going on in church, addressed by Handley Bird and others;” but weeks spent out in the district investigating all manner of wrong matters lead to a sorrowful entry: “Down-hearted about the people; your cumbrance and your burden and your strife. Anxious thoughts about future course; and yet why anxious?” It is the old story: “Casting all your care upon Him,” that is one side of life; “The care that cometh upon me daily,” that is the other. There is no escape from it if we share the burdens of our Lord. It is part of the paradox of life.

Towards the end of the month he writes from camp to his youngest sister:

“We are in the district for what we hope will prove a month’s tour. Many things keep occurring to interrupt our journey, but I have managed to resist them all thus far. You are asked

CH. xiv.j CLIMBING UNAWARES 17t

to come and give addresses here, and go and take part in some thing there. Moreover, friends write to say they are coming to stay with us and see the work. Well! we have to give a flat but polite ‘No ’ to all outside invitations, and to tell visitors to come and rough it with us in the district. Thus we manage to stick to our work; but I am always afraid of some letter coming with a message which will necessitate our return to Palamcottah.

“We are staying now in a little thatched bungalow, with just one room and a dressing-room in it. Our dining-table and camp-cots, with a couple of chairs, take up the one room. Here we live and sleep and receive visitors. After a few days of this, we pass on to a new centre.”

But all invitations did not receive this flat but polite “No.” Here and there in India, scattered far from one another, but one in heart, there are men who are not satisfied with the prevailing mediocrity of Christian life, and long to see their people rise above it. The Madura American Mission was one of the first to discern that a man with a message had appeared, and September of that year found him with the brethren there. Such invitations were never sought; he was incapable of seeking opportunities for himself, and often marvelled at the sang-froid with which some invite themselves to their friends’ domains, or propose themselves for work of any sort. Moreover, his own mission was needy enough. But when invitations reached him, as they did from this time onward increasingly, each was carefully considered; and if by pressing into a month the work of two he could find time to accept it, he would go to the help of his partners in another ship with unfeigned willingness. “And they beckoned unto their partners which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came,” was always a favourite word with him.

Two sorrows marked this year. In response to his earnest plea for a women’s itinerating band for North Tinnevelly, the C.E.Z. had sent out two sisters, of whom he had written in December, 1891, with thankfulness: “The Misses Turner are settling down to work nicely in Sachiapuram. They are bright and cheerful, and will get on splendidly.” Now suddenly came the news of one of the sisters taken. The date was August 24th, 1895. “So teach us to number our days,” he wrote in his journal that evening, seventeen years to the day, before his own tale of days was to be told in full. Another sister came to join the bereft one in North Tinnevelly: she lies like a seed to-day in the south, as her sister lies in the north: such graves take possession of a land. Only a few pages later the record tells of another, one specially beloved by all. “Lord, it is Thy voice,” is the solemn entry now. “Make me hear.”

Meanwhile the home life went on quietly; it included towards the end of the year a somewhat anxious charge, for a fellow-missionary, Rev. LI. G. 8. Price (who had joined the mission in 1891), had had a bicycle accident, and had come to his friends the Walkers to be nursed. The cause of that accident was one of those small matters too English in spirit to be fussed over. Mr. Price was cycling full speed when he saw an old woman making straight for annihilation. It was a case of himself or her, and the choice had to be made in the flash of a second. A bad smash was the result, but the old woman escaped whole.

On October 28th, Rev. S. Morley was consecrated Bishop in Tinnevelly and Madura, and the journal notes the event:

“I could not enjoy all the ritual, or relish the non-participating Communion which many observed, or go with all the Metropolitan’s sermon as to Episcopacy.”

There followed immediately preparations for the new Bishop’s reception in Tinnevelly; then office work again, with, for recreation in the evenings, a Tamil classic read aloud with an Indian friend in the sing-song of the East, a most curious thing to hear. And heard it was all over the house, and out into the compound; for the study was a corner of the verandah, and the two voices sedulously chanting now in the depths, now in the heights, carried far. Passing Tamils would stop to listen, charmed by the sound of their beloved cadence. The very beggar, snatching at bits of dead (and sometimes living) cactus or euphorbia in the hedge, would pause in the forbidden deed, caught by the mystic joy. For to the true Indian, from the Brahman serene upon his dais, to the coolie baby swinging in his mother’s one spare garment from the branch of a wayside tree, there is nothing in all India like the sound of his own song.

The munshi was a remarkable man and a true brother, Krishna Pillai, the poet; “catcher of men,” as the people called him, because wherever he went he was like a fisherman set upon catching fish. His books, written in classical Tamil, are still a way of entrance to hearts hard to reach by other means.

December brought the Kembers, who had been home on
furlough:

“Heavy floods in river yesterday, and to-day six people washed away and drowned. Roads under water all round station and bungalows at that end. Kenibers returned. Quite a business to get through floods to meet them.”

This meeting of fellow-missionaries was a duty of pleasure, never omitted if it could possibly be accomplished: “I wish I could help you,” writes an old friend in response to a letter asking for reminiscences; “but I fear I can only write common place thoughts about such an extraordinary and holy life” (the words are allowed to stand, though they would have horrified the one about whom they are written, as indeed would the whole book). A “commonplace thought” follows:

“He had great love for all members of the mission circle. No matter what amount of work he had, he would always welcome them when returning from leave, or arriving for the first time at the railway station. I have often been sorry that I wrote to him once from Plymouth, where my homeward-bound steamer called, that I would be in London Docks probably next morning; because the ship missed the morning tide, and he actually waited till the evening, though he was very busy, to welcome my family and me.”

The year closes with the prayer: “Longing for better things and for more real work; Lord, show me Thyself and Thy full salvation.”

“No one can fully estimate the results of the work of one man who has the courage to do and dare for what is true and right at any cost.”

T. W., Commentary for Indian Christians
on the Acts of the Apostles.

“The light hath flashed from Heaven,
And I must follow it.”

COLBRIDGB, Zapolya.

1897]