Life as It Was

Nothing would have been more distasteful to the writer of the words just read than any parade of his manner of living them out; but it should be known that he did live them out. If, in recording the life as the journal tells it, more is said of doing than of praying, it is only because the prayer part naturally formed the unrecorded background. Every Monday morning was given chiefly to prayer; and the time that supplied the sinews of strength for the day’s duty was won by early rising and retiring early at night. The nine o’clock bell, a gong beaten for the schoolboys near by, was always curfew; the hour after that was sacred to communion with God. But truly the day was so permeated and penetrated with this vital element that though there were stated hours, they were only, as it were, the larger beads upon a string of beads. But the life of the day went on quietly, and to the outward eye in ordinary fashion:

“Visit from a Hindu for talk. He said we must have a guru spiritual guide, and while admitting that ours was possibly sinless, as the true Guru must be, said that though some of theirs had done wrong things at first, yet they had afterwards attained purity. He illustrated it by saying that some flowers, like the jasmine, grew on thornless shrubs, and were sweet; others, like the rose, grow on thorny stems, but in spite of thorny origin the flowers gave a sweet perfume. Our peerless Guru might be sinless all along, d la jasmine, and theirs spring from sinful origin; but theirs too was sweet in the flower or final state.”

This is an early entry in January 1898, for the year began with work among Hindus, and many visits were paid and returned; and many were the long interesting talks on the little shadeless street verandahs of the towns and villages near by, or in the bungalow, which echoed all over at such times with the strident Tamil and hearty laughter of the visitor when he had, as he thought, gained a point in the close argument.

“Callers; talks on the one supreme subject. They heard well, and confessed that they had no comfort from their present religion in their hearts. Friendly, but no real concern in spiritual things. Holy Spirit, breathe!”

Then came the nearer Christians: first, house-to-house visiting. “Oh to see them surrender! All break Sabbath, and won’t forsake their sins.” Then on to camp.

Alvartope (village of the grove), the first camp of the year, is a village on the banks of the copper-coloured river, upon whose opposite side is built one of the strongest fortresses of Hinduism to be seen in the south; a fort, so far, impregnable. “Fear sin has much power here,” is the first evening’s entry. “May the Holy Spirit come, convict, and convert.” The journal tells the beginning of the coming of the Spirit:

“Had a visit from an anxious man who seemed really impressed; after-meeting, at which seemed real impression; a fair number confessed their sin and need of release. Large and attentive crowd; private interviews in tent; open-air meeting. Visits to Hindus and conversation.... Open-air meeting; large and attentive crowd. A youth came to tent and said he wanted to be a Christian; prayed with him. The Lord bless His word!... Last service of mission proper; full church, real movement apparent, many professed to receive Christ; He only knows. Christians afterwards had a meeting among themselves to deal with their sins; husbands to go and fetch back their wives; quarrellers to be at peace. God has turned up their sins. Prayer-meeting after they had settled these matters.”

The next campaign was led by two friends from England, then touring in India — Mrs. Constantine of Smyrna and her friend, Miss Orlebar. It was intended chiefly for the Christian women, but it reached both men and women. There were

CH. xvn.] LIFE AS IT WAS 205

some lasting conversions from that mission; and among those won for Christ was an old woman who at once, with the utmost determination, began to learn to read, using Tamil texts hung on the bungalow walls for her first reader, “because they are large and suitable for aged sight.”

The men’s itinerating band came next, and as choruses were all in the air that year, classes for their practice were held under the trees in the compound.

August saw the family in camp. A little place called the Shining Village was the first camping-ground. It did not strike the unimaginative as particularly shining, but it did not prove wholly unresponsive. A new Tamil brother arrived, Paramanantham, a young gymnastic master, converted apart from human means through the direct action of the Holy Spirit using the Word of God to convict him of his sin and his need of a Saviour.

Paramanantham (heavenly joy) and Gnanayutham (spiritual weapon), both now ordained, were true yoke-fellows through those strenuous years, and itinerating life, in spite of the disappointments which are bound to come, was unfeignedly happy.

The next camp of that season was a hard place:

“Congregation unmoved, whether afraid of plain issue or whether my own unfitness, Lord, show; only work! Shown at after-meeting that there was a big division in congregation; had a meeting to heal breach, but parties refused; gave our selves to prayer about it, helpless, not knowing whether to speak again at night or not. Meanwhile the people set to work themselves, and the wranglers came to say that they were at peace. We had service, but the after-meeting still dragged; various visitors at tent during day to talk on spiritual things. The results are in God’s hands; but one longs to see something much deeper.”

On again, this time to a centre where there was quite a good-sized congregation and a most energetic pastor who stirred the people up to such an extent that it was necessary to put on the brake; for the worthy man used to bustle about right up to the moment of beginning the service issuing directions for proper behaviour: “And be sure you kneel up, you sleepy-heads!” would be the final exhortation, much required on a hot day when “kneeling up” on a bare floor without any sort of support is a weariness to the reluctant flesh which inclines to slip down into a comfortable crouch. Some seemed “really touched and turned, God knows how they stand,” is the journal summary of this mission. “Lord, Thy power is what we long for. Don’t know where the people here are, but His Word shall not return unto Him void.” The prayer of a brother there is remembered for the cheer it was in the midst of disappointment: “If there are any windows left unopened in my soul, help me to open them, Lord.” And another: “Lord, I would be sandals for Thy feet.”

The next camp was pitched at a place where also little occurred to encourage. “The work has been very flat here,” is the last entry; “but we commit it to God Who always causes us to triumph in every place.” The spiritual triumph is some times all the more real when the outward circumstances are those of apparent defeat. Brainerd’s life was the book on hand then: this passage is doubly marked: “All things here below vanished, and there appeared to be nothing of any considerable importance to me but holiness of heart and life and the conversion of the heathen to God.” — Christian or heathen, it mattered not by what name they were called if they were without Christ. — “When I was asleep I dreamt of these things; and when I waked, as I frequently did, the first thing I thought of was this great work of pleading for God against Satan.”

The series of missions closed with a wonderful open-air in the moonlight, lasting till nearly midnight, to which numbers of caste men came from the neighbouring villages. A lamp had been brought for the convenience of those who required it; otherwise there was no light but that pure light which turns the sand to snow and the palm leaves to silver plumes. It fell upon the faces of the listeners, lighting every feature and showing up the marks on the forehead — vertical if the man were a worshipper of Vishnu, horizontal if a Saivite; fell, too, upon the face of the preacher — a face so earnest, so full of a passion of earnestness that the only words that occur as descriptive,

“Dazed and amazed with overmuch desiring,
Blank with the utter agony of prayer,”

do not sound excessive, but just true. Who can say that such an hour has done nothing for Eternity?

Sometimes to the writer the turning over of the pages of the journal is like turning the handle of a door that leads straight into an inner room which opens upon other rooms, and all the walls are covered. There are slight pen-and-ink sketches there, and outlines sometimes half rubbed out; oftener canvases crowded with colour, varied as life, and clear as if painted yesterday. One such has been shown, but it should stir with the sound of a voice to be real at all. Here are two others:

The first, a crowded church in early evening, packed with Christians sitting on the floor — the men on one side, the women on the other — while squatting outside, near the open doors and windows, are the mothers whose babies are restless, and the children, tired of proceedings inside, who want to play.

It is close upon the after-meeting time, when, to those who have only dimly understood, will be slowly and patiently unfolded all they can open their hearts to apprehend, with a view to their accepting what they can understand. The preacher stands among them and pleads with such a note of entreaty in his voice that it seems as if it must soften the hardest clod of clay, and pierce the dullest conscience, and cause all within the soul to spring up in response. There is silence, that strange hush of the Spirit which is not dead quiet, but a tingling, living thing; and it holds the people — they cannot move, they sit and wait. Again the voice speaks, beseeching; still that solemn hush, not a movement in the crowd, till slowly a woman rises, stands a moment irresolute, then makes her way alone to the door, crosses the belt of moonlit sand, and is lost in the shadow of the village.

The woman led the meeting. The spell was broken; up scrambled the people, chatting lightly to each other, and dispersed. But there was one troubled of soul: “One visitor at tent at night; anxious,” the journal says.

And another is painted in a shimmer of yellow sunshine — a dozen women with brown faces full of wholesome homeliness; one, young and bright, trying to say something, struggling for words to express the spiritual. Suddenly she finds them, and she points out through the blaze to some palm trees growing near: “I was a rootless palmyra; now God has given me roots.”

There was just one break in the daily routine; it occurred after tiffin in the early hot afternoon, and lasted for exactly half an hour. Into that half-hour the book of the time was read aloud, sometimes a biography, as Brainerd’s, just quoted, sometimes a poem. Milton was the poet that month in camp, and the stateliness of Paradise Lost and Samson Agonistes used to contrast most curiously with the life all round the tent or little mud cottage — life uncadenced, clamour ing, elemental in every mood and tense.

“September 6. — At daybreak a girl came from Perunkularn to take shelter, wishing to be a Christian,” this, the beginning of much, is the first entry of note after the close of camp work.” All day her friends and relatives about; had two interviews with her, but she refused to go back with them. She is of age to choose for herself, and seems in real earnest. But these cases are difficult and heart - rending. All very tired. Looking for guidance to God to be kept from wrong steps or mistakes.

“September 7. — The girl’s people all about ’s side of

house. Her mother had a long time with her: some leading men from Perunkulam asked to see her; but as she had just had her mother, asked them to defer till to-morrow morning. ‘The Lord reigneth,’ and we have committed the whole to Him.

“September 8. — Long talk with the girl’s people again.

“September 10. — Another long interview between the girl and her friends in presence of the Revenue Inspector. She kept firm. Police head-constable came to take her deposition. Took it.

“September 11. — Our Perunkulam school was burned down by the Hindus in the night from anger about the girl, and our teacher and his wife had to remove over here for fear of incendiaries. We leave all in God’s hands. [The teacher’s house was burned down.]

“September 17. — Carr came out.... After early tiffin

Carr and and the girl left for Palamcottah, we holding

prayer-meeting for their safe journey.”

To those who can read between the lines these few sentences are full. To those who cannot, they may be somewhat empty. What they really hold is something packed with such joy, pain, confusion, calm, anxiety, and restfulness, that the conflicting sensations, if described, would leave the reader bewildered.

Outwardly it was anything but peaceful. The bungalow, as has been said, is an open place, with great doors, not one of which would lock properly; and large and numerous windows in much the same condition, unglazed, of course, only fitted with wooden Venetian shutters, which had to be nailed up on the women’s side, as there were always people crouching under, ready to spring through, seize the girl, and carry her off. All along she was very quiet; but there was something in the agonised clinging to the Lord, her Kedeemer, for Whom she had to suffer the loss of all things precious to her, that suggested the picture of the girl on the rock with the angry waves leaping towards her, while she looks up and clings to the sign of her redemption. It was necessary to sleep in the upper room, as the lower rooms were not safe; so Mr. and Mrs. Walker vacated it, and slept in the verandah guarding the foot of the stairs. Those in that upper room used to watch in the early morning the figures of men and women stealing through the shadows of the trees, till they were close under the house; they came in twos and threes, till sometimes thirty or forty were grouped about, waiting for an opportunity to do what they might have done easily, despite the guarded stair, had it not been for the protection of God. Once they all but did it; a long talk with the mother was concluding when three men rushed the door and nearly had their way. When force failed, they tried magic; and in all four points of the compass charms were buried in the sand to draw the deluded heart back, and bewitched dust was thrown up in the air in the hope that some particle of it might be in haled and effect that desirable change of mind. Poison was attempted, of course; but the greatest care was exercised, and that also failed.

There was need for the prayer of the journal for wisdom and guidance, lest any false step should lead to mistake; and it was a matter for thankfulness that this, the first unmarried girl of mark ever known to come out in the district, was guided through the difficult initial experiences by one wise to think for her, strong to defend her, full of sympathy with the poor enraged relations, and yet unwavering in upholding the one who suffered most, to count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus her Lord.

The journey to the C.E.Z. converts’ home, Palamcottah, was accomplished in safety, and life became normal again in the Pannaivilai bungalow.

“Death, indifference all around. Let God arise,” is one of the next entries. This terrible indifference to spiritual things was an increasing burden, “the burden the prophet did see.” After awhile what at first appeared like the beginning of a mass movement on a small scale appeared, and was thus dealt with:

“Evening to Manalur to see number of people who wish to put themselves under instruction. B. and four Christian women took the women in church, while P. and I had the men outside. Their motives are very questionable; but it was a grand chance for preaching the Gospel, and we told them plainly to let Christianity alone, unless they wanted salvation from sin.”

Another mission was held for Christians, with more hopeful results:

“Afiked all converted souls to show themselves, and had a praise-meeting for them; nice stirring time. Lord, lead us on! Large attendance; a good many witnessed. God make it all real, deep, and lasting.”

Then to camp again, to Alvartope, the village of the grove. At first it seemed as if the light had gone.

“No response at after-meeting, but the Word worked.... Little or no response, but the Word told.” But soon there is the entry: “After-meeting; warm, real, and responsive.” And the following evening, at an open-air meeting for Hindus, the converted Christians spoke out bravely:

“A good time; the Christians stirred to singing; they were at it till late at night. Some Hindus confessed their sin to God. A real stir all through village. Praise-meeting; many clear testimonies and much keenness. Left for Pannaivilai, many of the stirred-up Christians following us half-way or so, singing.”

This singing revival alarmed the Hindus, who immediately engaged a poet-priest to come and chant Hindu poetry to the people evening after evening in the open air; and they put up an awning for him, under which numbers sat listening far into the night. But one and another of the company under the awning dropped of! and joined the Christians in their hymn-singing instead.

Among the Christians who followed half-way or so, singing, was a young husband who had decided to send his wife for a visit to Pannaivilai, “to learn how to win souls,” as he said.

He followed close upon the bandy in which she was travelling, his face alight with his new-found joy and hope. The bandies were going slowly; and as he walked alongside, he held his hand out to her. “What have you, who are to be a witness for Christ and a winner of souls, to do with the adornments of the world?” he asked her; and without a word — though he had asked for a great thing — she took off her jewels, heavy gold earrings, necklets, and bracelets, worn day and night from childhood, and laid them in his hand. Thereupon one of the sisters of the women’s band, who was in the same bullock- cart, exclaimed:

“This is of the Lord. He has troubled my conscience about my jewels. Yesterday, as I spoke in the open-air meeting, I overheard a child say to her mother, ‘When I grow up I will join that band and wear pretty jewels, like that elder sister who is speaking.’ The words pricked me. I am going to take off my jewels.”

She did so; one by one, other members of the women’s band followed, each after a time of real inward conflict, for the action was much misunderstood. In several instances the homes of their Christian relatives were closed to them. An indignant pastor preached in church against them; a vernacular newspaper pilloried them; and life was more difficult for them than any will understand except those who know what it is to dare to break custom in India. For several years the scourge of the tongue was freely applied to each one of the very small number who took off her jewels; and the English members of that small band came in for their full share of obloquy. The teaching given by them when they alluded to the subject, which was not often, as few Christians were prepared in spirit to go so far, is set forth in the following letter written two years later, before the commotion had subsided:

“I think I regard the passage in Timothy about jewels, etc., as a principle, more than a distinct command not to wear any. The way I take it, is that a distinct principle is laid down, and that the more fully and literally we act on the principle, especially under the conditions now prevalent in Tinnevelly, the better. So that, if you want to be fully obedient to God’s will, it involves a practical prohibition. I should not hesitate to say that a woman who wore none was more fully obedient than a woman who wore a few. And that is why I think workers should set the example. This may sound like a mere distinction in words; but I think it is an important one. The very fact that the women shrink from taking off their jewels, and that from fear of ridicule, shows that their obedience is at fault. Besides, what do Christ’s workers want to adorn their bodies with gold for, when souls are perishing? Christ’s principles bring blessing in proportion to our full execution of them. St. Paul does not say, ‘A woman must take off all her jewels, or she cannot be saved.’ That would not be the Gospel method at all. But he says, ‘I will... that women adorn themselves in modest apparel.. .not with broidered hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array.’ That surely is the enunciation of a principle. And my spirit of loyalty to Christ would say at once, ‘Very well, I will carry out that principle to the uttermost.’”

One of the Tamil booklets written at Pannaivilai dealt with the question, and also with two other delicate matters, debt and caste-keeping. This booklet has been, as the writer knew it would be, most unpopular; but it has worked. Custom and Liberty is its name, and it is usually described by the un appreciative as “instructive.” “Never mind; here, put this one with it,” and he would produce another on a less obnoxious, or, as the Christian would say, “upon a more spiritual subject “; “put the two together, and this will help the other down!”

“Here we have been having encouragements,” says a home letter written from Pannaivilai upon November 14th.” There is quite a revival among the boys of the boarding-school, and the little chaps are very keen. Yesterday, Sunday, I preached on ‘Who is on the Lord’s side? ’ and at the close asked all to stand up who meant to be out and out, God helping them. The boys were up like a shot, and quite a number of women. The men who stood up were only few and far between. But still, compared with the deadness and sleepiness of a year ago, we thank God and take courage. We kept all the volunteers back for a praise-meeting yesterday, and are having a special meeting for them this evening. There are signs of better things ahead. Pray that we, and this company whom God is raising up as witnesses, may be filled with His Spirit and be hot for souls. We are all going out to a village where G. and I took a mission before with much blessing. A heathen youth came up to me after the open-air service we held for Hindus at that time and said, ‘I want to be a Christian.’ It was one of those cases of immediate fruit which we do not often see. He attended church from that day forward, and has since been baptised. Now there are several other young men there under instruction. We are hoping, therefore, for a real good time.

“After our return here next week we shall have to prepare for the Day of Prayer, November 27 j there are several to be baptised that day, amongst them our sweeper woman who seems to be in real earnest, and three youths who are in the boarding-school here, two of whom are from Hinduism. I believe they have all been converted here. We hope for a real blessing on the Day of Prayer.

“The very next morning I have to start for Allahabad to attend the C.M.S. Quinquennial Conference [to which he and Mr. Carr were delegates]. They have asked me to preach on the night preceding the conference. Pray for me. I know one man at least who is hoping to get a spiritual blessing there. Ask that I may be given much wisdom to testify and to find out missionaries longing for deeper blessing. An invitation came to me to go on from there and take meetings in the Naddea district of Bengal; but after praying over it, I have declined, as I shall be away three weeks as it is. I want to see greater blessing here.

“The Day of Prayer was November 27, and a happy day it was here,” he writes six weeks later.” You may have heard of the baptisms we had that afternoon by immersion in the large tank [lake]. We were at work till 10 o’clock on Sunday night, and then I had to leave at 5 a.m. on the following day. We [he and a fellow-traveller] composed three new Tamil choruses in the bullock bandy between home and Palamcottah! I picked up Mr. Carr in Palamcottah and off we went, reaching Allahabad at 1 o’clock on Friday morning, tired of the train. We must have had our pulses felt, and tickets examined by at least a dozen plague inspectors on the way. I stayed with the Russells, and it was quite home-like.

“God gave opportunities for witnessing both in public and private, and we got some resolutions passed at the conference on quite the right lines. It brought me into touch especially with a few individual missionaries, with whom I hope to keep in contact in future.

“I came on here for dinner on Christmas Eve, after a journey in all of 4670 miles. Out of twenty-six days we spent twelve nights in the train. I was just in time to take my place in preaching on Christmas Day; and to-day have been straightening up papers and clearing off arrears of correspondence.”

One incident of the northern tour, often recalled with delight, was the singing of “All hail the power of Jesus’ Name” under the dome of the Taj Mahal. Four missionary friends sang it together; “the echoes were glorious.”

But life is a curious medley of the great and very small. During his absence the member of his family who loved living creatures of all sorts had been given a squirrel, which daily at breakfast -time appeared to share the meal. “What will happen when the Iyer comes back?” had been a haunting thought: but trusting to that fortune which so frequently favours the adventurous, the owner of the squirrel (with Mrs. Walker’s indulgent concurrence) continued to enjoy the unwonted luxury of an animal at table up to almost the last hour. That hour arrived, and the happy return an accomplished fact, the squirrel was carefully retired. But fortune was asleep that morning. Breakfast had hardly begun when there was a scuttling of feet, and a flying leap, and the squirrel, much pleased with itself, was on the Iyer’s shoulder. He turned surprised; whereupon the little beast, its tail one fat furry note of exclamation, dashed across the table into the butter and up the milk jug. Was ever a delegate to important conferences worse treated in his own home? “It is a defect in character not to like animals,” he was assured. “I do like them,” he returned, “in their own place,” and froze a little; and for one long minute the atmosphere was chilly. It soon recovered itself, however, and the squirrel learned better manners. He would never have allowed any animal under his care to be ill-treated; but he liked them all and only “in their own place,” which, as he was often told, was a sad lack in his make up. He took this disrespectful banter very good-naturedly on the whole, only occasionally tapping his foot on the floor, a way he had if too hard pressed; and he returned good for evil — if evil it were — by helping the offending member to prepare a vigorous address in Tamil on the proper way to kill snakes, a burning question just then, for the compound swarmed with them, and the creatures were having a very bad time.

The year ends with a look back and inward: “So the old year passes full of many mercies, and some fruit; but oh, the failures! We see not yet a1! things put under Him.”

“I say: Fear not! Life still
Leaves human effort scope,
But since life teems with ill,
Nurse no extravagant hope;

Because thou must not dream, thou need’st not then despair!” MATTHEW ARNOLD, Empedocles on Etna.

1899]