Going On

1910, and on till early April 1911, as traced in the journal, show little more than a steadfast going on. As so often before, the records chiefly deal in broad washes of quiet colour; background again.

The year began with classes, for a new set of students had come to Dohnavur; so the routine was teaching, correspondence, and literary work, varied by occasional expeditions into the surrounding country with the students, and a series of meetings in an outstation for workers. Early in the year one of the girl converts suddenly died, “to our great grief,” the journal says, “but she is safe.” There are far greater griefs than to see a convert die. Later, a new battle began about the child M.; but the Court case was prolonged by postponements. “The Lord reigneth,” is the note at the close of the first of those weary Court days. The journal says little of the Travancore work, which began in un propitious circumstances, as he wrote to his wife:

“MIRAMANA, February 21. — It began to rain on Saturday, and kept on steadily till early morning. Our sheds, however, proved water-tight. The river was very full of water yesterday, and it was doubtful whether we could hold a meeting or not. As the people were gathering, Philipose decided on a meeting. The water was up to their shoulders wading, and some swam across. Others came in boats. ... I don’t know what will happen if much more rain falls. Even yesterday most of the booths were half immersed in water. Still, both the weather and the work are God’s; He knows what is best all round.”

“Oh to feel Calvary with power! Oh for a quickening!”

entries upon Good Friday, and again during the Ooty Convention, are among the few audible prayers of the year. Distinctly it was a year of hope deferred. No quickening movement passed through the Indian Church. Many, fearing excesses, had almost ceased to desire it. A fatal contentment with the prevailing stagnation was the peril of the time.

But the year, so barren of material of writeable sort, held many an unforgotten ministry.

One such is recounted in the Record of September 1912, in an In Memoriam article signed by initials familiar to S. Indian missionaries, A.N.C.S.:

“In times of sorrow and suffering his tenderness and cheerfulness brought out a side of his character which perhaps the world never saw. Two years ago the writer, when very ill in an Indian hospital, had the great privilege of almost daily visits from him. He can only say that as Hopeful was to Christian when crossing the river, so was his friend Walker to him when almost sinking under weakness and depression, and it is as a tribute of love and gratitude to one who was closer than a brother that he writes this.”

The incident recalls the grieved surprise with which he heard the cheap criticisms sometimes passed upon broken-down missionaries, when the cause of the breakdown had been honest work, perhaps strain caused by someone else’s lack of service. “Remember Epaphroditus. Paul didn’t blame him;” or, “Much they know about it,” he would remark indignantly if the criticisers were of the easy, leisured, unburdened variety: and he meant every word of his note in his commentary upon Phil. ii. 30:

“For the work of Christ he came nigh unto death, hazard ing his life: Lightfoot renders it, ’ having gambled with his life.’ Epaphroditus gladly risked his life in the work of Christ, treating it, as it were, with holy recklessness in his consuming zeal for his Master’s glory. The work of Christ in India demands more of this ’ gambling with life.’ There is far too much attention paid to our own health and ease and comfort. After all, our life is not a very high stake to throw down for the salvation of others, in the light of vv. 5-8.”

One bright picnic day is marked “Delightful” in the journal; it was spent out in the woods near Ooty reading, with a water fall in view and the hills around, a book little known even to book-lovers, and now out of print, C. A. Fox’s Lyrics from the Hills.

The serenity of Dohnavur was disturbed that October by a petty lawsuit between the Protestants and the Romanists of the village. This insignificant affair gave poor Dohnavur no small trouble. The Romanists, who up till then had been upon amicable terms with both Hindus and Christians, now stirred up by outside influence, insisted upon trying to force their noisy night processions through the narrow Protestant lanes, to the detriment of their trees, the one glory of the village, and the disturbance of the general peace. The matter ended satisfactorily; but the journal sighs over the fuss: “Disturbed day: Thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven. Alas for strife, alas for friction!”

Some sixty-five guests found their way to Dohnavur during the months covered by this chapter; and as there is no accommodation in the village or near it, all stayed at the bungalow. But the work went on as steadily as might be, through all distractions; though sometimes it was a problem as to how to manage that it should do so. “Let me undertake them,” he used to say to the perplexed, when impending arrivals other than fellow-missionaries or familiar friends were announced, as if he had not as much as anyone to do; and more than once his journal refers to this small and commonplace occupation — background work again. One of the sixty-five has tried to show the head of the happy household as he appeared to a very welcome guest:

“I know he was an inspiration: I always had a feeling about him, that I never had about any other man, that he was as near a pattern of Christ as a man could be; and I used to wonder how he could be so high-strung and intensely sensitive, and yet have it all under control: it was such a wonderful combination. Then how he remembered all the little details about everyone’s work; he seemed to care so much in a strong brotherly sort of way, specially when he prayed for the different needs after meals. The thought of his life and his work is always a spur: how he did press on, never slackening for a moment.”

And a guest of 1908, the old and lovable Metropolitan Bishop Copleston of Calcutta, said a word that includes all happiness: “That is a holy house: the Lord dwells there.” Was ever sweeter word spoken of Christian home?

Those of his guests who were of quick perception used to wonder sometimes how it was that a man of his calibre could live so contentedly in such an obscure place as Dohnavur. But those who knew him better knew that the contentment was a gift of God. For anyone created as he was, strong of conviction but most sensitive, keen to suffer and to sympathise, and in certain ways far from physically robust, a retreat out of the rush of things was a necessity if he were to go on in the tropics at all. His retreat was, as has been shown, no lazy land of ease, but a workshop where he wrought hard and constantly. But it was, so far as any place can be in India, a place of repair for the spirit. Not that Dohnavur is in the least a health resort; it is flat on the hot plains, right in the midst of the life of the plains, and yet somehow it is a place of healing: the calm of the mountains is about it, a sense of remoteness, a feeling of retirement; in the midst of work it is possible to be alone and think. He could not have held out long, and he could not have done the sort of work he did, if there had not been some such place prepared for him. So his contentment with it as a home was of God. And there was no doubt whatever lie was most deeply heart content. He had many invitations to reconsider his decision to be a Voice in the Wilderness, and work which would have brought him into prominence was more than once all but thrust upon him; but however the natural man might have been attracted by it, he refused it, knowing by some sure instinct he could do his best work where he was.

The daily correspondence of this year was no lighter than in previous years; people wrote to him upon all conceivable subjects, missionaries for advice about enquirers, and converts, and every variety of difficulty. Indian Christians wrote about perplexities, spiritual, mental, financial. And many a letter caine asking for special prayer. An Indian brother now in training for the ministry, quaintly says what many a friend would say:

“He was a father to hundreds upon hundreds, and to me I think he was so in a very special manner. Whenever I had a difficult problem I used to write to him for prayer, and the answer used to come from God in a remarkably short time. There had been problems which had been perplexing me for years, and which I was not able to solve, but they were solved in no time when I asked him to help me with his prayers.”

Letters, too, used to come from people at home who wanted to know things Indian from the under side. But these were rare enough to be wondered over a little when they came, for he always declared that the person whose opinion was of most value to the home public was the globe-trotter. The winter visitor and occasional visitor came next, then the very new missionary. In fact, your value as adviser and oracle in general exactly balanced your ignorance. The less you knew, the more you seemed to know, and the more you were accepted as knowing. It was a side of life which often amused him; and he would read aloud some crude generalisation or conclusion from a current magazine, and smile at the delightful deference with which it was accepted by a kind and pliant public, which having got what it wanted was content.

But his helpfulness as counsellor is our subject now, and with reference to this, one whose remembrance of him dates back to 1885 writes:

“No matter what the subject might be, he gave you him self for the time being, as if you were the only one in the world, and put at your disposal the whole of his powers of thought and perception. He never appeared bored with the minutest little details that could make him the better grasp the subject; and then he would give a well-balanced opinion of the best course to take. There are very few who do this, who are not distrait while listening to long rigmaroles. His power of sym pathy was marvellous; you realised he was giving you his very best.”

“Discretion, the capacity of well-considered action, understanding, the capacity in the case of opposing rules to make the right choice, and in the matter of extremes to choose the right medium.” These words from Delitzsch on Proverbs ii. 11 are underlined in his copy of the commentary, and they express what his friends recognised in him. Canon Sell, C.M.S. Secretary, Madras, sets this down with the quiet deliberation of the veteran:

“I should like to place on record how valuable to me, in the administration of a great mission, his advice always was; and what a very real help it was in circumstances often very difficult and perplexing. I could appeal to him for guidance with great confidence, for his judgment was remarkably sound and true. I did not always agree with him; but none the less did I value his counsel, which, with few exceptions, I was able to follow. In this respect I feel his loss very much indeed. It is the side of his character and ability with which I was most brought into contact. During my many years of secretarial life there has been no one to whom I more constantly looked for advice; and for that advice, always so freely and kindly given, I shall ever be deeply grateful.”

In connection with this work of counsellor there was one thing he greatly disliked: he could not bear having anything “sprung” on him. Give him time to turn the matter over in his mind, avoid all appearance of being in a hurry, and you could count on his best. Hurry him, press for an immediate decision right off, and his forehead would knit and his eyes turn unsympathetic. Or if you were too much of an outsider to be treated quite like this, you would, if you were sensitive to slight signs of disapproval, begin to be aware that you had made a mistake.

In a book which does not profess to skim the mere surface of things, letters from those intimate enough to express them selves freely are not out of place; such letters touch upon the hidden things of life:

“I hope you will bring out how much tenderer and more forbearing he was, latterly, to the opinions of those who dis agreed with him. There was a gentleness and mellowness of judgment upon others which he did not show when I first

CH. xxxvu.] GOING ON 43T

knew him; and several times I noticed how he toned down my own criticisms or said something on the other side.”

And again another:

“He grew in gentleness and love immensely; he was always strong, but grace added the Christlike gentleness and love. I do not think that love was such a feature in him when I first knew him, but I remember how much he used to pray for love; and even in the short time I was in India I noticed how much softer he became.”

“He grew in softness,” it was the same word that occurred to another; one by nature gentle, and to whom the strength of his friend had been for many years something precious. Is there anything more beautiful in the spiritual world than to watch the growth in gentleness of the naturally strong?

It was the combination of wisdom and leisure of heart which accounted for the greater part of the daily pile of letters. The growing kindliness of character too, encouraged an immense amount of correspondence. He had always been quick to sympathise with genuine need, and entirely forgetful of himself and his own reputation where help was required by anyone in real straits; but now that he seemed to be able to bear more gently with the ignorant and erring than formerly, these weaker brethren soon discovered the fact, and drew more and more upon a strength and a kindness that seemed almost limitless.

. Such letters by their very nature are too private for reproduction; but sometimes an impersonal fragment has a word which may have a message for some reader. The question of public confession of forgiven sin seemed to crop up constantly after the revival of 1905-6, and it tortured sensitive souls. His thought upon that subject was clear:

“As to the question of raking up sins in public confession, sins which have been honestly dealt with and put under the blood — I do not think that it is God’s mind and plan. It is one thing, like St. Paul, to say, ‘I was a blasphemer, but obtained mercy,’ in order to glorify God’s grace and encourage the faith of others. It is quite another to bring up sins which have already been confessed and put away. Peter, in writing his Epistles, did not rake up his awful denial of Christ. Satan will bring up past sin in our conscience and remembrance; but it is ours to point him to the Blood, and claim full immunity and victory through that. To humble ourselves is one thing, to torment ourselves is another. ‘The cross now covers my sin, the past is under the blood; ’ and in the light of the promises 1 John i. 7, Heb. viii. 12, Hos. xiv. 4, 5, it is ours to claim through Christ a clean sheet and go forward with His encouraging ‘Sin no more ’ ringing in our ears. Confession of any sin which binds us and hinders the cause is a duty. But raking up the buried and pardoned past is not; indeed, it implies a doubt as to God’s promise, ‘I will remember no more.’ Jer. 1. 20 is a favourite verse with me. While, therefore, we are watchful for the future, let us have no doubt about our standing: ‘Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound.’ ‘:

Where the sin in question had been committed against a fellow-man, he was equally clear as to duty: “Go straight to him, or write and confess it. If it is a thing you can put right, put it right.” Public confession of secret sin against God he considered a different matter, in fact he had the feeling that the less people said about themselves in public the better; and in the Olney hymns he marked certain strong lines which declare that sin twines itself about our praise and slides into our prayer:

“When I would speak what Thou hast done

To save me from my sin,
I cannot make Thy mercies known,
But self -applause creeps in.”

Still he did make God’s mercies known himself, and would not have quoted the verse without balancing it with its opposite truth; for the merciful and gracious Lord hath so done His marvellous works, that they ought to be had in remembrance; and he did most thoroughly believe in and rejoice to teach of a cleansing which can purify that “fountain of vile thoughts,” as the hymn puts it, and lead to something better than the dismal conclusion that “self upon the surface floats still bubbling from below.”

Sometimes the letters of the day dealt again with the question of Intercommunion, not in the true but lesser sense of the word emphasised of late at Kikuyu, but in the far fuller sense to

CH. XXXYII.] GOING ON 42»

which reference was made in the C.M.S. Quinquennial Conference of 1902. To a younger C.M.S. missionary much exercised upon the subject, afraid on the one hand to stir up trouble through any act of unwisdom, and on the other to be bound by the traditions of men, he wrote advising him to a certain course of action, which he believed would result not only in the personal liberty of all C.M.S. men of like convictions, but in the emancipation of a buried truth, the spiritual unity of the Church of God. And yet his letter ends with a word as characteristic as it is frank:

“But I feel strongly that the liberty should only be exercised on special occasions, when we are really acting on a principle, and it is worth while risking explosions. With myself, I have done it [met at the Lord’s Table with fellow-Christians of churches other than his own] after taking meetings for workers in other missions, feeling unable to turn my back on the act of Holy Communion with which the series closed.”

That last sentence shows him exactly. He would not court trouble; but he would risk it any day if principle were involved. He would not fight for fighting’s sake; but he would not avoid a fight for the sake of a hollow peace.

Fitted into the odd half-hours of the previous year, and now almost completed, was a C.M.S. Study-band book. He wrote it first in the way he thought would be most helpful, but found it was considered much too difficult for the purpose required — a surprising discovery to him. “I thought they were a study band!” he said in half-amused, but quite sincere, protest at finding himself expected to supply a plate of missionary bread and milk; for such he considered “Missionary Ideals” had become by the time it had been sufficiently simplified. It was despatched in February.

The year held but few special missions. One, however, was important, in that it reached a class acknowledged to be the most difficult to reach and move, the educated Hindu community. For several consecutive evenings those keen-brained men listened to a masterly setting forth of the claims of our Lord Jesus Christ in Tamil; the beautiful Tamil itself drew them.

But to the grief of those who hungered for their souls, they only applauded, they did not act. Christ as peerless Example — this they admitted, sometimes in choice and telling language; Christ as Saviour from sin, One and Only Kedeemer, and Him crucified — they stopped there. It meant too much.

“Went to stay at Mr. Appaswami’s; talks on God’s work; preparation; callers; talks with my host; Hindus in Centenary Hall,”

thus the journal of the time. That now aged host recalls those long, leisurely talks, the last of very many, and the pleasant meals, served after the Tamil manner upon large, fresh plantain leaves, upon which the white rice and yellow and brown condiments look more appetising than anywhere else. Fingers were used for spoons; and there is something to be said for this good old Indian custom, for fingers are not shared after the promiscuous fashion of spoons. Those who have enjoyed the hospitality of a kind Tamil house know how pleasant such meal- times can be. Then came the hardest fight ever fought by this soldier practised in many fights: hardest, because fuller than any other of acute pain and prolonged tension of spirit. The journal bums with it; but though little may be told, something must be, for it was inextricably part of the year’s life. It concerned the child M., then a girl of fourteen, who had chosen that good part which it seemed as if the powers of evil had determined to wrest from her:

“January 31, 1911. — At 11 a.m. to Judge’s Court, Palamcottah, as M.’s case was posted for to-day. We waited till

4.15 before it came on; and then it was adjourned after ’s

evidence had been taken. God’s hand must be in it.

“February 28. — Hearing of little M.’s case. Down at Judge’s Court. Arguments not all heard, and so postponed. God deliver her!

“March 11. — [When he was in the midst of convention work in Travancore.] Bruised by telegram with news of adverse decision in little M.’s case. The Lord alone can deliver: help, Lord!

“March 17. — Chiefly in prayer over little M.’s business.

“March 18. — A burdened day, and yet He careth.

CH. xxxvu.] GOING ON 481

“March 24. — Palamcottah at daylight. Judge’s Court, 11 to 1. He announced his intention to give written orders on Monday to deliver little M. to her mother on April 5th. God deliver her!

“March 27. — Off with just after midnight [of Sunday,

26th] for Palamcottah. Business with vakils. Down to

Judge’s Court with. Written judgment in little M.’s

case against us in toto. A bad time altogether. ’s

application for stay of execution [to give time to appeal to the High Court, Madras] treated with scant courtesy [and finally refused]. Got off for Dohnavur alone at 10 p.m.

“March 28. — Dohnavur at daybreak. Informed of little M.’s disappearance.... May God keep the child.

“April 4. — Morning of real mental pain in prayer. God’s arm alone can help.”

There, where he left it, that story must be left for the present. But only those whose battle he so thoroughly shared that it became his own, can come near to imagining what the brief entries cover and what it meant to him. All the time Mrs. Walker had been failing in health, and preparations were being made for another journey to England.

“April 7. — Final packings and settlings up. After dinner left with B. for Palamcottah, with a somewhat distraught mind.” For those who had to be left behind were exposed to special peril and were in great anxiety; and he could not help sharing that anxiety. But the angel guard was doubled round Dohnavur through the months when it was left without its human guard, and all went well.

Phil. iii. 14. — “Very healthy, stimulating, and invigorating are the words which follow. It is not the language of doubt or uncertainty or despair. There is a clear and joyous ring about the whole which cheers us on our way and bids us brace ourselves together and strain every nerve in our eager progress towards the final goal. ‘I press on.” I stretch forward.” I follow after.’”

T. W., Notes on the Epistle to the Philippians,

“Expecting Him, my door was open wide:
Then I looked round
If any lack of service might be found,
And saw Him at my side:
How entered, by what secret stair,
I know not, knowing only He was there.”

T. E. BROWN.

1911]