On the evening of that same day, Padre Ghopal and the English padre,
Logan by name, walked together to look upon the ruins of the native
church that had been destroyed by the flood. Ghopal, with tears in his
eyes, as he stood by the ruins, besought the Padre Sahib to help him in
this great trouble, as he had often helped him before.
“I am sorry, very sorry, for the destruction of your church,” said Logan
Sahib kindly but gravely; “but I really cannot so soon again ask for
subscriptions from England, and my own purse is now empty. There was a
collection made for you but last year in my former parish, near London,
and some of the very poorest of the school children gave to it their
pence and their halfpence, instead of spending the money on sweetmeats.
I heard of a blind woman who, day by day, can scarcely earn her scanty
living by knitting, who yet found that she could spare something to
help the Lord’s work in a distant land. If she cared for the building
of a church into which she never will enter, and for the conversion
to God of people whom she never will see, are the members of your
flock content to remain idle? Do they think it well to sit with folded
hands like children, and expect to be fed by others? It is time that
native Christians should learn the proverb, ‘God helps those that help
themselves.’”
Padre Ghopal shook his head and sighed deeply. “I have spoken to the
people on this subject again and again,” he replied, “but they listen as
those who hear not. They are as trees that bear leaves of profession, but
the fruit of good works is not seen on the boughs. Besides, my people are
poor,” added the native pastor.
“Was it not said of the Philippians, how their deep poverty abounded
unto the riches of their liberality, for that to their power, yea, and
beyond their power, they were willing of themselves?” (2 Cor. viii. 2)
said Padre Logan. “Not till we see more of this spirit of liberality and
self-sacrifice in the Indian Church, will God’s full blessing rest upon
it.”
“I know it, I know it,” sighed Padre Ghopal.
“And not all your people are poor,” continued the English pastor. “You
have amongst them baboos in government employ, who receive good salaries
every month. Can you not persuade them to give at least one-tenth of
their means to the Giver of all, even as every Jew did in the days of
old? Shall Christians do less for their religion than did the Jews?”
“The baboos want good houses, and their wives want fine jewels,” said
Padre Ghopal. “If we wait to rebuild this church till the people bring
free-will offerings, like Jews at Jerusalem or Christians at Philippi, we
shall wait till yon river runs dry.”
Even as Padre Ghopal spoke, a poor ryot drew nigh, and respectfully made
his salám. “May I speak with the padre?” said he.
“He has, of course, some favour to ask,” observed Padre Logan. “These
people are always crying, ‘Give—give!’”
Isa Das, for it was he, heard the words of the Englishman, and they were
bitter to the soul of the ryot; but without looking towards him the poor
man turned to his own pastor and silently held out his hand, in which
there was one bright silver rupee.
“What is thy meaning? What wouldst thou have me do with this rupee?”
asked Padre Ghopal in surprise as he took the money.
Isa Das pointed with his finger to the ruins and said, “I should like to
put one brick into that church.”
“This is strange—very strange!” exclaimed Padre Logan. “I never heard
of anything like it in this country before. How can such a man, lean in
body, and wearing but one garment, have a whole rupee to spare?” and he
glanced with suspicion at Isa Das, for he thought to himself,—“That man
must have stolen the piece of silver.”
“Let not my lord have hard thoughts of his servant,” said Isa Das, who
understood the look. “Your servant to-day helped Gunga Ram and Ya’kub to
save the life of Manton Sahib when he had missed the ford, and was nearly
drowned in the river. Manton Sahib for that service gave to each of us a
rupee.”
“And you devote yours to the building of your church!” exclaimed Padre
Logan.
“I give it to the Lord, who loved and gave Himself for me,” was Isa Das’s
reply, as with a cheerful, happy heart he turned from the place.
Padre Logan watched the poor man as he departed, then suddenly shook
Ghopal by the hand. “God forgive me for my harsh judgment!” he cried;
“and God be praised that there are men in India like this poor ryot!”
A ray of pleasure and hope brightened the face of Padre Ghopal. “I will
once more visit the baboos,” he said, “and see if the example of this
poor man will not move them to give of their abundance, even as he hath
given of his poverty. But first let us together beseech the Lord to open
the hearts of the people.”