Before the rising of the sun on the following morning, Padre Logan was
on his way to the house of Ghopal, to carry to him the news of the
commissioner’s promise. Before the sun had set on that day, Padre Ghopal
had visited the dwelling of every native Christian in the place, and
in every house had told of the poor ryot’s offering, and of the rich
commissioner’s offer. Never had such interest and excitement been shown
amongst the Christians before. The punishment of Ya’kub, the erring one,
and the robbery of the money of the unfortunate Gunga Ram, were known to
all; and the story of the three rupees from the lips of Padre Ghopal fell
with more effect upon the ears of the hearers than ten sermons might have
done. “God is great!” they exclaimed. “Happy is he upon whom rests the
blessing of the Most High. Without that blessing, even money may bring
but sorrow and shame.”
Padre Ghopal carried with him a bag to receive the contributions of the
people. When he started in the morning, there was but one rupee in the
bag—that one was the offering of Isa Das; but before Ghopal returned to
his home the bag had become a heavy burden, full of pice, annas, and
rupees. Those who had never given before now gave with thankfulness and
joy.
“I was going to spend much on the marriage festivities of my daughter,”
said one; “I will spend less on feasting and show, that I may have
something to spare for the work of God. May the Lord Jesus grant His
favour to my child; that is far better than dance or feasting could be.”
“I had intended to buy a new horse,” said a baboo; “but I will make my
old pony carry me yet another year. I will ride him with pleasure; and
mounted upon him, will go from day to day to see the house of God rising
from its ruins, for I shall have put many bricks in that church.”
Margam, the mother of Padre Ghopal, had no money to give; but, with a
happy smile, she drew from her arm a silver bangle, and dropped it into
the bag of her son. “Let the silver be changed into bricks for the house
of the Lord,” said the pious woman.
Before the appointed Sunday arrived, Padre Logan and Ghopal together,
with thankful surprise, counted out the money which had been poured by
rich and poor into the treasury of the Lord. The coppers and the silver
together, and cowries also, that were found in the bag, amounted to a
goodly sum; and when the last rupee had been counted, Padre Ghopal lifted
up his eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, “God be praised! He hath answered
our prayers even beyond our hopes. There is lying before me in these
heaps half of the money required to build up our church!”
“And Manton Sahib will double the amount,” said the joyful Padre Logan.
“He is a man who will never flinch back from keeping his promise.”
Padre Logan was right; nor had the commissioner the slightest wish to
flinch back from keeping his promise. Manton Sahib rejoiced to help those
who were helping themselves. Never had the Englishman written anything
with more pleasure than when he dipped his pen and made out a cheque on
the Bank of Bengal for the remainder of the sum required to complete the
building of the church.
Fast went on the work of building; the church seemed to grow rapidly, as
rice when the water rises around it. Every one in the Christian village
rejoiced to see its progress, and many who could give no money gave a
helping hand to the work.
“This is our own church,” the people would say; “we need no more money
from England. We ourselves, with the Commissioner Sahib’s help, have
built our house of prayer, and we will support our minister also. It is
a good thing to offer freely and joyfully to the Lord. ‘God loveth a
cheerful giver’” (2 Cor. ix. 7).
Before the rainy season arrived the little church was built and roofed
in; and there was a glad gathering of all the people to celebrate the
opening of the holy house with prayer and songs of praise. Gunga Ram and
Ya’kub were there; the one had left his hospital, the other had been
dismissed from jail. Gunga Ram had a pale cheek, and a deep scar left by
a wound; and poor Ya’kub could scarcely lift his eyes from the ground,
for shame covered his face. These two poor ryots joined in the prayer,
but their voices were not heard in the songs of joy.
After the meeting was over, Gunga Ram and Ya’kub joined Isa Das, who
was standing a little apart, his hands clasped, his face bright with
happiness, as he looked at the beautiful building standing where only
ruins had been.
“Ah, my brother!” cried Gunga Ram, “this is indeed a day of rejoicing for
thee. Behold God hath heard thy prayer, and hath greatly prospered thy
work.”
Gunga Ram spoke from the heart, for during the time of his sore sickness
and pain God’s Holy Spirit had spoken to his soul. Gunga Ram had resolved
that out of his little earnings a tenth part should always henceforth
be devoted to holy uses, the support of his pastor, and the relief of
the poor. Gunga Ram would seek to lay up for himself treasure in heaven,
where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, nor thieves break through and
steal.
“I am as joyous as if I were sultan of the world,” said Isa Das, “when I
look on that house, in which I hope that the gospel will be preached from
generation to generation.”
“And thou thyself hath built that church,” said Gunga Ram.
“I build a church!—I, who am but a poor ryot!” exclaimed Isa Das in
surprise. “Thou dost not well, O Gunga Ram, to speak words of mockery to
thy friend.”
“They are not words of mockery, but words of truth,” replied Gunga Ram.
“Without thy prayers and thy offering, that church would not have been
standing there this day. It is thou who didst build that church.”
“I laid but one brick,” said Isa Das.
“But as from the seed springs the tree, so from that one brick laid in
faith and prayer that goodly building hath risen,” said Gunga Ram. “O my
brother, I have learned a great lesson whilst lying wounded and in sore
trouble,—a lesson which is worth more to me than the nine rupees which
the robbers carried away. Our money is as seed-corn which the Lord, the
great Land-owner, commits to His servants that they may sow and reap a
hundredfold. Ya’kub was as one who grinds the seed-corn and eats it, and
lo, his field is brown and bare when the green blade is springing up in
the fields of others around him! I was as one who hides his seed-corn
till the time for sowing is past, and that which might have brought forth
good fruit becomes corrupted and mouldy. But thou, O Isa Das, thou hast
been as one who does the bidding of his lord, and in the day of harvest
greatly rejoices. For is it not written in the Word of Truth, _He that
soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that
soweth to the spirit, shall of the spirit reap life everlasting_?” (Gal.
vi. 8.)