INTERRUPTIONS
Our life in Syria has been, on the whole, quiet, but it has not been
without its shadows. There is no life without its sorrows and unexpected
experiences. The comparative isolation of missionary life brings into
very close fellowship those who are cut off from the closer relationship
to friends in the homeland. One Sunday afternoon in the fall of 1906, I
was standing in the back of our chapel, awaiting the closing exercises
of the Sunday school. The telegraph messenger appeared at the door and
handed me a telegram, for which I signed without serious thought. When I
opened the paper and read the wholly unexpected message, all strength
seemed to leave me, and I hastened to a seat, lest I fall to the floor.
The message told of the sudden death of my brother-in-law, Rev. W. K.
Eddy of Sidon, while away from home on a tour. We had considered him one
of the most vigorous men in the mission, for whom years of active
service might be expected, and now in a moment he had been called away,
leaving his family and his work to others. It took time to realize the
situation but some things had to be done at once. I called my servant
and sent him to secure an animal, as I had to start at once for Sidon.
Arrangements had to be made for my absence, and the sad news had to be
broken to the Tripoli circle of friends. By five o'clock I was ready to
start, and I shall never forget that night's ride. The first twenty
miles were covered in the early evening hours, on horseback over a
rough, stony road, while the question kept ringing through my mind, "Why
should this be?" About ten o'clock I reached the carriage road where I
could take a more comfortable and speedy conveyance. All through the
dark night, as I jolted over the road, trying to get a little rest in
preparation for the hard day before me, I could not turn my mind from
the many problems connected with this sad experience. Who would take up
the work thus suddenly dropped? What plan would be made for the family
of growing children? The night was dark, but the dawn was approaching.
The way seemed dark, but the Father's love had brought us to this point
and he would not leave us to walk alone. In the early dawn, I reached
Beirut and found the missionary friends there ready to start for Sidon,
and so we all went on together, reaching the darkened home about noon.
The large assembly hall was filled in the afternoon for the funeral
services, and a great crowd of all classes of people marched out to the
cemetery, where the mortal remains of our loved brother and fellow
worker were laid away. Those are precious spots where we do the last
service on earth for those we have loved, but they are doubly precious
on the mission field where the distance from the great body of family
friends and relatives is so deeply felt. But these occasions strengthen
the ties that bind us to the hearts and lives of those among whom we
live and whom we serve.
We had scarcely adjusted ourselves to this sorrow when another of the
hard experiences of life came upon us. The season had been one of
exceptionally heavy work and continuous strain, which showed in a
decided break in health. The doctors said work must be dropped at once
and the winter be spent in Egypt, if a more serious break were to be
avoided. It was not exactly a pleasure excursion on which we started
during the Christmas holidays. There was no time to write ahead and make
inquiries or arrangements, so we set out to a strange land among
strangers, in search of health. Finding no place which seemed suitable
in lower Egypt, we decided to go up the river to Assiyut, and wrote a
letter to Dr. Alexander, president of the United Presbyterian College
at that place. We had no personal acquaintance and no claim upon him,
but he was a missionary, and that was enough.
It was a long ride and Egyptian railroads are nothing if not dusty. Our
spirits had not begun to rise yet, and we felt rather tired and wholly
disreputable in appearance, when we left the train at Assiyut, ready to
ask our way to the Greek hotel. But before we had a chance to do
anything, we saw a bright, cheery face, bearing an evident welcome, and
a hearty voice assuring us that the owner was Dr. Alexander and that he
had come to take us in charge. It was the first encouraging incident,
and lifted a weight from us at once. As we walked along he told us they
had held a conference over our case, and, having decided that we could
not be comfortable in the hotel, had placed at our disposal a rest room
provided in the hospital for members of their own mission or other
foreigners who needed rest and medical attention. A more perfect
provision for our need could not have been devised. We enjoyed the
companionship of the corps of foreign nurses, sharing their table and
home life. We had the constant companionship as well as the professional
services of the four medical missionaries. Is it a wonder that I began
to gain at once? After nine weeks we returned to our work, made over and
with a new lease of life, a new sense of the solidarity of Christian
fellowship, and a new realization of the heavenly Father's tender care.
Such experiences as that winter at Assiyut show how entirely
denominational differences are forgotten on the mission field. In social
intercourse, in the prayer circle, in discussion of mission problems, in
the church service, in the pulpit, there was never anything to remind us
that we were only Presbyterians while our kind hosts were United
Presbyterians. It was a delightful opportunity for the cultivation of
fellowship, and for the observation of other forms and methods of
mission work, under conditions very different from ours in Syria. The
work in Egypt is relieved from many of the problems so insistent in
Turkey. There is no hostile government, always suspicious of every move
made by a foreigner. There is no such inefficiency in the government as
makes the lives of Turkish subjects always insecure and travel
dangerous. But, on the other hand, the climatic conditions in Egypt are
far more trying than in Syria, as the heat is extremely enervating for
most of the year. These climatic conditions undoubtedly account to some
extent for the less virile, independent character of the people. But
whatever the differences in climate, whatever the differences in the
character of the people, whatever the differences in governmental
relations, we came back from Egypt more than ever impressed with the
fact that the conflict is one, the object aimed at is one, and the body
of workers is one, under the direction of our one Lord and Master.
In 1911 there came another break in the routine life of the field, but
with no such sorrow in it as in the former incidents. The second
Conference for Workers in Moslem Lands met in Lucknow in January 1911
and our mission chose me as its delegate to that conference. The journey
through the Suez Canal and down the Red Sea and across the Arabian Sea
to Bombay was one of the experiences of life never to be forgotten.
There were enough of us going on the same journey to form a little group
of sympathetic companions and we had many an opportunity at table and on
deck to talk over the matters connected with our life work.
The contrasts in the streets of Bombay are similar to those seen in all
the changing Orient, but with characteristic differences calculated to
catch the eye of one accustomed to the nearer East. Nowhere in Turkey do
you find such broad, magnificent, paved thoroughfares as those in
Bombay, and yet, beside the track of the electric trolley, you see a
crude cart jogging along behind the humpbacked bullock. On the pavements
you see elaborately dressed ladies from Europe, or from the wealthy
Parsee families, with their Paris gowns and modern hats, and almost at
their elbows the dark-skinned members of the sweeper caste, clad in a
simple loin cloth. You step out of the finely appointed barber shop in
your modern hotel, with its polite, English-speaking attendant, to see
by the roadside a group of swarthy Indians, crouching on the ground, as
one of their number shaves the crowns of their heads.
The tourist in Galilee in the spring of the year is impressed by the
variety and brilliancy of color all about him in the wild flowers of the
fields. As we walked the streets of Bombay, the same impression was made
upon us by the brightness and variety in the headdress of the men. If
there is any color known to the dyers' art not found among the turbans
of Bombay it is merely because no samples have as yet been sent there.
Every shape as well as every shade is found, and it would almost seem as
if the excessive attention paid to the head covering had exhausted the
energy of the people, leaving no desire or ability to devise any
covering for the rest of the body. A stranger may wonder also at first
why everyone seems to have forgotten to wash his face. Those curious
blotches of varicolored clay on the forehead are not accidental nor an
indication of carelessness to one's personal appearance. On the
contrary, they indicate fidelity to religious duty and reveal to the
initiated the special temple most recently visited by the devout
worshiper. For a transient visitor, this variety and intricacy are
puzzling, but to the initiated everything has its meaning and the
varieties of headdress tell the tale of religious affiliation and caste
gradation.
Comfortable train service carried us quickly to the north, giving us
glimpses of Delhi, the ancient Mogul capital, with its reminders of the
mutiny; and Agra with its matchless architectural gem, the Taj Mahal. We
reached Agra at the close of the day, and after locating ourselves at
the hotel, set out on foot to have our first glimpse of the Taj by
moonlight. No matter what one may have read of this wonderful building,
no matter what pictures or models one may have seen, I have yet to meet
a person who has not been most deeply impressed by the first vision of
the reality. The approach through the dark foliage of the quiet garden
gives a chance for the impressive grandeur of the marble structure to
fix itself in the visitor's mind. By the time he enters the spacious
archway, he has begun to appreciate the perfection of the curves, the
nobility of the dimensions, the purity of the white marble and the
graceful dignity of the whole combination. The beautifully inlaid black
lettering from the Koran follows the curves of the lofty arch overhead,
adding a sense of sacredness to the entrance. And yet, when one is
inside, he almost forgets the impressions received without. In place of
stateliness and grandeur, we find here a beauty of finish and exactness
of detail which surpass all the more massive qualities of the exterior.
The central tomb is surrounded by a marble screen carved with a delicacy
that makes one forget the marble and think he sees before him the most
perfect and delicate lace veil. The pillars and panels of the screen,
the inner walls of the building, as well as the sides of the tomb
itself, are decorated with the most beautifully inlaid work of vines and
wreaths of flowers represented in their natural colors, in the most
delicate shades of precious stone. One wonders to find such exquisite
work anywhere and the wonder increases when one realizes that this is
not the product of modern skill and patience, but that it has stood
here, from the days of the Mogul Empire, when we consider that India was
a land of barbarians. And more than this is to follow, for this
wonderful mausoleum was erected at fabulous cost by a Moslem ruler, in
memory of his wife.
We were not in India merely as sightseers. After a night ride on the
train we reached Lahore in the early morning and at the station received
the hearty welcome of J. C. R. Ewing, D.D., president of Forman
Christian College. Again in northern India we had the loving handclasp
of a fellow missionary and the cordial welcome to a missionary home. The
short visit there could give us but a faint impression of what that
college is doing for the Punjab and what a position and influence the
missionaries have among the people of every class, whether Indian or
British. Never did I have such a vivid impression of the awful
experiences of the mutiny, or the wonderful changes wrought by British
rule in India, as when I stood on some of the memorable spots at
Cawnpore and Lucknow, and reviewed the record of treachery and loyalty,
cowardice and bravery, cruelty and gallantry, which were developed in
the awful experiences of the Mutiny. To-day, no matter what may be the
restlessness and uncertainty of the situation, India is a united
country, and not a medley of hostile principalities and warring
kingdoms. Railroads cover the land in every direction with an efficient
service. Perfect carriage roads make the land a paradise for motor cars
and bicycles. Military encampments near all the large cities assure
security of life and property. Schools and colleges are extending
knowledge in every direction. Wealth is taking place of poverty,
knowledge of ignorance, light of darkness, and religion is coming into
its own as a real force in human life and no longer as merely a badge of
faction or clan.
The gathering at Lucknow was notable. Delegates of many nationalities
gathered in that hall. Workers in many lands and in widely differing
conditions, we came together for a common purpose. Members of many
Christian denominations, we united in the worship of one Master.
Differences were forgotten in a deeper union. Whatever allegiance we
owed to earthly sovereigns, we met as children of the heavenly King.
Whatever may have been the language of our ordinary service, here we had
but one language--that of loving fellowship. We were members of separate
bands of commissioners, coming together at the feet of our Leader to ask
for fuller instructions in the pursuit of his work.
The keynote of the Lucknow Conference was to win the Moslem world by
love, the love of Christ incarnate in his messenger. It is one of the
most hopeful signs in the advancement of the kingdom that the attractive
power of love is more prominent than the overwhelming power of argument.
It is a great help to the right placing of this emphasis that workers in
many lands, of many nations, of many denominations, are drawing nearer
together and working more in harmony. I returned from India, rejoicing
in all I had seen of God's power and blessing in that land, but with a
deeper conviction that the work in India, in China, in Africa, in Syria
is all one work, under one Master.