Vice is always more conspicuous than virtue. Unscrupulous men have brought reproach upon a Christian nation; and created strong prejudice against Christianity itself, that many years of good government and evangelistic effort combined cannot efface. The innocent must suffer suspicion with the guilty. It is also true that natives are naturally suspicious of all foreigners, and apt to regard even necessary measures as oppressive. The old question "Is it lawful to give tribute to Cæsar?" crops out wherever tribute is exacted. Every son of Adam, the world over, holds the tax collector in contempt, and will evade payment if possible. "Publicans and sinners" are inseparably wedded, in the popular mind.
This deeply-grounded prejudice, whether with or without cause, constitutes a serious hindrance to the progress of evangelistic work.
Often the missionary must spend a whole day in a jungle village striving to win the confidence of the people, who are slow to discriminate between the missionary and the official. Suspicion as to his character and errand is a greater hindrance than their prejudice against Christianity as such.
At the same time there is reason for believing that could the Burmans throw off the British yoke, and reestablish a kingdom of their own, missionaries would not be permitted to propagate Christianity at all. In February, 1826, Adoniram Judson and Dr. Price, having been released from their long imprisonment at Ava and Aungbinle, were finally permitted to go down to the British camp, Mrs. Judson accompanying them. The release of these American missionaries, and the recovery of their property, of which the Burman officials had heartlessly robbed them, were due entirely to special efforts in their behalf on the part of the general commanding the British troops. Mrs. Judson thus recounted their experiences: "We now, for the first time, for more than a year and a half, felt that we were free, and no longer subject to the oppressive yoke of the Burmans. And with what sensation of delight, on the next morning, did I behold the masts of the steamboat, the sure presage of being within the bounds of civilized life. As soon as our boat reached the shore, Brigadier A—— and another officer came on board, congratulated us on our arrival, and invited us on board the steamboat where I passed the remainder of the day; while Mr. Judson went on to meet the general, who, with a detachment of the army, had encamped at Yandaboo, a few miles further down the river. Mr. Judson returned in the evening with an invitation from Sir Archibald to come immediately to his quarters, where I was the next morning introduced, and received with the greatest kindness by the general, who had a tent pitched for us near his own, took us to his own table, and treated us with the kindness of a father, rather than as strangers of another country. We feel that our obligations to General Campbell can never be cancelled. Our final release from Ava, and our recovering all the property that had there been taken, was owing entirely to his efforts.
"His subsequent hospitality, and kind attention to the accommodation for our passage to Rangoon, have left an impression on our minds, which can never be effaced. We daily received the congratulations of the British officers, whose conduct towards us formed a striking contrast to that of the Burmese. I presume to say that no persons on earth were ever happier than we were during the fortnight we passed at the English camp. For several days this single idea wholly occupied my mind,—that we were out of the power of the Burmese government, and once more under the protection of the English" (Memoir of Rev. Dr. Judson, by Wayland).
Such testimony as this is enough to arouse a sense of everlasting gratitude in the heart of every missionary whose privilege it is to conduct mission work under the protection of the British flag. Happily there has never been another occasion in the history of Burma missions to extend such kindnesses as Mr. and Mrs. Judson enjoyed at the hands of these English officers. But missionaries of all societies represented in Burma have always been able to number among their best friends noble men in some department of government service, civil or military.
Transitions are more readily effected in government than in religion. The "Powers that be," though recently come into their possessions, speak authoritatively. "Might makes right," and compels changes. A foreign religion speaks persuasively, having no authority, and desiring none, to compel its acceptance. When a foreign religion enters ground already preempted by twenty-five centuries of such a strongly organized religion as Buddhism, transitions may also be reckoned by centuries. The world may witness the evangelization of Burma "in this generation," but it cannot recall the three generations of Burmans that have gone out in the dark since Judson began his work in this land.
"Their idols are silver and gold, the work of men's hands."—"They that make them are like unto them: so every one that trusteth in them." The image of Gautama Buddha bears on its face an expression, or rather lack of expression intended to represent that, to him, change was forever past. The idol as truly represents Buddhism as it does the founder of Buddhism. There is no word in the Burman language of wider application than the word for "custom." On that word the Buddhist falls back for justification of every act, as sufficient reason for non-action, as a clincher to every argument. He attaches greater weight to ancestral custom than to the teachings of his "law" or to the dictates of his own judgment. When defeated at every point, in religious controversy he has been known to say, "If what you say is true, then my ancestors have gone to hell. I want to go wherever they have gone. If they have gone to hell, I want to go there too." Aged Buddhists have said: "Our children may become Christians, but we are too old to change. We will die in Buddhism, as we have lived." They are "like unto" their idols in that they seem to have no power to change. Having "changed the glory of the incorruptible God for the likeness of corruptible man"; "Exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshipped and served the creature (Gautama) rather than the creator," and "Refused to have God in their knowledge," they seem to have been given up to a "reprobate mind." They now declare that there is no God. If there is no God there can be no sin against God. Sins are against self only, in that they involve penalty. But penalty may be counter-balanced by meritorious works. Therefore all responsibility to God or man is repudiated. Each man must be his own saviour. His meritorious works are solely for his own advantage.
Self-centred, and self-sufficient,—the Christian doctrines of an Eternal God, atonement, pardon, regeneration and heaven are rejected as idle tales concerning things which they consider neither necessary nor desirable. The Apostles, or missionaries (sent-forth-ones) of the early church found that the Gentiles received the gospel much more readily than the Jews. The latter were steeped in bigotry, and imagined themselves a superior and specially favoured people. They were priest-ridden, and led astray by the "traditions of the elders." Any suggestion of change was deeply resented, especially by the religious teachers. History repeats itself in Burma. Non-Buddhist tribes receive the gospel far more readily than the Buddhist. Buddhists manifest the same Jewish spirit of haughty pride and arrogant bigotry. They are priest-ridden, and bound down by teachings and customs never dreamed of by the founder of their religious system. Pharisees decreed that if any man should confess Jesus to be the Christ, he should be put out of the synagogue. Where there were no Pharisees to agitate against the Christian missionaries the common people heard them gladly. While the Karens, as a nation, have already passed the transitional stage, the Burmans are still held back by their pharisaical priests, who never lack willing instruments for the execution of their malice against converts to Christianity. But in communities where there are no priests to hold the people in awe, native evangelists have little difficulty in securing a good hearing. This indicates the real spirit of the people when untrammelled by intimidating influences. Human nature is much the same the world over. Environment and inherited custom make men to differ. Results already achieved (to be discussed in another chapter) show that Burma is in a state of transition religiously as well as politically, though less conspicuously.
The sure promise of God that Christ shall have the nations for His inheritance; the uttermost parts of the earth for His possessions, has here substantial beginnings of fulfillment. Uhlhorn said of the Roman Empire in transition: "The most mighty of forces cannot change in a day the customs and institutions of an Empire more than a thousand years old." In Burma these forces are arrayed against customs and institutions that have developed during a period of twenty-five hundred years. Change of government effects outward changes in the life of a people; but more than mere change of government is required to work changes for the better in the soul of a people. Aping European customs may give an air of increased respectability, but the aping of European vices, always first in order, makes the man "Tenfold more a child of hell" than before. Much is expected from the government system of education. Education will furnish a supply of petty officials; raise the people to some extent, from their gross ignorance; and possibly do something towards undermining Buddhism,—though to undermine Buddhism is far from being the purpose or desire of the British Indian government. But something more than education is required to prepare a nation to be an inheritance of the King of Kings. The gospel, and only the gospel is the power of God unto the salvation of any nation.
In industry, skill, statesmanship, and all the qualities that go to make up a strong people, the Burmans are sadly lacking. To come to the front rank of progress, as the Japanese have done, is not in them, and never will be. But as a dependent nation, restrained by their conquerors from the almost continual warfare which marks their history; and transformed by the leavening influences of Christianity, they may yet take the front rank among Asiatic races as a Christian people.
In face of the fact that whole nations lie in the darkness of heathenism; bound down by ancestral customs; priest-ridden; wedded to their idols;—what seeming folly for a handful of missionaries to attempt the world's evangelization. How futile the task of breaking down the strongholds of heathen religions that have stood for centuries. So they sneered at Carey the cobbler. So they tried to discourage Judson. A ship's captain once asked an out-going missionary to China:
"Do you think you can make any impression on the four hundred millions of China?" "No," said the missionary. "But God can."
A coloured preacher discoursing on faith, and warming to his subject said, "If God tole me to jump froo dat wall, I'd jump. De jumpin' froo belongs to God. De jumpin' at it belongs to me." God certainly has commanded His people to "jump" through the wall of heathenism. The command is clear, emphatic, and large with divine intensity, and promise of power and triumph.
Nothing was said as to methods to be employed in making disciples. There are many ways of proclaiming the gospel. It may fairly be inferred that any or all effective methods may be employed; and that methods may vary according to varying circumstances, in order "by all means to save some."
There is danger of too narrow an interpretation of instructions. As an illustration, take the case of Paul, who "determined to know nothing" among the Corinthian Christians "save Jesus Christ and Him crucified." But in elaborating his theme he found occasion to discuss social purity, matrimony, divorce, celibacy, apparel for the sexes, the place of woman in public gatherings, as well as church discipline and collections. Whatever instruction was needed for the moral and spiritual development of the individual had a direct bearing upon his central theme. Such instruction could not be omitted without dwarfing the benefits of Christ's sacrifice. In God's plan for the evangelization of the world "The foolishness of the preaching" is to "save them that believe"; "Christ crucified" furnishing both the theme and the power. All other plans have failed. But this theme may be proclaimed in many ways;—by the evangelist, as he goes from village to village; by the pastor from the pulpit; by the teacher in the daily Bible-study of the school; by the medical missionary, whose ministrations of mercy are sermons in themselves; by the holy life of missionary and disciple; even by the Christian chapel, standing in a heathen community as a silent yet significant witness for Christ. All of these forces, and others are being used of God in the redemption of Burma.
"Direct evangelization," or the proclamation of the gospel-message from village to village, throughout the large district to which a missionary has been assigned, is the predominating method.
Our first experience in this line came when we had been but a few months in Burma. A messenger from a village twenty-three miles away came to inform us that two young men wanted to be baptized. Having already made plans to visit that village we prepared at once to respond to the summons. When a Burman wishes to be baptized in the presence of the heathen people of his own village, it is taken as evidence that the Holy Spirit is working in his heart. Such opportunities must not be neglected.
First we must summon our forces. U Po Hlaing must go, because this is the village in which he used to live, and these converts are fruits of his labours. Ko Thaleh must go, because he has had much experience in examining candidates, and his judgment can be trusted. Maung Ka must go, because he is young, full of fire, and will not cease to preach the gospel, whatever the circumstances. But it is not easy to secure an audience in the heathen village, unless there is some special attraction. "Music hath charms" to draw the people from their homes, and hold them until the preachers have done their work. "Mama" is going, with the portable organ, and some of the Christian girls to sing, insuring success though other methods fail. After going seventeen miles by rail we still had six miles to make by ox-cart. The delight of an ox-cart ride over rough jungle roads beggars description.
The driver sits on the projecting front, guiding the animals, or pretending to, by means of a rope passed through their noses.
Just as we are about to sit down the oxen start. We save ourselves by clutching at somebody else. A desire to say something emphatic to the driver is overcome by inability to speak his language, and a feeling of thankfulness that we are still on deck. The road is conspicuous by its absence,—but that does not matter. All the driver wants is to get his bearings, then off he goes across sun-baked rice-fields, and through the jungle. By instinct he knows that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points, and he keeps to that line without regard to obstructions or our feelings. At last we reach the river, and see on the opposite bank the thatch-roofed houses of the village. The preachers shout to the villagers, and soon two boats are poled across to take us over. Our boat is a long narrow dug-out, our boatman a chubby Burmese girl. We are in momentary expectation of being dumped into the river; but happily our expectations are not realized. Chubby enjoys it immensely, and seems proud when she has landed us safely. Landing means that the dug-out has stuck in the mud, twenty feet from shore. The natives could wade, and so could we, but we did not like to, through all that mud. A brawny bare-backed Burman soon solved the problem by taking "Mama" in his arms and carrying her to the shore, returning to take the "Sayah" on pick-a-pack.
We were piloted to a house at the farther end of the village. Ascending by a short ladder to the open veranda we were glad to stretch out on the split-bamboo floor for a little rest. After we had eaten supper, and the men and women had returned from their work in the rice-fields, the portable organ was placed in position. In response to its tones, sounds never heard before in that village, men, women, and children came from all directions. Some sat around on the ground, others climbed the ladder and filled all available space. The preachers did their best to make known the "Glad Tidings." Whenever the audience showed signs of thinning out, the organ would send forth another appeal, restoring numbers and interest. Sankey's songs, translated into Burmese, were sung with vigour by the schoolgirls. The "Old, Old Story" seemed to take new meaning when sung to the heathen by some of their own people who had learned to love it and live by it. During the following day, while the people were busy at their work, our attention was given to the children.
A dozen or so, drawn by curiosity, had collected about the house.
Some were half clad, others with no protection whatever, save a string around the neck, with one large bead attached.
All were very dirty, and as shy as rabbits. After winning their confidence a picture card was given to each, with instructions to go and bring other children.
It was interesting to see them scatter through the village to do their first missionary work. Few in the home-land realize how helpful to the missionary are the bright coloured advertising cards. Wild children in jungle villages are won by these pictures. Attendance at Sunday-school in town may be doubled by their use. But these native children want something more than bright colours. Strange to say that although fond of flowers for personal adornment, they will give only a passing glance at the showiest picture of flowers; while a picture of a person,—man, woman, or child, of any race,—if in bright attire, is eagerly seized. A darky boy riding a spool of Coat's thread is more effective than a dull Sunday-school card for evangelizing purposes. Bushels of such cards might be utilized.
Late that afternoon the council came together to examine the candidates for baptism. Sitting around on the floor in all sorts of positions they formed a strange looking group, yet as sincere and earnest as a similar council in the home-land.
The examination was declared satisfactory, so after prayer we all started for the river, followed by nearly the whole village, curious to witness a Christian baptism,—the strange magic rite of initiation into the foreign religion. This is always a grand opportunity to preach Christ. Rather than lose the baptism they will remain and listen as they would not at other times. So long as the missionary remains in their village they will not show, by word or sign, that they are not in sympathy with these proceedings. The new converts, who have had the courage of their convictions, will be made to realize to their sorrow the real mind of the people. On the way to this village we met a squad of Burmans, accompanied by a native policeman. One of the men was carrying a parcel wrapped in plantain leaves. Interested to know what was in the parcel, that it should require a police escort, what was our surprise to learn that it contained a dacoit's head! Bands of dacoits had been giving a great deal of trouble. Several of their leaders were still at large. More regular methods having failed to secure their capture, the British Indian government offered tempting rewards for their heads. Two men living in the village to which we were going, surprised one of these dacoit leaders in a jungle path, and thinking that his head would be worth more to them than it ever would be to him, they struck it off with their dahs. The head was taken to the court, where it was identified, and the reward recovered.
Continuing our tour, we halted one morning at about ten o'clock for breakfast. Our preachers had told us what a wicked village this was, how the people had driven them out every time they had attempted to preach or distribute tracts; and that only a little while before our visit they had beaten the wife of one of the preachers because she spoke of Christ while resting by the way. But this time there was no danger of violence, for the presence of one white man is sufficient security against serious molestation. So each preacher armed himself with a handful of tracts, and started out to work the village, and advertise our coming. Then "Mama" opened the portable organ there in the open air, and played a few tunes. Soon quite a number of women and children were attracted by the sound. After throwing out this bait, we paused for breakfast, for we were hungry, hot, and tired, having been travelling since the first signs of morning light. The people were told to come again about noon, and bring others with them. The news that the white teachers had come, that one was a white woman, and played on a wonderful music-box, such as they never had seen before, went like wild-fire through the village.
The building in which we hoped to have our meeting was set up on posts several feet from the ground, according to the custom. The door was reached by means of a ladder. How to get the people up into the house was the question that we must solve. We placed the organ well to the back side of the one large room, and posted the native helpers as to our purposes. At the appointed time the people began to come,—men, stripped to the waist as they came from their work; women smoking huge cheroots, with babies astride their hips; children of all sizes, some clothed, some naked. The missionary's wife took her place at the organ and played away, tune after tune, everything she could think of, from "Old Hundred" to "Gloria in Excelsis," and repeated the most of them. Everything depended upon the drawing power of the music. The preachers and Christian girls,—some up in the house, others down in the yard,—coaxed and urged the people up the ladder until we had filled the house. Up to this time I had kept well in the background on account of the more timid. My object accomplished, I now climbed up the ladder and seated myself in the door,—the only door there was. With back against one door-jamb, and knees against the other, I was the gladdest man on earth. We had trapped nearly the whole village! Fully seventy-five people who had persistently refused to listen to the gospel were penned in with the preachers. To crowd out over a white man, even had they dared to attempt it, would have been too great a breach of Burman etiquette. At a given signal the music stopped, and one of the preachers addressed the people. He was the very man whose wife had recently been beaten. He began by telling them how he had wanted for a long time to tell them about this new religion, but never had been permitted to do so. He reminded them of their action in beating his wife. "But," said he, "I have no hard feelings against you. This new religion is a religion of love. Its sacred book tells us that 'God is love,' and that He 'So loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have eternal life.'" Then for about ten minutes, with wonderful tact and earnestness, he proclaimed Christ as the world's Saviour. After a tune on the organ, to keep the people interested and expectant, another preacher gave his message. Another tune, and then the third preacher emphasized what the others had spoken. For three-quarters of an hour these people, entrapped by strategy, listened to the gospel at short range, and were interested in spite of themselves. But two men who were specially bitter against the name of Christ, climbed out through a window and dropped to the ground.
In the outskirts of that village we found an aged couple who professed to be followers of Christ. They had heard the gospel elsewhere, and with what light they had, believed. The villages had utterly cut them off, refusing to sell to them, buy from them, or even allow them to draw water from the village well. But these old people had found the "Water of life." In their hearts shone all the light there was in that terribly benighted village. Both of them died in the faith a few years later. Many of the Karens have come down from the mountains and started villages of their own in the plains. Until the English had thoroughly subdued the country this was not possible, as the Karens were terribly oppressed by the Burmans. On one of our jungle tours we came across one of these Karen villages. Nearly all the men understood colloquial Burmese. They received the missionary party with great kindness, and eagerly listened to the gospel, which they had not heard before. The fifteen houses comprising the village were built at regular intervals around the outer edge of the small clearing they made in the forest.
In the open space the Karens were seated in a semicircle on the ground, with the missionary and native preachers in front.
We were about to sow precious seed in virgin soil. Not a soul had ever heard of Christ before. The story must begin at the beginning,—the Eternal God; the creation; the fall; the revelation of God in Jesus Christ—the Saviour of the world. As he went on to tell of Christ's majesty and holiness, of His wonderful words and works I was deeply stirred. Suddenly the face of the head-man lighted up, and with a twinkle in his eye he interrupted the preacher. Pointing to me he said: "Is this your Christ?" For a moment his question seemed merely ridiculous. But as the preacher continued his good work, my mind was busy with this heathen Karen's mistake. When it dawned upon me that he had actually mistaken me for Christ, I never was so overwhelmed in all my life. And yet, I thought, is it such a mistake? True, the God-man was infinitely superior to any human being. But the missionary represents, for the time, all that these people can know of Christ. They must see exemplified in me the principles of Christianity, and the spirit of its Founder. They must see His holiness reproduced in my daily life. As He, when tried at all points, was without sin; when reviled, reviled not again; emerging calm and triumphant from every distracting storm, so I must manifest the Master's spirit, and by His help preserve self-control under the most trying circumstances. They must see Christ truly represented in my life until they can look beyond, to Him who is the "Author and perfecter of our faith." That was a high standard set for me by that poor heathen Karen, but it has proved more helpful to me than anything in all my Christian experience. It stimulated me to strive the harder to be able to say to my people "Be ye imitators of me, as I also am of Christ."
The Burman race has the reputation of being thriftless and lazy. Many have prophesied that the "Burman must go to the wall" before the encroachments of natives of India, Chinese, and Karens. As seen in the chief towns the Burman has fairly earned such a reputation.
If he has government employment, even a petty clerkship, he is good for nothing else. Many are "birds of the night"—gamblers—and loafers by day.
The average citizen spends the most of his time in indolence, supported by his more enterprising wife.
But in the jungle villages we find a very different state of affairs. Few men are found in the village in the daytime. To prepare their land, plant, harvest, thresh, and market the crop of rice, requires diligent work almost the whole year round. I have almost regretted their diligence sometimes, when compelled to spend a day in almost idleness waiting for the men to return from their fields at sunset. Then an hour or so passes while they are getting their evening meal. By this time it is pitch dark, if there is no moon. There is not a lamp in the whole village. Ordinary methods will not attract tired men from their homes. There is no time for house-to-house preaching. But the Gospel must be preached. If we cannot reach them by day we must reach them by night. In the home-land a magic-lantern service is resorted to now and then, as a special attraction. We have come prepared to do the same in the jungle villages. Early in the day we clean up a spot in the centre of the village, and stretch our large white curtain between two trees, or support it by bamboo poles. A clean white sheet in a conspicuous place, is a novelty in itself sufficient to advertise the presence of outsiders. While tracts are being distributed from house to house the evening service is announced. If there is no musical instrument to call the people together the head-man is asked to sound his gong at the appointed time.
The magic lantern never fails to draw a crowd. But as the first picture is thrown upon the screen we notice that many are hanging back where they cannot see and hear to the best advantage. Then we discover that this has been mistaken for a traveling show, and that they are keeping out of reach of the collection plate. They can hardly believe our repeated assertion that all this is for them, "without money and without price." At last the crowd is gathered in as close as possible, the children sitting on the ground in front. At first we show a few pictures illustrating their own life and customs. How pleased they are when a Burmese damsel arrayed in gaudy skirt and flowers, appears on the screen. Then we pass to pictures illustrating mission work among their own people, taking care to emphasize the fact that Christianity has already made substantial progress in Burma,—has come to stay. By this time our dusky audience has become accustomed to the novelty of the situation, and is ready to settle down to look and listen.
Now we pass to our real purpose,—the setting forth of Jesus Christ as the world's Saviour. Often the preacher has been met with the demand, "Show us your God." That "God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship in spirit and truth" is beyond the comprehension of the heathen mind. He has no conception of an eternal, invisible God. He can point to his god in that idol-house on the hilltop, but where is the Christian's god? Great care is taken at the outset to make them understand that these pictures of Christ on the screen are in no sense idols; that we do not worship the pictures. Then each picture is made a text for a brief but earnest sermon, as we strive to convey to them, through eye and ear, some conception of the majesty, power, holiness, and love of God as revealed in Christ. There is a crisis when we reach the picture of the crucifixion. Christ is the Christian's God, and his God is dead. That thought is expressed in various exclamations. Up to this point we seemed to be carrying our audience with us, but now they slip from our grasp. For the moment the case seems lost, the message rejected. How earnestly we pray that the Holy Spirit will make "the attraction of the cross" realized by these heathen men and women. Have we made a mistake in displaying the cross in the first proclamation of the gospel in these villages? Surely "Christ and Him crucified" was the central theme of Paul's preaching, wherever he was. He Himself said, "And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto Me." This theme and this picture shall have their place,—we will leave the result with God. Without waiting for too much of a reaction we pass to the picture of the resurrection. At once the preacher gathers fresh courage. With earnestness and triumph in his voice he sets forth the glorious fact of the resurrection. "Yes, Christ died for our sins, but He laid down His life that He might take it again." After citing proofs of the resurrection we close with the ascension. Christ enthroned, with "All power in heaven and on earth," "ever liveth to make intercession for us."
The people fully understand that there has been nothing supernatural in the appearing of the pictures on the screen, and yet they are more deeply impressed than when appealed to through the ear alone. As one man expressed it, "How can we disbelieve, when we have seen with our own eyes." For day-work we sometimes use large coloured pictures illustrating the life of Christ. A bamboo pole is fastened up horizontally about five feet from the ground. The picture-roll is suspended under the pole so that each picture, when done with, can be thrown back over the pole. This method is very effective with the children, and can be used when the older people are at their work. Both old and young enjoy the pictures, for all have child-minds.
On one occasion we were preaching by this method in a Karen village. A middle aged Karen, a typical specimen of "the Great Unwashed," planted himself directly in front of the picture, intensely interested in what he saw and heard. As the young preacher graphically described some of Christ's miracles, or told of the sad events of the Passion Week, the man's face was a study. Its expression changed with the varying sentiment of the message,—now wreathed in a smile that showed all of his blackened teeth; now drawn down with a look of sadness that would have been comical but for the sacredness of the theme. The narration of Christ's heavenly words and works would be responded to by an "Ugh, Ugh" of approval; the story of His rejection, by the same grunts in a different tone, expressive of disapproval. This man, at least, was ripe for a personal application of the message.
Now and then we find a village in which is more than the usual amount of prejudice against Europeans. The people have suffered some real or imagined oppression. Not being able to discriminate between the missionary and the official, they naturally resent his coming.
Sometimes a whole day must be spent in disarming their fear. We learn that a man is sick with fever,—the medicine-box is opened and the sick man treated. Children come peeping around the corners, and we win them with picture-cards. A young mother goes by with her little one astride her hip, and we praise the baby. So by degrees we work our way into their confidence and prepare the way for our message.
Not always can the missionary accompany his native evangelist in their jungle tours. It may be that other forms of mission-work compel him to remain at headquarters. It may be that his health has become so affected by the climate that he can no longer endure the unavoidable hardship and exposure. It may be that funds are wanting to cover the expense of further touring. Missionary experience has demonstrated the wisdom of adopting the Master's method, and he sends out his native helpers "two by two." One man alone confronting the forces of heathenism, may become disheartened. Poorly trained, he may find himself led into argument only to be worsted. He may get sick, and have no one to take care of him, or carry a message to his friends. But "two by two," one encourages the other. When preaching, one supplements the other. The one who follows warms to his work even more earnestly than the one who led off. What one does not think of the other one does. We have often marvelled at their faithfulness, knowing that nearly every attempt to preach Christ to the heathen is met by a rebuff from some one. They may have made repeated attempts without any sign of fruitage. Should they "shake off the dust" of their feet as a testimony against every village in which their message is not well received, they would soon cover the ground, and go out of business.
Often after a day of ox-cart riding, followed by preaching extending well into the evening, we have retired to our curtained corner in a native house, so weary that a bamboo floor seemed smooth and soft. Retired, but not to sleep,—for no sooner are we out of sight than the preaching begins again. Among the many who have heard the gospel, one, two, or half a dozen want to know more about this new teaching. They climb up into the house, and with the preachers form a circle around the smoking tin lamp. To ten, twelve, or one o'clock in the night the preaching goes on. We forget our weariness, for we know that the very best work of all is now being done. The preachers are face to face with the few who are willing or anxious to hear, unhindered by scoffers or fear of neighbours.
Native evangelists are not encouraged to attend heathen festivals by themselves, although these large gatherings furnish good opportunities for preaching and tract distribution. Their presence at a heathen festival might be misunderstood, besides furnishing an excuse to weaker Christians who might be attracted by the pomp and show. The one exception is the heathen funeral. As has already been pointed out, the funeral is also a festival, but animated to some extent by a different spirit. There are genuine mourners in the house, besides the wailers who make such ado by turns. There are truly sympathetic friends, besides the many who attend because it is customary, or to share in the feast. There is one solemn subject, death, that will not down, besides the idle chatter of the throng. Here is the place for the preacher. Now and then, it is true, he is summarily dismissed the moment he attempts to preach. But as a rule he finds many who are in a sober, thinking frame of mind, ready to listen to the Christian teacher's view of death and the Great Beyond. That the deceased will some time reappear, as man or animal, they believe, but not as the same individual.
The Christian doctrine of the immortality of the soul, is utterly foreign to all their thinking. They have no conception of a final state of bliss or misery. Nothing is final except Neikban,—annihilation,—and few there be who find it. In the Christian doctrine they see a ray of hope. Some from real interest, others from curiosity will listen to the message. Sometimes it happens that the deceased was the heathen wife of a Christian husband, or the heathen husband of a Christian wife, for they do not always separate where one is converted to Christianity. Such a case happened near our home. Ever since his baptism Ko Poo had led a terrible life with his heathen wife, who cherished the most intense hatred of everything Christian. After a lingering illness Ko Poo realized that his time had come. Far from dreading death he hailed it as bringing sweet release from an unhappy life. Before his death he made his will, bound his little ten year old boy to the mission, and secured the missionary's promise that in spite of all opposition, he should have Christian burial. His people were given their choice whether to have the remains taken to the Christian chapel or to have a Christian service in the house, in which his wife would still be living. They chose the latter course. But an unforeseen event occurred, complicating matters. The wife was taken suddenly ill, and died at half-past seven in the morning, two hours before the death of her husband.
Some said that her ill-timed demise was a final manifestation of her spirit of interference with all Christian doings. Be that as it may, it was now inevitable that there would also be a heathen funeral at the house, at the same time. Here was an occasion calling for diplomacy, but not for yielding. They knew the missionary too well to expect him and his native preachers to quit the field. According to native custom a body is kept from three to five days,—a dangerous custom, to say the least, in a tropical country, with no facilities for embalming. The remains of the wife might be kept longer if they so desired, but according to Christian custom the funeral of the husband must be held on the second day. "Oh, no, that would not be good. They had lived together so long, now let them be buried at the same time." So they yielded that point. Next, where should they be buried? The Christians had their cemetery, and the Buddhists had theirs. The missionary could plead his promise to the dying man that he should have Christian burial, a promise badly kept if the interment should be in the Buddhist cemetery. Of course they were not willing that the wife should be buried in the Christian cemetery,—so that point was peaceably gained. Then, how should the two coffins be conveyed to their last resting place? "As they had lived together so long, let the two coffins be carried side by side,"—but that would not do, for they were not bound for the same destination,—another point quietly gained. The next problem was, should the usual expensive spire-topped bier be constructed, on which to place the wife's coffin. The Christians were not providing anything of that kind, so the heathen friends were easily persuaded to forego their custom for once, and save the money, for the benefit of the orphaned children. When the time came for the Christians' service the missionary repaired to the house, whither the native preachers had already gone. In fact, one or more of them had remained there the entire time from the death of Ko Poo. At the appearance of the missionary and the Christian company the tom-toms ceased their din, and the room was made for all to enter. When a movement was made to bring from the upper part of the house the coffin containing the remains of the husband, one of the heathen relatives suggested that both coffins be brought down, at the same time, and be placed on the trestle side by side. When this had been done, the missionary made a sign to the native pastor that all was ready for the service to begin. Then the situation, of their own creating, dawned upon them. A Christian service was about to be held over the wife as well as the husband! A man jumped up in anger to protest, but was quietly though emphatically told to sit down and not disturb the service. Christian hymns were sung, appropriate scripture read, prayer offered, and brief but earnest talks made by three of the Christian workers, including the missionary. A crowd had gathered filling all available space in the large room, and open space out to the street. There was not the slightest disturbance or evidence of dissatisfaction throughout the service. Scores heard for the first time of Christ—"the Resurrection and the Life." Many others heard anew, under more impressive conditions. Then the procession formed, the Christian section in advance, and all moved slowly up the street, to the sound of the tom-toms in the rear. At the Buddhist cemetery, the heathen section swung off, the Christians going a short distance beyond to their cemetery. The husband's relatives followed with the Christians. After a brief service at the grave, all returned to their homes. So closed a unique experience, and a rare opportunity to proclaim Christ as Saviour.
Often the Christians have opportunity to minister to a mourning mother—"weeping for her children; and she would not be comforted, because they were not." In a twofold sense "they are not." According to Buddhist belief, for infants there is no hope. Little boys are hardly considered human beings until they have spent at least one day in a monastery. The status of little girls is still more uncertain. The mourning mother has not even David's comfort, "I shall go to him, but he will not return to me." She sorrows without hope. Her little one is dead, it was too young to have a soul, it is simply to be taken away into the jungle and buried. How her face brightens with hope, in spite of her belief, when we tell her that her little one is safe in heaven. She is ready to listen to the sweet story of Jesus blessing little children; and saying to His disciples, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me; and forbid them not; for to such belongeth the kingdom of heaven." Her mind may be so dark that she fails to take in its wealth of meaning, but it is a message of comfort, at least. Even some native Christians who had lost little ones before their own conversion, have carried with them the old heathen ideas concerning their lost ones until assured by the teacher that they will see their little ones again. This truth comes to them as a blessed revelation, giving joy and hope in place of sadness. Human nature is much the same, the world over; the same susceptibility to joy and sorrow. Christ in the heart makes all the difference.
A sad occasion, furnishing a grand opportunity, was the burial of a little child of mixed parentage. The father had returned to England, leaving his native concubine and two little children. The younger, only about nine months old, sickened and died. Heathen friends and relatives of the mother came to the mission with a request that the child be buried according to Christian custom. A large company gathered at the grave, all Buddhists except the missionary and the native pastor. The heathen friends were allowed to set a circle of lighted candles around the grave according to their custom. Then a short passage of scripture was read, containing the Saviour's words "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for to such belongeth the kingdom of heaven"; and "He took them in His arms and blessed them, laying His hands upon them." Men and women listened intently while the precious truth, so new and strange to them, was set forth that these little ones, far from being soulless creatures,—as Buddhism teaches,—are choicest material for the paradise of God. And that except a man become as a little child, in simple trust and purity of heart, he cannot enter the kingdom of God. Returning to their homes these people must pass the missionary's house. Twenty of them stopped to get tracts that they might learn more about the Glad Tidings.
Another method of preaching Christ is through "medical missions," or the incidental medical work, which every missionary must perform. As a philanthropic work medical missions would be justified from a purely medical or humanitarian point of view. The woman who had "suffered much from many physicians" was a victim of men probably much more advanced in the knowledge of medicine than the average Burman doctor. Both the diagnosis and the treatment are based on superstition.
The so-called doctor enters that profession because he has a taste for it and thinks he can do well (for himself) at it. He requires no training, and no drugs other than he can pick up in the jungle as he goes along,—herbs, barks, and roots of a peculiar smell, shells, stones, etc. carefully gathered at the right time of the moon. Some of the articles in his stock possess a real medicinal value, and now and then are put to their proper use, as is the case in country districts the world over. Any one of the ninety-six diseases which, according to the Burman notion, the flesh is heir to, may have come from one of about as many different causes. The sick man may have been bewitched, one of their many demons may be having a turn at him, or perhaps he has offended the great nagah, or dragon. If it is due to the balance of kan, fate being against him, the case is hopeless. That the sickness was caused by eating unripe fruit, drinking from a polluted well, or eating dried and putrid fish seldom occurs to the man of science who has come on to the scene to lessen the chances of recovery. Such is the fear of cholera that cathartics, in many cases the only remedy needed, are rarely given. Some of the Burmese, averse to taking medicine of any kind, prefer to call a dietist. No matter what the ailment may be, the patient's birthday determines the treatment. Every Burman knows the day of the week on which he was born, though he may not know the month or the year.
His own name would recall the day, should he forget it. Certain letters are assigned to each day of the week, according to the planet from which the day took its name. The person's name must begin with one of the several letters belonging to his birthday. Now in like manner all kinds of food beginning with one of those letters the patient must carefully shaung,—avoid. Rice would be tabooed on Saturday, but as no Burman can eat at all without rice, an exception is made, to save the doctor's popularity. Burying an effigy of the sick person is sometimes resorted to, in order to fool the demon who is hanging around the house. Thinking his victim has died, he will depart. Massage sometimes is very helpful. Half a dozen people in a village are noted for their knowledge of the muscles of the human body, and for special skill in the shampooing process, but nearly every man and woman attempts it now and then. This may be done with the hands, or by treading slowly back and forth on the prone body of the sufferer. Practiced with discrimination it has more value than all the nostrums of doctors or dietists. But unfortunately the Burmese practice it for everything, from a lame toe to confinement cases. A prominent Burman in Rangoon recently declared as his belief that Burma's immunity from the plague is due to the reverence of the people for the "three precious things" of Buddhism, "the Buddha, the law, and the priest." Against the occult power of Karma on the right side of the scale, accumulated by such faithful observance of the noble precept, the baccilli of the plague can make no headway. By the same reasoning the presence of the plague in India is attributed to the fact that Hinduism with its revolting customs and bloody sacrifices has supplanted Buddhism in that country.
Putting these two together he confidently asserts that the only effectual remedy for the plague in India is the restoration of Buddhism as the national religion.
Mortality among infants is very high. This is remarkable when one considers the faithfulness of the mother in attending to its wants, starting it on honey and water in place of its natural food; and afterwards supplementing its natural food by stuffing little wads of boiled rice into its mouth while it is yet but a few weeks old. Moreover, special precautions are taken against the departure of the little one's "butterfly-spirit." That which the Christian calls the soul, the Burman calls the sense of knowing, and is personified as the "butterfly-spirit." When the body dies the butterfly-spirit also dies. When a mother dies leaving an infant behind, immediate precautions must be taken to prevent the child's butterfly-spirit from going off with the mother's. Incantations are resorted to, and they distractedly appeal to the dead mother not to take away the butterfly-spirit of the babe.
Then a ceremony is performed with a tuft of fluffy cotton to imitate the return of the spirit to the body of the child, who is blinking in blissful unconsciousness of the awful crisis through which it is passing. During one's sleep the butterfly-spirit may go wandering about by itself, hence the peculiar experiences in dreams. The temporary absence of the butterfly-spirit does no harm, unless perchance it gets lost in the jungle, or badly frightened, it rushes back so tumultuous as to cause a shock to its owner. Another danger is that the person may be roused from sleep while the butterfly-spirit is off on a picnic, in which case he would at least be sick until the spirit returns. A sleeping man must not be disturbed, however imperative the summons.
I was once the victim of over solicitude on my behalf. Travelling to Rangoon by night-train, with a Burman as a companion I fell asleep. The Burman knew that I was very anxious to reach my destination on time.
He also knew that while I was asleep our train was delayed, and that an opportunity offered for a transfer to the mail-train which had the right-of-way. But that fellow, educated and Christian that he was, had not outgrown the feeling that a sleeper must not be roused, and so let the chance slip by. An important business engagement was missed, to say nothing of subsisting on one ear of boiled corn until twelve o'clock the next day. Much more might be said to show that there is a large field, and an urgent demand for medical missions. I am fully persuaded that, given a medical missionary with an "evangelistic temperament," which means a "passion for souls," no other missionary agency can be compared with medical missions. Especially is this true of work among Burman and Shan Buddhists. The value of the work depends largely on the man himself.
If he cannot or does not win the people to himself he never will win them to Christ. The spiritual work will suffer in proportion as he allows himself to become absorbed in the purely medical or scientific side of his work, leaving the evangelistic work to the native helpers.
The doctor has rare opportunities for personal influence in his dispensary and in heathen homes. It is to be greatly regretted that at the present time there is not one medical missionary in the whole country assigned to Burman Buddhists, who comprise about four-fifths of the population. All of the Shan mission stations have medical missionaries, and the success of their work testifies to the soundness of the policy, though this policy was due primarily to the need of such protection for the missionary family in these frontier stations.
The medical missionary has a double hold on the people. The dispensary brings them to him, and his outside practice takes him to their homes, and that by invitation. In both respects he has an advantage over the clerical missionary. Moreover, as medical treatment is the ostensible object in their case, anti-Christian opposition is not prematurely excited. Frequent visits of the clerical missionary to a heathen home, brands that home as leaning towards Christianity. The one, by relieving suffering, removes prejudice, although he may at the same time proclaim Christ as faithfully as the other who, by making that his sole errand, unavoidably excites prejudice. If as the result of a man's ministrations the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, and fevers are banished, he is forgiven for being a Christian, and others are forgiven for consorting with him.
All governments and religions recognize the fact that to elevate a people the beginning must be made with the children. It is too late now to "begin with the child's grandfather." Missionaries do not confound education with evangelization, but they do recognize its great value in the evangelizing process. Ideally, evangelization should come first, and education afterwards to meet the consequent demand. This is usually the method followed, to the extent of the evangelizing force available. The missionary to Burmans is shut up to a choice between losing the children of Christian parents to the government, Roman Catholic and S. P. G. schools; and establishing an anglo-vernacular school of his own, in connecting with the Education Department of government. It has come to pass that every school for the Burmese in the towns, must have government registration, and must teach English. Every boy, whether from a Christian or heathen home, is bound to have the certificates which only registered schools can give, and is bound to have an English education. If the missionary does not provide the opportunity the male children of his Christian community will go where they can get it. The Education Department holds annual promotion-examinations. Certificates are given to all who complete the course. These certificates are the condition of securing employment in government clerkships, mercantile houses, and in all schools connected with the Education Department. The boy who picks up his education in a vernacular school, or a non-registered school, however proficient he may become, stands no chance in the race. So much for the point of view from the native side. It is also a generally recognized fact that non-Christian races never will be evangelized by the missionary alone. The great work of the missionary is to train up a native evangelizing agency through which he can multiply himself, perpetuate himself, and establish a self-sustaining work, that will go on when he shall have been compelled to lay it down.
Time was when a middle-aged convert from a jungle village, with no education beyond the ability to stumble through a chapter in his Bible could do fairly effective service. Such men are still helpful outside of the towns, if helped by the missionary to a better understanding of their message. Evangelists of such limited training are far from ideal, even for jungle tours. In the towns their influence is very slight.
How shall a stronger force be provided? Only through the mission schools,—there is no other way. It may be said that the missionary is not called upon to educate clerks for government. It is also true that he is not called upon, by his Master, to decide beforehand what boys in his mission shall be educated for the ministry. Much of a boy's training must be given before he himself is sufficiently mature to comprehend a divine "call" to the ministry. If no place is given for such a call, the native ministry will be filled with men who would do better service in the rice-fields. Rice would be their main object in the ministry. Moreover, the preliminary training cannot even be deferred until the boy is converted. The vocation of the preacher is not hereditary, like that of the various castes in India. The son of a dacoit may be converted during his school life, and become a preacher. The son of a preacher may become a dacoit, or at least never feel called to the Christian ministry. The mission school cannot even be limited to children of Christian families. Opening the doors to all classes willing to pay for the advantages of the school greatly reduces its cost to the mission.
Increase of numbers does not involve increase in the number of classes or teachers. Much of the expense is thereby placed where it belongs,—upon the people themselves. Opening the doors to all classes furnishes the grandest field for evangelistic work within the missionary's sphere of influence. Every day in the week Christian influences are brought to bear upon the same individuals; Christian truths are inculcated; the creeds of false religions forestalled in youthful minds; prejudice against Christianity dispelled, and either during school life, or when the pupils are free to break from the control of heathen parents many converts are gained. From these converts, as well as from children of Christian parents, come accessions to the mission force of teachers and evangelists. Paul was "laid hold on by Christ Jesus" for special service while he was yet as intense a hater of Christianity as can be found in Buddhist Burma. From among the unconverted children now in mission schools some, already chosen in the foreknowledge of God, will be "laid hold on" to be Gospel preachers to the rising generation.
From the early days of Buddhism in Burma, even before the language was reduced to writing there were monastic schools for the purpose of teaching boys the doctrines of the new religion. When the language was reduced to writing, all boys were compelled to attend the monastic school to learn to read and write, in addition to the memorizing of portions of the sacred books. This is still the custom, where no English schools are provided. With the advent of the English school compulsory attendance at the monastery is continued for religious purposes only, and may be limited to the brief period required by the novitiate ceremony, through which every boy must pass. This may extend to three months, or be cut short at the end of a week, according to the zeal of the parents, or the anxiety to get the boy back into the English school so that he may not lose his promotion examination. Let a boy spend a year in the monastery, and you have a full-fledged Buddhist to deal with. Take the same boy into the mission school at the age of five or six, even earlier where there is a kindergarten department, and you have a child who is no more a Buddhist than your own little ones. Buddhism is not hereditary, it is the result of training and environment. Forestall that training by taking the children into the Christian school, and there train them in the blessed doctrines of Christianity. For the poisonous environment of the heathen home and community, substitute the Christian influences of life in the mission school. For this purpose the boarding-school, in which the pupils are required to live, and be under Christian influences and safeguards day and night is worth vastly more than the day-school, which holds the pupils only during school hours, allowing them to return at night to their heathen homes.
But the existence of the mission day-school, with its staff of native Christian teachers, and its daily Bible-study is amply justified by results. The pupils thus kept away from the monastic school are not being indoctrinated in Buddhism; they are being indoctrinated in Christianity. Few children in Christian lands receive a like amount of Bible teaching. I venture to say that there are day-schools in Burma, made up largely of children from heathen homes, that could successfully compete with the average Sunday-school in America in answering questions on the Bible. Heathen parents of pupils in the day-school have complained that their children have already renounced Buddhist worship and customs, and openly preach Christ to their own parents. Whether these pupils are gathered into the Christian fold or not, a few years hence they will be rearing families of their own. The next generation, born of pupils now in mission schools, will not be taught to hate everything in any way connected with the "Jesus Christ religion," as these pupils have been. Even the day-school is one of the stepping-stones heavenward for these benighted people.