Chapter 14
DESTINATION—INLAND CHINA
Hudson walked along a broad street in the West End, near Regent’s Park, and mounting the wide steps of one of the large houses, rang the bell. The door was opened almost immediately by a manservant, and not without a feeling of shyness Hudson entered a well-furnished hall, very different in appearance from the narrow passage that led to the front door in 1 Beaumont St., Whitechapel!
“Her ladyship is expecting you,” he was informed, as he handed the butler his hat and stick. And then he was shown into the room where he was to take breakfast with the Dowager Lady Radstock.
It was less then a week since the launching of the China Inland Mission, and Hudson was scarcely prepared for the direction in which things were moving. He was not accustomed to moving in the circles of high society! But his hostess, whom he had met for the first time at church the day before, put him entirely at his ease. She wanted to hear about China, and as he told of those millions in the inland provinces, and how God was urging him to go to them, not only she, but others at the breakfast table were interested. In a surprisingly short time he was receiving invitations to attend luncheon parties with titled people, and to speak at drawing room meetings where all the guests appeared in evening dress! As the week sped by he found himself carried along as though by a full tide, traveling not only in England, but in Scotland and Ireland, too, to meet people who had heard about his enterprise, and to speak at meetings, large and small.
At one of those meetings he met a bright and witty young man who was later to become the founder of the well-known Dr. Barnardo Homes. At that time Tom Barnardo was only twenty, and a member of the theological class to which Hudson had been invited to speak. Quite a diminutive young person was Tom Barnardo, and when he observed beside the tall, well-built figure of the class leader, he whispered to his next-door neighbor, “Good! There’s a chance for me!” For he, too, wanted to go to China, and approached Hudson about joining the Inland Mission. It was on Hudson’s advice that he embarked first on a medical training at the London Hospital, where he discovered that his vocation was the rescuing of waifs and strays in England, after all. But he was by no means the only young person to be stirred to action on hearing of the needs of the Chines people West of the Mountains, North of the Lake, South of the Clouds...Hudson had prayed for twenty-four skillful, willing workers on the memorable Sunday morning on the Brighton Beach, and God was answering that prayer.
The days were never long enough for Hudson now. Traveling, speaking at meetings, interviewing people who wanted to join the Mission, writing booklets about China, he went from one task to another with never a stop, it seemed. There were seven or eight missionaries already in China, including young Meadows, all eager to join the Mission that was to go to the inland provinces. And as 1866 dawned it became evident that his twenty-four skillful, willing laborers had already been given—for sixteen young men and women were prepared to sail with him and Maria to China as soon as arrangements could be made to do so.
The arrangements that needed to be made, of course, were largely of the type that require money. Hudson reckoned that it would cost nearly $10,000 to get him and his party to China, and by the first week in February he had only a little over $800 in hand. They hoped to sail in May! It did not appear likely that they would, in the circumstances. But somehow Hudson felt sure that God was going to send them in all that was required. He and Maria decided they would hold a prayer meeting in their house every day at twelve o’clock, to ask Him to do so, and to pray for His direction and help in all connected with their going to China. Once more he proved how practical it is to pray! Within five weeks of commencing that daily prayer meeting all the money they needed had come in. One man gave a large sum. Now all that remained was to find a sailing ship on which the whole party of eighteen adults and four children could be accommodated.
That was not so easy, it seemed. April passed into May, and still no suitable sailing ship bound for China was procurable. Nevertheless—Hudson and his party were still hoping to sail in May.
On May 2, Hudson was in Herfordshire, staying in the home of Colonel Puget, who had invited him to speak at a meeting. It was what is known as a “good meeting.” So earnestly and quietly did the audience listen as Hudson spoke of the millions in China who had never heard of Jesus, that the provervial pin might have been heard to drop. Colonel Puget, the chairman, felt it was too good and opportunity to let pass. Hudson always stipulated that there should be no collection taken at any of his meetings, but Colonel Puget felt this meeting should be an exception. Why, the people were obviously deeply moved—undoubtedly they would give most generously toward the work of the new China Inland Mission if the plate were but passed around! He was somewhat provoked, therefore, when Hudson restrained him as he was about to announce that there would be a collection.
“You made a great mistake, if I may say so,” he said at supper. “The people were really interested. We might have had a good collection.” This enthusiastic young missionary was too impractical! His ideal of only asking God for money was splendid, but to refuse to allow a collection at a meeting where people were obviously eager to give seemed to be carrying things too far. So thought Colonel Puget as he retired to bed.
Stranglely enough, he could not go to sleep. As he lay in bed, turning from one side to the other, his thoughts went back to the meeting. Hudson had spoken most movingly about the Chinese who were dying without once having heard of the only One who could save them. “Every hour a thousand of them die, going out into the darkness of an eternity without Christ...” Every hour a thousand...Every hour a thousand...The thought of it seemed to burn into the very heart of the Colonel. All thought of the wasted opportunity of taking up a large collection was gone, as he seemed to see the broad stream of Chinese going steadily, hopelessly into the darkness. Something must be done to let them hear that there was a Saviour! Something was being done, of course. That gallent little band of laborers! Mere youths and maidens, most of them, prepared to sacrifice their lives if need be, to follow young Hudson Taylor right into the heart of that great Eastern Empire.
“But what can I do?” thought the elderly Colonel, and his thought became a prayer. “Lord,” he prayed earnestly, “what will Thou have me to do?”
He remembered the amount he had intended to put in the plate as a donation. Somehow it seemed pathetically small. In the darkness the Colonel prayed again. “Lord, what will Thou have me to do?” After a long time he fell asleep—but when at last he did so, he knew what he must do.
The following morning, before the Colonel put in a appearance at the breakfast table, the postman had delivered a letter to Hudson from a firm of shipping agents. A ship called Lammermuir was about to sail for China, and Hudson was offered the entire cabin accommodation for his party. It sounded just what was needed—would the price asked be beyond their reach?
After the Colonel appeared, explaining that he had had a bad night and apologizing for being late, they sat down to breakfast. When it was over, the Colonel asked Hudson into his study.
“I have some money here for you,” he said, handing several contributions that had been given him to pass on to Hudson. Then he continued:
“I felt last evening that you were wrong about the collection, but now I see things differently. Lying awake at night, I thought of that stream of souls in China, a thousand every hour going out into the dark. I could only cry, ‘Lord, what will Thou have me to do?’ I think I have His answer,” and he handed Hudson a check. “If there had been a collection I should have given a 5-pound note,” he added. This check is the result of no small part of the night spent in prayer.”
Hudson looked in wonderment at the slip of paper in his hand. The check was made out, not for five pounds, but for 500 pounds!
There was no question now whether he could afford to book the entire cabin accommodation of the Lammermuir! The unexpected check, coming right on the heels of the notification of the sailing vessel seemed to be God’s assurance that it was the boat on which he and his party should travel. And on the Lammermuir, less than a month later, they set sail for China—the first of a steady stream of men and women that for more than eighty years poured in to the great cities and numberless villages of the regions West of the Mountains, South of the Clouds, North of the Lake, to tell men like Mr. Nee, and Wang the basket maker, and the farmer from O-zi, about Jesus...
Hudson leaned on the railing of the ship, looking out to sea. It was not yet a year since he had made that entry in his Bible: “Prayed for twenty-four skillful, willing laborers at Brighton, June 25, 1865.” How quickly things had happened since that day! It seemed as though God had just been waiting for him to take that one step, and when he took it, he found everything else was prepared.
The first time he sailed for China, a lonely youth of twenty, he had but vaguely realized the purpose for which he had been sent. “Go for Me to China,” the Voice had said, and he had obeyed. This time, as a man of thirty-three, he understood more clearly the task that had been set him. He was to lead his little band of laborers into the very heart of China, to spread throughout the length and breadth of that great empire the news of God’s love to man.
That difficulties and dangers, hardships and heartaches lay before him he was well aware. It was no comfortable, easy task to which he was called, but a campaign that would demand every ounce of his strength and endurance. Nevertheless, he was not afraid. All that was required of him, after all, was loyal obedience to his Master, and unswerving trust in Him. Christ was the leader, not he, and with such a Leader he was prepared to follow to the end. It was with an eager, happy heart that Hudson, leaning on the rails of the Lammermuir as she plowed her way through the waters, faced his lifework.
I heard the call, Come Follow,
That was all.
Earth’s joy grew dim,
My soul went after Him.
I rose and followed—that was all.
Will you not follow if you hear Him call?
Chapter 15
AFTER FORTY YEARS
It was forty years after the day on Brighton Beach when he finally decided to found the China Inland Mission, and Hudson was sitting in a mission station in South of the Lake. It was the last of the eleven provinces that had opened to his missionaries. Four Streams, North of the Lake, South of the River, West of the Mountains, South of the Clouds—one by one mission stations had been occupied in all of those inland provinces, but still the hostile officials of thickly populated South of the Lake refused to allow Westerners with their religion of Jesus to settle there. For over thirty years Hudson had prayed for the door to open, and now at last even in South of the Lake the China Inland Mission had its workers.
Hudson looked out of the window across the roofs of the city to the distant horizon. It was his very last day on earth, although no one knew it yet. He did not know it himself. He was thinking more of the past than the future as he turned to talk to his companion.
“It is a wonderful privilege we have, to be able to bring everything to God in prayer, isn’t it?” he said with a smile. This was one of the things that impressed him most. God had done so many of the things he had asked Him to do. Answering his prayer for twenty-four workers had only been one of them. Hudson had gone on praying for more missionaries, and God had gone on sending them. Twenty years ago he had prayed for seventy more, and God had sent them. Then, a few years later, he had prayed for another hundred, and God had sent them, too. Now there were more than eight hundred memberss in the Mission, scattered over the whole vast interior of China, in which not one province remained where Jesus was not preached. Many were those obstacles that had been encountered, yet sooner or later they had been overcome. Even now there were difficulties—there always would be—but Hudson knew that as he prayed, God would solve them all.
“A wonderful priviledge—to be able to bring everything to God in prayer...”
“Yes...” The younger man looked across at the old missionary, and said slowly:
“You know, I sometimes feel I can’t bring everything to Him. The big ones—yes. But many things seem too small to pray to God about. The feeling that they are too small really hinders me from praying...”
Hudson, white-haired and stocky, seemed almost surprised. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said. Too small to pray about? Some of the very small things in his life led to very big things. Giving away the least amount of money he had over fifty years ago, had started him on the path of faith and obedience; the prick of a pin was so small that he scarcely noticed it, yet it had almost cost him his life; a pigtail was really a very small thing—yet how large it had loomed when he was the first and only missionary to wear one! One of the shortest prayers of his life had been when he prayed on the Brighton Beach for twenty-four skilled, willing workers, but had not that prayer started the Mission for Inland China? Who could say what was big and what was not?
“There is noting small, and there is nothing great,” he said, after a slight pause. “Only God is great.’” And then, as though summing up all the experience of the years, he added simply, “We should trust Him fully.”
He went to bed very soon after that, for he was tired. It had been a happy day. In the morning he had gone to the chapel to speak to the Chinese Christians—men and women of South of the Lake, who had found “the Way.” In the afternoon he had had tea on the little lawn in the garden, and met all the other missionaries in the city, who had come to visit him. He had enjoyed it all very much, but now he was tired, and thought he would not go downstairs for supper.
“We’ll bring it to you in bed,” he was told, and he went into his room. Twilight fell over the city. The outlines of the distant mountains faded into the darkness, and in the sky overhead the stars appeared. It was very quiet. After a time light footsteps were heard on the stairs, as the supper tray was carried up. The door of Hudson’s room opened, silence again, followed by quickly running footsteps and a cry from the top of the stairs.
“Doctor! Doctor!” He came immediately. But as soon as the looked at the happy, peaceful face on the pillow, he knew he was not needed.
* * *
“Venerable Pastor, Venerable Pastor,” whispered the young evangelist, bending over the quiet form on the bed, holding one of the old hands in his two warm ones. He had come in from an outstation that very day, in order to see the famous old missionary of whom he had heard so much. And now he must speak to him, even though his words would not be heard.
“Venerable Pastor, we truly love you. We have come today to see you. We longed to look into your face. We too are your little children—Venerable Pastor, Venerable Pastor. You opened for us the road, the road to Heaven. You loved us and prayed for us long years. We came today to look upon your face.
“You look so happy, so peaceful! You are smiling. Your face is quiet and pleased. You cannot speak to us tonight. We do not want to bring you back; but we will follow you. We shall come to you, Venerable Pastor. You will welcome us by and by...”
But Hudson had been welcomed. As one of the Chinese women said as she looked at him, her eyes full of tears, but a smile on her face, “Ten thousand times ten thousands of angels have received him!” And above their welcome rang one Voice he had learned to listen for on earth, and which he loved beyond all others—the Voice he had heard, long ago, saying “Go for Me to China.” But this time the Voice said, “Well done! Good, faithful servant! Enter into the joy of thy Lord!”
And Hudson entered.
HUDSON TAYLOR, CHIẾN SĨ MẠO HIỂM CHO CHÚA
Tác giả: Phyllis Thompson
Chuyển ngữ: GS Phạm Quang Tâm
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