12. Independence
12.
INDEPENDENCE
“No!” cried Amy when she heard the news.
On September 20, 1923, Jambulingam had been trapped by the authorities in the village of Caruniapuram. Some stories that circulated about the event broke her heart, for they said the police had subdued him, beaten him in their rage, and then shot him through the head. Edith Naish had been in the village when it happened but knew only that Jambulingam was indeed dead.
Remembering his pledge not to die with blood on his hands, Amy had to ask her, “Did he die clean?”
“Yes. He could have surely used his gun to kill, but he did not.”
Over the next weeks Amy was very troubled by his death. She hoped the police would clear his name. Instead, they insisted it was good riddance to an evil man. One police official sneered that Amy would be very disappointed if she expected to see Jambulingam in heaven. Even after she had written the story of Jambulingam in the book Raj, Brigand Chief and learned that many Indians were inspired to come to Christ because of the conversion of Jambulingam, she felt little better. She was haunted by the police official’s claim that Jambulingam had not been saved. Then on December 15, the evening before her fifty-sixth birthday, she was resting in her room and enjoying the words of a hymn sung by others in the dining room. Suddenly she was flooded in waves of light. Her spirit soared. The Lord had washed away her darkness, her doubt.
She murmured, “Jambulingam is—to use one of his favorite expressions—with ‘Immanuel my help.’”1
Workers from Ireland and the British Isles continued to arrive. One family—the Neills—was so gifted, it seemed too good to be true. Husband and wife were both doctors. They came about the same time as another doctor, May Powell. At long last, Dohnavur had real doctors. Amy had always maintained strict hygiene in the compound—which helped to explain why there had never been one case of cholera—but, oh, how they needed real doctors.
The Neills’s son Stephen had been at Cambridge studying for the clergy. He had not been ordained, but he was thoroughly steeped in the doctrine of the Church of England. Amy, influenced by Robert Wilson, claimed no denomination. Besides her love of Christ, she expressed her beliefs as three principles. First was the divine inspiration of Scripture. Second was the power of prayer to enlist God’s help against the Enemy. Third was the necessity of the faithful to love one another. In the spirit of Keswick, Amy cared nothing for doctrinal hairsplitting. The Lord’s divine summation of all holiness was in the twenty-second chapter of Matthew:
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.
The church service that had evolved from Amy’s beliefs was partly Anglican, partly Quaker, partly other churches, if one had to use labels. Amy did not. But Stephen Neill did. He labeled Amy one of the “Plymouth Brethren.” Stephen’s mother asked, “Since Amy often has services led by those not ordained, why shouldn’t Stephen—by far the most qualified—take over the services?” Slowly but surely, maintained the mother, Stephen would steer the wayward services back to the purity of Church of England ritual.
What had seemed so providential became chaos from Amy’s standpoint. Stephen Neill—prodded by his mother—was virtually aspiring to be the “bishop” of Dohnavur. The father and mother were trying to get Amy to agree to have all medical facilities at a separate locale—under their supervision, of course. Besides that, the father was spending far too much time with the girls at Dohnavur. This kind of relationship was anathema to the Hindus. It could stain Dohnavur. Then Stephen harangued Amy to launch a sports program to send the boys and girls out into the villages. The Neills were truly brilliant people and they expected their brilliance to be given free rein. But Amy had cautiously built Dohnavur into an oasis island of Christianity in a vast ocean of Hindus and Muslims.
AMY HAD BUILT DOHNAVUR INTO AN ISLAND OF CHRISTIANITY IN A VAST OCEAN OF HINDUS AND MUSLIMS.
“Lord, save me,” said Amy, then wrote in her diary that “the spiritual fortunes of the work hung by a thread.”2
When she opposed all the Neills’s programs, which she felt were undermining the security of Dohnavur, the Neills were stung by her “fear,” her “insecurity.” She was a myth, they whispered, trying to keep control of something that had grown far beyond her competence. But Amy persisted against the Neills. They dug in. They were not quitters. Brilliance would triumph. But Amy knew this competition for power could not continue. After six months of turmoil, she informed the Neills they must leave Dohnavur. And so they did, much of the conflict remaining secret and untold, the wounds never healing.
The conflict ushered in a new era for Dohnavur.
Amy officially severed all ties with missionary societies, though she had long thought her independence had been understood, even by her Zenana Missionary Society. After all, she always declared the society was not responsible for any debts she might incur. But after the Neills tried to wrestle Dohnavur away from her, she knew that stronger, more legalistic measures were required to protect her work. The Zenana Missionary Society had become more and more intrusive, too, demanding written reports as to what she planned to do, as to what she planned to spend, and answers to dozens of other questions. Perhaps she hadn’t had one of her beloved colleagues smeared, as William Carey’s Joshua Marshman had been back in the late 1820s, but her similarities to Carey were startling. They both had come to India with nothing, not even a formal education. They both had built up a large mission over decades. They both were passing into old age yet expected to provide accountability to a distant society committee that could not possibly administer a mission. Well, she would do just what Carey had done.
“Enough! It’s over!”
Over the next two years she crafted the Dohnavur Fellowship, whose prime purpose was always to the Cross. Her motto was ‘The Cross is the attraction,’ but devotion to it had to have a human purpose, too:
To save children in moral danger; to train them to serve others; to succour the desolate and the suffering; to do anything that may be shown to be the will of our Heavenly Father, in order to make His love known, especially to the people of India.3
And who led the Fellowship, who made its plans?
The Leader with the help of the Council shall direct the conduct of the Fellowship according to the plans that God shall reveal. It is agreed that the supreme authority is vested in the Unseen Leader, the Lord Jesus Christ, while the human leader seeks, in cooperation with the other members, to carry out the mind and will of the Divine.4
The council consisted of eight of the best-qualified helpers. Of course Arulai was one. As far as qualifications to help at Dohnavur, Amy had only a list of about twenty-five questions she liked to ask volunteers. They were thoughtful questions with no right answers. Her hope was that the persons, in answering the questions, would be able to decide themselves whether they were fit for service or not. Some of the questions were:
Samuel Rutherford said that there are some who would have Christ cheap, Christ “without the Cross. But the price will not come down.” Will you pay the price to live a crucified life?
Are you warmed or repelled by the thought of a hard life?
Do you know the Dohnavur Fellowship is a Family, not an institution? Are you willing to do whatever job helps the Family the most?
Besides the Bible, which three or four books have helped you the most?
Besides reading books, what activity refreshes you best when tired?
These questions were designed to ferret out any doubts that the volunteer might have. Not the least troubling was the very real possibility of spending as long as two years learning Tamil, for this necessity could not be shirked. Nor could the necessity to do whatever work was required, no matter how menial or tedious or perhaps even revolting. Hopefully she would not get people with their own ideas of what needed to be done. And certainly never again would she get people who came to Dohnavur to straighten out her mission!
The Dohnavur Fellowship had to become a legal entity, too. The mission society took the news like a lamb. They donated all property to the Dohnavur Fellowship. Buildings and land were being acquired all the time. In July 1925, Amy had purchased sixty acres of rocky hillside halfway between Dohnavur and Neyyoor. She called the spot “Three Pavilions,” because legend said three ancient kings had conferred there. Also in 1925, she launched a project she had cherished for a long time: a house of prayer. It would be Indian in architecture, pagoda-like with tiles and multiple eaves, certainly not the foreign-looking Church of England style with stained-glass windows that so offended Indians. Amy had an aversion to images of the Lord anyway, so few were ever found in Dohnavur. The Cross was the image of Christ she wanted to see. The only other symbol in the House of Prayer was a large brass-rimmed wagon wheel. To Amy the wheel symbolized the Fellowship, an instrument to perform good hard work. The polished brass rim represented the bond of love that held the Fellowship together.
AMY LAUNCHED A PROJECT SHE HAD CHERISHED FOR A LONG TIME: A HOUSE OF PRAYER.
“And let’s try hard to keep our furry and feathery friends out,” she said of the squirrels, monkeys, and birds of Dohnavur she usually welcomed. “They will find no refuge in our church.”
By 1926, there were seventy boys at Dohnavur. It was obvious they needed a strong leader. Arul Dasan was willing but lacked education. For that matter, new leadership for the entire Dohnavur Fellowship would have to come eventually. Amy was now fifty-nine. And there was the hospital she so desired. Few things attracted natives better than medical facilities. She had put the main thrust for a hospital aside until her House of Prayer was finished. But where were the doctors going to come from? Would the Neills poison all future attempts to attract doctors? Praise God, Dr. May Powell had remained, even though she was often bogged down in her study of Tamil. But even when Dr. Powell hit her stride, Dohnavur needed a male doctor for male patients. Indians would accept nothing else. Women doctors must examine girls. Men doctors must examine boys. All these things Amy now prayed for.
Dr. Godfrey Webb-Peploe had visited in 1925, but he had moved on to fulfill his commitments in China. Then in January 1926, his mother and his brother Murray, also a doctor, visited Dohnavur. Murray was the extrovert, Godfrey quiet and withdrawn. Both were steady and dedicated physicians. The brothers were grandsons of a very prominent speaker at the Keswick meetings. The old Reverend Mr. Webb-Peploe had won Amy’s heart when he spoke of the joy of the Holy Spirit.
“Joy is not gush,” he said emphatically. “Joy is not jolliness. Joy is perfect acquiescence in God’s will.”5
Amy found in Murray a soul mate. He was just as spontaneous as she was. If she heard the call to go somewhere, Murray was always ready to go with her. Off they would rumble in the Fellowship automobile! Murray was devout, too. He carried a well-worn New Testament in Greek and liked nothing better than to savor the Word.
After Murray departed with his mother for China in May 1926, Amy was torn. “My heart turns to him as Thy chosen leader for the hospital,” she admitted to God in her diary. “I see in him and in Godfrey my very heart’s desire.” But guilt overwhelmed her. “Let me not covet my neighbor’s goods—nor his manservants. Murray and Godfrey are China’s manservants. Lord, help and forgive me.”6
Still, she plunged ahead with her plans for the boys’ compound. In September, she made a down payment on the land. Amy was in turmoil over the lack of a leader for the boys, writing in her diary the very next day, “It is as if the evil one were seeking to undermine what he failed to overthrow by open assault, our perfect unity.”7 But one week later she received a cable that was like a monsoon of joy. Godfrey and his mother were returning to Dohnavur! Godfrey had a touch of lung trouble and had been ordered to leave China until he felt better. Once again, Amy had to scold herself. She must not take joy in China’s loss. But how could she stop her own hopes for India? And when Godfrey told her he had resigned his post in China, her heart soared.
Godfrey soon set her straight. “Don’t count on me for Dohnavur,” he said morosely.
Lord, how could she have been so selfish? So foolish? So presumptuous? Did Godfrey see Dohnavur as nothing more than a pleasant diversion while he was recuperating? Yet when Godfrey returned to Dohnavur, Amy felt sure God had been telling her that sober, steady Godfrey was her future leader for the boys, her future doctor for the hospital. How could she have been so wrong?
On December 15, 1926, the evening before her fifty-ninth birthday, she got the best present she could possibly get. A note from Godfrey asked Amy for fellowship in Dohnavur. And his note revealed what had been troubling him. He had doubted he was worthy of what she expected of him. Yes, he was a doctor, but could he lead the boys? At last he had decided he must try. Amy had that effect on people. She made Godfrey want very much to be what she thought he was.
Godfrey tackled Tamil and was so adept at it he had a working knowledge of it by the time his health was back to normal. Then he assumed all the duties Amy had bestowed upon him. To make the Webb-Peploe saga even more miraculous, Murray’s station at Hangchow was overrun in 1927 by the Chinese civil war. Murray had to flee to Dohnavur. But he assured Amy he had every intention of returning to China when the shooting was over. Again, Amy had a call from God to proceed boldly. In January 1928, she bought the land for the hospital.
AMY HAD A CALL FROM GOD TO PROCEED BOLDLY. SHE BOUGHT LAND FOR THE HOSPITAL.
It seemed hopeless to defy Amy’s plans, which were responses to God’s call. By July 1928, Murray, too, had pledged to the Dohnavur Fellowship. With Godfrey in charge of the boys’ compound, it was left to Murray to ramrod the construction of the new hospital. It would require the most funds they had ever committed. Even the children worked to raise funds. They picked berries from the margosa tree and sold buckets of them for oil. And the children tried many other moneymaking projects.
Southern India was not a hot spot for the politics that were sweeping northern India. But Amy followed what was happening. Mohandas Gandhi was in and out of jail. His nationalist movement, embodied in peaceful resistance to British rule, was now called satyagraha, or “force of truth.” Often, Gandhi would appear to be doing nothing, then suddenly surface in a cauldron of unrest.
One event in 1930 not only consolidated native resistance but shocked the world. The British taxed salt, which affected every Indian, no matter how poor. In protest, Gandhi led a march of Indians to the sea, where they could make their own salt. Of course, the British arrested the “troublemaker” and threw him into jail. This time Gandhi’s followers had enough courage to push ahead without him. Nearly twenty-five hundred Indians marched on the government’s huge salt pans at Dharasana, north of Bombay. They intended to occupy the pans, but British officers ordered police to attack them with metal-tipped lathis. Hundreds of unresisting marchers fell with cracked skulls. Journalists witnessed and reported the scene, which was so ghastly and inhuman that it seemed impossible.
“The heavy-handed British rule of India is an outrage,” said Amy. “When will it end?”
Yet the way of the Hindus was harsh, too. Amy’s bold Things As They Are had at long last been confirmed by another writer, an American. Katherine Mayo’s Mother India, published in 1927, was a shocker. Yes, girl babies were often offered to the gods, she confirmed. Once abandoned at the river’s edge, they now were neglected unto death or sold to temples. Not only were the young girls terribly degraded, but many actually died from physical acts they were far too young to perform. Amy had borne the ridicule of an unbelieving world to save temple children. Now Katherine Mayo acknowledged Amy’s work in her book as “extraordinary.”
The last few years had been fruitful for Dohnavur. The House of Prayer was finished. Development of the boys’ compound was underway. The hospital was started. Although it would take many years to complete, in 1929 Murray performed what Amy called his “first big spectacular operation”!8 Eventually there would be a prayer room above the operating theater. But during that first surgery Amy had the entire family in the House of Prayer petitioning God for success. For two hours they prayed and sang—two minutes it seemed to Amy—before a messenger came to tell them the result of the operation.
“Praise God for that success!”
The leadership Amy had prayed for was now in place. In January 1931, she gathered together many of her helpers to confide in them. Did it not seem God wanted Murray to head the hospital effort? Yes. Did it not seem God wanted Godfrey not only to doctor but to lead the boys, too? Yes. And Amy was now sure God wanted May Powell to lead the girls. No one disagreed.
The Fellowship branched out beyond Dohnavur. This was not itinerant evangelizing but a serious effort to establish permanent facilities, initiated by medical dispensaries. Four miles to the northwest they were taking root in Kalakadu, a stronghold of Hindus. Two miles south they entered Eruvadi, a Muslim stronghold.
The Saturday morning of October 24, 1931, Amy prayed, “Do anything, Lord, that will fit me to serve Thee and help my beloveds.”9
In Kalakadu, her helpers had secured a house that was supposedly haunted. It would carry Christ’s Cross. Two of the Fellowship would be stationed there, led by May Parker. Amy had visited it on October 9, noting work being done on the bathing shed. The following week she visited Eruvadi. Things were proceeding smoothly. This Saturday, she went once again to Eruvadi. Even though it was late in the afternoon, she decided to go with two Sitties to visit Kalakadu again. So the driver chugged the automobile over to Kalakadu. Amy left the car and approached the house in dimming twilight. Off to the side was the shed that would shelter their outdoor toilet. Had they dug the pit yet? Perhaps she should check.
Then Amy tumbled into the center of the earth!