Doctor — the unprofitable servant
DOCTOR — THE UNPROFITABLE
SERVANT PERMISSION TO MOVE INTO Lisuland, boxes packed to go — and John ill! Was this of Satan? Or had
God been merely testing our willingness, and did He mean us to have furlough first after all? Long ago Bachelor had once said, 'God never leads us into blind alleys', and how often had those words helped us to be steadfast at a time of ignorance and indecision. Oh, if sometimes the Lord would only appear and shout in unmistakable tones "To the RIGHT! — or to the left, whichever was His will
— just so one would know. But maybe then we would allow our ears to get dull, trusting to the loudness of His shout? He prefers to keep us on the qui vive, with every nerve and sense keenly receptive to His faintest whisper, in other words to make 'minute-men' out of us like those of the American army who must hold themselves in readiness for service at any moment.
Summer had brought four reinforcements to our west, of whom one was an answer to many prayers — a young doctor.
r<4 SecondMile People During the summer, John had been having serious symptoms and although different medicines had been tried, nothing helped. Knowing that both families at Old Centre, where Doctor. also lived, were expecting the small sons which now enliven their homes, we were reluctant to add to the burden of housekeeping by John going there to interview Doctor. But finally it became too serious and he had to go; then a week later, I gota telegram ordering me to come also, as it had developed into real dystentery, and also there was an operation which Doctor deemed imperative.
At the same time a happy letter from Pioneer arrived, telling of his decision to leave Star to guard the northern work while he himself came down to help us settle in. 'He must be there now,' I groaned, 'every day watching for us to come around the corner; and I can't telegraph him, or get word to him for perhaps the better part of a month. And all our things packed to go north-west and we have to go east. Oh why?' But He that sitteth in the Heavens just laughed quietly; He knows
His children's needs better than they do themselves. 'God is content to wait, because He reigneth; man must be content to wait, because He believeth." He had prepared one of His 'good things' for us. But when God turns us out of the main road into the unexpected and strange, it seems to be human nature to expect the worst.
It reminds me of a time when we were still at Old Centre, and a number of our boys and girls were home. It was discovered that our beloved dog — a big burly fellow, half Tibetan and very
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faithful — was sick, and someone declared Castor Oil was the only thing to save him. We were discussing it in his presence, and at that dreadful word he got up and slunk off. Immediately chase was made and after quite a scramble, one of the boys caught him and brought him to the fatal bottle. I can see the pair now, the tall man stooping to grip the hairy neck and dragging him along with all his four legs obstinately stiffened in rebellion, tail between his legs. Poor fellow, I sympathized — that's just the way I approach Castor
Oil too, but we had to save his life.
Strong manly arms grabbed each limb of him, another boy forced open his mouth while one of us tipped out the oil. At the first drop that hit his gullet all tension ceased, and when the spoonful was at an end he extended a greedy tongue as far as his astounded captors would allow, and licked that spoon gratefully on both sides! Needless to say we collapsed with laughter, and the freed dog went from one to another wagging his tail and begging for more of that delicious nectar. He had expected to be punished, and got feasted instead!
And isn't that the way with us? God suddenly lays His hand on the scruff of our necks and right-about-turns us, and immediately we look for punishment. Thus with stiffened legs we are ungracefully dragged up to what He has prepared for us — only to find it is a feast!
John and I were more tired than we realized, tired in spirit as well as body. Spiritually there was a feeling of desperate determination to go on, even though it meant falling in one's tracks. Against
Second-Mile People this jaded weariness God sent a fresh young enthusiasm which swept us like a cool breeze. I can best describe the effect on us by an illustration of travelling in Lisuland.
The trails in that mountain ESS are not level but simply up and down; at one place a village on one side of the canyon can hear the beating of the gong for chapel in a village on the other side — yet it takes nearly two days to get from one to the other! Plodding up the steep dry gravelly path with the sun beating hot on your back, you feel as if dry dust were inside as well as out. Hot and weary, with parched throat and tongue, you reach an elevation, a pine tree by the road edge or a jutting rock, and stand there a challenging target for the brisk mountain Breeze.
He never fails to pick up the gauntlet, and rushes against your jaded dustiness till a cool freshness seems to slip through all parts of you; you drink him in by the lungful, grateful for the stinging whip of him, for the wholesome thoroughness of his working. Then you turn again to the hot gravelly ascendant path, feeling as if you have been renewed, inside and out.
It was of the exhilarating effect of Doctor's fresh, vivid devotion that John wanted to speak, when finally I arrived at Old Centre and at the loved one's bedside. For he was still in bed, but the thin whiteness had already left his face and he was quick to say that the dysentery had already gone
— 'Just getting stronger now for the operation,' he added cheerfully.
"There is no need to worry over this delay, dear,'
i é uy
Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant
he comforted as the afternoon dusk filled the little room. 'It is from God, I am perfectly sure, Isobel.
I can't tell you what a blessing Doctor has been to me and I feel God is going to give us something new, spiritually.'
* * * "There is nothing so kindling as to see the soul of man or woman follow right over the edge of the usual into the untracked land — for love of Him, sheer love of Him.' — A. Carmichael.
The heart of the Eternal is forever reaching out toward mankind SEEKING true worshippers, that is how Jesus put it. $.D. Gordon phrases it this way: 'God ... has a hungry heart. He is hungry for us, for you and me... He is hungry that we would be really friendly with Him. The word commonly used for this is fellowship ...
That inner hunger of spirit, that yearning within, that eager wistful reaching out and up, it is an echo, only an echo. And the echo is always less than the original. It is an echo of the longing, the yearning, in the heart of God for us, for each one of is."
As each human soul is formed, its yearning Creator takes care to make for Himself a place within it; a space which only He can fill, and which must remain empty and dissatisfied until
He is invited to come in and occupy. All of us have such a place in our natures, but it would seem as if God's hungry heart creates some every generation
Second-Mile People in which the 'space' is deeper, wider and more persistently calling for Him. These, all down the ages, have delighted to term themselves His lovers, and they are marked by the fact that He truly is the consuming passion of their lives.
It was said of Habbukuk, 'He alone of the prophets was more concerned that the holiness of Jehovah be vindicated than that Israel should escape chastisement. Written just upon the eve of the captivity, Habbukuk was God's testimony to Himself.'
Put beside that, this from Ramon Lull of the thirteenth century, 'Foolish Lover, why doest thou weary thy body, throw away thy wealth, and leave the joys of this world, and go about as an outcast of the people?' "To honour my Beloved's
Name,' he replied, 'for He is hated and dishonoured by more men than honour and love Him.'
The recognition of that empty space can come very early. Amy Carmichael says, 'My first memory as a tiny child is this: after the nursery light had been turned low and I was quite alone, I used to smooth a little place on the sheet, and say aloud to our Father, "Please come and sit with me".'
In England six years ago there was another young heart of kindred likeness. Six feet tall, broad shouldered, fair, with deep set eyes blue as the sea, something about this boy whispers of the 'Norsemen' that most probably were numbered among his ancestors; there is a touch of the Viking also in the daring and aggressiveness of his personality, and the wanderlust which pulsates strongly in his veins. But deep within, covered from a
Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant
stranger's eyes, there was always that hungry 'space' which God had reserved for Himself, and its emptiness ached to be filled. 'Earnest', 'intense' are words the world throws upon such a one, as it passes him by.
He was very carefully trained and educated away from God from the start. His mother is a very intellectual woman, who took the gift of her children very conscientiously, but she is thoroughly 'modern', and that word in quotation marks will tell those of us who have tasted all that modernism has to offer, without any other explanation, how that the lad kept just missing the God for whom he was hungering. He was told of the Bible as a book upon which many people were fanatical; he was taught that the Christ of Calvary was only a splendid visionary whose tragic death ended all; he was informed of other religions of ather peoples in order that he might 'cull the best religious thought' from all the highest intellectual efforts of mankind; for this same reason his dear mother conscientiously made him read books on philosophy, theosophy, Hinduism, Spiritism and other cults that appeal to the mind, but there was nothing in any of them that could fill or satisfy the yearning 'space' within.
The Christ, Doctor told us, even as an historical personage only captured him with painful sweetness, and every thought of Him was as a wooing, a great enthralling which made the lad love to linger about Him in thought.
And then there came a time when 'the space' would be neglected no longer and in his ignorance
SecondMile People and hunger he began to form the habit of 'quiet times' night and morning, when all his soul gathered itself together and plunged, Viking-like, into the unknown — seeking, searching for God. 'I got,' he told us simply, 'so that I could not do without my quiet time, night and morning.'
At twenty-one he was a student in the medical college of London University, and there he met another student, the Christian son of Salvation
Army missionaries, working in India. When summer holidays came this friend invited our Viking to spend the season with him at his home in Norway, for his parents had returned from India.
The invitation was powerfully attractive; it was true that his parents had planned an educational visit to the Continent for Viking, those holidays, but earnestly he pleaded to be allowed to use the money to go to Norway instead.
'All that the Father giveth Me shall reach Me,' said Christ, and the 'reaching' time had come, when the Saviour meant to span the distance between, and take unto Himself, His own; nothing in the universe could have checked that meeting in Norway, so it is not surprising to learn that his dear parents yielded to the lad's desire, and there on that northern coast 'the space' was filled at last.
Coming home on the boat, a mere untaught babe in Christ, he tried to lead one of the officers on board ship to his newly-found and peerless
Master. No thought of 'What will He ask me to do, if I surrender?' ever bothered him; instead there was just the joyful, 'All this for me? All this for me?' and an urge that would not be quieted to
Tag Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant
share what he had with others.
Now in that medical college there was a band of orthodox sincere Christian students, who met to pray regularly, and they had been asking God to save one of the other students. And God had answered their prayers. What if they had asked for twenty? or more? But they had asked for one, and God had given them one, and for a time it seemed as if he was almost one too many! For that new convert, instead of coming in and sitting down at their feet, as any young convert might be expected to do, to learn of them how to walk the Christian pathway with measured step and decorous mien, this babe in C' rist gave them one glance and then started on his own to do the most unheard-of things! Why he started having prayer with his patients, and dealing with them about their souls! — sick people, you understand; but some of them got
'saved. Conventional orthodoxy was annoyed, and just a bit offended; but the young doctor went quietly on.
When he finally started to operate, he sought whenever possible to have prayer with the patient in the ante-room, just before the latter was carried into the operating theatre. And one day, when he had finished, he distinctly heard an 'Amen' behind him! Turning around he discovered a nurse there, and on inquiring found she was a Christian.
This led him to search for other Christians among the nurses of that hospital, and finding some, he formed a prayer meeting among them, which was still being conducted the last he heard.
Then came his call to China, as a missionary to
Second-Mile People carry the message of his Lord's Cross and Resurrection, and that He died for all. A China Inland
Missionary hurt her finger at a summer conference, and through this little incident the 'call' came.
'In this God-caused, designed concurrence of events, in themselves ordinary and natural, lies the mystery of special Providences, which, to whomsoever they happen, he may and should regard them as miracles,' says Dr Edersheim.
The Chinese territory which borders Lisuland, and to which I have referred as 'our west' is some two weeks distant from the nearest hospital or medical help, and in all of the whole province there was not one foreign dentist. Sickness swept down upon us and the field lost two young missionaries whose vacant places seemed to gape at us. Friends at home, widely separated, wrote that they were praying for a doctor to be sent to us. We read their letters with weary unbelief — they did not understand the difficulties. For one thing, so few doctors offer to the CIM that our hospitals, in other provinces, cannot get enough of them, much less spare any; then he would have to do without hospital equipment, and what doctor wants to work with 'makeshifts' and homemade contrivances? Then — this was not an obstacle, just an extra — we did need a dentist too, for bad teeth cause bad health.
One friend, evidently wishing to help God out in such a difficult matter, wrote us he was praying that the Almighty would cause the doctor to marry a lady dentist! (When we told this to our
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Viking how he laughed. 'Rather limits me, don't you think?' he said mischievously.) But the Heavenly Father had prepared a physiciansurgeon-dentist all in one man, and the faith of the friends who 'did not understand the difficulties' was abundantly answered.
But we have not heard all that John had to say to me that first afternoon of our reunion at Old
Centre. He was filled with his new friend.
'Doctor is a man of prayer, dear, just like Bud.
He prays with every patient he treats, and deals with them about their souls before he allows them to leave him. Even with me! Every morning and evening he comes in for prayer together, and we are having rich times!' John's face glowed.
'He reminds me of Bud in other ways too.
Doesn't hang around the sitting room chatting and having a good time with the crowd; in the evenings when the rest of us are having a social time together he will be out in the garden, or on the city wall, praying. That's the price he pays, dear. Oh. I'm going to learn all I can from him while we're here' — and John's pale face was tense with determination. Moreover it seemed from then on that things began to happen, and a tide of human souls was let loose on us.
For six weeks we were plunged in the most intensive soul-winning campaign that heart could desire. Doctor laid aside his study routine, and taking advantage of the presence of senior missionaries (who had more language) he offered to see patients for one hour a day.
That 'one hour' became a joke to us. Chinese
-— 4
Second-Mile People are blissfully indifferent to time-schedules, and when there is a chance to get skilled medical attention they instantly become afflicted with deafness, and simply cannot hear you when you tell them that Doctor has already a houseful and cannot see any more sick folk today!
There there were two groups of people to whom Doctor never had the heart to shut his door — the boy High School students, and the soldiers. At this particular period thousands of soldiers were bivouacked in a large barracks only about a mile outside the city's north gate. How long they would be there was, of course, a matter beyond calculation and Doctor, often passing their encampment on his daily walks, yearned to get an opening among them. To this end he and John prayed in their morning and evening times together.
It was a red-letter day for me when I was first invited to join these prayer sessions. Around
John's bed we knelt, and Doctor opened up his heart with a prayer which swept one right into the Saviour's presence, and was so intimate one almost felt one was eavesdropping. He prayed for souls, for revival of the local church, but first for himself that Christ might have him, body soul and spirit. 'I deny myself, Lord,' he cried, 'I take up my cross and I follow Thee. I choose to be poor, lonely, despised and suffering, even as Thou wast.' It was a prayer that made one catch one's breath. One thought of the brilliant gifts of the young life that so prayed; clever, well-educated, and with graceful courteous manners that immediately attract, and a whimsical wit that makes
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um socially popular. Were all these to count for 10thing? Why should such a one choose to be onely, despised and suffering?
~ Months later that question was answered when [ stood on a slim beautiful ridge in Lisuland and ooked at a tall splendid pine tree, with half its
10ble heart hacked out by Lisu knives. The sap 0zed and dropped like slow tears from the huge wound. A stab as of pain startled the indignant words, 'Oh, what a shame!' But the great beautiul tree, its dauntless head held straight in the air which it perfumed on all sides, seemed to pity my gnorance, seemed to be given voice, and spoke to ne this parable:— 'Do you indeed begrudge my heart and lacerited trunk, my friend? Turn and look at that oot-path behind you. See how it skirts the steep nountain side, look where it meets that jutting ray rock, which is too unyielding for primitive yick-axes. The trail disappears into a mere thread is it goes around that crag — you know how you
1old your breath when you have to cross it at 10onday. But what if you had to go over there in uight's dark hours without a light? Lisu cannot ifford lamps, you know; all they have to illuminite their path are pine chips. Think well — if one of your beloved Lisu were on that perilous trail at 1 dark hour, how would he find his way safely over .
. without the heart of me' and then I understood.
There are stumbling feet groping over dark and langerous paths of sin, in this world, and they can mly have their way lit home by the burning
1eart-sacrifices of others, who know the road. If
Second-Mile Peopl young hearts will not be given up to be burned ou for God, those stumbling, darkened ones mus forever perish. Before many days were over, h who had prayed that prayer and one who hac heard it were to stand by the death-bed ofa youn; life that had missed its footing in the perilous wa because there was no lamp to show the road .
. the Light had not reached her soon enough. Ca the pain of that scene ever leave us? No, dear nobl pine-tree, and young gifted life, we do not be grudge your wounds. Who would be heart-whol while the cry of those who have mSSeG thei footing, pierces the night?
'O Father, help, lest our poor love refuse For our beloved the life that they woul choose And in our fear of loss for them, or pain,
Forget eternal gain.'
After a time our prayer meetings were throw open to the whole 'family'. The Bethel Band wer due to visit Old Centre and there seemed so muc to bring before God. All through our weeks « evangelistic effort those prayer meetings (usuall around John's bedside) were our strength an great joy. 'Prayer' says Dr Edersheim, 'is to la our inner man wholly open to the light of God i genuine, earnest simplicity, to be quite shon through by Him'. They were 'shining througt experiences, those evening prayer seasons, whe outside the small lamp-lit room, the fierce mour tain wind would come whirling down the stee ravines of the hills which guard Old Centre on th west, and with a demoniacal howl hurl itse
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against the house where we knelt, making it shiver. One felt the powers of darkness, but dimly as a sort of background to the warmth of the Presence which shed a glow on us all, and made us loath to lift our bowed heads, at the end of the hour, and open our eyes on this earth again.
One matter of intercession was that we might get an entrance into the big barracks outside the city. They had been asking for this before I came, and the evening before John's operation something happened. One of the young missionary couples went for a walk — their first evening stroll together since baby son was born. As they returned several soldiers were walking just in front of them, but as both groups approached the Mission compound one of the soldiers suddenly cried out, held his stomach, doubled up and then fell down right at our doorway.
Our first intimation of it was Doctor bursting into the room and shutting the door, then leaning his back against it, breathless, as he tried to tell us.
'I came for your advice,' his words came in quick short gasps. 'I want you to pray about something.
A soldier fell down at our door — has perforated gastric. If I don't operate, he will die in a few hours.'
His face was glowing with excitement (he is a born surgeon and had never done "a gastric ulcer' all by himself before!) but he came forward gently, sat down by John's bed and took his hand in his.
'You see', he went on more quietly, but still obviously thrilled, 'it seems rather funny. There is the operating room all set — Nurse has everything
Second-Mile People all sterilized and ready — your operation could easily wait over a day, if you are willing, and this might be the opening into the barracks we have been praying for. What do you think?'
We thought it best to ask the only One who really knew, so the family were called in, we knelt around the bed and asked our Father to tell us — was this from Him?
Years ago Bachelor had taught me a prayerformula to use when suddenly obstacles seem to insist that we make a curve or detour from the straight path ahead. I found it so efficacious that I in turn taught it to John, and it has become.a part of our lives. It is this — 'Lord, if this be from Thee
I accept it, but ifit is from Satan, I refuse it.' (Long years later I found it in John Bunyan, in this form:
'If it be of God, let me not despise it; ifit be of the Devil, let me not embrace it.') This prayer formula works perfectly ifthe one praying is thoroughly honest and means cheerfully to accept or cheerfully to do without the matter under consideration.
We use it too with 'heart's desires', for often a strong heart's desire may not be from God; and yet it may be too, and if there is that foundational honesty and surrender to God's will this prayer formula will work well. We used it that night, and with it cast out two 'fleeces'. One was — if the military authorities gave an unconditional consent to the operation, we would say operate; the other — if after an hour or so we were all united in feeling it should take place. By the time mentioned both fleeces said, 'Yes, go ahead and operate'.
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_ My, what a bustle ensued! Nurse (she is especially well qualified and experienced, indeed Doctor used to praise her and call her 'House surgeon'!) flew like a white bird up and down stairs, along corridors and in a little time the home-made dispensary was all in its white drapery and everything in place. One was in charge of the boiling water supply; another, in one of his wife's white nursing aprons, was to help her as she gave the anaesthetic, and also to hold down the patient if he proved 'naughty'; I together with medical officers from the army barracks made a thrilled audience, while John (not to be left out of it) on the other side of the partition held the overflow of Chinese men guests in conversation around his bed.
A gastric ulcer operation in a private house in inland China, with only two experienced helpers!
A Petromax lamp was rented and hung over the wooden 'operating' table; Doctor displayed with a grin some mutilated forks and gave them a distinguished name which he and Nurse understood if we didn't, and so on. Only happy confidence filled the atmosphere, and just before Soldier Jo went under chloroform prayer was made for him in Chinese, with the heathen medical soldier wide-eyed at such proceedings in an operating theatre! It was all over in an hour and then prayer was made again, asking God's blessing and seal on the work done, and that not only his life be saved, but his soul also. Then an improvised stretcher was put together, and Doctor helped to
SecondMile People carry his own patient downstairs to the room below John's, which had to do for hospital ward for some weeks.
By this time it was about midnight, yet still there remained something that Doctor wanted to do. While Nurse and the others were cleaning and tidying up next door, Doctor slipped into John's bedroom. I can see him now as he came in, quietly closing the door behind him. His hair, wet with perspiration, clung to his brow, and the young face was so lined with weariness that he looked two decades older than he was; but his eyes were shining. He stood and gazed at us a moment, his thoughts going over the success of that hour just passed, then in tones of deep joy he whispered,
'Praise God!' Taking John's hand in his, he knelt down at the bedside and started to pray his thanks and gratitute for help received; what a prayer if was! Not a vestige of credit would he take for himself, not a thought of personal praise or glory. he just took all such honour and tumbled it off his own shoulders, heaping it at the feet of his Lord, and knelt and worshipped and adored. One of his favourite sayings, when people try to tell him what his skill and kindness have meant, is this — 'Well. praise the Lord! When we have done our best, we are still unprofitable servants, aren't we?' And 'unprofitable servant' was all he would allow himself that night; the credit for a successful and difficult operation under most handicapping circumstances was all given back to the One he serves, to the One who prayed many hundreds o years ago, 'the glory Thou hast given Me, I have
Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant 14! given to them.' Yes, that glory is really and truly only His, but He loves to share it with us, and it silently filled that little room that evening, and we all three drank of it.
And Soldier Jo whose 'tummy' was so successfully sewed up? And the door to the barracks? God found his way into the heart of each. At first
Jo was a bit obstreperous; I can still feel the angry kick of his foot as he refused to let me take off his shoes when he was to go to bed! And I can still hear the angry howl with which a soldier-guard leaped upon him and whipped them off regardless! That how] and the roughness of the action showed only too plainly how human underlings were treated in that army — 'love' in its true meaning, is unknown there.
But it was 'love' that tended Jo day and night, for our dear Nurse was unselfish kindness itself, and daily efforts were made to give him an understanding of the Truth. Every day the army supplied two soldiers to sit with him, and help to tend his wants, and to these also was the gospel preached. We were now invited to the barracks; soldiers thronged to our house and daily, for a while, a band of us went into the barracks to preach and to heal the sick. The joy and thrill of those days is beyond description. Perhaps I can help you understand by just picking out one soldier from the many whose lives were touched.
Every missionary should come to the field with two weapons for his warfare against heathenism.
In his left hand he should wield the weapon of prayer, and in his right the Sword of the Spirit,
SecondMile People which is the Word of God; the one to be used in battling with the unseen principalities and powers, the other for the visible flesh and blood, and the barriers which it throws up against him and his message. These weapons must always be of one certain make — no other is efficient. That of prayer is bedded in a hilt of the metal of faith, and is engraved all over with these words, 'Not my will, but Thine be done'; for effectual prayer must spring out of faith, and out of a whole-hearted consecration that will say, 'Yes, Lord' at any moment, and in reply to any call from Him.
The right-hand weapon used in visible warfare is a delicate blade, so beautiful and precious in workmanship that it reminds me of that famous and exquisite sword, the Excalibur of Arthur. As to the blade itself, there is only one which can
'pierce to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit'
(the Holy Writ), but Excalibur had something more than its blade, it was 'rich'
'With jewels, elfin Urim, on the hilt, Bewildering heart and eye — the blade so bright That men are blinded by it...'
It was that shine of bewildering glory, which, in battle, downed men's hearts before it ever touched their bodies. So it is with the sword-of-the-righthand. For every 'Yes, Lord' engraved upon the left-hand weapon of the missionary, there appears a jewel of LOVE upon the hilt of the right-hand blade, a jewel of deep passion for Christ, until the Sword of the Spirit is one dazzling glory of constraining LOVE. This is the Excalibur of the right
_ Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant
hand, a burning love for the Lord, and for the souls He died to save, and at its centre is His own two-edged Word, the message of salvation. It is this sheen of love that breaks down barriers of race, religious prejudices, everything — and leaves the heathen heart open for the naked blade
_ to enter — the convicting work of the Spirit of _ God. I have seen it so often ..
. dull care-worn _ 'closed' faces meeting that shining touch of one of Christ's lover-of-souls, suddenly open up with a great wistfulness, a shyly dawning light of wel- ~ come. Oh what a powerful weapon this missionary-Excalibur is .
. the Word of God, bejewelled, effulgent with the love of Christ.
Doctor came to China well-girded for warfare; the weapon of Prayer had long been his dear familiar, and his love for the people we have never seen excelled in any missionary. "By one who loveth is another kindled' said wise old Augustine.
No man was too dirty or poor but Doctor's arm went lovingly around his shoulders, and the physical revelation of Christ's life often spoke more strongly than the worded explanation. It was so in this case.
One evening after a long and hard day's work, Doctor went in to see Soldier Jo, who was now up and convalescing. Nurse was not at hand for she had had to return to her station, so I went in also to see if any help was needed. The little room was dark, except for the glow of a coal fire in an iron bow] the Chinese call a 'fire basin'. Soldier
Jo was seated there brewing some tea for himself, and for a young soldier lad who was his attendant that
Second-Mile People — night. The latter got up immediately on our entrance and insisted that Doctor take his chair — and as he did so, the soldier Laddie sat down at his feet. Doctor is tall and big-framed, but he is not physically strong, and he was very tired that evening.
Soldier Jo yielded his chair to me and then squatted in front of me, and we began to talk with the firelight throwing its red glow over the four of us. I asked Jo if by now he had taken the Lord
Jesus into his heart as Saviour, and he said 'Yes', but so weakly that it led to conversation on that dear Redeemer and His death for us upon the Cross. Jo's eyes were riveted in attention on my face, but I was conscious of a drama going on to the left. As usual, Doctor had slipped his arm around the soldier lad's shoulders, and the latter had turned to him a look of amazement which gradually shaded off into wonder and then into wistfulness. The big foreign doctor so to condescend to him, a mere common cipher of a Chinese soldier? 'To him those in high places had only shown harshness, callousness, contempt, but his boy heart was hungry, and here was one to whom his highest officer bowed respectfully, actually putting an arm around his shoulders! He was too thrilled to listen to what the foreign woman was saying, but with the wonder of this new friend glowing in his face, he shyly reached out and touched Doctor's knee. Finding he was not repulsed he snuggled up close and whispered, 'How old are you?"
Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant i495 "Twenty-six," came from the shadows into which Doctor had disappeared as he leaned back wearily in his chair.
'Shut up and listen!' growled Jo who was simply drinking in 'that sweet story of old' and who had been distracted a moment by the whisper. A touch from Doctor urging the same brought Laddie to attention, and he found himself listening to an account of another Life, a Life so selfless, so loving, that instinctively the boy felt it must be linked up closely with that tender pressure around his shoulders, and he became enthralled. As I went on, approaching that most sacred spot of Calvary with all its wonderful, beautiful detail, the earnest gaze of Soldier Jo, the wistful boy eyes of Laddie, the red firelight and dusky shadows seemed to disappear and we all stood upon a faraway hill with its torturing crosses; we shivered as the noonday sun turned to black darkness, we trembled as the earth shook beneath our feet, and we thrilled as we heard the cry of 'Finished!' ascend in triumph up through the sorrowing heavens to the Throne of God. Then the peace of that Easter morning stole in upon us, and the heart-bursting joy of that tender assurance of the risen Lord, 'Be not afraid, it is I!' made us draw in our breath: as words ended, a solemn silence filled the shadowy fire-lit room. There was One standing there, unseen, holding out His nail-scarred
Hands to two heathen-dark hearts, and all thoughts were upon Him. Forgotten in the radiance of this Greater Light was the human love
= ga
Second-Mile People which had first revealed Him to Laddie's amazed gaze, and now his boy eyes were looking out in — wistful hunger into the shadow-filled room.
'Little Brother, won't you take Him as your own Saviour tonight?'
The words startled Laddie into attention.
'But I can't read!' he said as if standing on the outside of a barred gate.
'You don't need to,' came Doctor's voice from the dark shadows, 'He is a Person, all you need to do is to KNOW Hin, and receive Him.'
'Little Brother, do you know Doctor?'
'Yes,' he replied, turning to gaze at him witha smile of shy love.
'But you say you cannot read, how can you know Doctor? Don't you see that taking Christ as Saviour is just the same as taking a new friend into your heart? Only this Friend must become Master. The more time you spend with Him, the better you know Him. It is not a question of reading, but of getting to know Him, and then obeying His voice.
When we talk to Him we call it praying. Won't you talk to Him now and tell Him to come into your life as Master and Lord?'
The young face considered it thoughtfully a moment, and then looked up and smiled, 'Yes'.
So there in the firelight Laddie, guided by us, talked to Him of Calvary, and asked Him to 'come in and rule'. Oh the joy of the quiet that followed that prayer! Where are they now, those two common Chinese soldiers who faced Christ that night
—— Jo of earnest gaze and Laddie of the wistful eyes? I do not know, only I know the Friend they
g e Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant
invited in that evening says He will never forsake those who trust Him. 'He never yet put out a dim candle that was lighted at the Sun of Righteousness.' Dim candles are they both, illiterate com- 'mon soldiers of China, ordered from place to place with no settled abode, no Christian friends to help and teach them. We who love them can only commit them to our Faithful Master, and pray for them.
As I went upstairs to John's room, I wondered just how genuine Laddie's profession had been — so soon does Satan send Doubt to nip at the heels of Faith. Had he really understood? Had he said
"Yes' just to be nice to us? Just to please us.
. thus yelped the Heel-Nipper.
Our last Sunday at Old Centre John had been asked to preach at the big noon service. He had spoken — poured out his heart — the Sunday before, but no one had publicly responded to the invitation to receive Christ. During this week our daily prayer meetings focussed on this last message, but Saturday evening came and found John in despair.
'Please go and tell them to ask someone else,' he said to me pleadingly, 'I've tried all day and I simply can't get a message. Have had so many people wanting interviews with me too. I can't get any definite message, can't seem to get through', and he groaned. But I remembered a similar
Saturday in my own experience, and knowing that the agony of weakness had reaped a harvest of glory for the Lord on the following day, I comforted him, and we prayed and sang — for some-
Second-Mile People times praise pushes through when petition seems to have knocked in vain.
That Sunday noon John went into the pulpit with just one thing before his eyes — Calvary. The men's side of the church was thronged with soldiers, and at the end he again gave the invitation, asking for raised hands from those who would then, or had during the last few weeks, taken
Christ as their Saviour. A hand went up. I leaned forward eagerly to see who it was that had the courage to proclaim himself a Christian in front of so many fellow soldiers. I gave one look then sank back in my pew crying in my heart, 'O thank God!
It's Laddie!' For so it was — his face looking up at the man in the pulpit was simple and sincere, and his hand raised awkwardly, was visible to all. Ina minute or so Soldier Jo's hand went up too (that day he looked pale and weak, not so earnest as Laddie) and then a hand here and there, each one being received with much gaping and nudging of elbows by the heathen soldiers.
Then from John, 'Will all of you that mean it, come out from your seats to the front?'
My heart failed me, 'Isn't that asking a bit too much?' But no, out walked eleven soldiers and lined up in front of the pulpit.
'Now all of you get down on your knees right there, and pray Christ to forgive your sins'...
('Oh surely, John, you are going too far! Oh poor boys .
. see how their comrades are standing up to get a better view and look at their grins! Oh, will they do it?') Yes, down on the stone flags went eleven pair of
Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant
knees, then a blue shadow slipped down the aisle, went in and knelt among them — it was Doctor.
With his help and John's (who also went down among them now) each of those men publicly prayed to Christ for salvation, though I must admit that one or two looked as if Courage was reaching for his hat to flee! But they all stuck to their guns and stayed till their names were registered and they were dismissed.
By this time I was on the organ stool facing the gray uniforms, and as they stood in line before breaking up, it so happened that Laddie and another soldier boy whom I had also pointed to the Lord in the weeks just passed, were standing together at the end of the row nearest the organ.
As the line was dismissed and they turned to go, each boy (unknown to the other) bent his head
_ and shot a quick smile at the one on the organ seat.
Both smiles said the same thing — 'I knew you'd be glad to know I meant it!'
'Will there be any stars in my crown?'sings an old hymn. Who would care for stars when they might have such warm human smiles lined up in heaven awaiting them! 'Ye are my joy and crown of rejoicing', said Paul.
Laddie's story is only one of many who came for healing for themselves or others and went away with the knowledge of something better. Doctor's cures made him famous in a few days and people thronged for attention. But he insistently, relentlessly, refused to see more than he had time to deal with concerning their salvation. I and others preached to those downstairs who were waiting
Second-Mile People for an interview, and often John from his sick bed had dealt with one or another as they were leaving, while Doctor and Nurse prayed with each, seeking to lay the emphasis on faith in the only true God. So we sought to saturate them with the gospel, and leave them without excuse of ignorance.
One other scene comes up before me, and I may not but tell it. It was a case that Doctor lost, though through no fault of his own; but one cannot forget her for she left a scar upon the heart.
One morning at breakfast we were summoned to two cases at the same time, each of which was an attempted suicide through swallowing opium.
The first was a girl of sixteen, and it took all Doctor's skill to bring her back for she was far gone, but God purposed to save her life and she was restored. As we left that house the second man, a poorly dressed fellow, was waiting for us, and said, 'Now you must come to my place!
There's a woman there who swallowed opium an hour or so ago.' As we went he proceeded with his story. "She is a poor tribeswoman who has had some trouble with her relatives-in-law and ran away from them. She came to our place late last night, and asked for lodging; she deceived us' (the man was bitter with anger) 'and did not tell us she meant to commit suicide in our house, just asked for lodging; and then this morning my wife caught her swallowing the opium. It isn't fair! We are poor people and have no money for her coffin.' In China, if a stranger dies under your roof, you are responsible for his burial, and this man was filled
a qi "a rl Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant I5I _ with wrath at the trick played upon him. There
_ was no sympathy for her troubles — heathendom shrugs its shoulders at a broken heart.
For broken-hearted she was. I never found out the details of her sorrow, but as she was married, it is not hard to guess — probably a hard and cruel
_ mother-in-law. She seemed to be nearly thirty _ years of age and was of the peasant class. She was easy to restore but took the medicine unwillingly.
(Her death was caused by re-swallowing opium, secretly, later on in the day, after we all thought she had been saved.) It was such a blank face,
_ blank and dull with despair, a face from which hope had fled. As we looked at that desolate hopelessness, as we saw the timid way in which she tried to refuse life-restoratives (timid because she evidently thought we'd beat or rough-handle her, if she didn't take the medicine, and yet witha heart quite determined to die) we wondered how we could ever strike through that dead despair in order to challenge her consciousness to listen to what we had to say. Her mind was quite clear, but her heart was broken and 'life' had died within her. We wanted to reach her not just her physical ears — how stab that 'her' alive again, alive enough to listen to what we had to tell her? We used the most amazing words that such a one could ever have heard. We said, 'Sister, there is
One who loves you, called Jesus'.
Such a blow was sufficient, and for a moment we thought we had her, for the soul of her leaped into her eyes with one great appeal, and then
Reality gripped it dead, and the blankness closed
SecondMile People over it and she murmured wearily, 'Puh ai. Puh ai.' (Literally 'not love, not love' but she meant
'No He doesn't. It's not so.') Reality that had only known a loveless past and looked upon a loveless future told her we were creating this big lie in order to deceive her back into life, and so she shook her head, and in a tired voice said, 'No love.
.no love.' We left her sitting there, restored in body but still dead in her heart
— and then later we learned how she had tricked them and now lay dead in body too. And of her soul? Our hearts just cannot stand to follow that thought.
But let her words, symbolic of millions of her fellow sisters, haunt your hearts, as they have haunted mine, 'No love, no love!' That is why she died! She couldn't live in this cruel world without it, and she had ceased to hope that there was such a thing for her. Do you think that the heart of Him who died for love of her and others like her, was not crucified afresh, as she passed into Eternity with 'No love, no love' upon her lips and scarred upon her soul? And who is responsible for the fact that she was not told in time? (Lucky Laddie to have learned it before hope was dead.) Not Christ.
His part is 'finished'. He has said plainly — and named no exceptions — 'Go ye into all the world and preach!' And by His Holy Spirit He has also said, 'How can they be saved except they hear?
And how can they hear without a preacher?'
Those Christians who love themselves better than Him, better than thousands of those who are perishing for want of what they have more than
Doctor — The Unprofitable Servant
they can use (the love and saving power of Christ) — how dare such face eternity with those thousands of despairing eyes fixed on them, and those voices ringing in their ears, 'No love.
. no love.' Surely those voices will rise up again at the last day, and accuse such selfishness? The world would accuse anyone so greedy that they will not give their overflow to those who have none — how about the world's God? 'Christ died for ALL.' His love is for al/— therefore there is more than you or I can use of it. What do we do with the overflow?
Do we pray it into other lives? Do we give of our money to send it to others? Or have we ever honestly faced the question, 'If I asked, would He free me from circumstances to take it in person to them?'
I looked upon another face — just a girl of twenty — dead before we got to her door, and over that paleness was written that same cry, 'No love
... no love.' Her home was about to marry her (sell her it really is) into a loveless life. She evidently knew the future it would hold for her, and couldn't face it. All day she worked embroidery on her wedding shoes, determining (what thoughts for a young girl with life all ahead of her) that they should be her shroud, and at eveningtide she quietly took poison. They were putting those shoes on her dead feet when we arrived, and they told me, crying bitterly, 'She has always been such a good girl!' Perhaps there are others 'working on their shrouds' in the purposes of their heart at this very moment, while those who might bring them the Love that enthralled Laddie's heart the first
Second-Mile People time he heard of it, are sitting at home, putting in ~ time over puny nothings, regardless of that bitter cry that comes over the sea to them — 'No love... no love.'
I said that that little woman laid a scar on our hearts, and I pray that she may lay a scar on many another's too! Perhaps her unconscious message and rebuke will save many thousands of her fellow sisters, if you who read this will but stand up and join the 'Second-Mile People'.
'For grace alone can reach me, And love alone can win.'
'Oh when we are dying, How glad we will be, That the lamp of our life Has been burned out for Thee!'
OTHER BOOKS BY ISOBEL KUHN
ASCENT TO THE TRIBES
_Abridgement of Isobel Kuhn's classic story of _ pioneer missionary work among the tribespeople of North Thailand.
BY SEARCHING
_An autobiography with a difference — remark_ able for its honesty and frankness. The story ofone person's search for God and her obedience as she found Him.
GREEN LEAF IN DROUGHT
The poignant story of Rupert Clarke and Arthur _ Mathews, the last CIM missionaries released from Communist China after two years in captivity.
IN THE ARENA
This continuation of the best-selling autobiography By Searching tells of Isobel Kuhn's call to China and many years of work there with her husband.
NESTS ABOVE THE ABYSS
A vivid description of the work of the Holy Spirit among the Lisu people of south-west China.
STONES OF FIRE
A true story about Mary, a young Lisu tribeswoman living in the Salween canyon in southwest China. A sober account of God's intervention which can be relied upon in any hour of trial.
Isobel Kuhn Amewbook by Isobel Kuhn? Yes; newly discovered in the archives of the Overseas
_ Missionary Fellowship, though written in the latea930s. "Why should a book written so long
'Jago 'and dealing with situations long since S oe enanged now omy Ba for the first time?' d OMF edito yth Banks, who made the ery, and answers, 'The spiritual teaching
5 ined i in these chapters is of timeless fance, and has a message for the 1980s as Shas. or the 1930s," ese si xs econdiv le People' were friends and 5.) 1ase lives ; made a deep impression she put it, 'Splendid meteors te after them that 5wn celestial fire has gqught