Crisis (1819 - 1820)

CHAPTER X I

Crisis

[ 1819—1820]

OVING with the current, the boat slipped downstream a

good deal faster than it had gone up. But the prospect of a quick homecoming did not make Adoniram any happier when he thought of the news he carried. Ahead he saw nothing but the breakup of the mission, the dispersal of the few converts, their probable loss of faith, and the wiping out of all his efforts. Thus he was in one of his characteristic depressed moods when they tied up one night at Prome, a hundred miles or so above Rangoon.

The boat had been at the landing only a little while when he was pleasantly surprised by a greeting from a familiar voice. In a moment its owner stepped aboard—none other than Maung Shway-gnong, whom he had last seen standing on the wharf at Rangoon giving his dignified salute of farewell. The old man had just arrived to visit a friend who was seriously ill. He intended to stay in Prome only a few days. If Adoniram and Colman could wait, he would gladly return to Rangoon with them.

To Maung Shway-gnong Adoniram poured out the story of the rejection of his petition by the emperor, winding up with Mr. Rodgers’s account of the Burman who was beaten with the iron maul. Adoniram was taken aback by the calmness with which Maung Shway-gnong received the news. He had expected the Burman to be disturbed and sympathetic. Instead he seemed almost indifferent.

Irritated, Adoniram lashed out. “It is not for you that we are concerned, but for those who have become disciples of Christ. When they are accused and persecuted, they cannot worship at the pagodas or recant before the Mangen teacher as you have done.” His remark stung. Maung Shway-gnong began to defend his past conduct, but Adoniram interrupted: “Say nothing. One thing you know to be true—that when formerly accused, if you had not in some way or other satisfied the Mangen teacher, your life would nor now be remaining in your body.”

Maung Shway-gnong had no answer to this but that he was a new man now, regardless of the past. “If I must die,” he said earnestly, “I shall die in a good cause. I know it is the cause of truth.” And he repeated to Adoniram with a good deal of emphasis, “I believe in the eternal God, in His Son Jesus Christ, in the atonement which Christ has made, and in the writings of the apostles, as the true and only word of God.”

He continued, “Perhaps you may not remember that during one of my last visits you told me that I was trusting in my own understanding rather than the divine word. From that time I have seen my error, and endeavored to renounce it. You explained to me also the evil of worshiping at pagodas, though I told you that my heart did not partake in the worship. Since you left Rangoon I have not lifted up my folded hands before a pagoda. It is true, I sometimes follow the crowd on days of worship in order to avoid persecution, but I walk up one side of the pagoda and walk down the other. Now you say that I am not a disciple. What lack I yet?”

These honeSt words convinced Adoniram that the old Burman’s faith had really grown during the past month or so. But he insisted: “Teacher, you may be a disciple of Christ in heart, but you are not a full disciple. You have not faith and resolution enough to keep all the commands of Christ, particularly that which requires you to be baptized, though in the face of persecution and death. Consider the words of Jesus just before He returned to heaven: ‘He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.’ ”

To this Maung Shway-gnong made no reply. For some time he sat on the deck in silence, with an expression which, Adoniram knew, meant that he was considering deeply what he had just heard. After a few minutes Adoniram told him that the missionaries were thinking of leaving Rangoon. As soon as it became known that the emperor had all but prohibited any teaching of Christianity to Burmans, no Burman would dare to listen to the Gospel, much less accept it.

This news roused Maung Shway-gnong. “Say not so,” he said.

“There are some who will investigate, notwithstanding; and rather than have you leave Rangoon, I will go myself to the Mangen teacher and have a public dispute. I know I can silence him.”

“Yes,” Adoniram replied, “you may have a tongue to silence him—but he has a pair of fetters and an iron maul to silence you. Remember that.”

It was nine o’clock when Maung Shway-gnong left the boat. But Adoniram and Colman discussed the meaning of the conversation until midnight, and lay awake much later as the boat rocked gently on the dark water, wondering.

Could God have arranged this strange meeting as a sign that He would help them in their last extremity? The temple bells tinkling gently in the night breeze were a melodious reminder from the pagodas on shore of the power of Buddhism in Burma. But here had been Maung Shway-gnong, the teacher and skeptic, volunteering to defend Christianity publicly!

Perhaps God had chosen a few, like Maung Shway-gnong, whom He meant to call to their aid at the most dangerous moment. If this wild surmise were correct, the missionaries had no right to desert their disciples by removing the mission from Rangoon. But how could they endure seeing them in prison, in chains, under torture?

Perhaps they had better wait until they reached Rangoon. If the disciples stood firm and others were seriously inquiring, it might be a portent. At least, for the first time since that meeting with the emperor, they thought they saw a glimmer of hope. “But it was not like the soft beam of the moon, which kindly shines on the path of the benighted pilgrim, and guides him to a place of shelter. It was rather like the angry gleam of lightning which, while for a moment it illumines the landscape around, discloses the black magazine of heaven’s artillery and threatens death to the unwary gazer.”

They returned to Rangoon on February 18, 1820. They had been away almost exactly two months. A few days later, a Sunday evening, Adoniram called together his three converts Maung Nau, Maung Thahlah and Maung Byaay, and gave them a complete account of what had happened in Ava. He told them frankly that the trip had been a complete failure and that from now on Christian Burmans could expect persecution and suffering. He had reluctantly come to the conclusion, he said, that the missionaries had better leave Burma. Remaining would attract official attention and expose the converts to even greater danger.

He had been privately convinced that Maung Thahlah and Maung Byaay would lose heart and abjure Christianity rather than face the prospects he described. Mung Nau was the only one of whom he felt sure. Maung Nau had told him on the way down-river that he would follow the missionaries to any part of the world. His only fear was that he would be a burden in case his ignorance of another language prevented his earning a living.

But to Adoniram’s delighted surprise, his words only seemed to increase the zeal of the three. The more he emphasized the dangers, the harder they tried to explain them away and persuade him that the mission was not in such desperate case as he thought.

Their constantly repeated question was, “Where are the teachers going?” To this Adoniram replied that the missionaries would never desert Burma, but that they would have to settle in the region around Chittagong, between Bengal and Arakan, where the murder of the missionary De Bruyn had left baptized Christians without teachers.

The real question, however, said Adoniram, was: What would these three do? Maung Nau, he knew, would follow the missionaries to Chittagong. But what about Maung Thahlah and Maung Byaay?

Maung Thahlah had already made up his mind. “As for me,” he said stoutly, “I go where preaching is to be had.”

Maung Byaay, however, was silent and thoughtful for some time. He had a wife and children. Burmese women were not allowed to leave the country. He would have to stay. “But,” he said rather sadly, “if I must be left here alone, I shall remain performing the duties of Jesus Christ’s religion. No other shall I think of.”

But the issue was not settled so easily. For three or four days Adoniram and Colman inquired for a ship to Chittagong. Then one evening Maung Byaay came to the mission house with his brother-in-law, a man named Maung Myat-yah, who had lived in the mission yard several months and had often attended worship in the zayat.

“I have come,” said Maung Byaay, “to petition that you will not leave Rangoon at present.”

“I think that it is useless to remain under the present circumstances,” said Adoniram regretfully. “We cannot open the zayat. We cannot have public worship. No Burman will dare to examine this religion; and if none examine, none will embrace it.”

But Maung Byaay would not give up. “Teacher,” he pleaded, “my mind is distressed. I can neither eat nor sleep since I find you are going away. I have been around among those who live near us, and I find some who are even now examining the new religion. Brother Myat-yah is one, and he unites with me in my petition.” Myat-yah agreed that Maung Byaay spoke the truth. “Therefore do stay with us a few months,” Maung Byaay begged. “Stay until there are eight or ten disciples. Then appoint one to be the teacher of the rest. I shall not be concerned about the event. Though you leave the country, the religion will spread of itself. The emperor himself cannot stop it. But if you go now, and take the two disciples that can follow, I shall be left alone. I cannot baptize those who may Wish to embrace this religion. What can I do?”

Adoniram felt unable to reject Maung Byaay’s request without consulting Colman and Nancy. The three were just discussing it when Maung Nau came in. He agreed emphatically with Maung Byaay. He was sure that several of the inquirers would become converts in Spite of the government if the missionaries would only stay a little longer.

The attitude of the Burman converts brought involuntary tears to the missionaries’ eyes. Perhaps Adoniram’s feelings included a little shame when he compared his own doubts with the confidence of the humble men who looked up to him as guide and teacher. “We live only for the promotion of the cause of Christ among the Burmans,” he assured them. “If there is any prospect of success in Rangoon we have no desire to go to another place. Therefore we will reconsider the matter.”

While the missionaries tried to make up their minds, Maung Nau, Maung Thahlah and Maung Byaay were evidently exerting every effort to mobilize the inquirers who had taken up residence in the mission yard. After the evening prayer meeting a few days later, Maung Thahlah, along with Maung Byaay and Maung Nau, brought one of them to Adoniram as a reason for the missionaries to stay.

He was a quiet agreeable man named Maung Shwa-boo, who had come to live in the yard just before Adoniram and Colman had left for Ava.

In Maung Shwa-boo’s presence Maung Thahlah said, “Teacher, your intention of going away has filled us all with trouble. Is it good to forsake us thus? Notwithstanding present difficulties and dangers, it is to be remembered that this work is not yours or ours, but the work of God. If He give light, the religion will spread. Nothing can impede it.” Maung Byaay and his brother-in-law Maung Myat-yah had been listening as Maung Thahlah spoke, and in a few minutes Adoniram learned that still another resident of the yard, Maung Louk, was listening outside the door. Maung Louk was brought in to sit with Maung Shwa-boo and Maung Myat-yah.

The sight of the three inquirers moved Maung Byaay to enthusiasm. With great feeling, he raised his arm and said, “Let us all make an effort. As for me, I will pray. If we can get a little church of ten members, with one who is capable of administering the ordinances, then if you feel the necessity of going to another place to preach, go, and we will stay here and perform the duties of religion, in a still secret way, agreeably to the sacred writings. It is my opinion that there will be one raised up among us who is more learned than any of us, and who will be qualified to be our teacher. Though government difficulties are before us, hell is also before us, and those who are really afraid of hell cannot help embracing Christ.”

“Yes,” added Maung Thahlah with animation, “Christ has taught us not to fear those who can kill the body only, but to fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.”

Maung Nau seconded Maung Byaay and Maung Thahlah. But when Adoniram uStioned the three inquirers closely it was plain that although they were considering the new religion none of them as yet was willing to admit a belief in it. He suspected that much of their interest was the product of intense pressure by the converts rather than the beginning of inner conviction.

Nevertheless, as Adoniram talked the matter over with Nancy and Colman, it seemed that the prospect of making converts was better than ever. It would be impossible, they agreed, to go away and leave all these people without help. Yet it seemed foolhardy not to have an alternative base.

The missionaries talked late that night before coming to a decision: The Colmans would go to Chittagong, form a new station, and try to bring into it the Arakanese converts. Adoniram and Nancy would stay in Rangoon. If Rangoon became untenable, they could join the Colmans with as many converts as would go with them. If their fears about Rangoon turned out to be unfounded, the Colmans could return.

In the crisis each member of the embryo church seemed to grow out of himself. Never had the missionaries and converts felt such mutual affection and trust. The three Burmans revealed qualities no one knew they possessed, themselves least of all. It was almost as if new, hitherto unrealized personalities were emerging from the husks of the old.

To a Burman, with a fear of rulers ingrained by centuries under despotism, the mere thought of disobeying the mildest edict was inexpressibly horrifying. Yet the three converts were talking, in the most matter-of-fact manner possible, .of defying the emperor by secretly building a Christian church, although no activity could have been more subversive in the eyes of the government.

Before the emergncy, Adoniram and Nancy had considered Maung Nau exceptionally mild and submissive by nature and a1- mOSt excessively dependent on the missionaries. Now, on account of his boldness and zeal, they took to calling him “Peter” between themselves.

When they firSt knew him, Maung Byaay had been so timid and reserved that they had thought him sullen. He still sat with the missionaries in solemn silence, drinking in every word they had to say. But when it came to defending the GOSpel among the Burmans living in the mission yard, he spoke out with the animation of an orator and the courage of a hero.

Maung Thahlah had always been quicker of mind and a better student than the other two, but even he had never shown any signs of the learning that distinguished the aristocratic scholar Maung Shway-gnong. Now he began to display an amazing facility at soaking up Scripture and applying apt passages in talking with inquirers. He also showed unexpected talents as student and as teacher.

It did really seem that the Lord was encouraging them in those dark days. In spite of the fact that meetings in the zayat were held behind closed doors, with never more than eight or ten present, two conversions occurred even before the Colmans sailed. The first, a relative of Maung Thahlah’s, Maung Shway-bay, began to be interested in the idea of an eternal God on March 20, studied and prayed the next two days, and on March 24 presented a written statement of his faith with a request to be baptized the following Sunday. Even Maung Myat-yah said: “Set me down for a disciple. I have fully made up my mind in regard to this religion. I love Jesus Christ, but I am nor quite ready for baptism.”

The Colmans embarked for Arakan on March 27, 1820. The day after they left one of their rooms in the mission house was fitted out for evening worship and intimate conversations. This little chapel Adoniram and Nancy hopefully called “the new zayat.” The old zayat was abandoned.

In May, two friends of Maung Shway-gnong, both wealthy men and well above the middle class, asked for baptism. The wife of one of them, and two or three other women, were nearly converts. The danger seemed to imbue them with a sense of urgency to seize salvation without delay, no matter what the risk.

But Maung Shway-gnong himself held back. Desperately he brought up one objection after another. Why was one day of the seven set aside by God as a special day? Why was it necessary to assemble on this day and worship? Why was the sacrament of baptism necessary? Why the Lord’s Supper?

Adoniram refused to argue. There it was in the Bible, the Lord’s command. Maung Shway—gnong could accept or reject. But if he accepted, he muSt accept humbly, know that it was not for the mind of man to question or even comprehend the reason. Neither God nor Jesus indulged in debates, nor stooped to split metaphysical hairs.

In spite of his avils, however, Maung Shway-gnong kept sending inquirers. ten he was with them, he would take Adoniram’s side. He was particularly appreciative of one argument Adoniram had learned to use on men of Maung Shway-gnong’s type. Adoniram called them Buddhist “semi-atheists.” Rejecting Buddhism, which they had outgrown years earlier, they still believed in a kind of diffuse eternal wisdom which permeated the universe and was the only God. It was over this point that they always arrived triumphantly at what they considered the great objection to Adoniram’s God: Why was not this sort of impersonal eternal wisdom of theirs the real God, rather than Adoniram’s God, Who was a person? Invariably Adoniram would demolish them with three succinct phrases: “No mind, no wisdom. Temporary mind, temporary wisdom. Eternal mind, eternal wisdom.” For some reason, noted Adoniram with relish:

... This concise statement sweeps, with irresistible sway, through the very joints and marrow of their syStem. And though it may to others seem rather simple and inconclusive, to one acquainted with Burman reasoning, its effect is uniformly decisive. No sooner is this short sentence uttered, than one significantly nods his head, as if to say, there you have it. Another cries out to the Opponent, you are undone, deStroyed. Another says talk with wisdom, where else will you find it?

The disputant himself, who was perhaps preparing a learned speech about the excellency and efficacy and eternity of wisdom, quite disconcerted by this unexpected onset, sits looking at the wreck of his system, and wondering at the simple means which has spread such ruin around him; presently he looks up (for the Bur-mans are frequently candid), and says, your words are very appropriate. And perhaps his next question is, How can I become a disciple of the God you worship?

But although Maung Shway-gnong savored these triumphs almost more than Adoniram, he still could not quite bring himself to full, open discipleship. Adoniram had finally come to recognize the real reason. It was less the opposition of Maung Shway-gnong’s wife and friends than simple fear. For if Maung Shway-gnong took the final step, his prominence and position almost guaranteed his persecution, torture and death.

This was why Adoniram was no longer willing to cross dialectic swords with him. For although he continued to drop hints of the glories of martyrdom, he admitted: “My heart was wrung with pity.... The thought of the iron maul, and a secret suspicion that if I was in his circumstances, I should perhaps have no more courage, restrained my tongue.”

Before his journey to Ava, Adoniram had begun translating the Epistle to the Ephesians. On his return he worked at it as fast as he could, and in spite of the weakness of his eyes finished it toward the end of April. The disciples and inquirers nearly tore it from his hands and all but quarreled with each Other for the chance to read it. This translation, they thought, was much plainer than the Matthew, much more easily understood.

Meanwhile Nancy’s health had been failing. She suffered intense pain from what seemed to be liver trouble. Two grueling courses of “salivation” did not help, and by late June Adoniram realized that she would have to seek medical help in Bengal. Since he was doubtful whether she could survive the voyage alone, this time he felt he would have to go with her. A ship was in the river, planning to sail the middle of July, and he reserved passage for them both and for little Emily. Lanciego — the Spaniard we have mentioned as currently victorious in the never-ending struggle with Rodgers for the collectorship of Rangoon—helped procure the passports and promised to protect the people on the mission premises.

Word of their imminent departure brought two more applications for baptism on Sunday, July 9. Adoniram recommended that the applicants wait until his return. But the next Sunday, with the. ship due to sail Monday, the two came to him in great distress and said they could not be easy in mind until they were baptized. Suppose Adoniram should fail to return? They must be baptized before he left. Adoniram agreed; and that night they underwent the ceremony in a small pond near the mission house.

As it happened, the ship’s departure was delayed. Maung Shwaygnong took this opportunity to visit the mission house. He had been absent for some time and Adoniram received him none too graciously until he learned that the Burman had been ill with a fever. As they talked, Adoniram began to be convinced that the teacher had at last really become a Christian. His account of his secret prayers, his struggle with sin, his penitence and faith—the evidence was overwhelming.

That afternoon some friends of Maung Shway-gnong came in and the old teacher brought matters to a head. Indicating the visitors, he said, “My lord teacher, there are now several of us who have long considered this religion. I hope that we are all believers in Jesus Christ.”

“I am afraid to say that,” Adoniram replied cautiously. “However, it is easy to determine; and let me begin with you, teacher. I have heretofore thought that you fully believed in the eternal God; but I have had some doubt whether you fully believed in the Son of God, and the atonement which He has made.”

“I assure you,” rejoined the old man earnestly, “that I am as fully persuaded of the latter as of the former.”

Adoniram looked the teacher full in the face. “Do you believe, then, that none but the disciples will be saved from sin and hell?”

The Burman met his look squarely. “None but his disciples,” he said firmly.

“How, then, can you remain, without taking the oath of allegiance to Jesus Christ, and becoming his full disciple, in body and soul?”

“It is my earnest desire to do so, by receiving baptism,” said Maung Shway-gnong. “For the very purpose of expressing that desire, I have come here today.”

Adoniram could hardly believe his ears. “You say you are desirous of receiving baptism. May I ask when you desire to receive it?”

“At any time you will please to give it. Now—this moment, if you please.”

“Do you wish to receive baptism in public or in private?” “I will receive it at any time, and in any circumstances, that you please to direct.”

For a moment Adoniram was silent. Then: “Teacher, I am satisfied, from your conversation this afternoon, that you are a true disciple. I reply, therefore, that I am as desirous of giving you baptism as you are of receiving it.”

The effect of this conversation was immense. The disciples were overjoyed. The Others were almost Struck dumb with astonishment. For a long time they had thought Maung Shway-gnong was a Christian at heart. But they had never dreamed he would ever admit it publicly or allow a foreigner to put him under water.

Adoniram turned to one of these onlookers, a man named Maung Thay-ay, who he suspected might also be a believer. “Are you too willing to take the oath of allegiance to Jesus Christ?”

“If the teacher Maung Shway-gnong consents,” Thay-ay said, “why should I hesitate?”

“And if he does not consent, what then?”

“Then,” said Thay-ay, “I must wait a little longer.” Adoniram lifted his palm. “Stand by,” he said. “You trust in Maung Shway—gnong, rather than in Jesus Christ. You are not worthy of being baptized.”

One by one he asked the others. They were not quite ready. Finally he came to the woman, Mah Men-lay, whose husband had just decided he was not ready. After a moment’s mental struggle, she said, “If the teacher thinks it suitable for me to be baptized, I am desirous of receiving baptism.” This response did not satisfy Adoniram. He told her he could nor baptize anyone who could possibly be easy in mind without it.

At dark the neXt evening, Adoniram called in two or three of the disciples and made the baptismal prayer in private. Then together they took Maung Shway-gnong to the usual place, went down into the water, and baptized him.

Back at the mission house, Adoniram learned that the woman Mah Men-lay had seen Maung Shway-gnong on his way to the pool. She had exclaimed to Nancy, “Ah! He has gone to obey the command of Jesus Christ, while I remain without obeying. I shall not be able to sleep this night. I must go home and consult my husband.”

Later that night she returned, and asked to be baptized at once. Adoniram and the disciples had just finished partaking of the Lord’s Supper, and he asked them if they were agreeable. They were. \Without delay, he led her out to the pond by the house and by lantern light baptized the first Burmese woman. The dream of a church of ten native Burmese had come true.

At noon the next day, July 19, 1820, Adoniram and Nancy set out for the river. They were followed by nearly a hundred people, the women crying aloud, according to the custom of the country. When the two entered the little boat which was to take them to the ship, Adoniram asked the teacher Maung Shway-gnong, the woman Mah Men-lay, and one or two others to accompany them.

As the boat drew away from shore, those on the riverbank called out their farewells. Above the confusion of cries Adoniram and Nancy could hear voices telling them to come back soon.

When the boat returned the Burmans to shore after an hour or so, Adoniram and Nancy stood on the quarterdeck for a long time looking at the city which contained their little Burmese church, their hearts too full for words.

Two days later the ship anchored near the grove known as “The Elephant” at the river mouth. Early in the morning of August 18 they arrived at Calcutta.