THE Bible wins! Neither Pope nor Bolshevist, Modernist nor monk, can stem the tide of life created by the Living Word. Together with the two companions of the previous chapter, we had a miniature evangelistic campaign in a remote corner of one of the northern states of Brazil, where the living Gospel had never before been preached, but where faithful Bible colportage has been in progress during the last two years; and never has the supreme value of this work had better exemplification. We covered over five hundred miles, held twelve meetings in five different places, with an attendance averaging about one hundred and fifty people at each. Yet not a rough, harsh word was heard throughout, and many were manifestly moved by the power of the Gospel.
We traveled in our Ford car, and surely rarely were the virtues of that classic vehicle so roughly tested as on this journey. The roads in places were almost unnavigable, even by ox-carts, with steep and multi-boulder-strewn trails, which strained every bolt and rivet of the car, and burnt out all our brakes at critical stages of descent, where any little extra bump or swerve would have hurled us down a precipice. My two companions had a hard time pushing and pulling the car in bad places, or carrying the luggage up the steeper hills, and many a chilly feeling they had, too, through my immature handling of it in dangerous spots. Once we crashed into a forest and got badly twisted up, and how we made the car to go again so soon after, as we did, was a wonder.
Yes, traveling was hard and heavy, for roads in Central Brazil are yet in a very primitive condition, and there were many anxious moments when one thought wistfully of our troop of steady, sure-footed mules; but the results were worth it all. Our main objective was the little town of Tavares, the home of our faithful trooper and colporteur, Antão, whom I had met twelve years before, two thousand miles up the Amazon. His conversion on that occasion, and subsequent faithful life and testimony had wonderfully impressed his townsfolk, and I had many an invitation to visit them.
We found the people of all classes most friendly and open, and held four excellently-attended Gospel services in the principal houses of the place, as well as an impressive open-air meeting on the Sunday afternoon. Many were convinced and well disposed, and three of them made open confession of faith. Then we took horse and rode farther inland, where even our valiant Ford dared not go.
Our next meeting was hastily arranged and quite unexpected. Passing a prosperous-looking farmhouse by the roadside, I was surprised to see the farmer himself―a fine, powerfully-built man―stretched out on a couch under a shady tree, while he superintended the work of his men. He looked a very sick man―suffering, I believe, from cancer of the stomach. It seemed a natural thing to stop for a while and speak to him of the Good Hope, followed by a word of prayer on his behalf. Deeply impressed, the farmer requested us to hold a meeting in the farmhouse, which contained an unusually spacious room. The service commenced at six o’ clock, and very rapidly but quietly the farm hands and neighbors from miles around slipped into the room, until about one hundred and twenty men and women were present, all breathlessly silent and attentive. I preached on the Prodigal Son, and one felt that the truth was going home to many hearts. This was immediately followed by a lantern address on Bible subjects, concluding with the “Pilgrim’s Progress.”
All so new, strange, and undreamt-of it was to by far the greater part of the audience, and when the meeting concluded at 8:30, nobody seemed eager to get away, and everybody began to talk. The crowd was great, and the noise greater; but above it all I soon heard of one who was anxious to settle the matter with God right there and then, in spite of the opposition of some others present. He was the local schoolmaster, a man of about twenty-five, and coming to me through the press with a white face and trembling body, he asked what he could do to be saved. Right there in the midst of the crowd we knelt down together on the bare earth floor, and he simply and sincerely accepted Jesus Christ as his Saviour. Ten minutes later we were jogging on our way in the intense darkness of that night, with only the stars to light our uncertain steps.
Four miles beyond the sick man’s house we pulled up at another farmhouse, where we found some fifty people who had been patiently awaiting our arrival for over two hours, although some had gone away. This second meeting lasted till nearly midnight, and many were the wayfaring men who crept in during that time and heard the strange Good News.
Sixteen miles to the west of Tavares there is a prosperous and very attractive little city called Princeza (Princess), and the political chief of the place―a man of great weight and authority in all that part of Brazil―was anxious that we should visit his city, where the Gospel had never been preached. On arriving we were warmly welcomed by this gentleman, who, besides being a State Deputy, was a man of real character, great initiative, and of moral and physical courage. At once he put the big local schoolhouse at our disposal for meetings, and Gillanders and I canvassed the city with invitations and tracts.
Passing through the central marketplace, I noticed the town priest seated in the shade of some trees, and, approaching him courteously, I bowed, complimented him, and asked after his health. The priest was manifestly ill at ease, and very pale; but ere he could reply to my greetings, I seated myself in an empty chair by his side, and continued the conversation in a studiously casual manner. I discussed the beauty and progress of the town, the weather, and―inevitable topic―the local bandits. But never a word said he, being only too well aware that the curious eyes of half the city were turned upon us.
When I remarked that we lived in evil times, the priest pulled himself together somewhat, and, glancing up at me from under his dark eyebrows, with rather a sinister look on his pale face, he remarked, “Yes, very dangerous times indeed, even for us who live in this city. How much more for those who come from the outside?” One could not help feeling that his reverence was mentally counting over what few of his “lambs” he might yet depend upon to give weight to his remarks with sticks and stones at our expense. He left it at that, however, as he well knew that the big man of the place was more than his match, and that all the town had turned Protestant pro tem.
That night, as soon as the doors were opened, the big schoolhouse rapidly filled with over one hundred and fifty men and a few women, while an equal number, perhaps, failed to gain admission. Our singing was much appreciated, and I spoke with liberty on the song of Zacharias.
Next day everybody was discussing the questions at issue, and, judging from the visits we made among the people, the majority were on the side of the Truth, quite a number of Bibles, Testaments, and “Traveler’s Guides” being sold. This was too much for the priest who, finding me talking with the local chemist, drew a crowd after him, and entering the establishment, addressed me gruffly and without salutation, not even looking me in the face. He said:
“I would have you to know, Senhor, that I am still vicar of this city.”
“I am well aware of that, Senhor Vigario,” I replied. “I called on you yesterday.”
“But,” said the priest, “it is my duty to demand an explanation of what you are doing here in my city.”
Pretending to misunderstand him, in order to avoid public discussion, I replied, “Without doubt, Senhor Vigario, you have very good reason, excellent reason, for your concern; but so also have I in faithfully fulfilling my own duty to this place.” And, turning to the chemist, I quietly continued the conversation so rudely interrupted. This rather nonplussed the priest, who, after opening his mouth several times to speak, finally turned and left the place abruptly, and I saw him no more. During the day so many people were anxious to hear the Gospel that the owner of the newly erected picture palace offered it for our use free of charge, and that night quite five hundred people crowded into the elegant little hall—a most inspiring sight!
I commenced the meeting with a declaration of faith, which I prefaced by saying that we were not there to fight the local Church or to speak ill of their priest, nor were we there to preach strange new doctrines, but rather to call them back to the old-time religion of their fathers and the doctrines of the Holy Apostles. One by one I explained the chief articles of our belief with relation to the Triune God, to the Saints, including the Holy Virgin―with regard to whom, I showed that we were more Catholic than the Roman Catholics themselves, as we sought diligently to obey her words: “Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it.” I spoke on the need of confession, on the meaning of Grace, and thus lightly on many other points of the Catholic Apostolic Christian Church. I said we were NOT there to proselytize to some other Church or denomination―there was no time for that: the danger was real, and the need too urgent―but rather to show them a way through grace alone, by which, very simply, and there and then, they might find peace with God through the Cross of Calvary. I invited questions, but none were forthcoming.
Throughout I was listened to with intense and respectful attention. Then followed the lantern address with its vivid, telling pictures, which find a way through the eye-gate of some who might not otherwise understand. The whole meeting lasted for about two hours.
Leaving this most promising place, we pushed on over terrible roads to the city of Triumpho, a center of idolatry, superstition, and their handmaid―crime. We found no entrance there, so continued our journey down almost the worst mountain road in Brazil. Only God’s mercy brought us safely to the bottom without disaster.
It was after dark, and we were very tired when we arrived in the city of Flores (Flowers), and put up at a local hotel for the night, intending to pass the next day at a friendly farmer’s house not far distant. I was lying, half-dressed and half-asleep, in my hammock, when I was suddenly aroused by the entrance of a score or so of well-dressed gentlemen, ill discernible by the light of our candle. It was a deputation of all the chief men of the place―the mayor, the public prosecutor, the judge, schoolmaster, commanding officer of forces operating against the bandits, and others―all come to welcome us to the city and offer us every guarantee of protection we required. I tried to look as dignified as I could, standing stork-like, with only one boot on, and in my shirt sleeves. I thanked them, and they bowed themselves out.
Again I turned into my hammock, when lo! in came another deputation of the chief of the police, all profuse in friendly sentiments. A guard was mounted at our hotel night, and early next morning down from the barracks there marched a picket of five armed soldiers which the lieutenant had put at our disposal. All this was very surprising, so we decided to spend the day there. I visited all the city authorities to thank them for their good will, and arranged with the chief man of the place to hold a meeting in the town hall that evening. This was to everybody’s satisfaction, the padre excepted, who at once sent a disreputable looking deputation of his own, commanding us not to preach, and pronouncing vague threats of what would happen if we did; all of which we calmly ignored.
That afternoon we had an interesting little talk with some twenty or thirty prisoners in the big jail, among whom we also sold two Bibles and Testaments. Many Gospel tracts were also circulated through the city. Meanwhile, the priest had wrought himself into a state of uncontrollable fury, and launched deputation after deputation to all the authorities, demanding that our meetings should be prohibited, and―as the chief man himself told me―fairly made all their heads ache with their noisy disputation; but all to no effect, and soldiers were told off to guard our meeting. The principal authority called on the priest to reason with him, and to point out the illegality and danger of his attitude, but found him intractable and weeping with rage; finally declaring that if we persisted in our intention he would carry the “Sacred Host” into the midst of our meeting. Now, as this piece of consecrated bread, to these untaught folk, is almost what the Ark of the Covenant was to the Israelites of old, such an action could only have engendered terrible confusion and bloodshed. Rightly alarmed at the danger, the chief magistrate and another high official shamefacedly requested us, as a favor to them, to desist from the meeting, which I eventually and regretfully decided, under the circumstances, was the right thing to do. The best people of the town were astonished and indignant at their priest, and that evening, seated in front of the hotel, we had plenty of opportunity of proclaiming the faith to individual hearers, the village schoolmaster being especially interested, and purchasing a Bible. Next morning we proceeded on our homeward way.
And thus the Gospel warfare ebbs and flows in dark Brazil; but the flowing tide is with us, praise God!