Chapter 11.
And now to return for a while to the Western Chang village and the work Hsi was doing at home. Changes not a few had come since the days of opium smoking idleness that preceded his conversion, and since more recent years that found him free enough to accept the duties of headman of the village. Now his home was a hive of industry, as full and busy as any opium refuge, and with more varied interests.
For gradually Hsi had been drawn into a new line of service, the complement of all he had hitherto undertaken. With every added Refuge the circle of his influence widened, and with it his sense of responsibility. Among the patients were many who, though cured of opium smoking, were far from established in the faith. A month or two under Christian influence had convinced them of the folly of idol worship and made them long for better things. They were in many cases earnest inquirers, but unfit to face persecution or make satisfactory progress alone. To send them back into heathen surroundings, beyond the reach of further help and teaching, would have been to risk losing them altogether.
Many also, when the time came for leaving the Refuge, were still far from strong. Some former ailment may have reappeared, threatening to drive them back to opium for relief. These men required care and watching and to be taught the unfailing power of prayer. But often the Refuges were full and all accommodation needed. Must they be turned out and allowed to drift for lack of a helping hand?
Then there were always others who during their stay in the Refuge had been truly converted to God, and a few who were manifestly fitted to become soul winners and helpful assistants, if not leaders, in the future of the work. Some were ignorant and some were poor; some needed help, having lost their means of livelihood by becoming Christians; and all required much careful training in view of days to come. To neglect the development of these men would have been fatal to the best interests of the work and to his stewardship of the talents God had given him.
And so it came to pass that all these, and many others difficult to classify, found a place in Hsi’s household as well as in his heart; gathered into the old home at the Western Chang village, from whose doors none whom he could help was ever turned away.
At first especially they were a motley crew, and it was difficult to maintain order and keep them usefully employed. But method and experience worked wonders, and the results were increasingly satisfactory.
One rule Hsi insisted upon was: “If any man will not work, neither shall he eat.” This saved a great deal of trouble. For if by chance impostors were taken in who did not relish honest toil, they soon made an excuse for retiring. Fortunately, the little property he still possessed was sufficient to supply employment for a good number. To encourage his guests he worked with them, giving all the time he could to manual toil. And the knowledge of farming he had gained on first becoming a Christian proved invaluable, enabling him to direct as well as assist their labors.
It was a busy community, for almost all the needs of the household were supplied at home. Flour grinding, bread making, water carrying, spinning, weaving, tailoring, carpentry, and the all-important medicine making, were some of the employments that filled the flying hours. Hsi’s own time was much occupied with daily classes and meetings, for the deepening of spiritual life was his first concern, and all under his roof were either souls to be won or Christians to be made into soul winners.
As the household grew enlarged accommodation was needed, and Hsi became a skillful architect and builder. Gradually he erected near the threshing floor a number of small houses and a kitchen, and one of the barns was adapted for use as a chapel. Details of housekeeping and domestic affairs were largely taken off his hands by Mrs. Hsi and her sister. They were his chief helpers also in the manufacture of the anti-opium pills upon which the Refuges were dependent. It is satisfactory to note that the sister, little Miss Liang, became increasingly useful, and by her marriage a few years later with one of Hsi’s most valued assistants, was permanently attached to the household.
The medicine making was no sinecure. As the Refuges increased, it came to be one of the most serious of Hsi’s undertakings. And though he trained and used helpers, it was a task he never entrusted wholly to others.
The mere time and labor involved were considerable, to say nothing of the skill required with such poor appliances. But Hsi was not content with making the pills anyhow. They were for the work of God, part of the ministry he had received, and to “save the souls of men.” To this end he was most particular that they should be “well made and attractive looking.” And there was nothing but a simple, corrugated basket hanging from a rope, with which to swing them into shape.
But his chief care was that the blessing of God should so rest on the operation that the pills should be successful in their mission, and be the means of bringing spiritual as well as physical healing. He had no confidence in the medicine by itself. But he was very sure that the Lord had led him into the opium refuge work and had given him that prescription in answer to prayer, and that as His blessing rested upon them, the pills could and would be a means of salvation to multitudes. So whenever it was necessary to make a fresh supply, he began with prayer and fasting. It was his habit to go without food the whole twenty-four hours of the day given to that work. Sometimes he was so exhausted toward evening that he could hardly stand. Then he would go away for a few minutes alone to wait upon God. “Lord, it is Thy work. Give me Thy strength,” was his plea. And he always came back fresh and reinvigorated, as if with food and rest.
The method followed was as simple as it was ingenious. First a good day was chosen, suitable for drying the pills as fast as they were made. Then the drugs were gathered together, weighed, and examined, for all the ingredients had to be the best obtainable. After that they were thoroughly pounded with a rough pestle and mortar, mixed in the required quantities, and piled up in great heaps of reddish-brown powder. Then came the more difficult process, generally undertaken by Hsi himself. The powder had to be moistened with just sufficient water and kneaded to a particular consistency, so that it would roll off into nice, firm, little balls when properly swung in the basket. This last stage of the proceeding required dexterity as well as patience. But when the basket was kept swinging they could turn out hundreds, if not thousands, of pills in the day.
By careful management and the help of his guests in various ways, Hsi was able to make his household largely self-supporting. But there were other expenses connected with the entertainment of visitors, especially on Sundays, and with the support and extension of his Refuges. The farm produced no ready money. And the profit derived from the pills, which were sold to his patients only, did not amount to much. Amid all these responsibilities, Hsi was beginning to prove not only the trial but the blessing of an empty treasury that casts one upon God.
Feeling, perhaps, that he was going ahead too fast, his missionary friends in P’ing-yang advised retrenchment, especially in connection with his Sunday hospitality. This Hsi never forgot, and his account of the matter is worth recording, although it illustrates the weakness of some of his ideas as to Scriptural interpretation.
“At that time,” he writes, “in each of the Refuges, among those who believed in the Lord Jesus were some who were friendless and poor, and others who needed teaching or were weak in body and had no means of livelihood. These all came to my house to learn the doctrine and be fed. There were constantly twenty or thirty men coming and going. I, trusting in the Lord, gladly received them, hoping they might be fully saved and become useful in the work of God.
“Moreover every Sabbath day fifty or sixty men gathered from the surrounding villages for worship. I, trusting in the Lord, received them also, not grieving that my means were insufficient to meet the need. My hope was that I might catch souls in as large numbers as men catch fish.
“At length the foreign pastor kindly exhorted me, saying he had visited many churches, but had never seen this plan pursued before.
“I am ignorant about the work in other places,” I replied, “but when friends come a long distance to worship under my roof, I cannot bear to have them go away hungry.”
“Later on the pastor again referred to the subject.
“I see,” he said, “that in this matter you are seeking to follow the Lord’s example in feeding the five thousand. But do not forget, the Lord did this only twice, not constantly.’
“Yes,” I replied with a glad heart, the Lord fed the multitudes as an example to His disciples. For this, once would have been quite sufficient. “How much more binding when He did it twice.”
Apparently, it was not easy to make him see things in those days, if they did not agree with his own convictions. The missionaries, it is to be feared, found him headstrong and self-willed at times, and all too impatient of restraint. But they recognized his love for souls and true devotion, and appreciated, though they could not always approve. Meanwhile Hsi was earnest in doing the best he knew, and the Lord wonderfully cared for him, in spite of his mistakes.
One remarkable thing about him from the beginning was his freedom from the love of money, or the desire for financial returns for his own benefit. Of course he had to make his Refuges pay, as far as possible, and to take whatever profit accrued in one case to supply the lack in others. But he would never allow the money question to be made prominent, and it was perfectly clear in the long run that he was not seeking personal advantage.
For one thing, he never insisted upon payment. His charges were from seven hundred to two thousand cash (two to six shillings), according to the severity of the case. This covered board and lodging as well as medicine and treatment. But if patients were unable to afford so much, he would return part of the money, or take them in his own home free of charge. And if they were dishonest, and though reasoned with refused to pay, he simply made it a matter of prayer, and left the results with God. Not infrequently the consequences proved serious for the delinquent.
Another way in which his conduct was unusual was that money given him for the work he would not hesitate to return, if he felt that the blessing of God did not come with it. A gift made from wrong motives, or reluctantly, he found to be no help. “It must proceed out of a pure heart,” he would say, “and from a willing mind, in order to have the Lord’s acceptance and blessing.” And without these, how could it but be harmful? Was it money they were seeking, or the blessing of God? Poverty only cast them the more upon Him, but money without His blessing would soon bring trouble.
An occasion of this sort occurred in connection with a man named Ts’ui, who was a professing Christian. A stone mason by trade, he had done well in business, and was known to have hoarded up more than one hundred thousand cash, quite a fortune in that part of the world. But not a fraction would he spare for the Lord’s work. No appeals moved him. And this, naturally, was a stumbling block to poorer Christians, who had to make up in their contributions for his parsimony.
At length Ts’ui was taken seriously ill and seemed in danger of death. He immediately sent for Hsi and besought him to pray for his recovery.
“I am willing, Brother Hsi,” he groaned, “to contribute forty thousand cash, if only you will get me out of this trouble.”
“What have you been doing,” exclaimed Hsi, “to have fallen into such a condition? Do you suppose you can bribe the Lord, and purchase your life with money? Sincerely confess your sins, and I will pray for you. This is no time to talk of gifts.”
Apparently the man did cry to God for mercy. Hsi prayed for him, and he was speedily better. But, as might be expected, he said nothing further about the money. The contribution he had been so eager to make was quite forgotten.
Not long afterward the same illness returned with still more serious symptoms. In great alarm Ts’ui sent again for Hsi, and this time putting a bank draft for a large sum into his hands, begged him to pray at once for his relief. But Hsi returned the money, saying sadly:
“Alas, I fear it is too late. Yet it may be that God will have pity on your soul. Cry to Him in the name of Jesus for pardon. I cannot take the money.”
A day or two later Ts’ui passed away. Within a few months his widow married again — a terrible disgrace to the memory of the dead man — and his hoarded wealth was scattered.
But though Hsi was independent in these ways, for the honor of his Master’s name, and though he managed his farm and opium refuges with economy, using every cash as carefully as possible, it was far from easy to make both ends meet. It was all very well to speak about following the Lord’s example in feeding the multitudes, but as a matter of fact it meant either bankruptcy or drawing upon divine resources.
Toward the close of the year after his missionary friend had urged retrenchment, when Hsi came to balance his accounts he found to his dismay that there was a threatened deficit of over eighty thousand cash: just what the foreign shepherd had feared, and what the heathen around him were always prophesying. He could see his way to making up about a third of this sum, but that would still leave him nearly fifty thousand in arrears. He could not borrow money, for that was against the clear injunction “Owe no man anything.” And rack his brains as he might, no plan presented itself by which so large a sum could be raised. His heathen relatives angrily declared that he would bring them all into trouble. His wife and fellow workers were silent and anxious. But Hsi gave himself to waiting upon God.
And just then the unexpected happened. From the capital of the province a remarkable paper made its way down to Hsi’s neighborhood and came into his hands. It contained a list of a number of subjects connected with the Christian religion, upon which literary men were invited to write theses to compete for valuable prizes. The essays were to contain about five thousand characters, and might be written either in verse or prose, but the highest prize was for poetical compositions, and consisted of fifty ounces of silver. The offer was from the T’ai-yüan missionaries, and open to all the literati of the province.
“This,” cried Hsi with enthusiasm, “is the Lord’s answer to our petitions. The first prize shall assuredly be mine.”
With faith and courage he set to work. It was already the tenth month of the year, and there was no time to spare. The first prize was for poetry only, and so to that line of things he confined himself.
Little though he realized it at the time, there was a deeper purpose in that versifying than the one he had in view. The growing church of his own hills and valleys needed a new hymnology, something of their own, expressing in local language the experiences of the heart. Hsi was dimly conscious of the need. He knew the hymns they used did not appeal much to the people. But it had never occurred to him that he might be enabled to write others that would. Now as he pondered, pen in hand, thoughts came to him and the verses flowed, until one after another poems were written that discovered a gift never again lost sight of.
A little later the missionary paid another visit to the Western Chang village, this time not to advise caution but to confer upon the winner of the first prize a shoe of silver worth seventy thousand cash — amply sufficient to close the year with a balance on the right side. This was to Hsi a memorable experience, quite a milestone on life’s journey.
From that time he continued, like the Psalmist, to weave all vicissitudes into songs of praise and prayer. Lessons learned amid joy or trial, defeat or deliverance, flowed from his pen in simple, often beautiful verse. And the Christians of Shansi took up these hymns with delight. Sixty or more of them passed into the life of the people, and so live on, though his loved voice is silent.
But times of financial difficulty were not the only occasions for proving the power and faithfulness of God. Others, of a more painful nature, arose from the character of the men with whom Hsi had to deal. Some were satisfactory from the first, and soon became useful members of that busy household. Others, though amenable in the long run to wise and patient influence, needed time to free themselves from the trammels of the past; and living with them during the process was not easy. But there remained a few so depraved and unresponsive that to attempt to reclaim them at all seemed hopeless. To be under the same roof with such men, month after month, and responsible for them, was a serious trial, but one from which Hsi had no escape. He was increasingly cautious as time went on about those whom he received into his home; but once he had undertaken a case, nothing would induce him to abandon it.
“No,” he would say, “I dare not begin a task and then quickly give it up because of difficulties in the way. If it is not of God, one should not begin at all. If it is, it would be sin to drop it. Were I to do so He might also drop me, as far as usefulness in His service is concerned.”
It was his rule, therefore, never to send a man away. He believed that the power of God could save even the most hopeless, but that if in the end any were irreclaimable, they would go of their own accord to their own place. It might involve long continued suffering for those who sought to save them, but is it not God Himself who suffers most? So he prayed over these men, and was patient with them long after others had given up hope. Sometimes even in the worst cases his faith prevailed; sometimes it all seemed wasted. But sooner or later those who would not yield were sure to be removed without Hsi’s intervention, sometimes in very solemn ways.
One secret of the power he undoubtedly possessed was the love that made it possible for him to hold on to these men with such wonderful patience. He always saw good in them, and hoped the best. But when they sinned he suffered as love only can. And as they were inmates of his home night and day, this meant frequent pain of heart, and constituted one of the keenest trials he had to bear.
One case recorded by a missionary who witnessed it may give some idea of the difficulty of such circumstances.
In the early years at Ts’ao-seng a woman named Kuo came to Hsi in great trouble about her only son. The young man was thirty years of age, but far from being a comfort to his widowed mother, he was, as she said, “an opium fiend,” and thoroughly dissipated and unfilial. With many tears the poor woman besought Hsi to undertake his case. Involved in gambling debts, and thoroughly frightened at the result of recent excesses, he was himself anxious to turn over a new leaf and be taken under the wing of the Christian scholar.
After considerable hesitation Hsi consented. There was something prepossessing about the poor fellow, and he seemed more than willing to work on the farm for his living, and conform to all the regulations of the household. On this understanding he was received; Hsi paying no wages, but providing for him as his own son.
At first he behaved pretty well, and in spite of great suffering and difficulty was cured of his opium habit. He rapidly acquired the outward form of Christianity, and became familiar with the Bible and its teachings. But before many months were over he grew impatient of restraint, and set all his ingenuity to work to make trouble. Quick witted and unscrupulous, he generally managed to keep up appearances, and make other people suffer for his wrong doing. Patiently Hsi bore the annoyance, trying in every way to bring him to reason, but without avail. Year after year this went on, and still Kuo did not wish to leave the household, and the Lord did not interfere to remove him.
At length, at the end of four years, there came a change. Suddenly the young man seemed to wake up to a realization of what it all meant. The grace of God laid hold upon his heart, and to all appearances he was truly converted. Full of joy, Hsi more than forgave the past, and welcomed him to a son’s place in his affections. And time seemed only to prove Kuo’s sincerity. His ability and brightness were increasingly a comfort, and he became one of the most useful members of the household.
And then, just as he seemed indispensable, the missionary in charge of the district came over and asked for this very man to work under his supervision in an adjacent province. It was a great sacrifice to Hsi, but as he prayed about it he felt: “This is the command of the foreign pastor. I dare not refuse. The Lord will give me another helper.”
Kuo went, and for some years did well. His preaching was popular, and his manner attractive. The missionary trusted him completely.
But a time came when he was left alone in charge of the station with considerable sums of money passing through his hands. The work flourished, and numbers of people thronged the chapel. And then, lifted up with pride, Kuo began to go wrong. He yielded to dishonesty. The love of money got hold of him. And after that he rapidly made shipwreck. The missionary hastened back and found himself embarked upon a sea of troubles. Kuo was not so easy to get rid of as he had been to secure. He defied all authority, and carried many of the converts with him. In the end, however, he was dismissed from his position, and had to leave the province.
Then, mad with rage and disappointment, his character and opportunities gone, he made his way back to the Western Chang village to pour upon Hsi the vials of his wrath. His friends there had heard the story, and were prepared to give the erring man another chance. But they little knew what awaited them. Kuo was furious. His fall seemed to rouse all the old evil of his nature, extinguishing the life of the Spirit, if ever there had been any.
To be revenged on Hsi, whom he chose to regard as the cause of all his troubles, seemed now his chief desire. With the skill of a clever reprobate he devised any number of lying accusations, going back to things long since forgotten, and finally demanded an outrageous sum of money in payment for work done on the farm from the time he was first taken in hand by his benefactor.
Distress and consternation filled the household, and Hsi had all he could do to prevent a disturbance. Kuo took delight in making the affair as public as possible, shouting his accusations at the top of his voice, and rehearsing his grievances to all who would listen. In his distress Hsi had no resource but prayer. All attempts at pacification failed. He would not resort to legal proceedings, and seemed hopelessly in the hands of this unscrupulous enemy. To buy him off with money was most inexpedient. And yet what could be done?
But as he prayed light came. New Year’s Day was close at hand, the one time when every Chinaman feels it imperative to be on good terms with all around him. Why not suggest that the whole matter be deferred until after the auspicious celebrations? This would certainly commend itself to the public conscience, and if agreed upon, would give time for further thought and prayer.
And so, with a heart that cried to God, Hsi rejoined the excited crowd and waited an opportunity to speak. Then he skillfully drew the thoughts of his neighbors to the duties of the season, dwelling especially on the preparations, that must be pending at home in honor of Kuo’s arrival, “If you will return, brother,” he added, “when the feast of the New Year is over, we shall all be more at leisure, and will carefully consider these matters, to try and remedy what is wrong.”
The suggestion was received with approval that Kuo could not afford to disregard; and knowing the sincerity of the man who made it, he had no fear of double dealing. So, for the moment, the situation was relieved. Kuo went home to find likeminded men who would return with him to make trouble. And Hsi gave himself to prayer and fasting.
Then it was the end came. Hsi had borne long enough, hoping to save this soul. “He that being often reproved, hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be cut off, and that without mercy.”
It was most unexpected and solemn. Kuo, who left the Western Chang village with implacable enmity that day, never returned again. Before the New Year dawned, tidings came that he and two others of the family had suddenly passed away.
“What — dead!” cried the wondering neighbors. “The God of the Christians is angry. It is better to let them alone.”