Chapter 1.
Something unusual, unprecedented, had happened, and the Western Chang village at the foot of the mountains was startled out of the even tenor of its way. Far from the wider world, deep buried in the heart of China, little the villagers knew or cared about affairs that were moving nations. But the events of the district, the sayings and doings of local magnates, the varying fortunes of Neighbors and friends — these were themes of absorbing interest. Many changes had taken place within the memory of that little town. Some of its inhabitants could recall days of wealth and prosperity, before the “foreign smoke” was known in Shan-si; could tell of disastrous wars waged against their country by “outside barbarians”; of the fatal growth of the opium habit; and of the drought that had led to the famine in which millions of people had perished. But nothing like this had ever been known before, and over their pipes the village elders discussed the situation.
Yes, it was only too true, the scholar Hsi had become a Christian; or, to put it plainly, had been bewitched by “foreign devils.” From the beginning, two years before, when the preachers of this new religion appeared in the district, thoughtful men had foreseen that some among “the foolish people” would doubtless fall a prey to their spells. But who could have imagined that the first to be entrapped would be the scholar Hsi, a man of position and influence, a cultured Confucianist, the leader of their own set. Herein lay the surprise and bitterness of it all, and loud were the lamentations.
For beyond doubt it was a serious calamity, this becoming a Christian; the delusions involved were so powerful and far reaching. Now, in the case of Hsi, if there was one thing for which he had always been noted, it was his antipathy to foreigners and dislike for everything connected with them: a laudable and patriotic feeling that now, alas! had given place to extraordinary interest and affection. He had actually consented to become teacher to the foreigners, living with them in the city for a time, and identifying himself with their questionable doings. His long-venerated idols were discarded; rumor even whispered that they had been taken down and burned. His sacred ancestral tablets were no more worshipped. The very fragrance of incense had departed from his home. Strangely enough, his opium craving was gone too. This was indeed mysterious, for he had been a slave to the habit, and, as everyone knew, in such cases deliverance was well-nigh impossible. Yet, with surprising suddenness, and nothing to account for the change, Hsi’s opium pipe was laid aside, and even the need for it seemed to have left him.
The time he used to spend in preparing and smoking opium was now devoted to the peculiar rites of his new religion. Day and night he might be seen poring over the books the foreign teachers had brought; sometimes singing aloud in the strangest way; sometimes quietly reading by the hour together; sometimes kneeling on the ground, his eyes shut, talking to the foreigners’ god, who could neither be seen nor heard and had no shrine to represent him. And whatever Hsi might be doing, the remarkable thing was that he seemed continually happy; overflowing with satisfaction. If he had come into a fortune or discovered the elixir of endless youth, he could scarcely have been more elated.
And yet it did not appear that he had improved his circumstances by “eating the foreign religion.” If the missionaries had bought his allegiance with large sums of money, as everyone believed, he at any rate managed to conceal the fact. Far from living in greater luxury or the idleness that became his position, Hsi had suddenly developed quite the opposite tendencies, and, forgetting the dignity of a scholar, was now frequently engaged in menial pursuits. Reasoned with, he simply replied that he was learning farming with a view to the better care of his estate. But who ever heard of a literary man hoeing in the fields, herding cattle, winnowing grain, or gathering fuel with his own hands? No doubt his home and farm were improving under the process, but what compensation could that offer for loss of social standing and the angry alienation of equals and friends?
Yes, there could be no doubt of it, Hsi in becoming a Christian had outraged the feelings of the community, and the prominence of his former position only served to increase the offense. The gentry, as soon as the fact became known, ceased to recognize him as of their number. He was socially “done for”; at once blotted out. But any hope that such treatment might recall him to his senses was doomed to disappointment, for it shortly transpired that he had even submitted to the “washing ceremony,” thus receiving full initiation into the “foreign devil sect.” Rumors as to the nature of this mysterious rite did not tend to improve matters, and the villagers, now despairing of his reclamation, became more than ever watchful and suspicious.
One thing at any rate was certain; brave it out as he might, the renegade scholar could never escape the judgment of Heaven. He was free and independent, a middle-aged man with no one to control him, and of course could do as he liked; but in the long run he would find it impossible to defy the anger of the gods. In some way or other, vengeance must fall upon him. He would inevitably come under evil influences, and suffer either in person, family, or estate. For the present he might scorn such apprehensions, and even appear to be improved in health and vigor. But that was clearly illusive. The terrible nature of his offense would soon appear.
Meanwhile, Hsi of the Western Chang village went quietly on his way; a new man in a new world. For him a great light had arisen, above the brightness of the sun. All the perplexities of former years, his doubts and painful questions, the burden of his sins, his dread of death and the unknown Beyond, had passed away. The chains of his opium habit had fallen from him. Renewed in spirit like a little child, his heart overflowed with love and joy. Already he was beginning to possess his new possessions, to enter into the glorious liberty of the children of God.
In the seclusion of their ancestral dwelling, the women of his household were first to appreciate the change. Though fully as prejudiced as the outer circle of his acquaintance, they had better opportunities for judging as to the results of his new faith. “The mean one of the inner apartments,” his gentle little wife, saw and felt most of all. Life had brought her grievous disappointments. To have no son, in China, is a calamity beyond thought; a cause for which many a woman is divorced or sold into slavery. And her only child, a boy, had died in infancy. For long years her life had been shadowed with this sorrow and shame. But her husband was different from other men. He did not sell her, or take a second wife. Of course, he was free to do so at any moment, and her heart often trembled at the thought. Quick tempered and imperious even in his kindest moods, he was a man to be feared, and his outbursts of passion were terrible. But how wonderful the change coming over him: new gentleness, now, in all he said and did; new self-control and thoughtfulness for others; and, towards herself, unwonted affection, and strange solicitude that she should enter into his new faith.
Day by day as she noted these things, Mrs. Hsi could not but modify a little her first anger and scorn. Though mistaken, her husband was evidently sincere. Others might scoff; but she began to feel curious about the secret they had failed to find. Waking at night she often wondered to see him still poring over the Book, or kneeling absorbed in prayer, talking to that invisible God whose presence seemed to him so real. And then what could account for his persistence in assembling the household daily for this new worship, unless some good were likely to follow?
After all, this was the most trying aspect of the whole affair. If only he would keep his religion to himself and be dignified about it. If he could be just respectably “bewitched,” and not let everybody know. Why must he propagate these new notions, making his change of faith so ostentatious and offensive? No wonder the whole neighborhood made fun of them.
And besides, he had adopted a new, most singular name. In the strength of the God he now worshipped, far from being terrified of evil spirits as before, he had actually called himself “Conqueror of Demons!” What could be more reckless, more certain to incur disaster? No one in his senses would venture to speak, even, of such beings, far less arouse their ire. Surely this alone would be enough to bring down retribution.
But it was in no spirit of bravado the ex-confucianist had taken so strange a name. Enslaved by a vice he hated, under the tyranny of a power stronger than his best resolves and most determined efforts, he had gone down to depths of suffering and degradation known only to those who have trodden the same road. And when at length in the living Christ he first found hope of freedom, his heart went out to Him in unquestioning faith that brought the mighty power of God to his release Saved with a great deliverance, he had but expressed his reliance upon the indwelling Spirit, and his sense of being enlisted for life in a warfare “not against flesh and blood,” when he called himself “Devil Overcomer.”
In these days there is a tendency, in some quarters, to doubt the very existence of a personal devil, a malignant spirit of evil, with hosts of emissaries to work his will. This perhaps is hardly to be wondered at in Christian communities, where the power of Satan is restricted, and it is clearly inexpedient for him to appear in his true colors. To us he comes as an angel of light, veiling his presence often with consummate skill. Not so in heathen lands. There, with undisputed sway, his tactics are open and his aims apparent. It would never occur to a Chinaman to question the existence of demons; he has too frequent proof of their power. We may regard such ideas as superstitious, and dismiss them without further thought. But facts remain: and some facts are startling as well as stubborn things.
When Hsi at his conversion took the new name, “Devil Overcomer,” he unconsciously expressed an attitude that was to characterize his entire Christian life. For to him Satan was ever a personal foe, a watchful, mighty antagonist, keen to press the least advantage, always designing fresh onslaughts, without or within. But so real was the power of Christ in his life, that he was made more than conqueror; not without frequent struggle and occasional defeat, but with growing certainty as he more fully yielded to the Holy Spirit.
With such convictions it was no wonder that his experience, from the beginning, was of the strenuous sort. Prayer, to him, was a necessity, and he early discovered the benefit of special seasons of fasting, that he might better wait upon God. Naturally of a resolute character, he acted under the new conditions with all the old decisiveness. To keep in subjection the body, and triumph over sin and every difficulty, in the power of the Spirit, became now the passion of his life, combined with an absorbing desire to make this wonderful salvation known.
Thus it was impossible for Hsi to be silent about his Saviour. As well might the sun keep from shining, or the heart that loves and is loved, from rejoicing. He could not but speak of Jesus; and speak of Him he did until his latest breath. But, though definitely conscious of a call from God to preach Christ far and wide, he recognized from the first that soul winning must begin at home. The testimony of his life must appeal to mother, wife, and friends. And for this, love and patience were needed.
To the women of his family, it was no small surprise that he should be so eager for them to understand. In old days he never thought of teaching them anything. They could not read or write, much less enter into his Confucian studies. But this new doctrine — were it the greatest good fortune in the world, he could not be more anxious for them to possess it!
And somehow, strange as it might seem, the things he talked about were beautiful, at times, and responded unexpectedly to the heart’s need. The book he read was not like other books. There were comforting words in it that could not be forgotten, and stories about people so like ourselves today. A strange, warm feeling seemed to touch the heart as it told of Jesus blessing little children, and folding them in His arms; saying to the widow, “Weep not,” and bringing back her son again; caring for the happiness of a wedding feast; and healing with tender touch so many sick and brokenhearted.
One could not help loving Jesus. One could not keep back the tears as the wonderful story moved on to the Cross. Why so good a man should die like that was mystery indeed. Could not the gods have delivered Him? And what could be the meaning of His rising from the grave, as the book said, and being in these days alive and near us, with the same love and power? Strangely attractive, strangely perplexing, this foreign religion! Who could understand it? And yet, the more one heard the more one longed to hear.