TWENTY-EIGHT years have passed away since I asked the above question, a few days after the capture of Lucknow in March, 1858. Salar Bux was the jemadar or native sergeant attached to my battery, and he had agreed to teach me enough of the Hindustanee language to enable me to speak to the native followers. We were sitting together on the flat roof of a house not far from the King of Oude’s palace, at the time a complete ruin. I was watching the smoke which was still ascending from the burning palace, when, happening to look down into a crevice at my feet, I observed a book, partly torn, and on examination found it to be a Bible printed in English characters, but in the Hindustanee tongue.
“Well,” I said to myself, “this is lucky — the very thing I want. I can read and Salar will interpret.” So we did, and, well satisfied with my first attempt, I closed the book. Then turning to Salar in a very decided manner, I put the question: “Why do you not become a Christian?”
I can remember now the quick turn round of his body, as well as his keen, intelligent look up into my face, as he simply replied “Sahib, what will you give me?”
“Just so,” thought I, “always money always ‘What will you give?’” But no, he seemed to read what was passing through my mind, for he quickly asked, “What religion will you give me?”
I looked the dear man in the face, and with the greatest confidence replied, “Christianity of course,” and waited for his reply.
“Well, sahib,” said Salar, “will you tell me what Christianity is? You know I am Mussulman — I love my religion — and, if am to give it up, I should like to have something better instead.”
“Yes, certainly, Salar,” said I, “and that is the very reason I have asked you to become a Christian. I know you are a strict Mussulman, but I can tell you that Christianity is much better religion.”
“Yes, yes,” was Salar’s reply; “but before I give up my own religion for yours will you be pleased to tell me what Christianity is?”
For the first time during our conversation I was thoroughly puzzled. He very patiently waited and waited; his keen, dark eye seemed not only to read, but also to enjoy my perplexity, as, in a desperate sort of way, I replied — “Salar Bux, Christianity is Christianity.” Gentle was Salar’s reply: “Sahib, you do not know your own religion.”
I was so vexed. Why did I ask him any questions? He could see by my flushed face that I could not give him the slightest clue to the very religion I professed and which I asked him to embrace.
Whilst I condemned his religion I was unable to explain my own, and in the kindness of his honest heart he said, “Shall I tell you what the Christianity is that I have seen amongst your soldiers? I see your soldiers go to our bazaars, get drunk, illtreat our men, and insult our women. Is that the Christianity you offer me in place of my own religion?”
I felt ashamed, and simply said, “Salar, there is a better kind than that.”
But he went on to say: “The younger sons of your nobility (burra sahibs) come out to India, get good places under the Government, grow rich, and then go back to their own country at our expense. Is this the kind of Christianity you wish me to believe in?”
In desperation I said, “There is a still better kind than that.”
“Well, sahib, do tell me what it is.”
My ears tingled. I was completely beaten by this simple man, and therefore remained silent. At last he said, “When you can tell me of a better Christianity than I have seen professed or practiced I will consider your question,” and with that remark the conversation ended in his victory and my defeat.
Yes, but why, dear reader — why was this? Simply because I was a greater unbeliever than Salar Bux, the Mussulman.
“Nonsense!” you say, “how could that be? Were you not a Christian soldier at the time?”
Yes, I was a soldier, but no true Christian; I was simply a sham, like a bad sovereign, with the Queen’s head on the outside, whilst the metal was brass. I had read the dear old Bible as my first book at school — I carried it at home and on active service in the Crimea, and through the Indian Mutiny — but did that make me a Christian? When I enlisted I put myself down as a Presbyterian Christian, yet I had not one spark of divine life in my soul. Oh that I could see that Mussulman now! — yes, even now — I would hold out my hand to him, and say, “Come, dear Salar, and I will tell you now what real Christianity is.” But, no; he is gone, and never till the veil of eternity is raised shall I see the man who asked me, “What is Christianity?” without my being able to tell him. Poor godless, Christless, and hopeless hypocrite that I then was!
Dear reader, my state at that time is the condition of many thousands of professing Christians at this very moment, who are in as real spiritual darkness and death as I then was. As a professing Christian I had not the shadow of excuse if I had died in my sins. Tell me, dear reader, are you now as I was then — a counterfeit Christian — or have you faith in Jesus, God’s dear Son, who laid down His own spotless life in redeeming love, so that men, whether Jew or Gentile, black or white, professor or heathen, might have eternal salvation through faith in Him A man may become a soldier, sailor, statesman, or clergyman; indeed, a man may become anything under the sun if he has the necessary qualifications, but to become a Christian is absolutely beyond the power of man; it needs the power of God.
If you have not been “born again” by the Spirit of God do not be content to sail under false colors, which may do very well with men; but oh! dear reader, when you have done with man you will have to do in grace or in judgment with the living God — the God of all grace, “who so loved the world” — of sinners black and white— “ that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:1616For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16).) J. D.