GET UP AND OUT THERE some stories of Missions copyright Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON, 2016
Wesley's Horse
The little creature knew the roads. From town to town his Friend Would seek a fitting gathering space To focus on life’s end. No burden he, and speaking much To Someone Fatherly Then speaking to assembled crowds Pressed close that they might see. And some would laugh with rude disdain And some would nod assent And some would cry out for relief As Friend would urge “Repent”. The creature tethered to one side Heard thoughts rehearsed in mid-day’s ride But now with pressing tears. And folk came forward to the man Imploring more of Jesus’ Plan. Been like that now for years. A horse would think a paddock green A suiting place for rest But paths of love, with Friend above
Had suited this horse best.
Edwards to Brainerd
In 1747, he (Johnathan Edwards) joined the movement started in Scotland called the “concert in prayer,” and in the same year published An Humble Attempt to Promote Explicit Agreement and Visible Union of God’s People in Extraordinary Prayer for the Revival of Religion and the Advancement of Christ’s Kingdom on Earth. In 1749, he published a memoir of David Brainerd who had lived with his family for several months and had died at Northampton in 1747. Brainerd had been constantly attended by Edwards’s daughter Jerusha, to whom he was rumored to have been engaged to be married, though there is no surviving evidence of this. In the course of elaborating his theories of conversion, Edwards used Brainerd and his ministry as a
case study, making extensive notes of his conversions and confessions. (Taken from a Wikipedia article)‌
My Dear David: I write this letter to crystallize my thoughts on what it has meant to be acquainted with you. Of course our dear Jerusha ministers to your every need bedside, as best she can. She has great affection for you, and this is a rare treasure, my Son in the faith. Lord allow the day when you will have regained your vigour and faculties; that perhaps a deeper attachment might be explored. But in these days you drift in and out, and conversation is sparse. This letter speaks my heart for disclosure at the appropriate moment. You have told us, and your Journals particularize, the adventures in the wild with your native brothers and sisters. So often without a place to set your head, as was the case with our Lord. Riding through heat or rain. Living on bannock, fiddleheads, wild berries and tubers. Talking, preaching, joking, dreaming with your faithful horse. Occasionally with Moses when a circuit has been pre-planned for his interpretation to the Indians. I would like to meet that man; learn of his former life; hear of the urgings of conviction; learn what testimony of yours hit the mark, or just as likely some extraordinary supernatural move to the inner man. David, I do not mean to puff you up. I know of the hazards in that. But friend, your intense hunger to go to the remote, to bear with
constraints and the elements, to battle with superstition and child-like stubbornness; to give the Good Gospel Report and little else, has moved me in indescribable ways, first with shame and then with challenge. You have struggled with melancholy and you have allowed your mission and prayers to be the balm. I intend with your permission to extend your notes to a much wider circle. Pastors and mature Christians will be thrilled with scenes of the raw wilderness and of the unsophisticated response of your friends of the forest. I think of James’ words about the prayer of faith for the sick, and I assure you Brother that this family pours out many on your behalf. Until you recover and we happily discuss these measures at greater length, I remain Your faithful servant and friend in Christ, Johnathan.
(Note: This letter is a piece of historical fiction surrounding the care of missionary David Brainerd at Northampton shortly before his death on October 9, 1747 from consumption and asthma in his thirtieth year
To the Islands
John Williams was dispatched by the London Missionary Society to French Polynesia in the Pacific (@1827). Eventually he died at the hands of cannibals. He relates one incident where he came across a farmer peasant, named Buteve, who through trauma had lost both his legs. Garden farming was a tedious matter of crawling around with the aid of some rudimentary assist. When assemblies were called by Williams, Buteve could only make it as far as the pathway by his lot, where he would inquire of passers-by as to a song, a scripture or any short message shared.
Williams heard of this simple, devoted man and paid him a visit in which he asked of the nature of his faith exercises:
Answer: “Oh yes, I very frequently pray as I weed my ground and plant my food, but always three times a day, besides praying with my family every morning and evening.” Question: “What do you say when you pray?” Answer: “I say, Oh Lord, I am a great sinner; May Jesus take my sins away by His good blood; Give me the righteousness of Jesus to adorn me, and give me the good spirit of Jesus to instruct me and make my heart good, to make me a man of Jesus, and take me to Heaven when I die.” (John Williams, The Martyr Missionary of Polynesia, by James J. Ellis, 1889, S.W. Partridge and Company)
The gardener got it! Simply by prayer, song, bits of scripture, meditation and dialogue. How much other “stuff” seems to occupy our pulpits these days. How many commentaries, testimonies and DVD’s keep us from the purity of this man’s experience of Christ?
The Good White Doctor
The old missionary continued the trek, ravages of malaria notwithstanding. His stretcher bearers manifested almost a woman's touch when the spells came on. There were numerous villages yet to be visited. His reputation these days had always preceded him. Coming into a clearing he would be gladdened by the happy faces, the singing children and the studious though somewhat guarded faces of the elders. Medicines would be distributed. In measured hours he would get himself upright and dress open wounds; relieve toothaches; set and splint fractures; consult the women on the progress of their pregnancies. A modest supper, usually from his own caravan's supply, with tea and biscuits served generously around, would always settle the Good Doctor for the evening's event. Word had traveled to each community that he carried with him a magical "light box which told stories up against a white sheet". This of course was a rudimentary projector equipped with transparencies to assist in the presentation of a Gospel message. All the basics were addressed: the miraculous birth, the sinless youth, the baptism and wilderness testing, the happy ministrations of mercy and absolution at the Lake side, the growing opposition of hypocrisy, the vacillation of His followers, the anguish of resolve in the garden, the hill-top death, the empty tomb, the joyful new community thrilled with the reality of resurrection.
For the Doctor, David Livingstone, the focus had to be the Grand Old Story. Of course he would minister to the people's needs and graciously endeavour to make each one feel included. But in the Dark Continent, with death just around the corner in a thousand different ways, souls were the thing...and Jesus the only gift for such soul hunger. On the last morning, the servants found the Good Doctor, kneeling bed-side in the posture of prayer. Arrangements were made to bury his heart right there in the land which he loved and served. The corpse was carried to the coast over a matter of weeks. His remains were identified by the scars of the large wound on the shoulder inflicted years earlier by lion attack. Visitors now find Livingstone's remains commemorated in a focal place in Westminster Abbey. It was said that for two generations following, in the East African territory, it was only necessary to mention the Good White Doctor. Everyone knew Livingstone was meant by the term.
Fragile Flower in India
I knew of the name of Amy Carmichael from having read a number of her inspirational poems. I did not know of her solid Ulster Christian upbringing. Her repeated attempts to enter missionary work compromised by fragile health. Her ultimate settling in the Tinnevelly District of southern India. Her establishment of the orphanage and school known as the Dohnavur Institute. Her adoption, almost entirely, of Indian culture. Her rich sense of family, though remaining unmarried. The rescue of many very young local girls from the practice of Hindu temple prostitution and servitude. The thorough and seemingly strict program of lessons, chores and religious exercise. The frequency of disease and untimely death for the children. The number of rescues proving the diligence of their attending "angels" (fevers, delirium, choking accidents, cobras, returning influences of the old dark life). The falling accident which through complications rendered Amy bed-ridden for the final twenty years of her life. The change in assignment from meals, maintenance, lessons and admissions to writing, counselling and communing. For all of this information and many more stirring words from Amy (1867-1951) I am indebted to Elizabeth R. Skoglund and her book Amma: The Life and Words of Amy Carmichael, 1994 Baker Book House Company. What profound questions were asked by the rescued children, girls and boys! Where do the dead go? Is it a place
of comfort or confusion? What is love? Is it only that which was offered to me by Hindu masters? Does the God Christ have power to change my angry ways? Where are all the flowers, music, parades and excitement in your religion? Such were the challenges faced by Amma and her dedicated staff, many of whom were orphans at Dohnavur in the first instance. The author Skoglund makes very clear the understanding which motivated Amy in rendering comfort, "to come alongside and strengthen". There was to be no coddling or leniency, no unconfessed sin, no missed Hour of Prayer. But there were occasions of fun involving music, crafts, readings, outings in nature, swimming and the celebration of each child's Coming Day (the day of admission, birthdays often remaining unknown). Of comfort, Amy made the following comparison: "Who can tell how the parakeelia plant of Central Australia can resist wind, frost, heat, and in a tract of country where there is no surface water, remain green after three years' drought; so green, so full of life-giving water that horses and cattle feeding upon it need no water. We have a wonderful God, the God of all comfort, who comforteth us in all our tribulations, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. He can turn the least of us into a parakeelia-or better, far better, for a parable cannot show everything, He can comfort us so that we know how to discover to others the parakeelia's secret Spring." It is noteworthy that in preparing for her life of toil, hardship, care-giving, stamina and ultimate submission, Amy Carmichael drew heavily from the thoughts of Samuel Rutherford, Hudson Taylor, Geraldine Taylor, Charles Spurgeon, F. B. Meyer, H.C.G. Moule and Andrew Murray. Closing now with one of her poems: Thou art my Lord Who slept upon the pillow, Thou art my Lord Who calmed the furious sea; What matter beating wind and tossing billow If only we are in the boat with Thee. Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill; Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it? Can the heart faint that resteth in Thy will? (Edges of His Ways, London, S.P.C.K. 1955) I think yet one more would be appropriate: Not that He doth explain The mystery that baffleth; but a sense Husheth the quiet heart, that far, far hence Lieth a field set thick with golden grain,
Wetted in seedling days by many a rain. The End, it will explain.
Preparation of Goforth
(Taken from a short biography in www.wholesomewords.org) Jonathan Goforth, the seventh of eleven children, was born February 10, 1859 on his father's farm near London, Ontario, Canada. His devout mother influenced him to pray and to love, read and memorize the Scriptures. Something of the hardships endured by the family is indicated by the fact that the father once went to Hamilton for food and walked through the bush all the way back, a distance of seventy miles, with a sack of flour on his back. By diligent effort Jonathan managed to keep up with his class in school, although he was under the handicap of being obliged to work on the farm each year from April to October. When he was fifteen years of age his father put him in charge of their second farm, which was twenty miles from the home farm. "Work hard," said his father. "At harvest I'll return and inspect." In later years Goforth stirred many an audience as he told of his arduous labors that summer, of his father's return in the fall and of how his heart thrilled when his father, after inspecting the fields of beautiful waving grain, turned to him and smiled. "That smile," he would say, "was all the reward I wanted. I knew my father was pleased. So will it be, dear Christians, if we are faithful to the trust our Heavenly Father has given us. His smile of approval will be our blessed reward." At the age of eighteen, while Jonathan was finishing his high school work, he came under the influence of Rev. Lachlan Cameron, a true minister of Christ. He went one Sunday to Rev. Cameron's church and heard a sermon from God's Word that cut deeply and exactly suited his need. The Holy Spirit used the Word to bring him under conviction and that day he yielded to the tender constraints of Christ. "Henceforth," said he, "my life belongs to Him who gave His life for me." Under this impulse he became an active, growing Christian, He sent for a supply of tracts and startled the staid Presbyterian elders by standing, Sunday after Sunday, at the church door giving each person a tract. Soon thereafter he began a Sunday evening service in an old school house about a mile from his home. He instituted the practice of family worship and besought the Lord for the salvation of his father. Several months later his father took a public stand for Christ. About this time his faith was subjected to a severe testing. His teacher was a blatant follower of the infidel Tom Paine, and his classmates, influenced by the teacher, made his life miserable by their jeers and mockery. The foundations seemed to be giving way and in a mood of desperation Jonathan turned to God's Word. In consequence of an earnest, day-and-night search of the
Word, his faith was firmly established and all his classmates, also his teacher, were brought back from infidelity. The next great influence in Jonathan's life came through a book and then a collection of books. A saintly old Scotchman, Mr. Bennett, one day handed him a well-worn copy of the Memoirs of Robert Murray M'Cheyne, saying, "Read this, my boy; it will do you good." It did! Stretched out on the dry leaves in the woods, he was soon so absorbed in the book he did not notice the passing of the hours. When the lengthening shadows of sunset aroused him, he arose a new man. The story of M'Cheyne's spiritual struggles, sacrifices and victories stirred him to the depths and was used of God's Spirit to turn his life from selfish ambitions to the holy calling of being a seeker of souls. In view of his intention to enter Knox College to prepare for the ministry, Rev. Cameron arranged to give him lessons in Latin and Greek and loaned him a number of books by Bunyan, Baxter, Boston and Spurgeon, which he "devoured" with rich blessing. But his main book was the Bible. He arose two hours earlier each morning in order to have unhurried time for the study of the Word before going to work or to school. Young Goforth was now spiritually ready for God to deal with him again. One epochal day he went to hear an address by the heroic missionary pioneer, George L. Mackay of Formosa. Full of the Holy Spirit, like Peter and Paul and Stephen of old, Dr. Mackay pressed home the needs and claims of the heathen world, especially of Formosa. He told how he had been going far and wide in Canada seeking missionary reinforcements but so far he had not found even one young man willing to respond. Simply but powerfully he continued, "I am going back alone. It will not be long before my bones will be lying on some Formosan hillside. To me the heartbreak is that no young man has heard the call to come and carry on the work that I have begun." Note: I was provoked this morning by a joyful old pentecostal preacher to consider the life of Canadian missionary Johnathan Goforth. The preacher spoke of revival and his continuing hopes for a significant move of God locally in the near future. He stated that the missions success of Goforth was birthed in profound, honest repentance and public confession first in the Christian communities of Korea and then in China. He urged his local congregation, which we were visiting, to the same cleansing, focusing process. Imagine, a missionary named Goforth! Imagine the Lord's successes through him echoing here in Grand River Valley. (Picture of Johnathan and Rosalind Goforth)
M'Cheyne's Mission of Inquiry
Writing to his parishioners in Dundee while convalescing and considering a health-restoring and soul-gathering mission to the Holy Land, M'Cheyne remarks... "I rejoice exceedingly in the interest you take in me, not so much for my own sake as that I hope it is a sign you know and love the Lord Jesus. Unless God had himself shut up the door of return to my people, and opened this new door to me, I never could have consented to go. I am not at all unwilling to spend and be spent in God's service, though I have often found that the more abundantly I love you, the less I am loved. But God has very plainly shown me that I may perform a deeply important work for his ancient people, and at the same time be in the best way of seeking a return of health."—"A minister will make a poor
saviour in the day of wrath. It is not knowing a minister, or loving one, or hearing one, or having a name to live, that will save. You need to have your hand on the head of the Lamb for yourselves, Lev. 1:4. You need to have your eye on the brazen serpent for yourselves, John 3:14, 15. I fear I will need to be a swift witness against many of my people in the day of the Lord, that they looked to me, and not to Christ, when I preached to them. I always feared that some of you loved to hear the word, who do not love to do it. I always feared there were many of you who loved the Sabbath meetings, and the class, and the Thursday evenings, who yet were not careful to walk with God, to be meek, chaste, holy, loving, harmless, Christ-like, God-like. Now, God wants you to think that the only end of a gospel ministry is that you may be holy. Believe me, God himself could not make you happy except you be holy." At this crisis in his people's history, he sought from the Lord one to supply his place,—one who would feed the flock and gather in wanderers during their own pastor's absence. The Lord granted him his desire by sending Mr. William C. Burns, son of the minister of Kilsyth. In a letter to him, dated March 12, the following remarkable words occur: "You are given in answer to prayer; and these gifts are, I believe, always without exception blessed. I hope you may be a thousand times more blessed among them than ever I was. Perhaps there are many souls that would never have been saved under my ministry, who may be touched under yours; and God has taken this method of bringing you into my place. His name is Wonderful." This done, and being already disengaged from his flock, he set out for London to make arrangements for the rest of the deputation, who soon after were all sent forth by the brethren with many prayers. None had more prayers offered in their behalf than he, and they were not offered in vain. During all his journeyings the Lord strengthened him, and saved him out of all distresses. It was a singular event,—often still it looks like a dream,—that four ministers should be so suddenly called away from their quiet labors in the towns and villages of Scotland, and be found in a few weeks traversing the land of Israel, with their Bibles in their hand, eye-witnesses of prophecy fulfilled, and spies of the nakedness of Israel's worship and leanness of soul. (Taken from Memoir of the Life of Reverend Robert Murray M'Cheyne by A. A. Bonar)
Note: I have remembered with wonder the story of the “pinch-hitter” who got the Grand Slam. Ill health had caused M’Cheyne to consider a mission with minister friends to the Holy Land. It was hoped that the change and the heat, fresh air and exercise would all be remedial. Unfortunately at one point he was again laid low with illness. Days of fever in a desert tent with no energy to get up and with only the ability to remain prone and to pray for the souls and well-being of his parishioners in Dundee, under the care of the young Burnes. Meanwhile at home revival came in its own way and upon its own terms.
Swallowed Up of Life
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For we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being burdened: not for that we
would be unclothed, but clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed up of life. (2 Corinthians 5: 4)
Paul is at a critical point in his ministry. Detractors are saying that he is without credentials. He is saying that love disciples brought into the Gospel fold are all the evidence he needs. He is weary; chapters 6 and 11 will show us just how weary; but he is not without hope.
If the persecution or the physical demands are leading unto death, then he is fearless. For to die is to be with Christ, and that is all gain. He reassures that the promotion through death is glorious and into a greater sphere, not into a lesser. He does realize that there is still much work to be done. He commissions his correspondents at Corinth as “ambassadors of reconciliation”, for the message must resonate in widening circles “that God was in Christ Jesus reconciling the world unto Himself”.
We are part of that brotherhood and task force. Neither do we have any certificates on the wall, but no matter, the universal priesthood of believers is about to enter into a greater dimension.
Passing the Food
Some time ago I had a delightful talk with a seasoned brother in Christ; one who has been pastor, church planter, denominational head and missionary. His current thrust is in missions and it will not be long before he arrives again in Africa. He was excited about the message in a very recent book by Larry Stockstill entitled The Surge (2012).
He looks at the major responsibility of the Church in terms of reproduction, the bringing of light into darkness.
He reminded me of the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. Mark’s Gospel describes how He had His disciples sit the people down in orderly groups of fifty or so. Then they distributed from the loaves and fishes to the first row of each plot; then the second, and so on. In this fashion it was assured that all were fed and that no one received too much or too little. Compare this to a group continuing to mill around, where it would be easy for the gluttons to come forward several times or for the shy ones to hold back.
My friend’s suggestion was that today in North America the front row keeps getting fed. With the next bit of ‘work for the Lord’ being that same front row. But the second row of each plot is the Ukraine, and the third is the Amazon and the fourth is the Soloman Islands, and so on. We don’t see past our own!
How much unlike the ministry of Paul the Apostle is this agenda. He would spend some time with a fellowship; deposit the good seed of the Gospel account and righteous living, and then move on to the untouched. He would trust the powerful work of the Spirit to protect against error, strife or imbalance in those left behind. We have eaten…and eaten well. Time to push away from the table and deliver meals. If we stay, then the lethargy and the ennui will soon bring on the strange
and dangerous foods of excess, distraction and indulgence. Sadly, they have already come.
His Holiness Not too long ago the world got a new Pope. The white smoke went up the chimney and the news cameras started whirring. What sort of a fellow is this one from Argentina? What will infallibility look like on him? Does he have any of Peter’s pluck; or the submissive, patient demeanour of the transformed Big Fisherman who wrote the two epistles? The Roman Catholic Body holds its breath for the early signs. Very quickly he will be into his Easter homily (March 31st) and CNN will follow.
But has Jesus allowed any kind of hiatus in His program?
It is Thursday morning and Betty has taken a cab to the Home to visit her longtime neighbor Dorothy. Stroke victim. Speechless. Left side sagging. Betty has not seen a smile since about two month’s prior when an unusual item in the news caught Dorothy’s fancy. And she would be bringing news today at top levels, neighbourhood and familial levels. Perhaps some classical music on the CD player. A psalm or two read, or continuing in Luke’s Gospel (the one filled with women). Occasionally Betty would give a synopsis on Sunday morning’s sermon. Dorothy would give her uninterrupted eye contact. Occasionally a swab of the drooling face.
There would be lots of hugging and smiles. This didn’t always prove easy for Betty, but she persevered. Prayer before the visit would often help. And she would remember how Dorothy had been her mainstay for months in 2004 when Harold had dropped dead from an aneurism. This is the Church Triumphant, the Church Militant, the Church Obedient, the Church Expectant – no matter whom the Swiss Guard happens to be attending across the Blue. The Spirit of Christ is in charge! Maranatha!
The Great Adventure
There are stories Vast and thrilling Of the ones Who went abroad And who braved The strange and savage For yet more Children of God. And who shared The soothing ointments And the Hope Of Kindness come Of the Saviour At the lakeside Storied scenes Of Heaven's Home. But do I
Partake the mission Of the worried Neighbour wife? Of the work-mate Tired and lonely? Having not Eternal Life? Seeds are planted In my story And they must produce a yield Much awaits A simple tending In this nearby Gospel field.
Out in Golden Fields
I am here with You And the sky is big And my lungs delight In the country air. And as far as sight Will allow my grasp I see fields of gold Stretching everywhere. I don’t want to stop There is much ahead And I feel your warmth Falling on my back.
And my sprint picks up With a lighter step That I might defeat Unbelief’s attack. What a thrill to run In my Saviour’s wake Trusting still He waits At horizon’s crest. And I trim my style For His honour’s sake Midst a bumper crop Glowing with His best. John 4: 35 Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.