Part 11

Not always can the missionary accompany his native evangelist in their jungle tours. It may be that other forms of mission-work compel him to remain at headquarters. It may be that his health has become so affected by the climate that he can no longer endure the unavoidable hardship and exposure. It may be that funds are wanting to cover the expense of further touring. Missionary experience has demonstrated the wisdom of adopting the Master's method, and he sends out his native helpers "two by two." One man alone confronting the forces of heathenism, may become disheartened. Poorly trained, he may find himself led into argument only to be worsted. He may get sick, and have no one to take care of him, or carry a message to his friends. But "two by two," one encourages the other. When preaching, one supplements the other. The one who follows warms to his work even more earnestly than the one who led off. What one does not think of the other one does. We have often marvelled at their faithfulness, knowing that nearly every attempt to preach Christ to the heathen is met by a rebuff from some one. They may have made repeated attempts without any sign of fruitage. Should they "shake off the dust" of their feet as a testimony against every village in which their message is not well received, they would soon cover the ground, and go out of business.

Often after a day of ox-cart riding, followed by preaching extending well into the evening, we have retired to our curtained corner in a native house, so weary that a bamboo floor seemed smooth and soft. Retired, but not to sleep,--for no sooner are we out of sight than the preaching begins again. Among the many who have heard the gospel, one, two, or half a dozen want to know more about this new teaching. They climb up into the house, and with the preachers form a circle around the smoking tin lamp. To ten, twelve, or one o'clock in the night the preaching goes on. We forget our weariness, for we know that the very best work of all is now being done. The preachers are face to face with the few who are willing or anxious to hear, unhindered by scoffers or fear of neighbours.

Native evangelists are not encouraged to attend heathen festivals by themselves, although these large gatherings furnish good opportunities for preaching and tract distribution. Their presence at a heathen festival might be misunderstood, besides furnishing an excuse to weaker Christians who might be attracted by the pomp and show. The one exception is the heathen funeral. As has already been pointed out, the funeral is also a festival, but animated to some extent by a different spirit. There are genuine mourners in the house, besides the wailers who make such ado by turns. There are truly sympathetic friends, besides the many who attend because it is customary, or to share in the feast. There is one solemn subject, death, that will not down, besides the idle chatter of the throng. Here is the place for the preacher. Now and then, it is true, he is summarily dismissed the moment he attempts to preach. But as a rule he finds many who are in a sober, thinking frame of mind, ready to listen to the Christian teacher's view of death and the Great Beyond. That the deceased will some time reappear, as man or animal, they believe, but not as the same individual.

The Christian doctrine of the immortality of the soul, is utterly foreign to all their thinking. They have no conception of a final state of bliss or misery. Nothing is final except Neikban,--annihilation,--and few there be who find it. In the Christian doctrine they see a ray of hope. Some from real interest, others from curiosity will listen to the message. Sometimes it happens that the deceased was the heathen wife of a Christian husband, or the heathen husband of a Christian wife, for they do not always separate where one is converted to Christianity. Such a case happened near our home. Ever since his baptism Ko Poo had led a terrible life with his heathen wife, who cherished the most intense hatred of everything Christian. After a lingering illness Ko Poo realized that his time had come. Far from dreading death he hailed it as bringing sweet release from an unhappy life. Before his death he made his will, bound his little ten year old boy to the mission, and secured the missionary's promise that in spite of all opposition, he should have Christian burial. His people were given their choice whether to have the remains taken to the Christian chapel or to have a Christian service in the house, in which his wife would still be living. They chose the latter course. But an unforeseen event occurred, complicating matters. The wife was taken suddenly ill, and died at half-past seven in the morning, two hours before the death of her husband.

Some said that her ill-timed demise was a final manifestation of her spirit of interference with all Christian doings. Be that as it may, it was now inevitable that there would also be a heathen funeral at the house, at the same time. Here was an occasion calling for diplomacy, but not for yielding. They knew the missionary too well to expect him and his native preachers to quit the field. According to native custom a body is kept from three to five days,--a dangerous custom, to say the least, in a tropical country, with no facilities for embalming. The remains of the wife might be kept longer if they so desired, but according to Christian custom the funeral of the husband must be held on the second day. "Oh, no, that would not be good. They had lived together so long, now let them be buried at the same time." So they yielded that point. Next, where should they be buried? The Christians had their cemetery, and the Buddhists had theirs. The missionary could plead his promise to the dying man that he should have Christian burial, a promise badly kept if the interment should be in the Buddhist cemetery. Of course they were not willing that the wife should be buried in the Christian cemetery,--so that point was peaceably gained. Then, how should the two coffins be conveyed to their last resting place? "As they had lived together so long, let the two coffins be carried side by side,"--but that would not do, for they were not bound for the same destination,--another point quietly gained. The next problem was, should the usual expensive spire-topped bier be constructed, on which to place the wife's coffin. The Christians were not providing anything of that kind, so the heathen friends were easily persuaded to forego their custom for once, and save the money, for the benefit of the orphaned children. When the time came for the Christians' service the missionary repaired to the house, whither the native preachers had already gone. In fact, one or more of them had remained there the entire time from the death of Ko Poo. At the appearance of the missionary and the Christian company the tom-toms ceased their din, and the room was made for all to enter. When a movement was made to bring from the upper part of the house the coffin containing the remains of the husband, one of the heathen relatives suggested that both coffins be brought down, at the same time, and be placed on the trestle side by side. When this had been done, the missionary made a sign to the native pastor that all was ready for the service to begin. Then the situation, of their own creating, dawned upon them. A Christian service was about to be held over the wife as well as the husband! A man jumped up in anger to protest, but was quietly though emphatically told to sit down and not disturb the service. Christian hymns were sung, appropriate scripture read, prayer offered, and brief but earnest talks made by three of the Christian workers, including the missionary. A crowd had gathered filling all available space in the large room, and open space out to the street. There was not the slightest disturbance or evidence of dissatisfaction throughout the service. Scores heard for the first time of Christ--"the Resurrection and the Life." Many others heard anew, under more impressive conditions. Then the procession formed, the Christian section in advance, and all moved slowly up the street, to the sound of the tom-toms in the rear. At the Buddhist cemetery, the heathen section swung off, the Christians going a short distance beyond to their cemetery. The husband's relatives followed with the Christians. After a brief service at the grave, all returned to their homes. So closed a unique experience, and a rare opportunity to proclaim Christ as Saviour.

Often the Christians have opportunity to minister to a mourning mother--"weeping for her children; and she would not be comforted, because they were not." In a twofold sense "they are not." According to Buddhist belief, for infants there is no hope. Little boys are hardly considered human beings until they have spent at least one day in a monastery. The status of little girls is still more uncertain. The mourning mother has not even David's comfort, "I shall go to him, but he will not return to me." She sorrows without hope. Her little one is dead, it was too young to have a soul, it is simply to be taken away into the jungle and buried. How her face brightens with hope, in spite of her belief, when we tell her that her little one is safe in heaven. She is ready to listen to the sweet story of Jesus blessing little children; and saying to His disciples, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me; and forbid them not; for to such belongeth the kingdom of heaven." Her mind may be so dark that she fails to take in its wealth of meaning, but it is a message of comfort, at least. Even some native Christians who had lost little ones before their own conversion, have carried with them the old heathen ideas concerning their lost ones until assured by the teacher that they will see their little ones again. This truth comes to them as a blessed revelation, giving joy and hope in place of sadness. Human nature is much the same, the world over; the same susceptibility to joy and sorrow. Christ in the heart makes all the difference.

A sad occasion, furnishing a grand opportunity, was the burial of a little child of mixed parentage. The father had returned to England, leaving his native concubine and two little children. The younger, only about nine months old, sickened and died. Heathen friends and relatives of the mother came to the mission with a request that the child be buried according to Christian custom. A large company gathered at the grave, all Buddhists except the missionary and the native pastor. The heathen friends were allowed to set a circle of lighted candles around the grave according to their custom. Then a short passage of scripture was read, containing the Saviour's words "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for to such belongeth the kingdom of heaven"; and "He took them in His arms and blessed them, laying His hands upon them." Men and women listened intently while the precious truth, so new and strange to them, was set forth that these little ones, far from being soulless creatures,--as Buddhism teaches,--are choicest material for the paradise of God. And that except a man become as a little child, in simple trust and purity of heart, he cannot enter the kingdom of God. Returning to their homes these people must pass the missionary's house. Twenty of them stopped to get tracts that they might learn more about the Glad Tidings.

Another method of preaching Christ is through "medical missions," or the incidental medical work, which every missionary must perform. As a philanthropic work medical missions would be justified from a purely medical or humanitarian point of view. The woman who had "suffered much from many physicians" was a victim of men probably much more advanced in the knowledge of medicine than the average Burman doctor. Both the diagnosis and the treatment are based on superstition.

The so-called doctor enters that profession because he has a taste for it and thinks he can do well (for himself) at it. He requires no training, and no drugs other than he can pick up in the jungle as he goes along,--herbs, barks, and roots of a peculiar smell, shells, stones, etc. carefully gathered at the right time of the moon. Some of the articles in his stock possess a real medicinal value, and now and then are put to their proper use, as is the case in country districts the world over. Any one of the ninety-six diseases which, according to the Burman notion, the flesh is heir to, may have come from one of about as many different causes. The sick man may have been bewitched, one of their many demons may be having a turn at him, or perhaps he has offended the great nagah, or dragon. If it is due to the balance of kan, fate being against him, the case is hopeless. That the sickness was caused by eating unripe fruit, drinking from a polluted well, or eating dried and putrid fish seldom occurs to the man of science who has come on to the scene to lessen the chances of recovery. Such is the fear of cholera that cathartics, in many cases the only remedy needed, are rarely given. Some of the Burmese, averse to taking medicine of any kind, prefer to call a dietist. No matter what the ailment may be, the patient's birthday determines the treatment. Every Burman knows the day of the week on which he was born, though he may not know the month or the year.

His own name would recall the day, should he forget it. Certain letters are assigned to each day of the week, according to the planet from which the day took its name. The person's name must begin with one of the several letters belonging to his birthday. Now in like manner all kinds of food beginning with one of those letters the patient must carefully _shaung_,--avoid. Rice would be tabooed on Saturday, but as no Burman can eat at all without rice, an exception is made, to save the doctor's popularity. Burying an effigy of the sick person is sometimes resorted to, in order to fool the demon who is hanging around the house. Thinking his victim has died, he will depart. Massage sometimes is very helpful. Half a dozen people in a village are noted for their knowledge of the muscles of the human body, and for special skill in the shampooing process, but nearly every man and woman attempts it now and then. This may be done with the hands, or by treading slowly back and forth on the prone body of the sufferer. Practiced with discrimination it has more value than all the nostrums of doctors or dietists. But unfortunately the Burmese practice it for everything, from a lame toe to confinement cases. A prominent Burman in Rangoon recently declared as his belief that Burma's immunity from the plague is due to the reverence of the people for the "three precious things" of Buddhism, "the Buddha, the law, and the priest." Against the occult power of Karma on the right side of the scale, accumulated by such faithful observance of the noble precept, the baccilli of the plague can make no headway. By the same reasoning the presence of the plague in India is attributed to the fact that Hinduism with its revolting customs and bloody sacrifices has supplanted Buddhism in that country.

Putting these two together he confidently asserts that the only effectual remedy for the plague in India is the restoration of Buddhism as the national religion.

Mortality among infants is very high. This is remarkable when one considers the faithfulness of the mother in attending to its wants, starting it on honey and water in place of its natural food; and afterwards supplementing its natural food by stuffing little wads of boiled rice into its mouth while it is yet but a few weeks old. Moreover, special precautions are taken against the departure of the little one's "butterfly-spirit." That which the Christian calls the soul, the Burman calls the sense of _knowing_, and is personified as the "butterfly-spirit." When the body dies the butterfly-spirit also dies. When a mother dies leaving an infant behind, immediate precautions must be taken to prevent the child's butterfly-spirit from going off with the mother's. Incantations are resorted to, and they distractedly appeal to the dead mother not to take away the butterfly-spirit of the babe.

Then a ceremony is performed with a tuft of fluffy cotton to imitate the return of the spirit to the body of the child, who is blinking in blissful unconsciousness of the awful crisis through which it is passing. During one's sleep the butterfly-spirit may go wandering about by itself, hence the peculiar experiences in dreams. The temporary absence of the butterfly-spirit does no harm, unless perchance it gets lost in the jungle, or badly frightened, it rushes back so tumultuous as to cause a shock to its owner. Another danger is that the person may be roused from sleep while the butterfly-spirit is off on a picnic, in which case he would at least be sick until the spirit returns. A sleeping man must not be disturbed, however imperative the summons.

I was once the victim of over solicitude on my behalf. Travelling to Rangoon by night-train, with a Burman as a companion I fell asleep. The Burman knew that I was very anxious to reach my destination on time.

He also knew that while I was asleep our train was delayed, and that an opportunity offered for a transfer to the mail-train which had the right-of-way. But that fellow, educated and Christian that he was, had not outgrown the feeling that a sleeper must not be roused, and so let the chance slip by. An important business engagement was missed, to say nothing of subsisting on one ear of boiled corn until twelve o'clock the next day. Much more might be said to show that there is a large field, and an urgent demand for medical missions. I am fully persuaded that, given a medical missionary with an "evangelistic temperament," which means a "passion for souls," no other missionary agency can be compared with medical missions. Especially is this true of work among Burman and Shan Buddhists. The value of the work depends largely on the man himself.

If he cannot or does not win the people to himself he never will win them to Christ. The spiritual work will suffer in proportion as he allows himself to become absorbed in the purely medical or scientific side of his work, leaving the evangelistic work to the native helpers.

The doctor has rare opportunities for personal influence in his dispensary and in heathen homes. It is to be greatly regretted that at the present time there is not one medical missionary in the whole country assigned to Burman Buddhists, who comprise about four-fifths of the population. All of the Shan mission stations have medical missionaries, and the success of their work testifies to the soundness of the policy, though this policy was due primarily to the need of such protection for the missionary family in these frontier stations.

The medical missionary has a double hold on the people. The dispensary brings them to him, and his outside practice takes him to their homes, and that by invitation. In both respects he has an advantage over the clerical missionary. Moreover, as medical treatment is the ostensible object in their case, anti-Christian opposition is not prematurely excited. Frequent visits of the clerical missionary to a heathen home, brands that home as leaning towards Christianity. The one, by relieving suffering, removes prejudice, although he may at the same time proclaim Christ as faithfully as the other who, by making that his sole errand, unavoidably excites prejudice. If as the result of a man's ministrations the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, and fevers are banished, he is forgiven for being a Christian, and others are forgiven for consorting with him.

All governments and religions recognize the fact that to elevate a people the beginning must be made with the children. It is too late now to "begin with the child's grandfather." Missionaries do not confound education with evangelization, but they do recognize its great value in the evangelizing process. Ideally, evangelization should come first, and education afterwards to meet the consequent demand. This is usually the method followed, to the extent of the evangelizing force available. The missionary to Burmans is shut up to a choice between losing the children of Christian parents to the government, Roman Catholic and S. P. G. schools; and establishing an anglo-vernacular school of his own, in connecting with the Education Department of government. It has come to pass that every school for the Burmese in the towns, _must_ have government registration, and must teach English. Every boy, whether from a Christian or heathen home, is bound to have the certificates which only registered schools can give, and is bound to have an English education. If the missionary does not provide the opportunity the male children of his Christian community will go where they can get it. The Education Department holds annual promotion-examinations. Certificates are given to all who complete the course. These certificates are the condition of securing employment in government clerkships, mercantile houses, and in all schools connected with the Education Department. The boy who picks up his education in a vernacular school, or a non-registered school, however proficient he may become, stands no chance in the race. So much for the point of view from the native side. It is also a generally recognized fact that non-Christian races never will be evangelized by the missionary alone. The great work of the missionary is to train up a native evangelizing agency through which he can multiply himself, perpetuate himself, and establish a self-sustaining work, that will go on when he shall have been compelled to lay it down.

Time was when a middle-aged convert from a jungle village, with no education beyond the ability to stumble through a chapter in his Bible could do fairly effective service. Such men are still helpful outside of the towns, if helped by the missionary to a better understanding of their message. Evangelists of such limited training are far from ideal, even for jungle tours. In the towns their influence is very slight.

How shall a stronger force be provided? Only through the mission schools,--there is no other way. It may be said that the missionary is not called upon to educate clerks for government. It is also true that he is not called upon, by his Master, to decide beforehand what boys in his mission shall be educated for the ministry. Much of a boy's training must be given before he himself is sufficiently mature to comprehend a divine "call" to the ministry. If no place is given for such a call, the native ministry will be filled with men who would do better service in the rice-fields. Rice would be their main object in the ministry. Moreover, the preliminary training cannot even be deferred until the boy is converted. The vocation of the preacher is not hereditary, like that of the various castes in India. The son of a dacoit may be converted during his school life, and become a preacher. The son of a preacher may become a dacoit, or at least never feel called to the Christian ministry. The mission school cannot even be limited to children of Christian families. Opening the doors to all classes willing to pay for the advantages of the school greatly reduces its cost to the mission.