III. THE FOREIGN MISSIONARY
The peculiarity of a certain kind of palm, known as the Great Rattan is its wandering or traveling characteristic. The stems of this very peculiar variety are of prodigious length extending for hundreds of feet; it is stated from twelve hundred to eighteen hundred feet, clinging by hooks attached to their leaves to the trunks and boughs of neighboring trees, or trailing on the ground. They are extremely hard externally and usually smooth.
Here we have a beautiful illustration of the missionary spirit. We are living in a day when many of God's dear palm tree saints are flourishing like this Great Rattan. They have the missionary spirit. They have those spiritual hooks attached to their experience which enable them to cling to others with a tenacity which is not human. They are endowed with a spiritual sturdiness which in truth enables them to "endure hardness as good soldiers." They cross mountains, deserts and oceans, and live among the heathen to win them to Christ. What we need in these days of self-ease and luxury is more of this Great Rattan movement. We need more pilgrims to foreign lands. If we are not called ourselves with this peculiar characteristic, then let us help those who are thus called. We can help them with our money and with our prayers.
We all have a call to the foreign field in one sense: "Go ye into all the world." If God has let you off in person, then see to it that you have a part anyway in evangelizing the world. If I can not go, I can send. If I can not reach them by word of mouth, I can by way of the throne. If I can not preach and teach in the foreign land, I can pray and pay in the homeland. Amen!
With the thought of the missionary and also of the living sacrifice before us, we have the perfect combination of the two in the self-sacrificing experience of some of the early pioneers in the foreign lands. We, in the home lands, can scarcely realize the toils and hardships and dangers that some of these heroes of the cross waded through. We think of the dauntless Livingstone, who penetrated Africa's jungles in order to plant the gospel in that benighted region. Lost to home and the world for years, no wonder people considered him worth looking up, and sending a Stanley in search for him. But he was doing a work which would open up nations to hear the Word of life. Though he had to bury his loved one on the bank of the Zambesi, yet "with undaunted courage, he set his face toward new paths." How the natives loved this man—this living sacrifice. He was the means in God's hands of bringing them light for darkness, comfort for sorrow, life for death. He was the foe of the slave stealers, and delivered the poor helpless mortals from their grasp. He toiled on in solitude, and gave his very life to make a way to this dark and heathen world. Finally, far from the shore, and thousands of miles from home, he took sick. He was a man of prayer, and one morning when the native men looked into his abode, they found only the body of this devoted follower of the Lamb; he was dead on his knees. Those dusky, devoted souls determined to do the best they could in memory of their apostle, and knowing that his great, loving heart was centered in Africa, they took out his heart and buried it beneath a tree. They then let the hot sun dry the body and those loyal hands carried the remains many, many miles to the seashore, where, what was left of the faithful missionary was shipped to England. And now, with the heart of David Livingstone in the middle of Africa, his body in Westminster Abbey, his soul in heaven, we have an example of the grace of God in helping a man to give up his life for a lost world.
Let us take a glance at Henry Martyn. Leaving England as a young man in feeble health, for six years he worked against fearful odds in India. There in that disease-ladened land and in Persia he pursued his arduous task of learning three languages utterly adverse, such as Hindustani, Arabic, and Persian. In these three languages he translated the entire New Testament in six years. This is one of the most astonishing of intellectual feats on record. Besides these translations he made others and when we remember that he was burning up with consumptive's fever, and yet kept right on till, in order to perfect his translation in Persian, he made a trip to that country, and crossing burning, sand deserts with his own body literally burning up with fever, he was surely a living sacrifice. His passionate love for the Savior and the souls of lost men, made him suffer on in weakness and sickness, until the short candle of his life consuming at both ends finally flickered out in that faraway foreign land between Persia and the western shore, and where a lone headstone marked the spot where one of God's sainted heroes lay down and died. How small it makes me feel as I write these lines!
Another example is that of David Brainerd, the apostle to the Indians before the colonies became independent. This young man, who died in his thirtieth year in the home of Jonathan Edwards, was one of those early pioneers of gospel work among the wild and pagan Indians. He was another living sacrifice, very feeble in body, dying by inches with consumption, yet toiled on without murmuring, and praying till his body would be bathed in perspiration, he battled almost against hope till finally God gave him marvelous success among those benighted savages. A few lines from the journal of this marvelous man of prayer may stir up more of a spirit of prayer and self-sacrifice in the reader:
"June 14, 1742.
"I set apart this day for secret fasting and prayer, to entreat God to direct and bless me with regard to the great work which I have in view, of preaching the gospel—and that the Lord would return to me and show me the light of His countenance. Had little life and power in the forenoon. Near the middle of the afternoon, God enabled me to wrestle ardently in intercession for my friends. But just at night the Lord visited me marvelously in prayer. I think my soul never was in such an agony before. I felt no restraint; for the treasures of divine grace were opened to me. I wrestled for absent friends, for the ingathering of souls, for multitudes of poor souls, and for many that I thought were the children of God, personally, in many distant places. I was in such an agony from sun half an hour high, till near dark, that I was all over wet with sweat; but yet it seemed to me that I had wasted the day and done nothing. Oh, my dear Savior did sweat blood for poor souls! I longed for more compassion towards them. Felt still in a sweet frame, under a sense of divine love and grace, and went to bed in such a frame, with my heart set on God.
"April 30, 1743.
"The presence of God is what I want. I live in the most lonely, melancholy desert, about eighteen miles from Albany; for it was not thought best that I should go to Delaware river. I board with a poor Scotchman. His wife can talk scarce any English. My diet consists mostly of hasty pudding, boiled corn, and bread baked in the ashes, and sometimes a little meat and butter. My lodging is a little heap of straw, laid upon some boards a little way from the ground; for it is a log room, without any floor, that I lodge in. My work is exceedingly hard and difficult. I travel on foot a mile and a half, the worst of ways, almost daily, and back again; for I live so far from my Indians. I have not seen an English person in this month. These, and many other circumstances, equally uncomfortable, attend me. The Lord grant that I may learn to 'endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.'
"August 15, 1743.
"Spent most of the day in labor to procure something to keep my horse on in the winter. Enjoyed not much sweetness in the morning; was very weak in body through the day, and thought that this frail body would soon drop into the dust, and had some very realizing apprehensions of a speedy entrance into another world. In this weak state of body, I was not a little distressed for want of suitable food. I had no bread, nor could I get any. I am forced to go or send ten or fifteen miles for all the bread I eat; and sometimes it is moldy and sour before I eat it, if I get any considerable quantity. And then again I have none for some days together, for want of an opportunity to send for it, and can not find my horse in the woods to go myself; and this was my case today. But through divine goodness I had some Indian meal, of which I made little cakes, and fried them. Yet I felt contented with my circumstances, and sweetly resigned to God. In prayer I enjoyed great freedom, and blessed God as much for my present circumstances, as if I had been a king; and thought that I found a disposition to be contented in any circumstances. Blessed be God!
"January 23, 1744.
"I think I never felt more resigned to God, nor so dead to the world, in every respect, as now. Am dead to all desire of reputation and greatness, either in life or after death. All I long for is to be holy, humble, and crucified to the world.
"March 2, 1744.
"Was most of the day employed in writing on a divine subject. Was frequent in prayer and enjoyed some small degree of assistance. But in the evening God was pleased to grant me divine sweetness in prayer especially in the duty of intercession. I think I never felt so much kindness and love to those who, I have reason to think, are my enemies—though at that time I found such a disposition to think the best of all, that I scarce knew how to think that any such thing as enmity and hatred lodged in any soul. It seemed that all the world must needs be friends. I never prayed with more freedom and delight for myself, or dearest friend, than I did now for my enemies.
"March 3, 1744.
"In the morning, spent (I believe) an hour in prayer, with great intenseness and freedom, and with the most soft and tender affection toward mankind. I longed that those who, I have reason to think, bear me ill will, might be eternally happy. It seemed refreshing to think of meeting them in heaven, how much soever they had injured me on earth. I had no disposition to insist upon any confession from them, in order to reconciliation and the exercise of love and kindness to them. Oh, it is an emblem of heaven itself, to love all the world with a love of kindness, forgiveness, and benevolence; to feel our souls sedate, mild and meek, to be void of all evil surmisings and suspicions, and scarce able to think evil of any man upon any occasion; to find our hearts simple, open, and free, to those that look upon me with a different eye! Prayer was so sweet an exercise to me, that I knew not how to cease, lest I should lose the spirit of prayer. Felt no disposition to eat or drink, for the sake of the pleasure of it, but only to support my body, and fit me for divine service. Could not be content without a very particular mention of a great number of dear friends at the throne of grace; as also the particular circumstances of many, so far as they were known.
"July 24, 1744.
"Rode about seventeen miles westward, over a hideous mountain, to a number of Indians. Got together near thirty of them; preached to them in the evening and lodged among them. Was weak, and felt in some degree disconsolate; yet could have no freedom in the thought of any other circumstances or other business in life. All my desire was the conversion of the heathen; and all hope was in God. God does not suffer me to please or comfort myself with hopes of seeing friends, returning to dear acquaintances, and enjoying worldly comforts.
"November 22, 1744.
"Came on my way from Rockciticus to the Delaware. Was very much disordered with a cold and pain in my head. About six at night, I lost my way in the wilderness, and wandered over rocks and mountains, down hideous steeps, through swamps, and most dreadful and dangerous places, and, the night being dark, so that few stars could be seen, I was greatly exposed. I was much pinched with cold, and distressed with an extreme pain in my head, attended with sickness at my stomach; so that every step I took was distressing to me. I had little hope for several hours together, but that I must lie out in the woods all night, in this distressed case. But about nine o'clock, I found a house, through the abundant goodness of God, and was kindly entertained. Thus I have frequently been exposed, and sometimes lain out the whole night; but God has hitherto preserved me, and blessed be His name. Such fatigues and hardships as these serve to wean me from the earth; and, I trust, will make heaven the sweeter. Formerly, when I was thus exposed to cold and rain, I was ready to please myself with the thoughts of enjoying a comfortable house, a warm fire, and other outward comforts; but now these have less place in my heart, (through the grace of God), and my eye is more to God for comfort. In this world I expect tribulation; and it does not now, as formerly, appear strange to me. I do not in such seasons of difficulty flatter myself that it will be better hereafter; but rather think how much worse it might be; how much greater trials others of God's children have endured, and how much greater are yet, perhaps, reserved for me.
"October 5, 1746.
"After sermon, baptized two persons. Administered the Lord's Supper to the Indians, besides divers dear Christians of the white people. It seemed to be a season of divine power and grace; and numbers seemed to rejoice in God. Oh, the sweet union and harmony then appearing among the religious people! My soul was refreshed, and my religious friends of the white people, with me. After the sacrament, could scarcely get home, though it was not more than twenty rods; but was supported and led by my friends, and laid on my bed; where I lay in pain till some time in the evening; and then was able to sit up and discourse with friends. Oh, how was this day spent in prayers and praises among my dear people! One might hear them, all the morning before public worship, and in the evening, till near midnight, praying and singing praises to God, in one or other of their houses. My soul was refreshed, though my body was weak."
Just before his death he wrote a letter to his brother Israel, who was then in college. A part of this letter we give as follows:
"It is on the verge of eternity I now address you. I am heartily sorry that I have so little strength to write what I long so much to communicate to you. But, let me tell you, my brother, eternity is another thing than we ordinarily take it to be when in a healthful state. Oh, how fixed and unalterable! Oh, of what infinite importance it is, that we be prepared for eternity! I have been just a dying, now for more than a week; and all around me have thought me so. I have had clear views of eternity, have seen the blessedness of the godly, in some measure, and have longed to share their happy state, as well as been comfortably satisfied, that through grace I shall do so; but oh, what anguish is raised in my mind, to think of eternity for those who are Christless, for those who are mistaken, and who bring their false hopes to the grave with them! The sight was so dreadful, I could by no means bear it. My thoughts recoiled, and I said, under a more affecting sense than ever before, 'Who can dwell with everlasting burnings!' Oh, methought, could I now see my friends, that I may warn them to see it, that they lay their foundation for eternity sure. * * * If you have reason to think you are graceless, O give yourself and the throne of grace no rest, till God arise and save! But if the case should be otherwise, bless God for His grace, and press after holiness.
"My soul longs, that you should be fitted for, and in due time go into the work of the ministry. I can not bear to think of your going into any other business in life. Do not be discouraged, because you see your elder brothers in the ministry die early, one after another. I declare, now I am dying, I would not have spent my life otherwise for the whole world.
"Oh, my dear brother, flee fleshly lusts, and the enchanting amusements as well as the corrupt doctrines of the present day, and strive to live to God. Take this as the last line from your affectionate and dying brother."
About a year and six months before this faithful, self-sacrificing servant of God passed to his reward, he wrote in his diary something which most beautifully sets forth the thought we are trying to bring out in the illustration of the living sacrifice life of the missionary.
Under date of May 22, 1746, he wrote:
"If ever my soul presented itself to God for His service, without any reserve of any kind, it did so now. The language of my thoughts and disposition now was, 'Here I am, Lord, send me. Send me to the ends of the earth. Send me to the rough, savage pagans of the wilderness. Send me from all that is called comfort in earth, or earthly comfort. Send me even to death itself, if it be but in Thy service, and to promote Thy kingdom.' At the same time I had as quick and lively a sense of the value of worldly comforts as I ever had; but only saw them infinitely overmatched by the worth of Christ's kingdom, and the propagation of His blessed gospel. A quiet settlement, a certain place of abode, the tender friendships of life, appeared as valuable to me, considered absolutely and in themselves, as ever before; but considered comparatively, they appeared nothing. Compared with the value and preciousness of an enlargement of Christ's kingdom, they vanished as stars before a rising sun. Sure I am that though the comfortable accommodations of life appeared valuable and clear to me, yet I did surrender and resign myself, soul and body, to the service of God, and to the promotion of Christ's kingdom, though it should be in the loss of them all. I could not do any other, because I could not will or choose any other. I was constrained, and yet chose, to say, 'Farewell, friends and earthly comforts, the dearest of them all, the very dearest, if the Lord calls for it. Adieu, adieu; I will spend my life to my latest moments, in the caves and dens of the earth, if the kingdom of Christ may thereby be advanced.'
"I felt extraordinary freedom at this time in pouring out my soul to God for His cause, especially that His kingdom might be extended among the Indians, far remote; and I had a great and strong hope that God would do it. I continued wrestling with God in prayer for my dear little flock here, and more especially for the Indians elsewhere, as well as for dear friends in one place and another until it was bedtime, and I feared I should hinder the family. But oh, with what reluctancy did I feel myself obliged to consume time in sleep! I longed to be a flame of fire, continually glowing in the divine service, and building up Christ's kingdom, to my latest, my dying moment."
And God granted him his desire to his dying moment. David Brainerd was truly a living sacrifice as a missionary to the pagan Indians, and won many of them to Christ, where he is rejoicing with them in glory today.