Chapter XII OUR SUPPORTERS
One of the brightest things in the missionary's happy lot is the beautiful relation existing between those on the field and those whom they represent in the homeland. Many years ago we were calling, one evening, upon our landlord in Tripoli. The eldest son had recently returned from America, and in the course of conversation the father asked from what part of the United States we came, in order to see whether his son had been in the same vicinity. The son at once replied: "I know the name of the place, but I do not know in what state it is. They come from Private Funds." We could not think at first what he meant, but then discovered that he had found a missionary report among some old magazines thrown out from the house. In this he had seen our names in a list of missionaries, giving the name of the society by which each was supported. Seeing "Private Funds" opposite our names, he thought it must be the name of the town from which we came, though, as he said, he did not know in what state it was located. A little knowledge is truly a dangerous thing.
The relation indicated by those words, which has subsisted for twenty-five years, has been most happy. When I was a senior in the seminary and had already made my application to the Foreign Board, I received a letter from Mr. George D. Dayton of Minnesota. He was the son of an elder in my father's old church in Geneva, only a few years older than I, but already a prosperous business man whose generosity in the Lord's work was becoming well known. He urged upon me the need and opportunity in the home mission field of the growing northwest. I answered him, explaining as fully as I could, the reasons that had led me to decide that my life should be devoted to another field, realizing that my answer would be a disappointment to him and might cause some weakening of the ties of friendship already strong between us.
The next that I heard of the subject was that Mr. Dayton had written to the Foreign Board, assuming our support as the personal representatives of his family in the foreign field. Thus, instead of weakening our friendship, my choice was the beginning of a closer and warmer relation than ever. It has always been recognized as a family matter, and I shall never forget the comfort and strength that came to us in one of the early years through a letter from Mr. Dayton. It was written on Sunday afternoon, and contained words to this effect: "To-day was the time appointed for the annual offering for foreign missions in our church. Before going to church I gathered the family together and talked to the children about you as our representatives in Syria. Then we united in prayer at the family altar for God's blessing on you. At church I placed in the collection my check for the amount I have pledged to the Board for your support." Through letters and visits in the home when on furlough, this delightful relation has grown more and more precious as the years have passed, and it has been a pleasure to acknowledge that we come from Private Funds, which, we are sure, is situated in the State of Felicity, in the United States of Brotherly Love.
It has been said that a missionary furlough is an excellent thing if it is not needed too urgently. We have had two most thoroughly enjoyable furloughs in the homeland, during our missionary life. Each visit to America has tended to refresh and invigorate us most admirably for a new period of service and we have added many to the circle of friends who encourage us in our work and keep vigorous the connecting link with the workers at home. The periods of our absence from America have had a curious coincidence with the change in methods of locomotion in America. When we first came to Syria in 1888, the horse car was still supreme in American cities. Experimental lines of electric trolleys were being tried in certain places, but I had never seen an electric car. When we returned to America in 1897, we found the trolley in all the cities, and I remember being disturbed, the first Sunday in Philadelphia, by a strange whirring sound during the morning service. I could think of no explanation except the weird creaking of the great water wheels in Hamath, but there were no such waterworks in Philadelphia. I soon became familiar with the hum of the trolley.
During that first furlough, there was much written in the magazines about automobiles, and people were wondering whether the auto would really be practicable, but I did not see a machine. Our first sight of an auto was in Cairo, in Egypt. We reached America on our second furlough in 1908, and the first day on shore gave us our first ride in an auto, which we found rapidly taking a recognized place in American everyday life. Again the magazines had much to say about the aëroplane, but we did not see one while in America. My first sight of a human flyer was at Allahabad, in India. It looks now as if a ride in an aëroplane might not be a strange experience in our third furlough.
The meeting of earnest Christian workers all over the land, in conventions and missionary meetings, is a real refreshment physically and spiritually. So long as the missionary's health is good, he finds it a joy to speak for the cause and mingle with the workers at home. I traveled a good many miles to meet appointments on each furlough. I spoke on many platforms, and the cordial welcome extended and the close attention paid to the message were an ample reward for whatever there was of fatigue in the service. Many times I felt humiliated by what seemed to me the extreme and unmerited deference paid to us, simply because we were foreign missionaries. So far as Syria is concerned, the missionary of to-day asks for no sympathy on the score of physical privations. We are in close touch with European and American civilization. We can obtain whatever is necessary for physical wellbeing and comfort. The climate is not excessively enervating and we can have good homes. There are many things that are trying in the life of a missionary, but no more so than in the lives of many workers in the homeland.
The isolation from friends and relatives is often one of the most trying features of missionary life. When sickness or death enter the family circle far away, it is not easy to think of the miles of restless ocean that lie between us and them. The whole unchristian, unsympathetic atmosphere makes life hard at times, but the compensations are so many that it makes one ashamed to be held up as a model of self-sacrifice. The missionary feels, as the earnest worker at home feels, and as Paul felt years ago, when he said, "The love of Christ constraineth us."
The first home-going was peculiarly happy, for in neither of the two family circles had there been any break. The only changes had come by marriage and birth. The circles were expanding, and there was no place vacated during the period of our absence. The second going was very different in this respect. Many who had been vigorous were feeble. Many who had bidden us a bright farewell were not present to welcome us on our return. Children had become men and women. There were wrinkles on the faces and gray hair on the heads of those whom we had expected to find still as young as we were. But, somehow, it began to dawn on us that we ourselves were no longer counted among the young folks in the church.
The general recollection of those two furloughs is one of bright smiles and cheery welcomes, helpful handclasps and a joyous fellowship.