“Very few Indians can sing, but some of the half-castes do fairly well. Several hymns have already been translated into Quechua.”
Christ’s command to “heal the sick,” as well as to “teach” and “preach the Gospel,” is being faithfully carried out as far as possible by the missionaries to these benighted people. The healing of the body opens the door to the healing of the soul.
A Spanish doctor will not touch an Indian; and for this great work of healing, the power of God is needed.
There are very many villages in this hermit republic without a missionary of any kind whatever. Come with me, and see for yourselves. Here on a mud bed in a corner sits a poor woman amidst her rags. A wound which she has had a long, long time has reduced her to a skeleton. Beside her is a sickly-looking baby. Between her sobs she tells us she has neither a home nor a husband.
The tiny room, which serves as a living-room, bedroom, and cobbler’s shop, is full from floor to ceiling. The floor is covered with cooking-pots, ten altogether, “stones for grinding corn into meal, great earthenware pots for making chicha (the native drink), old boots, piles of potatoes and maize, bones, rags, and dirt—plenty of dirt. From under the bed run guinea-pigs, whilst keeping the woman company in bed are a dog and a pigeon!
“Amidst old tins and bottles on the shelves we see San Antonio and the Virgin. On the wall hangs a picture of what looks something like a woman, the Virgin. A rope full of clothes stretches across the room, and a few other odds and ends leave but little space, which is filled up with smell.”
This is what the missionary has to contend with, and as we emerge into the sunshine, and breathe God’s air once more, we long to see a large, airy building where the sick ones can be tended and nursed back to health. Shall we not begin to pray: “Lord send out some of Thy messengers, and some day, if it is Thy will, I will go and help them.”
Coming, coming, yes they are,
Coming, coming from afar;
From beyond the Andine mountains,