Then, again, it was most difficult to get at the real state of the candidates for church fellowship, even when the missionary could examine them, as they simply acquiesced in all you said, and answered ‘yes’ to all your questions, even when the one ‘yes’ contradicted the other. Thousands accepted Christianity as they accepted the queen and the Malagasy government. Many at the burning of the idols said, ‘In the days of the old queen all who prayed to Jesus Christ were put to death; but now the queen herself, the prime minister, and the members of the government pray to Him, and if we don’t pray also perhaps we may be punished.’ So little did they know about Christianity and its teachings, and how could they have known? They simply took to ‘the praying’ and worshipping on the Sabbaths as to a new form of fànompòana, ‘government service.’ It is much to be thankful for that this ignorance and these unworthy motives were overruled for good. Thousands who, if they did not go to church to laugh, only went to do their fànompòana as they thought, became praying people indeed. Others got into the habit of attending church on the Sabbath, gradually became interested in the services, and ultimately got good. They met with the Lord of the services, and now they take rank among the most devoted and zealous of His servants.

I called on many of the squire-pastors and had long talks with them, and after thanking them for what they had done for their churches—and some of them had really done a great deal—I would say: ‘You are an old man now, and not able to attend the classes for the pastors, nor the “union meetings” at the capital, and might not get much good even if you did. We must also have a day-school here, the children gathered in, the people instructed, visited, and a new church built, and you are not equal to all that. Now don’t you think it would be best for you to retire from the active duties of the pastorate, and become honorary pastor, and that we should get a younger man elected in your place? You would have the honour, and he would have the work. Don’t you think that would be best?’ In some cases I got them to retire, but in others I could not get them to move. I had to accept the inevitable and make the best of it.

In one distant church of eighty members I only found four whose religious knowledge seemed to fit them for fellowship; and yet, up to their light, they appeared devout. One could do little except pity and pray for such, and go on instructing them. I found the ignorance very gross in some cases. For example, in answer to the question, ‘What must we do to be saved?’ I was told in one case that we must go to church, be baptized, and receive the Lord’s Supper; in another, that we could buy salvation in the market; and in a third, that we must sin in order to be saved! I mention this to give some idea of the darkness of the heathen mind, and the density of ignorance that has often to be overcome. This was what we found even in Vònizòngo when we began work there; but we had a very different state of things by the time we left.

CHAPTER VII
SHADOW AND SUNSHINE

‘Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, O Lord, in the light of Thy countenance.’—Psalm lxxxix. 15.

So much for the dark and sad side; now for a word about the sunny and cheerful side of the work. One Sabbath morning, while examining the members of the church of Ambòhitràzo, an old man came forward who, in answer to my questions, told me that he could not answer them according to the catechism; for he had not learned them, as he could not read. He was an old man, he said, and it was only within the last few years that he had begun to pay any attention to religion, or even to think of preparing for a future life. He said he had not much head knowledge about religion; but he had heart love for the Lord Jesus, and was trusting Him for salvation, and that I must not judge his heart by his head knowledge. He had returned only the night before from the war in the south of the island. He had gone to the war all alone, he said, and he had asked God that his ‘head might be covered in the day of battle’—that he might not fall, but be allowed to return to his native village; and, he added, ‘God has answered my prayer; for there was no battle, and I have been brought safely back to my native village and my own church.’

I need hardly say how much good it did one to meet with such a fine old man, amid much that was not very cheering. Although he could not answer the simple questions of the catechumen’s catechism, as they were therein arranged, he was far from being destitute of Bible knowledge or of the way of salvation. To all primitive and simple-minded peoples religion is always a most intensely real thing. As they advance we meet with traditional beliefs nominally accepted by all, but practically regarded by no one. Far too often what in one generation is a living faith becomes in later generations a mere dead formula, part of the religion learned by rote with which living faith has to do battle.

During one of my visits to the churches in the northern portion of the district, while examining the members of the church at Antsàmpandràno, a blind girl came forward. Of course as she could not read, she could not answer the questions of the catechism; but she had been well instructed in general Bible knowledge, and answered all the questions I put to her very well indeed. During the conversation she said she could not see Jesus Christ with the eyes of her body, but she could and did see Him with the eyes of her soul. She seemed to be a sort of ‘pillar’ in that small village church, as she was the leader of the singers, and kept them well in hand—a good thing, as we found in Madagascar. There, as here, ‘the sons and daughters of harmony were often the children of discord.’

She had been instructed in divine things by a relative, who was a godly woman, baptized and received into fellowship in 1832 by Andriamònana, a remarkable man from all I could learn about him—a sort of ‘apostle of the north.’ For he not only roused the people to think of eternal things, but kept the flame of faith burning in the souls of many hidden ones during the ‘killing times.’ The devoted man was hunted like a wild beast, had to hide here and there in the dens and caves of Vònizòngo, and change his name several times to escape detection by the queen’s spies. Caught at last, he was sent in chains to the east coast, where he died of fever.

On the Sabbath morning, while taking a turn through the village, I came upon the old church. On entering the blind girl came out, and I think I had disturbed her at private prayer. It was evidently still a place of prayer, where some were wont to gather.