Thirty years in Madagascar

by Thomas T. Matthews

The schools occupied much of my time and attention. I was convinced that in no other way could I better serve the objects of the mission in Madagascar. The foundation for something higher than the three R’s was laid. The minds of the children were stored with the knowledge of Him ‘Whom to know is life eternal.’ Some warm-hearted friends of missions seemed to suspect that we gave too much time and attention to our schools, and not enough to what they called ‘the preaching of the Gospel.’ They forgot that preaching is not the only means by which a knowledge of the Gospel may be imparted. Real ‘evangelistic work’ may be done to greater advantage in the village school than on the village green. The value which we assign to teaching is the result of experience. The means we had were not the best, but they were all that we had, and we made the best of them.

I did not like school work; I had had no special training for it. I preferred preaching and Bible-class work; but it was not a case of choice but of necessity. The schools had to be founded, worked, and kept at their best; they were the hope of the country and of Christianity in it. Of the adults, who had grown up in ignorance, superstition, and sin, I confess I had not all the hope I would have liked to have had of their becoming ‘new creatures in Christ Jesus’; but of the children I had every hope. In them we had an approach to virgin soil on which to sow the ‘good seed of the Kingdom.’ As has been said, ‘Men must be formed to the practice of the elementary virtues of Christianity before it is possible for them to recognize the beauty of holiness, and the nobleness and eternal obligation of righteousness.’

In point of returns for labour, we obtained the speediest and most satisfactory from the schools. At least one-half of our congregations were heathen, or semi-heathen; and while we were glad to get them within sound of the Gospel, we knew that many of them attended church only from fear of the queen—a mistaken fear. The ‘fear of God’ had little to do with it. The sight that used to gladden my heart most, when I preached at my own station, was the 200 children sitting there in front of me. They answered the questions put to them with a fervour and eagerness which did one’s heart good. They led the singing. Their voices made the church ring with the songs of salvation. They were the most attentive listeners to the sermon, and their eyes sparkled with an intelligence of which their poor parents knew nothing, and never would know: they were too old to learn, even if they wished to, which many of them did not. From the schools of the first missionaries came some of the foremost of the martyrs, and the best and most devoted pastors in the country. The truth learned by those men in the schools of former times sank into their hearts, and in due season brought forth fruit, before and conspicuously during the ‘killing times.’ Our schools were not merely secular institutions, they were essentially religious.

Our Quarterly Meeting became a source of strength to the churches. When the ritualists tried to gain a footing in the district, it was only the vigorous measures adopted by the Quarterly Meeting that saved one of the best of our churches from being ruined. The pastor who had invited them was an ignorant man, who had caused more trouble than all the other pastors of the district; but he was the petty chief of that village. He had been appointed to be the chief pastor of the church before we settled at Fìhàonana. Being the chief of the village, many of the members were afraid to take action against him. They appealed to the Quarterly Meeting for help. The case was taken up very warmly; Razàka and other two of the chief pastors were appointed to visit the church on the following Sabbath, suspend the pastor from office and membership, and appoint the second pastor in his place.

On the following Tuesday, when the would-be ‘successors of the Apostles’ arrived to do what the Apostle Paul carefully avoided, ‘lest he should build upon another man’s foundation,’ they found that their quondam friend, who had promised to hand over the church and congregation to them, was no longer a member of that church, and therefore had no power to carry out his promise. Knowing the man as I did, and how such things were managed, I strongly suspect that he felt certain in his own mind, even if he had no positive promise, that his services would be handsomely recognized. Happily the whole affair was frustrated by the prompt action of the Quarterly Meeting.

Our girls’ school at Fìhàonana gave us no small trouble for a time; the parents kept taking away their daughters of tender age to marry them, and prevent their attendance at school. Had this been done by heathen and semi-heathen parents only, we should not have been so surprised; but it was also done by parents of whom we expected better things, and I had to censure them severely for their conduct. My wife did her best for the schools, though she was hindered by scarcity of material for the sewing-classes, and the state of her own health. She was laid low several times with fever, and had to play the part of nurse to her household in their troubles. These seasons of sickness and anxiety, in addition to my daily burden of anxiety about all the churches, were often trying. Our people were kind at such seasons. They were grateful for all we had been able to do for them in their own seasons of trial. Indeed, the longer we were with them, the more we loved them, and, I believe, the more we were beloved by them.

About this time our good Christian queen set all the Mozambique slaves free. In her proclamation she said:—‘Now, the kingdom having been given by God to me, I declare that I will put a stop to these evils; for I am a sovereign tsy tìa vèzovèzo (who dislikes disturbance, or quarrelsomeness). Therefore I decree, that I set free all Mozambiques in my kingdom to be ambàniàndro (subjects), whether those newly introduced or those who have been here for a long time.

‘And if there are any who will not obey this edict, but still hold the Mozambiques as slaves, I shall count such as criminals, and the penalty of the laws shall be enforced upon them.

‘And I also decree, that whoever has traded in Mozambiques can no longer make any legal claim in respect of such transactions. And if this decree of mine is perverted by any one to deceive the wise or incite the simple, and so cause disturbance in my kingdom, then, whoever he may be, I will hold him guilty, and condemn him to death; for I am a sovereign that will not deceive.’

We all had a most merciful and marvellous preservation on the evening of Sabbath, December 2, when our house was struck by lightning, during the most terrific thunderstorm that had been known or heard of by the oldest inhabitant. It had been intensely hot and oppressive during the previous fortnight, but especially so that Sabbath. It seemed that such heat must soon lead to something. Towards sunset the clouds gathered, the sky grew dark—sure signs of the approaching storm. As we sat at tea, I heard the first mutterings of the thunder in the north-west and remarked: ‘There’s relief coming at last.’ After dark, as the storm drew nearer, the roll of the thunder became louder, and the flashing of the lightning more awful. As the hours of the evening passed, the storm seemed to be gathering strength for a final outburst. We heard the roaring of the wind increase, until it had the force of a tornado. The rain fell in torrents, and vivid and yet more vivid flashes of lightning were followed by louder and louder rolls of thunder. It led one to think of Him Who is ‘a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest.’