Seedtime in Kashmir: A Memoir of William Jackson Elmslie

by William Jackson Elmslie

[1] Mr. Elmslie was not able to purchase such books as the above; he hired them from a bookseller at so much per week.

CHAPTER III.
MEDICAL STUDENT LIFE IN ABERDEEN.

After his return from Florence Mr. Elmslie's thoughts were directed to the ministry; and having passed the required preliminary examinations, and gained a bursary by competition, he entered the Free Church Divinity College in November 1858. During the session his attention was drawn to the mission field, and as he searched his Bible, for instruction and direction, an element in missionary service so obtruded itself on his notice that it could neither be overlooked nor thrust aside. It became clear to his mind that when the Divine Spirit gave marked prominence, in the New Testament, to the combination of healing with preaching in the planting of Christianity, it was intended to instruct and guide those who, in after ages, might devote themselves to the extension of the kingdom of Christ. He accepted the lesson, and resolved to acquire the power of healing. Instead of attempting to follow the subjective changes through which Mr. Elmslie passed, as his thoughts gradually turned from a pastorate at home, to service as a medical missionary abroad, it may be more instructive to indicate, in a few brief sentences, how the subject of medical missions–the combination of healing with preaching–is presented in the Word of God. The more he studied the infallible missionary guide; and the more he contemplated the perfect Model Missionary–for He hath left us an ensample that we should walk in His steps–the more he became enamoured with the delightful form of service to which he now consecrated his life. But let us, for a moment, turn to the Scriptures. When the disciples of the Baptist approached the Saviour with the inquiry, "Art thou He that should come, or do we look for another? Jesus answered and said unto them, Go and show John again those things which ye do hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up and the poor have the gospel preached unto them" (Matt. xi. 3-5). He healed the sick and preached the gospel and pointed the inquirers to that combination as proof conclusive that He was the Sent of God. The combination was not fortuitous or incidental; it was foretold; and it was a striking way of delivering part of the message He brought us from the Father,–that He came "to bear our sicknesses" and to be "the Saviour of the body." This mode of procedure was wondrously fitted to secure a friendly consideration to his claims among the ignorant, the indifferent, or the hostile; and was full of wisdom and tenderness. It is well to note that this is not a solitary instance of the combination of healing and preaching, got up to settle doubts in the minds of John's disciples. In the life of Jesus it is "use and wont," and their attention is directed to it as a sample of what He is doing every day, and occasionally to such an extent that there is not time "so much as to eat bread," and His relatives think "He is beside Himself." It is not necessary to multiply quotations. One must suffice. "And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people. And His fame went throughout all Syria; and they brought unto Him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatic, and those that had the palsy; and He healed them" (Matt. iv. 23, 24.).

This combination of healing with the preaching of the gospel is not only largely exhibited in the ministry of Jesus, but was enjoined by Him upon the Apostles who practised it in the home and foreign mission field, during their Master's lifetime and after His ascension to glory. Their commission is particularly clear on this point,–"As ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of God is at hand. Heal the sick; ... freely ye have received, freely give" (Matt. x. 7, 8). "He sent them (the twelve disciples) to preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick" (Luke ix. 2). Very similar are the instructions given by the Lord to the seventy home missionaries whom He sent, two and two, into every city whither He Himself would come. "Heal the sick that are therein, and say unto them, The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you."

The case of Paul is very instructive. Most of his life, after his conversion, was spent in pioneering mission work, in which the "healing" element was likely to be of much use, and we find he was endowed with that power in a remarkable degree. In Ephesus, an important heathen centre, where opposition was strong and his difficulties many and great, it is said, "God wrought special miracles by the hands of Paul; so that from his body were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs or aprons, and the diseases departed from them, and the evil spirits went out of them" (Acts xix. 11, 12). An apron or handkerchief having touched the Apostle's body is carried to a sufferer and suffices to effect a cure. This indicates a marvellous latitude for the exercise of the healing power, and yet it is evident there were limitations to it. This great Apostle, who was not a whit behind the chiefest of the apostles, was not able to cure Timothy, though much depended on his enjoying vigorous health. We infer this inability from the fact that Paul left him in his infirmity, and fell back on the very humble "Recipe"–"Take a little wine for thy stomach's sake." Why not heal him right off? Why not send a "handkerchief" to him? Again, we read, "Trophimus have I left at Miletum, sick." Very strange, if there be no restrictions imposed on this power to heal! Why cure Sergius Paulus, a heathen, and leave his Christian friend lying ill? More striking still; Epaphroditus was sick, nigh unto death, and Paul's heart was breaking lest he should die, and he should have sorrow upon sorrow. Why not try the efficacy of the handkerchief here? Paul assuredly would have cured him if he could. There were not many such labourers as Epaphroditus, and so he could ill be spared from active duty; and Paul's affection made sure that everything possible would be done for him, yet the sickness presses on; "nigh unto death" and the apostle's sorrow deepens. These restrictions tend to show that the exercise of the healing power was much limited within the domain of the Church. On the other hand it seemed to enjoy unlimited scope in its approaches to an outlying heathenism. The combination of healing with preaching was plainly intended to be a pioneering agency. "Into whatsoever city ye enter, heal the sick."

The significance of these lessons, as pointing out the path of duty to us, is not weakened by the fact that all the "healing" was performed by supernatural power; for, in those early days, the same power that enabled the missionary to heal enabled him to speak in "an unknown tongue." But the withdrawal of the miraculous from this latter element of missions does not free us from the obligation "to go into all the world," and, by the use of our natural faculties, acquire the ability to speak in foreign tongues. So in regard of the power to heal–it must be now gained by diligent study. The Scriptures thus seem to show very plainly that the best way of reaching the heathen, and, consequently, that the most effective form of mission agency is to combine healing with the preaching of the gospel. Most certainly this was the practice of Christ and the apostles; and it must surely be unwise to disregard the plain teaching of that practice regarding the best means of spreading the gospel. Mr. Elmslie, as we have said, bowed to the Scripture teaching, and resolved to acquire the power of healing–to become a medical missionary. The cause at that time was little known and little esteemed; but he was fully persuaded in his own mind; and this clear conviction helped to uphold him during the storm that burst upon him when he made known his intention to study medicine. To face four years of study, with winter and summer courses, besides the heavy expense of a medical education, seemed madness to his friends, and they vehemently opposed him in his resolution; but hitherto the Lord had helped him, and to be a workman thoroughly furnished for the Master's service appeared to him worth any amount of effort and self-denial. Accordingly he braced himself up to his work. Again he taught in the Academy, received private pupils, stitched the 'uppers' of boots and shoes, and pored over his books. Sixteen hours of work daily was the rule in those busy years. Study was rather a relaxation than anything else. Long-continued custom had begotten a love for it, and obstacles seemed to add a certain zest to his pursuit of knowledge. But during this preparation period there were seasons when the cares of poverty pressed heavily; and faith, hope, and patience required to be in fullest exercise.

At one time, when sorely bestead, he made a journey on foot all the way to Inverness, where a brother of his mother's lived in comfortable circumstances. His purpose was to lay his case before him, and to ask temporary aid, to be restored with interest when God should give him power to win money for himself. He was kindly welcomed, and invited to spend some weeks in the family, but no inquiry was made as to his circumstances, nor was any assistance offered. He could not muster fortitude to break to his uncle the subject of his necessities; and so he returned to Aberdeen with an empty purse and a "full" heart, to work harder, if possible, and to pray more earnestly. Remembering the hopes and the bitter disappointment of that journey, he used to say that a rich man could hardly give greater comfort, or do more good than by extending a helping hand to "a struggling student, really in earnest in his work, and with his Master's service as his dearest aim." These words are in capitals, to express Mr. Elmslie's strong views as to the kind of students to whom help would be a benefit. They must be "struggling" students, who, above all things, love the Master and His work. He came to know that some who had no love for Jesus might take up the profession of religion, to be helped into the profession of medicine. They did not "struggle," and had not the remotest intention to struggle, but were mean enough to accept the fruits of self-sacrifice on the part of others, that they might live in comfort and self-indulgence. He held very strongly that no student with a trace of manliness in him, would accept such help from others, save in real necessity, and then only as an accommodation.

It is necessary to advert to the difficulties with which Mr. Elmslie had to contend, but very pleasing it is to note how cheerily he grappled with them. Writing to his friend, Mr. Ritchie, from Ballater–whither he had gone for rest–in 1859, at a time when dark clouds in abundance clustered around his horizon, he says: "I am living here very much like a hermit. But, for all that, I feel very happy, except now and then when a cloud comes over the horizon of my mind. I then feel a temporary sadness, which, however, soon passes, as when a cloud crosses the disc of the sun. O for another such laugh as we had the first day we were here, it would do us good. It's a delicious thing, a good hearty laugh. You will be thinking I am getting mighty wise, having so much time and inclination for reading. Far from it. It takes a great deal of reading to make one wise. One retains so little of what he reads, that it is a long, long time before the grains of gold gathered assume any considerable bulk." Writing to the same friend a few days later, he says: "I was extremely glad yesterday to see you before me in 'black upon white.'"

"I knew you had been doing business by the address on the envelope–it was so smart and commercial like, as much as to say, Get out of the way, you poor student, you can't transact business like me; what do you think, I am a man with an income of a hundred–a hundred and twenty pounds! every farthing–that's something worth writing. No more two guineas an hour. No more rushing from house to house, like one begging his bread from door to door, in a cold night in December. No, no; nothing so beggarly; I am a little gentleman now, and shall be able to spend my winter evenings within doors as far as is agreeable to my taste. I say I almost saw all that, and a great deal more, depicted on that commercial envelope of yours. And when I opened, I found my most sanguine expectations fully realised; you being the proud master of £120 a year, with twenty-two urchins to drill scholastically. Your bread's baken, Andrew, I said, for the next year, at least. Now I think you acted wisely in accepting the offer, although you should hold the situation only for a year. And I will tell you why. Your responsibility is increased, and that not to such an extent as to crush you under its weight. It's of great consequence, I consider it, to have one's responsibility thus gradually increased. It fits one for a farther increase, when he has successfully carried his previous burden. Why is it that some men, and especially ministers, so completely fail in sustaining the weight of responsibility that is suddenly laid upon their shoulders? Just because their shoulders are strangers to the weight, and the weight is too much for them at first. I suppose you see what I am driving at."