Street-Preaching.
The Hindus will not come to the missionary; he must go to them. Caste keeps them out of our houses, and superstition makes them fear our churches. If we desire to preach the truth to the thousands who dwell in city, town, and village, we must go forth from house and church into the highways and byways of the land. In the streets of the city, and under the pepultree of the village, multitudes will give him a ready hearing. He may go almost anywhere, if he be courteous and discreet, and address the people on the way of salvation. He may take his stand at the street-corner, or in front of the village temple, in the rest-house, or before the school-house door, in a portico, or on a shop-step, and preach to those who will soon cluster around him.
Street-preaching in a great city like Madras is far from being a romantic work. In place of the simplicity and deference of a country population, they are noted for keenness, boldness, and vice. Spirituous liquors, now sold at almost every corner under the auspices of a Christian government, often add to the missionary's difficulties. From the arrack and toddy-shops come half or wholly drunken men, to interrupt his discourse with obscenity and abuse, so as sometimes entirely to break up his audience. Yet, even in Madras, the audiences are generally well-behaved and attentive. When it is remembered that the missionary comes as a foreigner, to tell them that their gods are no gods, and their religion a fable, that they must turn from the sinful ways of their fathers, and be saved by One in whom they do not believe, it will be no cause of wonder that the depravity of their hearts should at times rise in anger against the preacher, and lead them to acts of violence. Their violence rarely goes farther than the hurling of dirt and dust, more rarely of stones, at the bearer of these unwelcome truths.
Of late years, the organization of a regular anti-Christian society has increased the blasphemy of the Hindus in the Madras presidency. This society has published tracts filled with misrepresentation of the Scriptures and with low abuse of missionaries; it also hired men to go through the Tamil country, preaching and scattering books intended to arrest the progress of Christianity, and as they said, to make "the padrés soon retreat from the country.” As a specimen of the style of argument employed, we may give a paragraph or two from “The Dawn of True Wisdom,” written by their poet and editor, Kathirvelan:—“ Luther, in order to fill his stomach of a span long, gratify his lust, give vent to his indecent rage, and indulge in drunkenness of stinking liquor, fabricated a book, called it the Bible, and sent it abroad into the world. Through revenge it was that the vile sinner sent it abroad into the world. In order to cast a great number of people into hell, he gave them a new religion, and threw a stumbling-block in the way of wise men of many sects. It is a religion full of ten millions of devils, a religion which makes many people catch many more; a religion which destroys the inhabitants of the world. If, my friends, you fall into this religion of the Christians, who have already proved the ruin of their own families, you will surely have to roam about with a beggar's hand and cup. If you fix and detain the Triune and Eternal one, who is called Vishnu, Brahma, and Siva, in a post, a water-jar, or an image, and believe with all the affection of your heart that the idol itself is very God, you will obtain a clear perception of the heavenly Being. They who, with tumultuous noise, deride the idol, are a stupid race. Forsake these hellish padrés, (missionaries,) and follow the six sects. (of Hinduism.) Attack and drive from you the mouthings of these vagabonds. If the padrés come to seduce you to your entire ruin, regard them as so many crocodiles which seize and devour men, and keep aloof from them.”
At the instigation of the emissaries of this society, heathenism made an effort to rally its strength to resist the preaching of the gospel; but in a short time the enthusiasm of the friends of idolatry was exhausted; the society became insolvent, the poet a drunkard, and a Brahmin, who had been one of their hired opposers of the truth, came to me, asking for employment in a mission-school. He was willing to teach Christianity for three dollars a month; but failing in that, he for a while resumed his old trade, and preached against Christ over against the place in which one of our missionaries[1] daily preached the way of salvation by Christ.
The heart of the missionary will shrink at times from the thought of going forth into the street to meet such blasphemy, and from pressing upon these hardened idolaters a salvation at which they will scoff; but in this way only can he reach the present adult population. It is a duty from which he cannot draw back; and though he may go forth with shrinkings, he returns rejoicing that he has borne witness for Christ before the heathen, and made known to them the way of life.
At first, this is doubly trying; for the beginner knows that an imperfect knowledge of the language will lay him open to attack and ridicule, and may injure the cause he advocates. And yet the beginning must be made, or the work be left undone. Sallying forth at sunrise, tracts in hand, about the time of my first going out to meet the idolater and heathen on his own ground, I stopped at a street corner, and soon had an audience. My topic was heavenly bliss, and the way to attain it. I spoke of man's sinfulness, his consequent unfitness for heaven, and the worthlessness of good works as a means of atoning for sin. Attracted by the sight as they passed along the street, one and another added himself to the crowd, and all listened attentively. I tried to make Christ known to them as the Saviour who had provided a way by which voyagers sinking in the sea of sin might reach the heavenly shore. As I told them of his incarnation and his works, his atonement, and the hand outstretched to save the lost, an aged man in the crowd, who knew something of Christianity, took up my discourse and carried it on for me—“Yes! yes! the Lord, becoming man, suffered and died for us. He is now glorious in heaven; he can never die. He suffered for our sins; he atoned for all sins—they are all wiped out; he is the Saviour, we are saved, our sins are gone: I need not be anxious: you need not be anxious. What then do you come here and talk for?” Confessing that my imperfect Tamil did not do justice to the theme, I said that on so great, so vital a matter as that of salvation, I could not be silent; that as far as I was able, I must speak. Answering his question, I again spoke of the deliverance brought by Christ; it was to tell of this that I had come to them; that this was not my country, it was far distant; why then should I leave my native land and my father's house? “Yes, why did you leave your father's house?” broke in one of the company, in an insolent tone. "I will tell you," I replied.” “No! I can tell,” he again broke in. “Do you not get paid for it? Have you no wages? You came to get money, to have a house, and wife, and children! How old are you? Whence did you come, that you set yourself up to teach us? You do not know how to speak. You have a church; go there and preach!" Then brandishing his fingers insultingly and threateningly within an inch of my face—
“Get out of this street! What are you doing here! Go! go! Be off!"
Though this torrent of abuse, with the laughter of the crowd, was far from inviting, I waited, yet with a tingling face, until he became tired and went away. Then again briefly addressing the people, and distributing some tracts, I turned homeward. Every such encounter adds to the experience of the missionary, and prepares him for future labours. He learns to avoid offence and to anticipate objection, and also the best modes of meeting the arguments they advance. He learns to feel his own helplessness, and to go to God in prayer that his great name may be vindicated and glorified, and that hard hearts may be softened by the Spirit of grace.
The too common notion, that “Any one is good enough to preach to the heathen,” that any well-meaning pious man, especially if he be rough and driving, is qualified for the missionary work, is a most mistaken one. If there is a place where the preacher needs to be keen in intellect, ready in wit, apt in study, versatile in debate, it is India. Though not learned in the studies of the West, the Hindus are far from being the stupid creatures many imagine them to be. Though the labouring classes in the country are often dull, the people, as a body, and the higher orders especially, have minds of great subtilty and acuteness. When they engage with you in debate, they give you no reason to wish your mental powers less. On the contrary, the missionary needs all the wisdom and skill he possesses to avoid being entrapped and put to shame before the people. At times he is forced to lift up to God a silent prayer for an answer wherewith to silence the blasphemies of these Goliaths of Hindu idolatry.
The early morning and the afternoon toward sunset are the times given to out-door preaching; at other hours it would be unsafe to be exposed to the tropical sun of India. Going forth with your books, you can choose your ground, and take for your text any passing scene or familiar occurrence. You go to the bazaar and enter into conversation with a shopkeeper, turning it upon the interests of the soul when a little company has gathered around you; or, sitting down upon a verandah, you discourse upon your theme, which is in this land always a proper one; or, going out in a bandy, (carriage,) you draw up by the wayside, and calling a passing traveller to you, make him a nucleus around which your congregation will cluster.
It is a bright, balmy morning in January, and the air fans your cheek with a soft, refreshing coolness as you leave your compound. Women, with their robes thrown lightly about them are passing, bearing baskets of vegetables to the market; and men are going to their ablutions on the shore, or to their business. The funeral-pile, where last night a body was burned, now smoulders, and sends up a thin cloud of smoke, while a solitary female watches the spot where some brother or son is returning to ashes. Brahmins, elegant and dainty, pass with their brazen pots to the well, for they cannot use water drawn by any of lower caste; and the buffaloes saunter lazily along to the tank to bathe their ungainly slate-coloured forms. You reach a favourable spot, and take your stand on some slight elevation–a housestep, a plank, or a block of wood or stone. The passing throng stops to hear what the padré has to say. Some rude fellows try to make sport; but the respectable old gentleman with the big turban and white robe bids them be silent, or go about their business. The cooly, with a load on his head and the drops of perspiration standing on his brow, and the scholar with his books under his arm, the shop-keeper, the mechanic, and even a Brahmin or two, stop to listen to your discourse. Your theme is the folly of idolatry; you expose its absurdity and impiety, you deride the senseless block in the temple just before you, and ask them why immortal, soul-possessing men should bow down to a soulless, senseless, tongueless idol. The cooly grins; the carpenter nods approbation. “Why, indeed!" says the bazaar-man; “this is the iron age.” “It is our folly,” exclaims the scholar.
“But,” asks the stout, oily Brahmin at your right, “do you not believe that God is everywhere?”
“Certainly."
“ Then, if he is everywhere, is he not in the idol? and if he is in the idol, shall we not worship him as in the idol? It is not the idol, but God in the idol, that we worship.”
The poor cooly did not before know how philosophic a thing idolatry was, and nods his approbation; so do others. This logic, however, does not satisfy you. You remark that if, because God is everywhere, he is to be worshipped as in the idol, for the same reason they must worship every stone in the street, every tree in the tope, (grove,) every dog in the street, and even the polluted leather shoes to which they would not touch a finger. Moreover, if God be everywhere, and hence in the idol, why is it that you, my Lord Brahmin, must be called, after the image has been made, to bring the god into it with your Prana Prathishta?[2] Truly it is a waste of money to pay you for thus getting the god in, when he is already there."
The cooly and his fellows smile again at this cut at the Brahmin. He, however, is in no wise disconcerted. “Ah!" says he, “you are labouring under the mistaken idea that we worship the stone. Are we fools? Do we not know that stone is stone, and God is God? Idiots may worship blocks—we do not. But where is God? Will you show him to us? Who can see him? How, then, shall the unthinking mob, the untaught, grovelling mass, worship him whom they see not? The idea of an unseen, intangible God is too abstract for them; they cannot grasp it. Devotion will die unless we give the vulgar mind something actual on which to rest. Therefore we give them idols. The mind is concentrated on this, and thence ascends to God.”
“And how, pray, is the worshipper to get an idea of God by staring at such a thing as that?” you rejoin, pointing to Ganesha, with his gross body, and head black with oily libations. “Will you fill your eyes with dirt, that you may see the glorious sun? Has God, the creator of all worlds, the Eternal and Infinite One, an elephant's head and such a misshapen body as that? Who has ascended on high and studied his untold glories to paint his picture or carve his likeness? Hear a tale. In a city of the South lived a kummarlen, (artisan,) a man of wonderful skill in carving images; whether it were wood or silver, stone or brass, he cared not. The land was filled with the fame of his skill. One day a missionary sent for the image-maker. He came. Said the padré to the kummarlen, 'I have a job for you; I want you to grave me an image.' 'Let the gentleman give his order, and it shall be done,' said the kummarlen. 'Not now,' replied the padré; “I will call you when I am ready.' The next time the missionary met him, he asked, “Can you carve me the image of which I spoke?' Only let master tell what is to be carved, and it shall be done,' answered the man. But,' said the padré, 'it must be like the original; if it is, you shall be well paid; you shall have a hundred rupees, if you wish it.' “Never fear! cried the kummarlen; it shall be done.' Very good!' answered the missionary; 'just carve for me an image of my immortal soul, and bring it to me.' ‘Arda-appah!’ exclaimed the man, clapping his hand upon his mouth in astonishment—‘Arda-appah! your soul! how can I do that?’ and turning, he was soon out of sight.
“And now," you continue, “casting a searching glance around the attentive crowd, “if you cannot make a likeness of the soul of a poor pitiful worm, yesterday born, to-morrow gone, how, how will you make a likeness of the infinitely glorious, the eternally omnipotent Lord God, the Creator of all things, whom no man can see and live !"
“True! true! This is the iron age. But thus our fathers did before us. It is custom. Your religion is good for you—ours is good for us. There are many roads leading to one city; there are many paths to the heavenly shore."
The Hindu now is in his stronghold; custom, the custom of their fathers, is to them immutable law; but from this you drive him, and force him to acknowledge that the example of his ancestors is no excuse for wrong-doing, and then you seek to make him feel the weight of sin, that he may turn to Christ as a Saviour of sinners. But this is of all things the most unpalatable to the depraved heart of man. Ridicule their idols, and they will laugh with you; lash the Brahmins, and they are delighted; tell them that there is but one true God, and they agree with you; but bid them receive the Lord Jesus Christ as their Saviour and king, and they turn from him with anger and blasphemy. Salvation, not by good works, but by the confession of vileness, with faith in Christ, is offensive to the carnal heart. By the Spirit of God only can depraved men in India be brought to submit themselves to the righteousness of Christ, that they may become new creatures.
An account of a conversation of a missionary in Bengal with a Brahmin, whom he fell in with while preaching, gives a good idea of their mode of argumentation, and also of the importance of understanding their belief, that we may not be put to silence by them.
The missionary, in answer to the question, "What do you preach here?" replied, "We teach the knowledge of the true God." "Who is he? I am God," said the Hindu.
The missionary thought it would be an easy matter to confute him, but he soon discovered his mistake. "This is very extraordinary," said he; "are you the Almighty?"
"No," he replied: "had I created the sun I should be almighty; but that I have not done."
"How can you pretend to be God, if you are not almighty?"
"This question shows your ignorance. What do you see here?” said the Brahmin, pointing to the Ganges.
"Water."
"And what is in this vessel?" at the same time pouring out a little into a cup.
"This is water, likewise."
“What is the difference between this water and the Ganges?”
“ There is none,” replied the missionary.
“Oh! I see a great difference; that water carries ships, this does not; God is almighty; I am only a part of the Godhead, and therefore I am not almighty; and yet I am God, just as these drops in the cup are real water."
“According to your teaching," said the missionary, “God is divided into many thousand portions; one is in me, another in you."
"Oh!” said the Brahmin, “this remark is owing to your ignorance. How many suns do you see in the sky?"
"Only one."
“But if you fill a thousand vessels, what do you see in each?"
“The image of the sun."
“But if you see the image of the sun in so many thousand vessels, does it prove that there are a thousand suns in the firmament! No; there is only one sun in the heavens, and it is reflected a thousand times in the water. So likewise there is but one God, and his image and brightness are reflected in every human being."
The missionary, instead of trying to point out the falsity of the comparison, wished to touch his conscience. “God,” he continued, “is holy, are you holy?”
“I am not,” replied the Brahmin, “I am doing many things that are wrong, and that I know to be wrong."
“How, then, can you say that you are God?"
“Oh!" said the Hindu, “I see that you need a little more intellect to be put into your head before you can argue with us. God is fire—fire is the purest element in creation; but if you throw dirt upon it, a bad odour will arise; this is not the fault of the fire, but of that which is thrown upon it. Thus God in me is perfectly pure, but he is surrounded by matter, (that is, by the material, corporeal body;) he does not desire sin, he hates it; the sin arises from matter."
It is often a shorter and surer way to answer these sophistical pantheists and transcendentalists with ridicule. To argue with them is an endless undertaking; a good-humoured cut at their pretensions is far more efficacious; and if it be a fair hit, will secure to yourself a hearing and the sympathy of the audience. Thus a missionary, when preaching, was met by a Brahmin with this same assertion that he was God. The missionary, too wise to enter upon an argument to prove that he was not God, thrust his hand into his pocket and then asked him, since he was God, how many fingers there were on his hand. “Ah! that is nothing," answered the Brahmin; “every man has five fingers on his hand.” “Confess now," said the missionary, “that thou knowest nothing, and therefore art not God; for on my hand I have not five fingers, but only four fingers and a half!” He then drew from his pocket his hand and showed it to the people, with part of one finger cut off. The poor Brahmin was compelled to retreat amid the derision of the crowd.
To the weary labourer, street-preaching often seems like water spilled upon a rock. At times, cast down by the grovelling spirit of the people, or pained by the blasphemy he is constrained to hear, he is ready to cry out, “Who hath believed our report, and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed!” At other times he finds it a delightful duty to make known Christ and his salvation to listening multitudes, and to feel that these glorious truths are entering intelligent minds. Yet, whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear, he goes forward in his work, resting upon the precious promises of God, that his word shall not return unto him void. The false belief of the Hindus is undermined by degrees; and here and there a word fitly spoken, or a tract given, is made the means of leading some precious soul to the cross, or of raising up a preacher of the gospel to labour among his countrymen. Blessed are they that sow beside all waters!