Robbie Taggart

by Michael Phillips

  Their plan was to spend the remainder of the day traveling through this particular area of four or five small villages. They would then spend the night on the junk and cast off early in the morning, sailing upstream into another district. After a second night on the junk, they would sail for home. When Robbie asked about the territoriality of other missions, Coombs explained that these were areas that fell under no other mission jurisdiction and without any particular church connection. The established missions with an interest in such evangelism usually took it in turns to reach these backwater areas and to see that they received periodic Christian contact.

  Robbie and Coombs each loaded up their packs with as many books and supplies as they could manage and climbed onto dry land. Then followed one of the most unique experiences in Robbie’s life, even as adventurous as it had been.

  Even before they reached the center of the village, they had begun to attract a considerable following of locals. And indeed they made a curious sight—two Occidental men of imposing stature, one dressed in black Oriental garb, the other wearing navy blue canvas trousers and the white shirt of a Western sailor. But Robbie soon realized that it was not merely the oddity of their appearance that had attracted the folk. The moment Coombs handed out his first tract, word spread that a missionary had come with reading material. Robbie could not help being astonished at the response.

  “The Chinese are eager to learn new ideas,” said Coombs when a lull came in the greetings and questions of the villagers.

  “What about the riots and violence against missionaries? I thought you would be encountering opposition everywhere, like back in the village at the mission.”

  “It depends on the area, and the particular mood of the time. And it also depends a great deal on how much the local priests decide to stir things up against us,” answered Coombs. “But things have calmed considerably in the last two or three years. Even at their height, those actions were not aimed only at Christianity. Take the trouble in Wukiang, for example. It was stirred up only because temple funds were threatened by Chang’s refusal to pay. Violence against missionaries usually springs up more as an expression of anti-foreignism than any resistance to the gospel itself. And this occurs only because the Chinese have suffered so at the hands of foreign powers.”

  “Then why do they take it out against the missionaries?”

  “Because missionaries happen to be here, ambassadors, so to speak, of those foreign countries. But the villagers, like these, are unbelievably open and receptive to the gospel itself when we can isolate it from all the larger issues that are more political. The Chinese react mostly against us when their political or economic stability is threatened. Otherwise they are extremely tolerant.”

  “But I thought they were closed to any attempt to impose religion on them from the outside?”

  “Did you know that Buddhism, the second largest faith after Confucianism, is a transplant from India? Yes, it had built-in similarities to the long-established religions of China, but Christianity has many of those also—ethics and virtue, and even the most basic of all religious ideas, the concept of God, is familiar to them, though the various religions disagree as to what God’s character and personality are like. The great Chinese leader, Kublai Khan himself, who lived in the 13th century, asked Marco Polo to take an invitation to the Pope asking him to send teachers of science and religion to China. So you see, historically, there has been an openness of this culture to new ideas.”

  “Are you saying that if Christianity had come by another route, and things had been slightly different, it might have been totally absorbed into the culture?”

  “Perhaps not completely into the culture, but at least more peaceably accepted. There are facets of the Christian faith that are foreign to Chinese ways, and must remain so in order for Christianity to retain its purity. The faith expounded by the Apostles and set forth in the New Testament cannot be altered in order to suit a different culture. There are essential aspects of it on which we must remain unyielding. That is what separates it from the other mere religions of the world.”

  “Why do you say mere religions?” asked Robbie.

  “Because all the other religions of the world are incomplete. They are mere religious systems. But at their core they do not have the one thing that Christianity has, the one ingredient that makes all the difference, the one thing that makes it true in the face of all other insufficient attempts to know God and discover the essential meaning of life.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Jesus, Mr. Taggart. Jesus Christ—God himself come to earth to reveal to men the truth, and the way to know Him, Jesus—the true man. God defined and manhood defined—in the same being. No other religion has Jesus. So you see, no other religion can possibly possess the ultimate truth about God.”

  Robbie was silent for a moment. It had been some time since he had thought about the meaning of manhood. Now here was an unexpected twist—the idea of Jesus being the ultimate, the perfect man. It was certainly not something he had ever considered before. To Robbie Taggart, the Jesus of the Bible had always seemed rather an effeminate sop.

  “And that’s why we call the gospel ‘good news,’” Coombs went on. “And that’s why we feel such an urgency to proclaim it. Not to cram our particular system down anyone else’s throat, but because of the wonderful news that we can know God personally and intimately through Jesus!”

  Still thoughtful, at length Robbie said in a sincerely probing voice, “But it seems there is still an intolerance in it toward their religions. If you think you have the truth and they do not, how can you expect them to be open to what you have to say in return?”

  “There is no particular virtue in tolerance for its own sake. Only a fool is open and tolerant to a false idea. The question is not tolerance, on either side of the issue. The question is truth. The things Jesus said, the claims Jesus made, the life Jesus lived—they are either true or they are not. And if they are true, we are fools to turn our backs on them. At the point of the truth of Jesus’ words, the truth of His character, the truth of His resurrection, and the compelling truth of His claim upon our own lives—at that point culture and religion and tolerance and education all fade into meaninglessness. That’s when the truth of Jesus Christ comes to bear upon every man, in the quietness of his own heart. And that is where the response must be made.”

  By now they had reached the center of the village. It was just as well that their conversation came to an end, for Robbie had heard enough to keep his mind busy for some time. Coombs paused in front of the local teashop, which stood at the intersection of the village’s only two streets, actually little more than widened dirt paths. Then he turned to the crowd of about fifty people who had gathered around him.

  For the next hour the verbal exchange was entirely in Chinese, so Robbie had no idea of exactly what was being said. But an understanding of the words themselves was hardly necessary to enable him to see that the young man Coombs was pouring out his heart in love and compassion and earnest belief to these people who had come to hear him. Coombs was a different man now, as Robbie had begun to see on the boat. Even while fumbling over the alien tongue, his voice was laced with passion. The villagers listened attentively, respectfully, with rapt attention riveted upon the young preacher, as if they had never heard such words before. And such was very likely the case for many of them.

  For Robbie, who had grown up surrounded by nominal “Christian” society, the hungry looks on the faces about him was nothing short of astonishing. Here were people genuinely listening to “news”—good news. Suddenly the faith of his fathers took on a new dimension in Robbie’s mind. Listening as through the ears of these Chinese men and women, something new and vital and alive for the first time seemed to penetrate Robbie’s consciousness. Robbie found himself listening as he had never listened before—though he understood not a word. He listened instead with his eyes, and with a curiously softer heart than had ever opened itself to the gospel messag
e before. When he came to himself some time later, he was shaken, realizing for the first time how absorbed he had been in the young missionary’s bold street preaching.

  His thoughts were jolted out of their reverie by a sudden clamor toward the back of the crowd. The people parted, and three men came to the front where Robbie and Coombs, who had stopped speaking, were standing. Between two larger men, walking very slowly and with occasional assistance from his companions, came the one for whom the crowd had obviously parted. Old and extremely brittle in appearance, his back was humped, which thrust his wrinkled face forward, causing his long, thin, white beard to swing freely down and away from his body. One look at his ancient visage gave the word venerable new meaning for all time.

  Coombs stepped forward and bowed graciously to the man. “Ni hao, lao-fu, greetings, old father,” he said.

  The old man returned his bow, as best he could, and in reply spoke to Coombs at some length. His tone was not angry, but firm. In an odd sort of way he reminded Robbie of Wallace, and as with the doctor, Coombs seemed to defer to the man. He answered in an apologetic tone, bows were exchanged once more; then the old man, appearing satisfied, turned and made his way again back through the villagers, who immediately began to disperse.

  Left alone on the street. Robbie turned to Coombs to ask what had just happened.

  “That man was the village elder,” replied Coombs. “He said we must move on because we are disrupting the rice cultivation. He was most courteous and invited us to return in the evening.”

  “What will we do until then?”

  “There are other villages to be visited.”

  “Won’t you encounter the same thing?”

  “We won’t know until we’ve tried.”

  They returned to the junk, loaded up with more supplies and reading material, then set off on foot. For the remainder of the day they visited another four small villages, though none proved as friendly as the first. In one a small gang of hoodlums heckled Coombs ruthlessly, finally inciting the crowd to such an extent that the missionary was forced to make a hasty exit.

  “T’i-mien! T’i-mien!” kept being shouted at their backs until they were well outside the limits of the last of the town’s huts.

  “What were they yelling?” asked Robbie, recalling the word from his own experience in Wukiang when he had accompanied Hsi-chen to Chang’s home.

  “Haughty,” answered Coombs. “It has become a byword for Western missionaries among those who are not so eager to hear our message.”

  “But from what you said before, and from the response at the first village where everyone seemed so eager to hear what you had to say, I thought the Chinese were open to the good news, as you put it.”

  “Many are. But the Chinese are no different than people everywhere. It’s the same in Britain. There are those who are open to the truth; there are others who are not. Just because something may be true does not mean everyone is eager to hear it. Many are comfortable with their present lives. Truth in spiritual things is of no interest to them.”

  Robbie was silent. He realized Coombs’ words could be applied to him. He had never made the truth a priority in his life. He had merely gone about with life as it had come. But his reply was not such a personal one. Suddenly he did not feel like exposing any more of his innermost self.

  “But those young thugs seemed intent on more mischief than would have been likely if they just disagreed with your message,” Robbie said.

  “You’re probably right. There are those in positions of power who are threatened by our presence. They could have been sent to incite the people against us.”

  “Sent? By whom?”

  “There are many who would rid their land of us if they could.”

  “Who?”

  “Priests of the old order. They can be a ruthless lot, despite all their supposed mellow and gentle ways. And then there are the ancient noble Chinese families who can sometimes be violent, often led by warriors like the samurai in Japan. And of course since the ancient days of the Mongol tribes, China has been famous for its independent warlords. There are still those who maintain their hold on their own private little medieval empires.”

  “Warlords! In this modern day?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Taggart. And believe me, you don’t want to get mixed up with them!”

  40

  An Inauspicious Ending

  The small gang followed the pair of foreigners the rest of the day from village to village, doing their best to stir up trouble. They succeeded in making the visits tense and unpleasant.

  When they returned in the evening to the site of their landing, Coombs had hoped to end the day with the same sense of success with which it had begun. But the five or six troublemakers turned up there also, and serious trouble was only averted when the town council stepped in and kicked out the whole lot—Coombs and Robbie included.

  Dejected and downcast, Coombs silently led the way back to the junk. Robbie attempted to cheer him with a few amusing sea stories, but to no avail, and by the time they had fallen asleep on the hard mats in the boat’s tiny cabin, Robbie was nearly as dispirited as his companion.

  They awoke suddenly just before dawn to the sound of a driving rain against the cabin’s thin walls. A puddle had formed at Robbie’s feet. He hardly knew whether to laugh or cry at the ridiculousness of their circumstances. But the rain only added to Coombs’ morose mood.

  “At least it will keep those troublemakers away,” said Robbie, trying to look on the bright side.

  Coombs, however, found it hard to muster up much thankfulness after a night in a damp bed, with rain dripping through in several places, and nothing to look forward to but a cold and cheerless breakfast. Robbie thought fleetingly of the fine new roof at the hospital, and sighed at the irony of being trapped in such straits during the first real rain since his arrival, when they could have been warm and dry back at the mission. He found himself thinking that this was even worse than his being stranded in the sea, where at least he was completely wet and completely cold, not teased with occasional hints of dryness and warmth.

  Shortly before noon the rain mercifully stopped, and the whole land was soon bathed once more in warmth. Quickly cheered, as was his nature, Robbie was quite willing to forget the setbacks of the previous day. Whistling, he set about getting the junk ready to cast off.

  The sunshine did little to lift Coombs’ spirits. It became all the worse when he went back into the cabin to have a few moments of prayer alone, and there fell asleep. He was embarrassed and flustered when Robbie had to wake him to tell him they were ready to cast off.

  “What direction?” Robbie asked as he loosened the rope from its mooring.

  “Up river,” answered Coombs, determined but hardly enthusiastic.

  What was left of the day they spent visiting another cluster of six villages with varying degrees of success. At least the young ruffians had not seen fit to dog their activities and they were not bothered again on that front all day.

  They spent a passable night on the junk, but by morning were both quite ready to embark for home. They had retraced their steps but three or four miles downstream when the rain began once again, this time accompanied by what appeared to be growing winds and rougher water. Such a little squall would have been nothing for the kind of ships Robbie was accustomed to. But for a shallow-hulled junk made of lightweight wood, every extra bit of turbulence tossed them around and made maneuverability difficult. Coombs halfheartedly suggested docking, but they were both too anxious to get back to the mission to give up easily, and Robbie was confident they could make it.

  However, several miles from the first village at which they had stopped, the canal spilled into a river down which they had to travel half a mile before veering off into another much smaller stream. Already swollen from the two days of rain, the river was moving much too swiftly for their safety, and a cross-wind struck them the moment its current caught the small junk.

  Unprepared for the rap
id change of direction, Robbie had the sail in exactly the wrong position for the sudden alteration of the wind, now coming in strong gusts. The junk swept down a trough of water, then up the other side, its bow extending out of the water just as a fierce blast of wind caught the sail that Robbie was frantically trying to haul around to the right direction. Without warning, both Robbie and Coombs were thrown into the frenzied current. When Robbie’s head surfaced, all he could see was the capsized old junk being carried out of reach toward the rocky shore. In minutes she washed to pieces. Coombs surfaced about ten feet away and they swam to the near shore and dragged themselves out. Nothing was said for a moment or two; then Robbie began to chuckle. A good old-fashioned Taggart laugh followed, which even succeeded in bringing a smile to the face of Coombs.

  “Well, at least the rain won’t bother us anymore!” laughed Robbie. “Come on, Coombs. Let’s be off!” he said, rising, and extending his hand to his young companion. “I hope you know where we are and which way to go!”

  They walked for about an hour, crossed the river by bridge, struck out down the smaller stream, and then set about trying to hail one of the few junks brave enough to be passing in such weather. They had no success, and thus continued to walk, hoping eventually to catch a ride on some river conveyance. The rain stopped in another thirty minutes, and suddenly Coombs spotted a large junk, a two-masted craft, as it appeared around the far bend in the stream.

  “It looks like the mail packet,” he said with rising hope. “It’ll put in at the next village. If we can beat it there, maybe they’ll take us on.”