XV
NO MORE THIRST.

What then? I am not careful to inquire:
I know there will be tears and fears and sorrow —
And then a loving Savior drawing nigher,
And saying, “I will answer for the morrow.”
SELECTED.
IT WAS an experience that stood the test, as months and years went by.
Never again did the unsatisfied days come back; never again was the needy
soul separated from the fullness of Christ. Trials came, deeper and more
searching than ever before, but in them all joy flowed unhindered from the
presence of the Lord Himself. For Hudson Taylor had found the secret of
soul — rest. In this experience there had come to him not only a fuller
apprehension of the Lord Jesus Himself and all He is for us, but a fuller
surrender — yes, indeed, a self-abandonment to Him.
I am no longer anxious about anything (he had written, as we have seen)...
for He, I know, is able to carry out His will, and His will is mine. It makes
no matter where He places me, or how. That is rather for Him to consider
than for me; for in the easiest position He must give me His grace, and in
the most difficult His grace is sufficient. It little matters to my servant
whether I send him to buy a few cash worth of things or the most
expensive articles. In either case he looks to me for the money and brings
me his purchases. So, if God should place me in great perplexity, must He
not give me much guidance; in positions of great difficulty, much grace; in
circumstances of great pressure and trial, much strength? No fear that His
resources will be unequal to the emergency! And His resources are mine —
for He is mine, and is with me and dwells in me.
Surrender to Christ he had long known, but this was more; this was a new
yieldedness, a glad, unreserved handing over of self and everything to Him.
It was no longer a question of giving up this or that if the Lord required it;
it was a loyal and loving acceptance, a joyful meeting of His will in things
little and great, as the very best that could be for His own. This made the
trials of the following summer an opportunity for God’s grace to triumph,
turning “the valley of weeping” into “a place of springs” from which
streams of blessing are flowing still.
Even before the danger and excitement that culminated in the massacre of
Tientsin, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor had been called to pass through deep
personal sorrow. The time had come when the inevitable parting from their
children could no longer be delayed. There were no schools in China at
which their education could be carried on, and no health resorts such as
there are now for refuge from the heat of summer. The climate and
privations of their life had told upon the children’s health. One little grave
already hallowed the soil of China to the parents’ hearts, and they were
thankful to accept the offer of their secretary and devoted friend, Miss
Emily Blatchley, to take the three boys and only little girl to England and
to care for them there.
This meant a long, long parting, and East and West were so much farther
apart then than they are now! But even before the little travelers could be
escorted to the coast, a longer parting still had to be faced. Only five years
old, the youngest of the boys, a specially clinging little fellow, was the one
whose health had suffered most. With concern his parents saw that the
strain of the coming separation was increasing his chronic trouble. All
night they watched beside him on the boat that was taking them down the
canal from Yangchow, but at dawn the following morning he fell into a
deep sleep, and from the turbid waters of the Yangtze passed without pain
or fear to the better land.
Before a driving storm the parents crossed the river — there about two
miles wide — to lay their treasure in the cemetery at Chinkiang, and then
went on with the others to Shanghai. A little later, after taking them all on
board the French mail which was to sail at daylight, Mr. Taylor wrote to
Mr. Berger:
I have seen them, awake, for the last time in China. (He was returning to
fetch Mrs. Taylor who was still on the steamer.) About two of our little
ones we have no anxiety. They rest in Jesus bosom. And now, dear
brother, though the tears will not be stayed, I do thank God for permitting
one so unworthy to take any part in this great work, and do not regret
having engaged in it. It is His work, not mine or yours; and yet it is ours
— not because we are engaged in it, but because we are His, and one with
Him whose work it is.
This was the reality that sustained them. Never had there been a more
troubled summer in China than the one on which they were entering
(1870). Yet in the midst of it all, with a longing for their children that was
indescribable, they had never had more rest and joy in God.
I could not but admire and wonder at the grace that so sustained and
comforted the fondest of mothers (Mr. Taylor wrote as he recalled it
afterwards). The secret was that Jesus was satisfying the deep thirst of
heart and soul.
Mrs. Taylor was at her best that summer, borne up it would seem on the
very tempest of troubles that raged about them. Sickness was rife in the
Mission, and before they could reach Chinkiang, after parting from the
children, news reached them of Mrs. Judd’s being there and at the point of
death. Mr. Taylor could not leave the boat on account of another patient,
but consented to Mrs. Taylor’s pressing on alone to give what help she
could.
After days and nights of nursing, Mr. Judd was almost at the end of his
strength, when he heard sounds in the courtyard below of an unexpected
arrival. Who could it be at that time of night and where had they come
from? No steamer had passed upriver, and native boats would not be
traveling after dark. Besides, it was a wheelbarrow that had been trundled
in. A long day’s journey on that springless barrow, a woman had come
alone, and soon he saw the face that of all others he could have desired to
see.
Suffering though Mrs. Taylor was at the time (he recalled) and worn with
hard traveling, she insisted on my going to bed and that she would
undertake the nursing. Nothing would induce her to rest.
“No,” she said, “you have quite enough to bear without sitting up at night
any more. Go to bed, for I shall stay with your wife whether you do or
not.”
Never can I forget the firmness and love with which it was said — her face
meanwhile shining with the tenderness of Him in whom it was her joy and
strength to abide.
Nothing but prayer brought the patient through, just as nothing but prayer
saved the situation in many an hour of extremity that summer.
We had previously known something of trial in one station or another
(Mr. Taylor wrote to the friends of the Mission), but now in all
simultaneously, or nearly so, a widespread excitement shook the very
foundations of native society. It is impossible to describe the alarm and
consternation of the Chinese when they first believed that native magicians
were bewitching them, or their indignation and anger when told that these
insidious foes were the agents of foreigners. It is well known how in
Tientsin they rose and barbarously murdered the Sisters of Charity, the
priests and even the French Consul. What then restrained them in the
interior, where our brothers were alone, far from any protecting human
power? Nothing but the mighty hand of God, in answer to united, constant
prayer in the all-prevailing name of Jesus. And this same power kept us
satisfied with Jesus — with His presence, His love, His providence.
It is easy to read of such experiences, but only those who have lived
through similar times of danger can have any idea of the strain involved.
The heat that summer was unusually severe and prolonged, which added
to the unrest of the native population. Women and children had to be
brought down to the coast, and for a time it seemed as though the Chinese
authorities might require them to leave the country altogether. This
involved much correspondence with officials, Chinese and foreign and
frequent letters to the workers most in peril. The accommodation of the
Mission house at Chinkiang was taxed to its utmost, and so great was the
excitement that no additional premises could be obtained.
Old times seem to be coming round again (Mr. Taylor wrote in June,
referring to the Yangchow riot), but with this difference that our anxieties
are not as before confined to one place.
By this time it looked as though all the river stations might have to be
given up. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were making their home at Chinkiang as
more central than Yangchow, he sleeping on the floor in sitting-room or
passage that she might share their room with other ladies.
One difficulty follows another very fast (he continued after the Tientsin
massacre), but God reigns, not chance. At Nanking the excitement has been
frightful.... Here the rumors are, I hope, passing away, but at Yangchow
they are very bad.... Pray much for us. My heart is calm, but my head is
sorely tried by the constant succession of one difficulty after another.
Yet the troubles of the time were not allowed to hinder the spiritual side of
the work, in which Mr. and Mrs. Taylor took their full share. In the
hottest days of June the latter wrote to Miss Blatchley:
We have been holding classes on Sunday and two or three evenings in the
week, to interest the Chinese Christians who can read, in searching the
Scriptures, and those who cannot read in learning to do so, and to set an
example to the younger members of the Mission who know pretty well
that we have no lack of work. It may be a practical proof to them of the
importance we attach to securing that the Christians and others about us
learn to read and understand for themselves the Word of God.
The joy that had come to Mr. Taylor in his spiritual experience seems to
have been deepened rather than hindered by the exigencies of the time. His
letter-book reveals not so much the pressure of difficulties and problems
as the full tide of blessing that carried him through all. To Miss Desgraz he
wrote, for example, in the middle of June, after carefully answering her
letter about Yangchow affairs:
And now I have the very passage for you, and God has so blessed it to my
own soul! John 7:37-39 — ”If any man thirst, let him come unto ME and
drink.” Who does not thirst? Who has not mind-thirsts or heart-thirsts,
soul-thirsts or body-thirsts? Well, no matter which, or whether I have
them all — “Come unto me and” remain thirsty? Ah no! Come unto me
and drink.”
What, can Jesus meet my need? Yes, and more than meet it. No matter
how intricate my path, how difficult my service; no matter how sad my
bereavement, how far away my loved ones; no matter how helpless I am,
how deep are my soul-yearnings — Jesus can meet all, all, and more than
meet. He not only promises me rest — ah, how welcome that would be,
were it all, and what an all that one word embraces! He not only promises
me drink to alleviate my thirst. No, better than that! He who trusts Me in
this matter (who believeth on Me, takes Me at My word) out of him shall
flow...”
Can it be? Can the dry and thirsty one not only be refreshed — the
parched soil moistened, the arid places cooled — but the land be so
saturated that springs well up and streams flow down from it? Even so!
And not mere mountain-torrents, full while the rain lasts, then dry again...
but, “from within him shall flow rivers — rivers like the mighty Yangtze,
ever deep, ever full. In times of drought brooks may fail, often do, canals
may be pumped dry, often are, but the Yangtze never. Always a mighty
stream, always flowing deep and irresistible!
“Come unto me and drink,” (he wrote in another June letter). Not, come
and take a hasty draught; not, come and slightly alleviate, or for a short
time remove one’s thirst. No! “drink,” or “be drinking” constantly,
habitually. The cause of thirst may be irremediable. One coming, one
drinking may refresh and comfort: but we are to be ever coming, ever
drinking. No fear of emptying the fountain or exhausting the river!
How sorely the comfort of Christ would be needed by his own heart that
very summer, he little realized when writing; but the One he was trusting
in a new and deeper way did not fail him.
Six weeks later, joy and sorrow were strangely mingled in the missionary
home at Chinkiang. A little son given to Mr. and Mrs. Taylor had filled
their hearts with gladness. But an attack of cholera greatly prostrated the
mother, and lack of natural nourishment told upon the infant. When a
Chinese nurse could be found, it was too late to save the little life, and
after only one week on earth he went to the home above, in which his
mother was so soon to join him.
Though excessively prostrated in body (Mr. Taylor wrote), the deep
peace of soul, the realization of the Lord’s own presence and joy in His
holy will with which she was filled, and which I was permitted to share, I
can find no words to describe.
She herself chose the hymns to be sung at the funeral, one of which, “O
holy Savior, Friend unseen,” seemed specially to dwell in her mind.
Though faith and hope are often tried,
They ask not, need not aught beside;
So safe, so calm, so satisfied,
The souls that cling to Thee.
They fear not Satan or the grave,
They know Thee near and strong to save,
Nor fear to cross e’en Jordan’s wave
While still they cling to Thee.
Weak as she was, it had not occurred to them that her days were
numbered. The very love that bound their hearts so closely precluded the
thought of separation. And she was only thirty-three. There was no pain
up to the last, only increasing weariness. Two days before the end, a letter
from Mrs. Berger came to hand, telling of the safe arrival at Saint Hill of
Miss Blatchley and the older children.19 Every detail of the welcome and
arrangements for their well-being filled the mother’s heart with joy. She
could not be thankful enough, and seemed to have no desire but to praise
God for His goodness. Many a time had Mrs. Berger’s letters reached
their destination at the needed moment, many a time had her loving heart
anticipated the circumstances in which they would be received, but never
more so than with this letter.
“And now, farewell, precious friend,” she wrote. “The Lord throw around
you His everlasting arms.”
It was in those arms she was resting.
I never witnessed such a scene (wrote one who was present). As dear
Mrs. Taylor was breathing her last, Mr. Taylor knelt and committed her
to the Lord, thanking Him for having given her and for twelve and a half
years of perfect happiness together, thanking Him too for taking her to
His own presence, and solemnly dedicating himself anew to His service.
The summer sun rose higher over the city, hills and river. The busy hum of
life came up around them from many a court and street. But in an upper
room of one Chinese dwellng, from which the blue of heaven could be
seen, there was the hush of a wonderful peace.
“Shall never thirst” — would it, could it prove true now? “To know that
‘shall’ means shall, that ‘never’ means never, and that ‘thirst’ means any
unsatisfied need,” Mr. Taylor often said in later years, “may be one of the
greatest revelations God ever made to our souls.” It was in these days of
utter desolation that the promise was made so real to his breaking heart.
To his mother he wrote in August:
From my inmost soul I delight in the knowledge that God does or permits
all things, and causes all things to work together for good to those who
love Him.
He and He only knew what my dear wife was to me. He knew how the
light of my eyes and the joy of my heart were in her. On the last day of
her life — we had no idea that it would be the last — our hearts were
mutually delighted by the never-old story of each other’s love... and
almost her last act was, with one arm round my neck, to place her hand on
my head and, as I believe, for her lips had lost their cunning, to implore a
blessing on me. But He saw that it was good to take her — good indeed for
her, and in His love He took her painlessly — and not less good for me
who now must toil and suffer alone, yet not alone, for God is nearer to me
than ever.
And to Mr. Berger:
When I think of my loss, my heart, nigh to breaking, rises in thankfulness
to Him who has spared her such sorrow and made her so unspeakably
happy. My tears are more tears of joy than grief. But most of all I joy in
God through our Lord Jesus Christ — in His works, His ways, His
providence, Himself. He is giving me to “prove” (to know by trial) “what
is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.” I do rejoice in that
will; it is acceptable to me; it is perfect; it is love in action. And soon, in
that sweet will, we shall be reunited to part no more. “Father, I will that
they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am.”
Yet there was a measure of reaction, especially when illness came with
long, wakeful nights.
How lonesome (Mr. Taylor recalled) were the weary hours when confined
to my room! How I missed my dear wife and the voices of the children far
away in England! Then it was I understood why the Lord had made that
passage so real to me, “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give
him shall never thirst.” Twenty times a day, perhaps, as I felt the heart
thirst coming back, I cried to Him,
“Lord, you promised! You promised me that I should never thirst.”
And whether I called by day or night, how quickly He came and satisfied
my sorrowing heart! So much so that I often wondered whether it were
possible that my loved one who had been taken could be enjoying more of
His presence than I was in my lonely chamber. He did literally fulfill the
prayer:
“Lord Jesus, make Thyself to me
A living, bright reality;
More present to faith’s vision keen
Than any outward object seen;
More dear, more intimately nigh
Than e’en the sweetest earthly tie.”
Among many letters of this period few are more precious or revealing than
those he managed to write to the children, over whom his heart yearned
with a great love.
You do not know how often Father thinks of his darlings, and how often
he looks at your photographs till the tears fill his eyes. Sometimes he
almost fears lest he should feel discontented when he thinks how far away
you are from him. But then the dear Lord Jesus who never leaves him
says, “Don’t be afraid: I will keep your heart satisfied.”... And I thank
Him, and am so glad that He will live in my heart and keep it right for me.
I wish you, my precious children, knew what it is to give your hearts to
Jesus to keep every day. I used to try to keep my own heart right, but it
would always be going wrong. So at last I had to give up trying myself,
and to accept the Lord’s offer to keep it for me. Don’t you think that is
the best way? Perhaps sometimes you think, “I will try not to be selfish
or unkind or disobedient.” And yet, though you really try, you do not
succeed. But Jesus says: “You should trust that to Me. I would keep that
little heart, if you would trust Me with it.” And He would, too.
Once I used to try to think very much and very often about Jesus, but I
often forgot Him. Now I trust Jesus to keep my heart remembering Him,
and He does so. This is the best way. Ask dear Miss Blatchley to tell you
more about this way, and pray God to make it plain to you, and to help
you so to trust Jesus.
And to Miss Blatchley he wrote on the same subject, from the comfortless
quarters of a coasting steamer:
I have written again to the dear children. I do long for them to learn early...
the precious truths which have come so late to me concerning oneness
with and the indwelling of Christ. These do not seem to me more difficult
of apprehension than the truths about redemption. Both need the teaching
of the Spirit, nothing more. May God help you to live Christ before these
little ones, and to minister Him to them. How wonderfully He has led and
taught us! How little I believed the rest and peace of heart I now enjoy
were possible down here! It is heaven begun below, is it not?... Compared
with this union with Christ, heaven or earth are unimportant accidents.
Oh, it is joy to feel Jesus living in you (he wrote to his sister, Mrs.
Walker, on the same journey); to find your heart all taken up by Him; to
be reminded of His love by His seeking communion with you at all times,
not by your painful attempts to abide in Him. He is our life, our strength,
our salvation. He is our “wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification,
and redemption.” He is our power for service and fruit-bearing, and His
bosom is our resting place now and forever.
There was, meanwhile, no lessening of outward difficulties. Politically the
aspect of affairs was more threatening than Mr. Taylor had ever known it
in China. The claims arising from the Tientsin massacre, in which
twenty-one foreigners had lost their lives, including the French Consul,
were still unsettled, and the Chinese authorities, knowing that Europe was
involved in war, took no steps to allay the antiforeign agitation.20 So
closely, in some ways, did the situation resemble the present (1932)
though in miniature, that we venture to quote one further letter showing
the spirit in which the perils of 1870 were met. For principles remain the
same, and as a Mission we stand today just where they stood when Mr.
Taylor sent out his call for the day of fasting and prayer with which the
year closed.
The present year has been in many ways remarkable. Perhaps every one
of our number has been more or less face to face with danger, perplexity
and distress. But out of it all the Lord has delivered us. And some who
have drunk more deeply than ever before of the cup of the Man of
Sorrows can testify that it has been a most blessed year to our souls and
can give God thanks for it. Personally, it has been the most sorrowful and
the most blessed year of my life, and I doubt not that others have had in
some measure the same experience. We have put to the proof the
faithfulness of God — His power to support in trouble and to give
patience under affliction, as well as to deliver from danger. And should
greater dangers await us, should deeper sorrows come....it is to be hoped
that they will be met in a strengthed confidence in our God.
We have great cause for thankfulness in one respect: we have been so
situated as to show the Chinese Christians that our position, as well as
theirs, has been and may again be one of danger. They have been helped,
doubtless, to look from “foreign power” to God Himself for protection by
the fact that
(1) the former has been felt to be uncertain and unreliable... and
(2) that we have been kept in calmness and joy in our various positions of
duty. If in any measure we have failed to improve for their good this
opportunity, or have failed to rest, for ourselves, in God’s power to
sustain us in or protect us from danger, as He sees best, let us humbly
confess this, and all conscious failure, to our faithful covenant-keeping
God....
I trust we are all fully satisfied that we are God’s servants, sent by Him to
the various posts we occupy, and that we are doing His work in them. He
set before us the open doors we have entered, and in past times of
excitement He has preserved us. We did not come to China because
missionary work here was either safe or easy, but because He had called
us. We did not enter upon our present positions under a guarantee of
human protection, but relying on the promise of His presence. The
accidents of ease or difficulty, of apparent safety or danger, of man’s
approval or disapproval, in no wise affect our duty. Should circumstances
arise involving us in what may seem special danger, we shall have grace, I
trust, to manifest the depth and reality of our confidence in Him, and by
faithfulness to our charge to prove that we are followers of the Good
Shepherd who did not flee from death itself.... But if we would manifest
such a spirit then, we must seek the needed grace now. It is too late to look
for arms and begin to drill when in presence of the foe.
As to temporal supplies, Mr. Taylor continued:
I need not remind you of the liberal help which the Lord has sent us direct,
in our time of need, from certain donors, nor of the blessed fact that He
abideth faithful and cannot deny Himself. If we are really trusting in Him
and seeking from Him, we cannot be put to shame. If not, perhaps the
sooner we find out the unsoundness of any other foundation, the better.
The Mission funds, or the donors, are a poor substitute for the living God.
“Days of sorrow and nights of heaviness” did come through a physical
breakdown, early in 1871. Mr. Taylor found that a badly deranged liver
made him sleepless and led to painful depression of spirit. This was
increased by chest trouble which caused not only pain but serious
difficulty in breathing. And time did not lessen the sense of his loss. It was
under these circumstances that he discovered fresh power and beauty in
the promise already so vital in his experience. “Whosoever drinketh of the
water that I shall give him” — the suggestion of a continuous habit,
indicated by the present tense of the Greek verb, flooded the passage with
new meaning and met his long-continued need.
Do not let us change the Savior’s words (he often said in later years). It is
not “Whosoever has drunk,” but “Whosoever drinketh.” It is not of one
isolated draught He speaks, or even many, but of the continuous habit of
the soul. In John 6:35, also, the full meaning is, “He who is habitually
coming to me shall by no means hunger, and he who is believing on me
shall by no means thirst.” The habit of coming in faith to Him is
incompatible with unmet hunger and thirst....
It seems to me that where many of us err is in leaving our drinking in the
past, while our thirst continues present. What we need is to be drinking —
yes, thankful for each occasion which drives us to drink ever more deeply
of the living water.