Li Liang Chen Student, Soldier, Trader, Evangelist.

Rev. J. L. Stewart, B.A., B.D.

It was on the street of the Temple of the Four Sages, in the capital city, Chengtu, Szechuan. There, to-day, its low, grey gable abutting the entrance gates, stands also the Worship Hall to the Western God, who is surely becoming Father of the East and of all. Within the temple, only the smoke of a few incense sticks mingled with the tobacco and opium fumes curled upward through cobwebs and tiles to the heavens. In the Worship Hall, three score and more of China’s youth, black-haired, bright-eyed, brilliant-minded hopes of her future greatness, were gathered. But half the hall was theirs. Up the centre ran a wooden wall past which presumably not even a wandering glance might go. That part beyond was sacred to the women and school girls. As not even these latter were present to embarrass the situation, native eloquence found full fling.

It was the weekly meeting of the Epworth League of the College boys. Moreover, it was missionary night, and members were all attention. The leader was in fine form. With flushed cheek and fervid voice he called his hearers to see visions.

“Jesus came to found a kingdom among men. All within the four seas are brethren. The kingdom must then include all under heaven. Jesus founded it first among His fellows, the Jews. These carried the message to Greeks and Romans. These bore it to barbarians in Europe and Britain. These have wafted it round the world, and to our land of the Middle Kingdom. And we? We must bear the glad tidings on to Thibet, to the tribesmen and to the aborigines....”

Just then there was a commotion in the rear of the church. Someone was trying to make himself heard. At this persistent interruption all turned. A ripple of indignation quickly changed to interest as they saw the new speaker, a big, broad-faced, burly fellow, whose countenance beamed forth a happy combination of courage and child-like simplicity.

“Your younger brother begs his elders’ pardon,” he ventured, “but here in the seat just in front of mine are two of these strangers from the tribes country. Why wait indefinitely some future date? They may leave before our leader is through. Why not begin here and now?”

A voice of assent and approval ran around the room. For ten minutes the speaker, bending forward, chatted pleasantly with the wanderers from the great ranges to the west, well diggers, it seemed, seeking work on the plain, welcomed them to the meeting and told them simply and sympathetically of the Saviour of all and His message of love to men. Then the meeting went on as before.

A simple enough little incident, surely, but it is an index to the speaker, sincere, sympathetic, fearless, practical. It was Li Liang Chen, that is, Li of Perfect Virtue, as his parents had named him in hope. To attain the Chinese goal of greatness by becoming an official was likewise a longing, and to that end he was sent early to school. There, year by year, through youth and young manhood, he had repeated his history, rhymed his poetry, patiently traced the puzzling characters and later written countless stereotyped essays under a still famous teacher of the district. More than once he had gone up with the picked men of his county to try for the coveted degree, that opening door to official life. Alas! how few could hope for success; oft-times scarce two in a hundred. His heart was, moreover, ever too great for his head, so those with more self-abstraction or secret alliances with the examiners, won the day.

In military matters, literary attainments played a lesser part, the physical was the all-important, so thither his ambitions turned. Here, though some surpassed him in lifting the two and three hundred weight stone, success came surprisingly. He soon bent a strong bow and sent his arrow clean and quivering to the heart of the target. In feats with fists his stature, strength and courage placed him among the envied few, while in swinging great swords he was scarce surpassed.

China, however, cares not for war. In the long life of no other nation has history written so large, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Her list of honor runs, scholar, farmer, mechanic, merchant. The scholar sways by thought, so is first. The farmer and mechanic each produces, so come next. The merchant does neither, but distributes, so is fourth. The soldier is not even mentioned, for he exists but to destroy. Such being the sentiment, in times of peace but few are maintained or indeed needed to follow the profession of arms among these most easily ruled of the millions of earth. Li, like the many of his fellows, must have other means of support.

His father was a merchant in the market village of the Chao family, near Jenshow. By dint of industry and economy, he had also added a small farm to his possession. Li was placed in the shop. Affability won friends, time and tact got him trade, while his fearlessness gradually carried him far afield. Back from the borders of the aborigines he brought white wax and ponies; from the province of Uin Lan he led pack mules laden with tea. In Kweichow, south and east, he sought silks and horses. From the far-flung tribes to north and west he bought musk and medicines, and from the Thibetans wools and hides. Soon agencies were established, compass-like, all about his centre, and Li, the trader, was known to big firms in scores of cities, towns, and in the great capital.

But travels had touched more than trade. In larger centres he had seen the much-talked-of foreigner, with his ever-present hospitals, schools, and churches, and had heard him discussed from province to province in countless inns and teashops. Once, only once, he had paused one day in his busy life to listen to a street preacher. He carried away little of what was said. How could such things concern him and his sole search for goods and gold? Thus ten years fled by. He lost much, but made more, and at length decided to settle in his native village, among his own, the better to be a filial son to his now aging father.

About that time mission problems assumed a new phase. After the dramatic events culminating in the Boxer cataclysm in 1900, the missionary found himself received in a new light. Previously permitted, as a matter of indifference, or in many places despised, insulted, persecuted, he now found himself pushed into unsought prominence. Foreign troops had defeated the forces of the Son of Heaven. Foreign officials had but to say the word, and China bowed to obey. Were not the missionaries friends of these consuls, indeed might they not themselves be officials or paid to act as such? In fact, one nation, France, openly allowed their “fathers” official status. The bishop ranked with a viceroy, the humblest priest with the local magistrate.

The fruit of it all came fast. People flocked to the churches, not to be bettered by Christian teaching, but to gain power with which to threaten and coerce their enemies. This, it is not unfair to say, was particularly true among Roman Catholic native priests and their converts, where the worst characters of the community carried the day with high hand. It was at least true of the Jenshow district, where, abetted by the church, “converts” coerced, blackmailed, robbed, assaulted their helpless neighbors. Should reprisals arise they were at once labelled “persecutions,” appeal was made to the priests, then to the bishop, and thus to the chief officials of the province, or locally to the magistrates. The honest, hard-working citizen’s lot seemed hopeless and helpless.

Then the knowledge slowly gained ground that there were two parties among these foreigners. Protestants, it was said, had equal power, but did not countenance such coercion. Why not invite these into the county, and join their organization? The plan was plausible and prevailed. Representative men went to the capital to invite the Protestant missionaries. After a time they came, received everywhere with honor and acclaim. Villages, a score and more, organized and sent representatives to support the movement. A central organization sprang up and a big building was secured.

Among the many villages that thus sent representatives was that of the Chao family. Who should be sent but Li, the scholar, soldier, merchant, man of affairs. He went to Jenshow, listened, gave hearty support, bought books said to be necessary and went his way. He was more interested now, however, and read his books carefully. Though his motives could scarce be called Christian, he was being led and to lead in a way that he knew not.

Some months later, a convention for leaders was summoned in the provincial capital. Li was ready and receptive. He returned to his native village, moved as not before to pilot his people. Many became converts, not of convenience, but of conviction, among these his former teacher and his own family and friends.

Another year, and again a conference of those most worthy was called. Li came gladly. This time his home-going meant the giving over of business interests to others while he went forth in his own village, county town, and all the surrounding district, this time persuading men to make the greatest of all investments, those eternal investments in the Kingdom of God. Henceforth for him he felt his life’s chief business lay in the extension of the reign of righteousness, peace and joy throughout his native land.

Two years have passed since then, but he is still as of old—fervent, fearless, faithful. A year’s study at college in Chengtu has given him greater grip and wider vision. To-day he is again out in the work he loves, the scholar seeing even more clearly the signs of his times, the soldier going courageously forward in the great commission, the trader offering in all market-places treasure that death cannot corrupt, the evangelist heralding the glad tidings of great joy to a great people.

Of such stuff are China’s first apostles in the far west. Of such appeal is the message of the Son of Man to draw alien races unto Himself. To this end let us have firmer faith in all.