Hopeless Heathenism in India by M. D. Wood

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Dec 4, 1913

Hopeless Heathenism in India

By M. D. Wood

M. D. WOOD

“But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.” I Thess. 4:13. When the apostle Paul wrote these words, he was communicating his thoughts to those who had once been worshipers of dumb idols, but who were then looking to Jesus, the author and finisher of their faith. He knew that when their beloved friends should die, their own faith would be put to the test, and they would be likely, if ignorant of the omnipotence of their Saviour Jesus Christ, to grieve for them as they grieved for their departed friends before they accepted the faith of Christ. Should they do this, they would not only become despondent themselves, but a stumbling-block to others who might behold them.

In Heb. 6:19 Paul says that the Christian’s hope is “an anchor of the soul.” An anchor holds the heavy boat to which it is attached, and keeps it from drifting and from being driven up and down by the waves in time of storm and tempest and dark clouds. Blessed hope this, that we shall some day see Jesus as he is, and shall be made like him; and thrice blessed the hope that “even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.” The exhortation of the aged apostle to “sorrow not, even as others which have no hope,” has of late been very forcibly impressed upon my mind, the reason of which I will now give.

Less than fifty yards from our present headquarters there live four or five families of low-caste Hindus. Several weeks ago a child belonging to one of these families took ill and lingered along in pain and suffering for some time. Without doubt the parents were too ignorant really to care for their child. Once they came to our dispensary for medicine.

One morning the whole neighborhood was aroused by the most pathetic groans and cries. All went at once to their doors and windows to ascertain the cause of this grief. We all stared amazed as we beheld a tall half-dressed heathen mother just outside her door screaming at the top of her voice, as loud as her strong lungs would permit. She was beating her chest and telling all who could hear, of her great grief and of the good qualities of her sick child. We had at first supposed the little girl had passed away, but were told she was still alive.

The mother’s example was followed by a young girl of about twelve years. She was so full of grief she could hardly endure it, so she threw herself about in all directions. Many persons stood about looking on. Some of their native neighbors, both men and women, left their labors in the fields and walked to the home and looked into the sick-room. Then they sat down in silence and wept, too, helpless and hopeless. Ah, what a pitiful sight! None had a word to say; all felt the depression of grief that like a black pall rested down on that whole neighborhood. It looked as if the mother would go mad and really lose her mind. But after her throat and lungs gave out, she became quiet.

This was not the only occasion of such excitement and grief, however. For several days, at least once a day that mother and daughter came out of doors and made the same ado. Neighbors tried to quiet the poor grief-stricken mother, but of no avail. She would not be quieted as long as she had strength to wail. The father and son were perfectly quiet and unmoved. This continued for a week or more.

One morning we heard more wailing than usual. We all went to the windows, and from the second floor of our house we could see the stiff and lifeless form of the recent sufferer being slowly carried out of the house on the strong arms of the silent father. Quite a company of low-caste Hindus had gathered as usual to attend the funeral. There was no prayer, no priest, no thought of God or the life beyond the grave; only a great, dead silence. A life merely had come to an end. To the living it was a hopeless blank. The women wept and wailed. That strong-bodied heathen mother stood at her door and beheld that little group of men with a heart full of grief and sorrow, and not one ray of hope, not a drop of comfort from any source. Our own hearts were moved as we thought of the darkness and heartlessness of heathenism. As long as she could see the squad of men in the distance that mother stood and cried at the top of her voice. Then she fell exhausted, and only then did she give up. With a sigh we turned away from it all. But it was hard to set our minds again to duties. We had come face to face with that monster death, and felt its overcoming power in the very atmosphere of its heathen hopelessness.

But again the next morning at break of day that sad-hearted mother came out of her door, and fixing her gaze toward the distant place in the jungles, she lifted up her voice in bitter lamentations. This she repeated daily for several weeks, until we were tired of the sound. Finally I called her to my gate and asked her why she thus grieved. Her quick reply was that she was a poor woman. She had lost a large family of children, and the anger of God must be upon her. She had made sacrifices, consulted witch-doctors, and done all sorts of things, but all of no avail. Then in the simplest language I could command I urged her not to grieve; I told her that there was one God above; that there would be a resurrection day, and that if she would try to serve God and do right, some day she might be able to see all her children.

I question if her dull mind comprehended what I told her. Then I begged her not to make any more ado, for we were very weary and it did her no good whatever. She understood this at least, for I heard her tell her neighbors what the sahib had said to her, and she has been silent since that conversation.

In completing the thought, Paul said, “Wherefore comfort one another with these words.”

The above is but a faint glimpse into what we feel and behold among the heathen very often.