On a beautiful May morning some years ago, a group of Chinese were trekking out through Shanghsien's East Gate. They were walking in procession, and their destination was the East Dragon Mountain Temple, about three miles outside the city boundaries. Though the sun had not yet appeared above the mountain crests, they were up early because they felt this dawn procession would abate the wrath of the gods. It was always an excellent policy to be on good terms with the gods, especially in hard times.
Each temple pilgrim had with him both his incense and a brand of brownish grey paper which was given to the priests. An unwritten law demanded that nobody should visit the temple without a present; and to see that this was adhered to, the priests stood guard by the temple portals. Pilgrims, knowing it was folly to incur the enmity of the priests, never dallied in slipping coins into those ever-ready hands.
The sun had now arisen above the mountain peaks, and its gilded beams glanced down through the valley over the temple, flashing and sparkling on its bronze and copper panels. Seeing the radiant splendour, the pilgrims thought there was something supernatural about it all. To heighten the effect, a cool morning breeze floating past them in a softly gentle swish created a stirring impression of purity.
With unhurried but firm tread, they drew near the temple. They did not observe absolute silence, for there was much to discuss, and they were not people to pass over matters that made the talk of the town.
One of the worshippers, a young man conspicuous for his unruffled meditative attitude, only occasionally shared in the conversation; then only on one topic, the mighty accomplishments of the gods down through the centuries. On such themes he spoke with authority as of one on familiar ground. He was tall, but stooped slightly in his gait. His hair was raven black, his oval face of an ochre complexion, and he had eyes that for the most part looked straight ahead with a peculiarly intense expression of seeking.
"Tien Pao," said an admirer of his in the company, "you have stored up much merit with the gods. There are, indeed, few temple priests in this region that are strangers to you. You have also contributed to the construction of the new temple on the Two Dragon Mountain."
Tien Pao answered with the Buddhist prayer, "Ngo Mi-to-fu," etc. "I am unworthy to go to the temple, but I am a debtor to the gods, for it is only they whom I can thank for being alive."
Lueh Tien Pao, which was his full name, had been born into an ordinary Buddhist home two miles north-east of Shanghsien. Of the family of eleven children, besides the father and the mother, only Tien Pao and a younger sister had survived. Following a common practice, two of the first babies in this home were done away with, being unwanted girls. On each occasion someone said, "It was only a girl. After all, that was the only method to banish the curse which threatened to destroy their home."
Others felt sorry for the girls, but said that it was impossible to feed everything that entered the world, that times were difficult, and that this way of solving the problem of support was quite the best.
"Our neighbours," said a Buddhist preacher, "are quite right in their beliefs. They are altogether vindicated, for there has not been meat in their home for two generations. However, it is inexplicable that they have been twice hit by the same misfortune. We must remember, though, that those who live a short life are to be pitied no more than those who live a long life, since everything is short in comparision with eternity. Nor must we forget that life itself, being corporeal, is transitory, containing within itself the very seeds of dissolution. As long as we are bound to a bodily existence, we are prone to earthly tragedies. That is why the idea of living forever is so repugnant to us. Our ultimate goal is to attain nirvana or extinction, but the biggest obstacle in our path is craving for the continuance of existence. It is this desire which unfortunately results in renewed existence. In considering the chain of existence, it is well to take note of the tremendously important part played by karma, or character, which is the sum of merit and demerit that lives on after a man, not in perceptible changes caused by his actions but in a new individuality or ego. This fresh personality, however, would never come into being unless the previous link in the chain of existence wished for life itself. The only way to achieve Nirvana and overcome desire for existence is by pure living and universal brotherhood of love and by the realization that there is no escape from life save through the destruction of the instinct prompting self-preservation. So we look forward to the ttime when the karma that is transmitted in the chain of our existence registers an ever-weakening desire for life and an increasing righteousness, till eventually it records no longing for life. Then will nirvana be ours. Let us thank Buddha that the two girls born into our neighbour's home never tasted either the bitterness of extended life or the pain of being the cause of calamity in their family. "
Tien Pao's home was rigidly Buddhist. They lived in its philosophy with all their beings; Buddhism was their only touchstone to happiness. Despite all Buddhism provided, there was no bulwark against the crime of infanticide. Threaded through all religions is the tarnished fact that teaching and its living application are often widely separated.
When another child was expected there was great excitement and preparation. The mother was nervously anxious as she wondered what the future held in store for her. What if it were a wretched girl again ! One thought continued happily in her mind till she had almost convinced herself of its truth, and a host of signs pointed to the fulfilment of that thought. Buddha was a merciful god, and he surely would not make life any more miserable for her, if he remembered all she had gone through, especially the shame and curse of twice bearing girls. She could not be positive, but she hoped for the best.
Several relatives were at hand when the great day arrived, and a beautiful little boy was born into the home. The mother was overjoyed. The news flashed from neighbour to neighbour. "Ta hsi" (Great Happiness) had come to Lueh's home. "Ch'iu pi teh," observed those who heard the glad tidings. "Pray and you shall receive."
"There, you see," said her Sheh Niang (wife of father's younger brother). "Didn't I tell you that the gods would be reward you richly for all the magnificent presents you gave during the festival last year ? The child is bound to grow up and live a long life."
"The father sent thanksgiving offerings to the temple without delay," the news went on to report.
The cup of joy, however, had a slightly wormwood taste. They had had five children, and lost them all, so that they trembled at the very thought. Hurriedly they decided that something had to be done to shield the lad from evil spirits, but they hardly knew what to do. They had heard about an old diviner in the district who was acquainted with all the circuitous quirks of the powers of evil. At any rate, they could try him.
Thereupon this hoary diviner was invited to the home. Preparations for the meal had been very thorough, for they knew that if they loaded the table down with delicacies they could expect extraordinary blessings in return. On the other hand, if they stinted their guest, they were equally certain they might expect all the dire calamities contained within the entire repertoire of curses known to the diviner.
The table was covered with the most appetizing savouries. The mea, specially concocted for vegetarians from wheat mixed with red and yellow soya beans and other ingredients, had matured in flavour in its setting period. The hosts were afraid to be miserly, so the drinks were of the finest quality. One of Lueh's friends owned a distillery, and Lueh himself had taken the liquor from the plant before it had been mixed for shop distrubition.
The diviner had not often sat down to such a well-spread table, and so it was not suprising that his eyes glistened and his mouth watered at the sight of the treat before him. He promised to do his absolute best, and instructed the father of the house to do three things.
First, he was to appoach seven neighbours and ask for one bowl of flour from each one. The flour had to be freshly ground. From this flour the mother was then to make dough enough to shape a flour-child which in every part had to be identical with her own son. Secondly, the father was to take a thread and measure his child's stature. The thread then was to be tied around the waist of the mien hai-tze, the dough replica. Thirdly, the father was to take the substitute and walk one hundred paces from the home and bury it in the middle of the crossroads. But when the man had marked off the one hundred steps, he found no cross-roads. Lueh, however, was not easily stalled, so he manufactured his own cross-roads. Now all was ready for the interment, and the dough effigy was buried in the centre of the crossing. With that symbolical act completed, Lueh felt that he had really hoodwinked the spirits. He and his wife had followed the instructions of the diviner minutely, and by burying this substitute they had secured for their own child a growth unmarred by either sickness or death.
The child was named Tien Pao-- "the gift which heaven guards." Five of Tien Pao's brothers had lain in the cradle in which he now lay; and death's cold hand had lain upon each. Both the father and the mother, so fearful lest their little treasure should vanish from them into the great unknown, took every precaution for his safety. The cradle received a new appearance. Instead of its former earthy hue, they daubed it a fiery red. They knew from experience that even the most malicous spirits were afraid of fire which reminded them too poignantly of purgatorial flames.
Thrice daily the members of Lueh's family worshipped the thirty gods in the home. This ceremonial had been repeated year in, year out, generation after generation. In addition, the family were regular worshippers at seven different temples in the vicinity and further afield. They spared neither time nor money. The annual quantity of oil donated for burning in the temple lamps was almost five and a half pounds, besides all the incense. And of course there were plenty of sacrifices, not to mention the gifts for the priests and idols, temple benevolence, for the upkeep of the temple.
In this enviroment Tien Pao grew up. His parents never missed an oppurtunity to impress upon the lad what they knew of the mighty exploits of the gods. When the boy learned to read he continued along the same theme, and by the time he reached the age of twenty was a staunch Buddhist with a comprehensive knowledge of the world of spirits. He also possessed a detailed knowledge of Chinese history from the time of Confucius to modern days. Few persons were held in higher esteem than Sun Yat Sen, the founder of the Republic, the father of the Revolution. The author always found it interesting to hear Tien Pao describe aspects of the story of China and its people. In this way he himself gained an unusual insight into the cultural life of the Chinese which has helped him to understand the people more fully.
At the age of twenty, Tien Pao launched his own specialized business, concentrating on the manufacture of temple articles for the city of Shanghsien and suburbs. None could make paper representations of women, horses, and sedan-chairs more life-like and finer than he. His productions always attracted attention when carried through the streets to places of worship. Even though fashioned from paper, these figures were real works of artistic skill. He drew his regular customers from the rich class in the city, for they knew that none surpassed him in conscientous work. One of his great days of sale came annually at the elaborate Ching Ming Festival. {1. Ching Ming ("clear and bright") is a solar period during which the Chinese worship at their family graves. The period roughly approxiamates to the days between April 5th and April 17th on our calendar. }
The remarkable feature about Tien Pao and his business was his indifference about amassing a fortune. His whole mind was preoccupied with temple mysticism in which his life purpose was centred, and which he longed to cultivate. Nevertheless, he had firmly determined first to wait until after his parents had left this world and journeyed on into the "West Heaven" before he would enter a temple and worship the gods through self-affliction and self-denial. With these loongings he often turned his eyes towards the ridge of Hua Shan, the holy mountain.
After five years in this line of business he switched over to grocery. He was then twenty-five years old. Suddenly his father, a maan of fifty-nine, became ill, lost his appetite and kept to his bed. All the black and bitter medicines he forced down only intensified his ailment. His pains increased in frequency, and to assuage the pain he had recourse to opium: the drug lessened his misery and boosted his desire to live. But late in the spring his condition became desperate. It then occurred to Tien Pao that, since medicine was of no avail, the gods alone were powerful enough to help his father.
Three and a half miles east of Shanghsien, a large and famous temple is situated on a peak called the East Dragon Mountain. Folk told the most fantastic tales of the miracles which the gods in this temple had wrought. They cured all manner of diseases and were specialists in the art of lengthening life. The father's great desire was to live for many more years. The son then came to a decision to go to this temple and pray for the healing of his father's ailment. He laid his preparations sincerely and carefully. Buying five hundred sheets of printed prayers, he perused each of them diligently in the belief that by so doing he would gain favour with gods and would thereby heighten the chances of his prayers being answered. The evening before his journey to the temple he took his bath of purification, since he couldn't enter the presence of the gods unless he was clean. He knew too that he did not have the effrontery to plead for his father's recovery unless he offered compensation in some way. For that reason he prayed for the shortening of his own life by ten years and the lengthening of his father's life by the same number. This satisfied his scrupulous nature and heartened him considerably. Upon arriving at the temple he also petitioned the god for an extra life-giving medicine to take home for his sick father. These medicines as a rule consisted of the ashes left after the burning of the paper prayers the faithful had offered to the god. This miraculous stuff guaranteed recovery in ninety-nine per cent. of all cases. All this the painstaking son did with faith in his heart.
The following day Tien Pao arose very early. He was nearly beside himself with suspense as he vividly pictured his father completely restored to normal. On the way down to his father's room, he walked in an ectasy of religous fervour, mumbling prayers to the gods and promising them this, that, and the other. His father, however, showed no improvement; in fact, he was on the downgrade. Tien Pao's hopes were shattered. His eyes beheld blackness as a veil of disappointment spread over his face. Speechless, he left his father's room.
A new determination took shape in Tien Pao's brain. A Buddhist scripture had given him the idea. "If a son take a piece of his own flesh and serve it as a soup cooked together with cabbage stalks, it shall heal every kind of sickness." The thought entwined its relentless tendrils about his sense of filial duty. He became certain that this was the path ahead of him. Not only would his father recover, but the family would gain honour and respect.
Calmly and methodically he made his plans. While the occupants of the house were sleeping, he sharpened the big kitchen knife to a razor-like edge. As for the remaining items of equipment, he had already made his own red thread and had also secured a pair of heavy steel pincers. Lime he had bought on the market, telling his mother that he was going to seal the cracks in his father's room to prevent the bed bugs from coming out and disturbing the patient.
One evening while his wife was out visiting her mother, he considered the time opportune for saving his father's life. During the few moments spent in going down the hall to the patient's room, he muttered a couple of lines from a Buddhist scripture: "My flesh is indeed the flesh of my parents and now it is given for the saving of the life of my father." Each detail in the act proceeded as he had foreseen and determined. He did not lose too much blood after he sliced off a piece of flesh from the thickest part of his thigh and laid it carefully in the food box. Thereupon he went to bed, and though he felt some stabbing jabs in the wound, he was so fatigued that he soon dropped off to sleep.
In the market on the following day he bought some cabbage stalks. On coming home he related to his mother what he had done. Startled and frightened, she compelled her son to go to bed at once. Then she commenced the difficult job of washing out the lime which her son had rubbed into his wound. This task was a prolonged one, since by that time the lime had burnt its way deep into the thigh. She did not neglect the soup, however, for she had it prepared within the prescribed time. Together with her son, she brought it in to the sick man, who wouldn't even taste it until they vowed that the human broth would effect his complete recovery. Then he reluctantly drank it down.
Despite all this, Tien Pao's father became no better; instead, his condition deteriorated steadily. In addition, Tien Pao himself became seriously ill. They tried every medicine, but none helped. The mother came in one day to consult her son, for one of the neighbours had advised her to go to the Fu In Tang, the Gospel Hall. There they had medicines from Uai Kuo(abroad), and there they proclaimed the teaching of the foreign divinity. Many rumours circulated about the foreigners: many believed they were good people; many others thought them not to be trusted. The result of the discussion was that, since her son was beyond all proven remedies, she must now summon the white foreigner.
In this way the home came into contact with the Mission. Every day possible the missionary came and treated the son's wound; if unable, she sent one of her native co-workers. Tien Pao was exceedingly suprised that these nurses neither smoked nor drank. They were very courteous, too. While they washed his wound they told him about their Lord and Saviour. Tien Pao was unaccountably impressed by the atmosphere which surrounded them. It was far different from the religous atmosphere that pervaded Buddhist ranks. His chivalry demanded that he should be attentive while they spoke to him about the foreign God, but it didn't require him to accept the new teaching. He permitted very little of these conversations to ruffle the placid Buddhist surface.
It had been a fateful October, even though it found him at the end of five months still convalescing after the thigh-slashing. His father died suddenly, and Tien Pao was unable to joine the funeral procession, because of his weakness. However, through this pall of gloom one bright spot flickered. Tien Pao's wife gave birth to her first-born son. That was a great day for the family, since a son was eligible to carry on the priestly office at the family altar.
Midway through February Tien Pao was well enough to walk about unassisted. One matter, however, bothered him considerably. He had a conviction that he was indebted to the white missionary, and this so disquieted him that he had to repay his debt as promptly as possible. So he took his market basket to go shopping one day. From previous experience, he realized that medicines were extremely expensive, but he decided to deceive the missionary, and therefore bought cheap items to fill the basket. On the road to the mission station it suddenly dawned on him that possibly the missionary would not accept such a plain gift. Just imagine if he had to leave the station with a full basket; what loss of face that would involve. However, he was fortunately mistaken, for the missionary was so delighted with the present that Tien Pao felt a slight twinge of conscience.
The danger of visiting the mission station too frequently soon became apparent to Tien Pao. As he was loitering down the street one day meditating on the differences between Buddhism and the white man's teaching, he encountered a worthy old Buddhist.
"Well, well, you're so far advanced in the new teaching that you not only have missed the way to the West Heaven, but you have also lost the use of your eyes when walking the streets," said Suen Chi Lia to Tien Pao.
Our Chinese friend knew now that he was a meaty topic for the gossip of the people, who already were talking about his apostasy. Now he would seriously have to inject new vigour into his childhood faith, which had been slowly shrivelling up. Both the illness of his father and his own confinement to bed had caused his faith to dwindle, for he had been unable to understand the silence of the gods and their unsympathetic attitude. He had performed his part to the very last iota. The prayers for his sick father were cries from the depths of his soul. He sought for his childhood faith and found that it still occupied a cherished spot in his heart; this discovery and his determination to salvage his former beliefs helped him enormously. It was a struggle between life and death, this battle to drive out from his system the poision which he maintained came from the mission station and dogged his tracks.
Right across the street from the mission station a new building had been constructed for business purposes. Tien Pao was one of those who rented space in the building. Against his will, he was compelled to listen to the Christian message and song which floated his way from the other side of the street. Soon the message concerning Jesus the Christ penetrated the copper doors, iron-bolted though they were: sometimes Christians would cross the street to his shop and hand him tracts written by converted Buddhists. But the old faith which he had believed from childhood had thrust down hardy roots.
Now a new evangelist appeared at the mission station. He had an outstanding knowledge of and thorough familiarity with the Chinese classics; besides, he was a talented student of the Bible. Argumentative persons lost their desire for debate after conversing with him a short while, so rapidly would they be persuaded that Jesus was Lord and the only Saviour in whom they could find refuge. This evangelist had set himself a goal, and that was to win Tien Pao to faith in Christ. Each day he visited the Buddhist in his store, and the two quickly became good friends. Tien Pao realized the underlying purpose of these visits, but yet could not refrain from admiring the masterful manner in which his friend the evangelist gave him the Gospel. They discussed well-known Chinese classics, and during this intercourse his friend sowed God's word in his heart. The living words found their way into the innermost sanctum of Tien Pao's being, and quietly fulfilled their errand. The Christian friend also visited Tien Pao's home. There he had to brave the verbal scorn of Tien Pao's mother, but he took it all in a Christian spirit. The evangelist continued in this way for six years. Occasionally he would manage to lure Tien Pao to church. Then he would always sit beside his friend and help him locate the hymns. One day Tien Pao received a handsomely bound Bible from the evangelist, but he laid it away in a drawer, where it remained undisturbed for several years.
Little by little the light of the gospel shone in Tien Pao's heart. The process was by no means hurried: but thanks to the tactful guidance of the evangelist, Tien Pao entered the kingdom of light. He was baptized and accepted as a church member. His store was closed every Sunday. Outside on the door he would fasten a placard with the statement: "To-day is Sunday. There is a worship service at the church, therefore the store is shut." Yet there was plently of the old nature in Tien Pao's life. He sold medicines before and after church, and was also an expert in mixing them to defraud his customers.
On one occasion the well-known Danish missionary, Miss Anna Christensen, came to hold a series of special meetings. The Holy Spirit worked in a mighty way amongst the Christians, and Tien Pao was amongst those who felt the Spirit's power. He realized his sin. To those whom he had cheated, he refunded what he owed. Under the pointing finger of the Spirit, more and more instances cropped up. This time of heart searching fostered a new ring in Tien Pao's testimony. It brought him into touch with many heathen who were non-plussed by his restitution complex. In spite of their inability to understand his attitude, they observed with respect the humility he displayed in his apologies and compensations.
The sunshine of happiness now shone unobstructed throughout Tien Pao's home. Where previously the mystical Buddhist incantations and sacred writings had dominated, the God of grace ruled. The family was composed of six members, three of whom had been fanatical Buddhists but now worked zealously among their former associates. Freezing receptions, scorn and mockery could not hold them off. They witnessed and sang about their Lord and Saviour with a conviction and inner glow that could not be repudiated.
The other three had not been Buddhists, though heathen. Christ had saved them from the pitch blackness of heathendom's night and brought them into the glorious realm of light. No one had instructed them in what they should do as Christians; nevertheless, they knew. Their testimonies were straightforward and yet coming from their hearts had the seal of the Holy Spirit's approval. Results did not linger either, for they won several to their Master.
Tien Pao's home had become a temple for the living God. Six candlesticks shed forth their light in that home. And in the midst of the candlesticks the Son of Man had personally promised to guard the flames, clean the wicks, and trim them when necessary. Satan's power had been smashed, to let the light of God shine about and through their lives.