Standing by Shanyang's south gateway, the missionary was witnessing for his God and selling Bibles and Bible portions to willing bystanders. It was springtime and the strong sun beat uncomfortably on the missionary's neck. But that did not smother his cheerful enthusiasm. For to him it was something more than routine business to stand at the city gate and testify to his God, even in such a scorching heat; it was a call to which he had answered "Yes". This call is the highest happiness which can be apportioned to man. It is given to all groups of people. In this office there is no distinction between rich and poor. The vital factor is a heart aflame for missions. The responsibility of being ambassadors for the heavenly Lord is granted to those who feel the burden and rejoice over the privilege of accepting it.

Across the street from the missionary's booth was an open-air theatre. The actors had just ended their play and were taking the air on the slope. The crowds left the theatre and headed to the opposite side of the alley to see what the missionary was displaying on his stall. He stood and watched the people approaching, many he had seen before. They had been to him and received medicines for their ailments, then they had been composed and reticent, now in contrast they stood jabbering at each other and pointing to the books and the missionary. As a group they were unafraid of posing questions.

"How much does the foreign-God book cost ?"

"How did He come into being ?"

"Where does He live ?"

"Why does He force Himself into this part of China ?"

"We have our own gods and you yours; why can't you let us worship our gods in peace ?"

One question after another rained down on the missionary, who was kept busy answering. He had become accustomed to the Chinese delight in asking questions, having lived amongst them for almost a generation. During that time he had learnt to know the people quite well.

Amongst the most eager in his audience was a man dressed in the sky-blue garb of a peasant. This farmer was big and powerfully built, yet there was something noble and visionary about him. He appeared to be living not in this world, but in his own land of dreams. Perhaps he dreamed about solutions for the problems of the world, or perhaps about the satisfaction of a longing for purity, security, and goodness. After the rest of the throng had dispersed, the husky tiller of the soil stayed behind to talk with the missionary. Farmer Feng, for that was his name, finally bought a Bible which he carefully wrapped up in his large, red-checkered handkerchief.

Droves of gods were established in Feng's home. His wife was a typical daughter of the mountain highlands, and had been raised in a whirl of superstition and heathenism. She was a Chinese Xanthippe as brazen and autocratic as her Greek prototype. Feng, by nature frank and blunt, had, through his marriage, become reserved and taciturn; but this, however, did not wrest from him the domination of the household. If he considered his wife had gone too far, he administered chastisement effectively.

On the way home Feng meditated on his conversation with the missionary, who had pointed out that the Chinese themselves manufactured their gods: their gods were therefore false. But the God whom the missionary was talking about was the Creator of men and had given them the ability to choose for themselves. He it was who gave their lives security, happiness, and peace. The sunshine of contentment beamed in every home that truly worshipped the missionary's God. Feng was a seeker, and, as such, had determined to seek until he had discovered the only true God worthy of his devotion. During his talk with the missionary he had instantaneously understood that the missionary's God was worthy of his worship. Perhaps this God was the only true one. The missionary had affirmed it, but he himself had to investigate; for this reason he had bought the Bible. His first step on arriving home was to gather up all the images he had collected through the years, and burn them. This he did without consulting his wife.

A terrific typhoon lashed out over Feng when his wife found out what he had done. For a long time afterwards there were daily repercussions of that storm. Feng, however, had made his decision and took everything calmly. In his heart he knew that he had acted well and rightly.

Farmer Feng was unlettered, and, though this had proved a great drawback, he had never become despondent about it. Knowing that up in the mountains about two and a half miles from his home there was a private school with a teacher who could read, Feng made up his mind to go to him and request him to read a little from the book. Methodically he wrapped up the book and set off for the school.

"You really must excuse me for coming and disturbing you in your absorbing work," said Feng to the teacher upon arrival at school. "The fact of the matter is that I was in town a couple of days ago to take part in the offerings to the god of the earth when I saw something I had never seen before. A man was standing and selling books at the same time as he told us about a strange God about whom neither I nor anybody else in these parts has ever heard. That man further maintained that all persons were created by this God. He also quoted the wise man, Confucius, "All who dwell within the four seas are brothers"; thus they are created by the same God. This God, said the missionary, had a Son named Jesus who loved all men with a great love. So great was this love that He voluntarily permitted Himself to be crucified to a tree. His crucifixion made it possible for all to be happy if they so wished. Those who believe on Him are called the children of God. This missionary had a book which could tell me all about this Deity. I bought the book, but you know that I cannot read the slightest bit. Therefore I couldn't think of anything else than coming to you for you to tell me what kind of book I have here, and what it says about God's Son, Jesus."

Assuming an expression of infinite learning, the teacher opened the book to see what it contained. He turned the pages and unfortunately stopped at the first chapter of Matthew. He began reading the genealogy of Jesus, but did not take long to close the book contemptuously. Turning to Feng, he said:

"The white man sure has fooled you, Feng. You have bought a pig in a poke. The book's contents are only a repetition of the white man's genealogy. But the book is printed on good paper which your wife can use in the soles when she next sews a pair of shoes for you."

Crestfallen, Feng took the book the teacher handed back to him. He had not expected this. Bowed, he returned home. The white man then was no other than a speculator. All this about the true and false gods was a mere figment of his imagination. When he arrived home he laid the book away, not wishing to set eyes on it any more.

Shortly afterwards, Feng moved from Shanyang to Fenghuangtsui. His wife and youngest child died a few weeks after their arrival. Darkness lay heavily about him, and his neighbours did their bit to render the blackness still darker. They said that sorrow had struck him because he had thrown out his old gods and that he would have to restore them to their rightful positions or else face the wrath of the entire spirit world. Bankrupt, without a wife to cheer him, what was he to do ? Nobody would give a wife away to a pauper. However, things turned out better than expected. Feng was not friendless. A man came to him one day with good news. Up in one of the region's valleys there lived an old man and his daughter, both of excellent family connections. The aged father agreed to give his daughter to Feng if the latter would permit him to live with them for the remainder of his life. It was arranged that Feng should pay fifteen silver dollars for the entire deal. Three days later, the new wife came to Feng's house and found herself the cause of hearty rejoicing up and down the street where her husband lived.

An elderly preacher was travelling about the district at this time and witnessing to his Lord. While Feng one day was carrying fertilizer to his opium field, he saw a crowd gathered on the street. Thinking that one of the usual story-tellers was passing through, he joined the group to find out what was happening. His surprise was measureless when he heard exactly the same message he had heard two years previously in Shanyang. He responded in his heart to the good news. And at the end of Evangelist Tao's sermon, Feng went to him and engaged him in conversation.

"In the book from which you read, isn't there a part called the Old Testament, and a part called the New Testament ?"

"What do you know of these two portions of the Bible ?" asked the evangelist.

In a typical Chinese way, he spun a yarn for the evangelist and said that he had picked up the book when he was fleeing from robbers.

The evangelist expressed a desire to examine the book. Feng, with genuine Chinese courtesy, invited the evangelist to his home whenever it was convenient. This servant of God was convinced that he should accompany Feng home then and there, so the two went together.

Feng brought the book out from its neglected retreat, and handed it to the evangelist, who opened it. The first thing he noticed was the writing on the flyleaf. It was Feng's name. He mentioned this to Feng, who realized that he couldn't conceal the truth any longer. Without fabrication, he described what had occurred two years previously. This story filled the evangelist with a sure conviction that this, his most recent field of labour, would be crowned with the salvation of souls. With a holy zeal, he commenced to unfold to Feng the teaching of God's word. Feng listened engrossed; but still the ties that bound him to this world were many. There was so much he would have to let go and which he could not. He was a confirmed opium-smoker and a chained card-player. His entire income was derived from his extensive opium field and his lesser tobacco acreage. He could not abandon them. What then should he live on ?

The evangelist was Feng's faithful friend. He didn't skip a single day in visitation. They held many animated conversations together. Feng understood that the new life which his friend so often spoke about was the correct life. But he was equally clear in his mind that if he became a Christian he would have to forgo his worldly pleasures and just at the moment he was not particularly desirous of such drastic self-denial. The man of God was a psychologist able to apply his knowledge. He knew how to handle men like Feng. As they stood out in Feng's garden one day and looked at the opium patch flaunting its greenery, the evangelist said:

"Feng, you are obviously looking forward to the harvest and visualizing all the opium you will get. There'll be many a night filled with pleasant dreams. Won't it be glorious to escape from this sad world into a marvellous fantasia of unreality ? It's only stuff and nonsense that you've quit smoking, isn't it ? "

Feng felt as if he had been mowed down to the ground. He didn't know what to answer. Who would have dreamed that his friend could see right through him like that ?

"In the depth of your heart, you wish to become a Christian, don't you ? I know what you must do. It will be exceedingly hard at the time, but my belief is that it's the only way in which to master the situation.We'll start uprooting each opium and tobacco plant immediately. You're forced to act radically if you're to overcome your weaknesses."

"Yes, but soon it's harvest, and if I don't let these plants ripen, I don't know what I'll live on in the winter."

"That's what your God and my God is going to show you."

Feng realized his friend was absolutely right. It was exceedingly difficult to dispense with what had been his means of livelihood for more than twenty years. Other arguments too had to be considered. About him was a millenial heathenism with its traditions and its united public opinion. It wouldn't be easy to be the first person in the place to betray his heathen heritage. And then again, there was the question of sustenance for the future. Planting vegetables was an impossibility, since the season was over, and had been so for a long time. He just could not consider it; that was all.

The old evangelist well understood that a battle was raging in Feng's heart. He had travelled with the Gospel for more than thirty years and had during that time witnessed many bitter soul struggles. He knew his obligation. The only thing that counts in such a crisis is prayer. Pray he did, and with such earnestness that results could not fail. Feng suddenly arose, his face stamped with decision. His friend could see that Feng had determined his course. Again there was triumph for the heavenly legions and defeat for the spiritual hosts of Satan.

With a firm tread, Feng walked down the garden path across a short cut to the left. He was on his way to the opium field. He blanched under his sun tan; this was the greatest moment in his life. He reached the place where the plants rose in all their verdant finery. They had a heavenly fragance. They would bring him plenty of money. Close by were the tobacco plants. These two crops of his had secured him a steady income. It was almost as if the plants realized what Feng was about to do, and Feng imagined that they were speaking to him in their own mysterious manner:

"Surely it's not you, Feng, who wishes this evil upon us. Think of all the hours you have spent on us. Your concern made you extra careful. You observed how we grew and became strong, sturdy plants with a host of buds. Soon it will be harvest. Can't you wait for it ? Then you can pull us up by the roots, and it won't do us the least harm. Will you really destroy us now, after you have yourself cultivated us with the sweat of your brow ? Do you think that's fair play ?"

Feng stood irresolute for a minute, battling with his fierce lust for opium, for he had hearkened to their siren-like call. But as he stood there hesitant, he heard a voice from the soil. It came directly from the field. He was a true farmer, and knew that the earth could speak.

"What you are about to do now, Feng, is the wisest thing that you'll ever do. I don't cherish the way these opium plants suck all the nourishment from me. I am destined for something completely different, and that you know, being a farmer. From me should come the plants that give health and strength to men and not plants that render them slaves to dangerous vices. You're a real farmer's son, and your family have been farmers for hundreds of years. You have an exceptional way with me. I like to yield my best when you tend me. Besides, I like to see you glad and happy. A contented farmer spreads additional sunshine over his fields. Pluck up the plants. The act will reward you and your descendants."

Feng started. Why was he hesitating ? It did not pay in such a crisis where spiritual life and death were involved. He bent down, took an extra firm grip on one of the opium plants and tugged. The plant resisted. It was as if it would not yield. But Feng, using all his strength, conquered. In the moment that he tore the plant out of the soil, the sin in his own heart vanished. All at once he felt wonderfully joyful. He could not contain the happiness he felt, and he had to air his emotions. From his heart there arose a song of praise to the God. It rang out clear and strong and struck an answering chord in the heart of his friend the evangelist, who had remained a short distance in the rear praying for him. When he saw the plant torn out of the earth and heard the jubilation in Feng's voice, he also joined in the hymn of thanksgiving. Yet again had God proved Himself a great and mighty Lord over circumstance and enviroment.

In the same field which had formerly produced opium and tobacco there now grew a fine crop of vegetables. They seemed to shoot into the air faster than in other places. A miracle was in progress on Feng's lot. The villagers had laughingly sneered at him when he had uprooted his entire crop before it was ready for harvesting. They laughed even more boisterously as he made a big bonfire of his plants. They considered the man more than half crazy. But fewer and fewer jibed at Feng's folly as the summer stalked steadily on. Not a single field in the whole neighbourhood could boast of vegetables as fine and undamaged as Feng's. The sun seemed to restrain its rays from harming Feng's vegetables, but it appeared to burn and wither those on other lots. When the harvest season came and Feng sold his produce, he received far more than he ever would have from the opium he had destoryed. God gave him a profit of one hundred and sixty gold dollars. Feng clearly apprehended the fact that the Lord to whom he now rendered his allegiance was a God who cared for each one of his children.

Tired and worn out, Feng came home one day from his field. He had worked extra strenuously and felt depressed. He suddenly remembered that he had a little opium left over in a chest. From previous occasions he recalled that he had been accustomed to indulge in a little stimulant when he was exceptionally fagged out. It used to help him a great deal. Furtively, he fetched a pellet of opium, placed it in his pipe, and lit up. However, this time Feng received no pleasure from his smoke; in fact, he felt even worse than before. The next Sunday he neglected his church attendance, saying that he did not feel quite up to par, and that it would be best if he stayed home. He had also a very exacting period of field labour ahead. Besides, he had now advanced so far in the art of reading that he could read the text for the day at home. That day Feng did not get around either to praying or to reading his Bible. While he sat and juggled with his thoughts, his eyes began to smart unexpectedly, and became worse as the day wore on. In secret he went to a woman whom he knew was wise in healing ailments. But she proved to be a complete disappointment. She said he had to buy nine sheets of paper and then burn tehm on the altar to a idol. At that Feng lost his temper: "Aren't there enough devils ? I certainly don't need to buy any."

His conscience smote him on his homeward way. He realized why his eyes were aching; it was a reminder from God that he should refrain from digging up his former vices and enslaving himself anew. Together with his wife, who was also a Christian, he knelt by the kitchen table and prayed for forgiveness. God heard the cry from the poor man's soul and cured him of his eye affliction. From this time on Feng was an ardent Christian.

Several of the villagers had sunk their hooks of ill will into Feng. Amongst them was the property owner from whom Feng rented his field. This man came to Feng one day and ordered him to save the crop for him and nobody else, as he wished to buy it all. Feng was glad to oblige, and at the end of the harvest he transported the fresh vegetables to the landlord's place and stored them in the well-filled barns. But when he came to ask for payment, he received exactly one dollar plus a kick to the door. This was a stunning blow, and it nearly burnt out the fuse of Feng's old temper. However, he controlled himself as he heard a voice in his heart say softly: "Vengeance is Mine: I will repay, saith the Lord."

The landlord got nothing out of Feng's vegetables. Two nights later a bandit gang encircled his place, looted all his money, kidnapped his favourite wife, whipped his youngest son to death before his eyes, and vanished into the night. Behind them they left a pauper, a broken man. It was grim enough for Feng to lose the value of his crop, but was no less terrible for the landowner to lose all that he had. Only inferior people forget their self-command, and the property owner belonged to that category. He could not endure the indignities inflicted upon him He had to give vent to his setback and sorrow in some way or other, so he picked on poor Feng. The landlord found a whip and let fly on Feng with all the pent-up ferocity of his mood. "Lao-T'ien-Yeh (Heaven) wasn't good enough for you, so you forsook him to worship the despicable foreign god, Je-su," shrieked the wrathful landed gentleman as he struck Feng's face till blood spurted from both nose and mouth. Despite all, Feng managed yet again to keep himself under control.

An outside army had occupied the district and captured the village. One of their officers came recruiting for soldiers. As Feng had been accused and denounced for being a Christian, the officer decided that if no recruits were available, he would consider Feng responsible and give him a rough time. The hard-tried Chinese and his wife started praying to God, with the result that they were spared. The strangers were routed by Government troops before they could drag Feng along with them. Again had God intervened on Feng's behalf.

Feng's only son, Yu Shan, had grown up and entered the army. This son bitterly opposed the faith of his father. But he was the object of his parents prayers and solicitude, since not one day passed without their praying for him. Feng was called to travel about with the Gospel, and so established his home at Shanyang. He gave his place to the son, who was overjoyed when the old couple left.

In Shanyang, Feng was appointed watchman and street preacher, a dual position which suited him admirably. The year after his arrival in the city, he was sent to a Bible school to learn more about the evangelistic work in a two-month training course. On his return, the church voted him in as an elder, which was a mark of their confidence which Feng esteemed highly.

There is always fighting in China somewhere, so the people can never enjoy complete safety. Unexpectedly, Shanyang was captured by outside troops one Sunday morning. The Government troops were outnumbered and had no other recourse than to withdraw as hurriedly as possible. People fled. Those who left the city ran in whatever direction seemed most promising. Others hid in attics and cellars or in empty wells. Panic seized the populace; many lost their lives.

The mission station where Feng lived shared the same fate as the rest of the city. Several officers converted it into their staff headquarters.

In the missionary's study was an empty safe. The newcomers were convinced that it was filled with silver dollars because of its weight. Feng assured them that the safe was empty, but, as the key was not in his possession, he could not open it for them. The bandits demanded that the safe be opened; if it was not opened by noon, well, they would behead both him and the other folk on the station.

At that the robbers crowded into the study and commenced to bang on the safe, which had been subjected to rough treatment before. Both in Lonan and Lungchuchai, robbers had attemped to smash it open, but had failed.

Feng and his co-workers retired to his little room, where, like Daniel of old, they wrestled in prayer for their lives. Blows and curses from the maddened throng in the room adjoining increased the fervour of their prayers. All of a sudden they heard shouts of joy and peals of laughter from the next room, where the blows had ceased to echo. The iron safe had been forced open, and they were summoned. Fearfully and nervously, they walked in through the doorway.

"You have told us the truth, for there isn't a dollar in the safe. We'll not kill you, but we'll let you move about freely on the station, and, as far as we are able, we'll protect you."

With lightened hearts and streaming eyes, they left the room. God had given them a glimpse of His power by saving them from the lions' jaws.

Once again a certain measure of peace rested over the district. The outside troops had been driven off by Government forces, so Feng and one of his companions started a missionary tour through the counties. Thus they came to Pientzeku, where an unusually lavish idol festival was scheduled to be held. No less than seven female mediums were going to make known the will of the gods to the gathered throng, according to accounts. Feeling constrained to bring the Gospel to the people, Feng and his helper determined to attend this heathen ceremony. Many tried to dissuade them from such a foolhardy step, saying it was inviting trouble.

A medium in China is one who surrenders himself or herself unreservedly to the powers of evil. When these mediums are possessed and speak in that condition, people from all over flock around under the impression that they are listening to the voice of the gods. And woe betide those who interrupt in such moments when the atmosphere seems to vibrate with demoniacal power.

The medium, or Tsu-ma as the Chinese term such a person, could not work herself up to a trance-like frenzy that day. She arose from her sitting posture to discover the reason. Such a thing had not occurred before.

That was also the first time that the Gospel of Christ had been preached within temple precincts.

"Aged mother," said Feng as he took her hand, "you are possessed by demoniacal powers."

"Evil spirit," exhorted Feng, "I command you in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to depart from her."

The crowd pressed in on Feng and his assistant in order to seize them. Blows rained down upon them.

"Why have you silenced the mouthpiece of our gods ?" shouted some.

"Quiet," others cried.

"Tell us more about this foreign God who has the power to muzzle the mouth of our gods, " urged yet another set.

The woman was carried into the temple, and Feng was unmolested in the continuation of his preaching. Christ had triumphed.

Elder Feng was a zealous servant of the Lord, and a man of prayer. Often he could be found on his knees by his kang (brick-bed). Sundays were exhilartating days for him. "Those who observe the Lord's Day from pure motives," he was wont to say to his church associates, "recieve rich blessings from the Lord, not only on that day, but throughout life."

Feng was waiting for the return of Christ, and wished to meet Him in the clouds. But that was not in the Lord's plan for him. On a beautiful April morning in 1947 he was peacefully translated from this world to the beyond. Feng's coffin was borne to the idyllic meadow and buried there in the church cemetery, where a host of his many friends paid their last respects to him. He did not desire to be interred in the large Feng clan cemetery, for he did not need the blaze of burning paper to show him the way into eternity. He knew the way, the Way of the Cross. There he rested safe.

No gloom of idols' darkness hover over the mound marking Feng's remains; instead, the certainty of resurrection sheds over it an undying light.