Doshiyo?

I encountered this recently in an unpublished PhD dissertation I’ve been engrossed in:

“In the turbulent 1920′s the Christian ranks among the missions and churches were tragically split. Consequently the two opposing factions to a large degree canceled out each other’s effectiveness.

The Missouri Synod mission staff espoused neither liberalism nor fundamentalism. Although Lutherans may have at that time feared liberalism more than fundamentalism, they realized that fundamentalists had, like a badly defeated general, abandoned the battlefield outside the city walls, and had thus taken refuge in the innermost citadel in a desperate attempt to hold this little sanctuary. Thus had the fundamentalists abandoned much of Biblical teaching in an attempt to save a few of the fundamentals. Lutherans also were suspicious of the fundamentalist intrigue with the Utopian visions of chiliasm [millenialism].

Theologically Lutheranism had a sounder and broader base than most other traditional churches working in China, a theological base on which it could have rallied the beleagured missionaries and saved the day for the whole enterprise. Why this could not be achieved certainly poses a challenge for the historian. A part of the answer lies in the fact that psychologically Lutheranism responded to the desperate situation in a manner akin to that of the fundamentalist (emph. added) when it tried almost frantically to deveop institutional perfection to the point where it would insulate the enterprise from every danger (emph. added). However, an institutionalized defensive stance was a most difficult base from which to work effectively in China in the 1920′s.”

Suelflow, Roy A. (1971). The Mission Enterprise of the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod in Mainland China 1913-1952. (Doctoral dissertation, U of Wisconsin, 29 January 1971). UMI Dissertation Services, 151-152.

My how we cling to our institutions! The author goes on to say that the Lutherans in China “gave some hurried thought to enabling the Chinese Christians in the various stations to continue on their own. This suddenly posed the problem of the indigenization of the mission enterprise, to which too little thought had been devoted before.” (152)

Sadly, though, apparently the mission board in the USA did not like this idea and did not allow the missionaries to go through with the plan. Yet, the missionaries went to work on this plan and “suddenly attempted to change the mission enterprise into an indigenous church. The schools were all closed by the force of circumstances.” (152) So, what they did was create a Chinese board of directors for the Lutheran schools in the Hankou/Wuhan area, and this board was supposed to work on registering the schools with the government. According to Suelflow, nothing more was heard from this board, but the local mission chapels were quickly turned into Lutheran congregations. But, these churches could not operate on their own without monies from the parent mission. The mission did manage to last through 1927, however, (obviously, since the work went on until 1952.)

Many of the problems that the fundamentalists and liberals were responding to stemmed from the inability to separate themselves from the leftist elements in the Guomindang and the Communists on the one side, and the rightists in the Guomindang, not to mention Chiang Kai-Shek who had gone hog-wild in an attempt to kill the Communists. Lutherans tried to remain neutral but suffered from anti-Christian sentiment on the left, and a left-favorable GMD government in Wuhan and Hankou. Add into the mix the events of the attack on Nanjing by the Japanese forces, as well as British attack on Wansien, and hanging onto the comfort of the Western concessions, and you have a recipe for Western Christan missions. Suelflow’s point is that it is perplexing to figure out why the Lutheran mission didn’t stay above the fray and didn’t go intelligently indigenous, allowing the seeds of faith to grow.

It is hard for us to let go of our institutions.

Why this is poignant is that these events show how lack of foresight and institutionalization can harm Christian movements that are either ailing or have been doing well up to a point. Moreover, the Lutheran missions at the time were too Western centric, following Western models and having thought out a plan for indiginization.

Too bad they hadn’t heard of Uchimura Kanzo, who had been advocating an indigenous, Japanese church through the early decades of the 20th Century (and was vociferously anti-war and imperialism) or Nevius, whose 5 point mission strategy called for indigenization as well as living among the people as one of the people, much like Frillmann of my previous post, intrinsically understood.

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The photos below came to me on a bunch of ancient glass slides via Dr. Henry Rowold, a dear professor who has much experience with and love for the Chinese people. These slides got me thinking, I wonder what really happened with the Lutherans along the Yangtze River at Ouchikou, Hankou, Shashi, Chongqing, and a few other cities. (See map)

After checking it out from the Concordia Seminary library I found a few books to start with before I raid Concordia Historical Institute. I started with what I thought might be the most interesting, I haven’t regretted it.

I’ve been reading about the incredible life of Paul Frillmann in his book China, A Remembered Life. He was a Lutheran missionary in Hankou, (current day Wuhan) China, from 1936-1941. His career also spanned many decades in China. While a missionary, he learned Mandarin, spent time with Communists, Nationalists, folks from Russia and Germany, General and Madame Chiang Kai Shek, and played baseball with Claire Chennault. He also stood fast and did all he could to help the people of Hankou. After his mission service, he went back to China with Chennault’s AVG as a chaplain. (The AVG is also known as The Flying Tigers-he must have run into Gregory Boyington of Baa Baa Blacksheep fame; he took the first boat out to Rangoon, Burma. Boyington was on the second, a Dutch luxury liner.)

Frillmann was a man of the people. Unlike other missionaries of the time, who did not necessarily understand how to work in cross-cultural situations, Frillmann thrived on them. He loved learning Chinese, he found it easy and natural. He loved the people around him, their customs, their stories, sharing their lives, their tables, and their sorrows.

When the Japanese army came to occupy Hankou in Hebei province (up the Yangtze river from the coast) he was the only missionary left, as he was single and had no family to be concerned about. His mission board instructed him to look after the properties (There was a Lutheran college and seminary, as well as dormitories and faculty housing in a beautiful compound.) As the occupation began, many citizens of Hankou fled. They asked him to look after their livestock and other possessions, since America was still neutral in 1937. He tried to buy cows and chickens for a nickel, a penny, whatever he could, in order to make sure they were honestly American property.

When the occupation intensified, only 80,000 people (or so) remained. They were of course, fearful for their future, fearful for the women. The citizens asked him to let the women stay at the seminary, after hearing about Nanjing. Frillman nwas not sure he wanted to take that on, since he figured a concentration of women was a more dangerous thing, than to have them hideout wherever they could in the town. After a few days, the people came back with tragic stories about what happened to some of the women, and so Frillmann figured that since this was a mission, he ought to take the people in and help care for their physical needs. The women were safe throughout the occupation because they were staying, 4 to a room, in rooms meant for 2 single men. They cooked on open stoves in the hallways and did not really know about indoor plumbing. They shared meals and worked on clothing, knitting, and such.

The women all banded together for their own protection. If a soldier tried to steal into the compound, they developed loud calls of different sorts to alert Frillmann and the others to which wall (North, south, east, or west) the soldiers were trying to sneak over. Then they would scream at the top of their lungs causing the soldiers such a start, that they would scramble back over the wall, losing boots and other articles of clothing in the melee.

Over time, Frillmann got to know the women and the men of the town in a way you can only do when you live with people and take on their lives as your own. He began to teach these grandmothers and teenagers, and whomever else how to read their own language; something the women had never been allowed to do before. The pride of these grandmothers learning some 20 Chinese characters was unmatched. The love between the people and Frillmann seemed to grow.

As the occupying forces began to be more of a police force and Japanese civilians moved in to begin colonization of Hankou, Frillmann became a source of joy for the Japanese soldiers who had nothing to do except lament having to be there. Many of the soldiers were educated in Western literature and languages. They wished to read poetry, hear Bach, discuss philosophy, and think about the things they had learned. Frillmann would exchange phonograph records, books, and other Western materials with various troops for various supplies he desperately needed to keep the seminary running: cloth, coal, soap, etc. He was also someone they enjoyed talking to, almost as a confessor, so it seems.

The women staying at the seminary even had a local new years festival together, with all sorts of pork delicacies (after slaughtering a giant pig that was at the compound) and costumes and parades and stories. Entire families got together and celebrated. The locals shared their legends with Frillmann, and Frillmann was asked to share legends from his land. He explained that America was too young to have stories, but instead shared legends as old, if not older than China from the Bible. He told of Noah’s ark, David and Goliath, Daniel and the Lions’ den, Jesus’ life and miracles and death.

The people loved these stories, and he was asked to tell them again and again and again. Some asked deeper questions like why would God allow his son to suffer for evil people and not rescue him?

Frillmann, a recent seminary graduate, figured, “Why not?” and asked if they would like to be taught from Luther’s catechism. There was an overwhelming response, “Yes!”

So he began to teach them.

When he was called to return home, he confirmed 40 or so in the Christian faith – the ones whom he felt were ready. He was asked by his mission board to hurry up and confirm them all, but he did not want to do a half-hearted job; he wanted to do it right and have people ready to know what they are getting into. He truly respected the people who were learning from him.

When he returned home to America, the people presented him with a black lacquered sign in the traditional mode, with engraved Chinese characters inlaid with gold.

It read, “Courage like David.”

May we all learn from Paul Frillmann’s example and love those around us to be the people we are called to be each day.

For more info on prewar Hankou, check this site.

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