Monday October 28th, 2013 Oswald Chambers: Abandoned to God The Life Story of the Author of My Utmost For His Highest David McCasland 12 THE YOUNG LADY ON THE BOAT (1908) Gertrude Hobbs was twenty-four years old when she watched the docks of Liverpool slip away behind the churning foam of the SS Baltic’s propellers. In the early twentieth century it was not unheard of for a young woman to make a trans-Atlantic voyage unescorted, but neither was it common. The fact that Oswald Chambers happened to be traveling on the same boat added an element of certainty and security, more for her mother than for herself. Gertrude was on her way to New York City to visit her good friend, Marian, who said secretarial jobs were plentiful. It was a grand adventure and she was quite unconcerned that she had only $16 in her purse. As the ship steamed up to full speed, Oswald’s thoughts ranged back to his voyage with Nakada on this same ship, eighteen months before. That journey had been pure comradeship and adventure, but this was different. Not a foot away from him stood a lovely, intelligent young woman whom he had known casually for some two and a half years. With her head turned toward the receding coastline of England, he had a chance to study her face for the first time. He had to look down because the top of her head just reached the level of his chin. He saw that her brown hair was parted just to one side of the middle and swept back into a bun. Almond shaped blue eyes twinkled under arched brows, and her mouth rested in a straight line that resembled a kind of perpetual smile. How would he describe her face in a word? Pretty? Soft? Kind? It was a view of Gertrude he had never seen from the pulpit or even across the table at tea. Why was he seeing it now? Strange thoughts and feelings rose within him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked them or not. No matter, for the next ten days courtesy required that he at least accompany her to meals and help her get acclimated to the ship. Once in New York, she would begin her new job, and for the next two months, he would be so occupied in preaching and counseling that thoughts of her would be the farthest thing from his mind. For now though, he had to decide how to address her. Gertrude was too formal and besides, he had a sister with that name. Her family called her Gertie or Truda, but he needed a nickname of his own. For reasons unknown, he decided on Biddy, a friendly name with none of its current negative connotations. During walks on deck each day, he learned more about this intriguing young lady. When she was a child, winter bouts with bronchitis kept her out of school every year for two months at a time. She eventually left school to help her mother at home and allow the family resources to be used for educating her older sister, Dais, and her brother, Herbert. While other children might have languished in self-pity, young Gertrude was not deterred by her winter confinement and lack of formal education. She had a single ambition—to become secretary to the Prime Minister of England. So she set herself to studying Pitman’s Shorthand at home and learning to type. Knowing that many young men and women could take shorthand, she therefore decided to outdistance the field in speed and accuracy. Mrs. Hobbs and Dais took turns reading articles and book selections as Gertrude transcribed them into shorthand. Not content to function like a machine, Gertrude listened for the sense and context of what was read. Along with speed and accuracy, she sought understanding as well. Two weeks before Gertrude’s fifteenth birthday, her father died at the age of fifty, leaving the family in financial difficulty. Dais finished school and secured a good position with the civil service. She continued to live at home, generously contributing to the family income. By the time Gertrude was old enough to work full time, she could take shorthand dictation at the phenomenal rate of two hundred fifty words per minute—faster than anyone was likely to talk. This skill won her a position as secretary to a high ranking officer at the Woolwich Arsenal, Britain’s sprawling munitions factory some ten miles east of London. She didn’t seem to mind working in close proximity to thousands of tons of highly explosive cordite, gunpowder, and filled artillery shells. She did, however, object to men who saved their dictation until the end of the day and expected her to type and post the letters before she went home. She was happy to leave the arsenal for a job with a firm of solicitors in the prestigious Lincoln’s Inn Fields in the heart of London’s legal district. Now Biddy was off to a new adventure in America. Every day aboard the SS Baltic, she and Oswald walked together, ate together, and discovered new things about each other. She admired his keen mind, his bright humor, and the deep love he held for Jesus Christ. Oswald was impressed with everything about Biddy, from her determination and ability, to her love for animals and her genuine interest in people. How could they have shared so much in common without his realizing it before? When the voyage ended they parted company, but a steady correspondence quickly developed between the two. He wrote to her from Cincinnati on June 20, a day before he plunged into the camp meeting at God’s Bible School: Be very patient and very confident in Him. Do not be a little bit perturbed that you cannot answer Mr. Moore’s questions regarding God. God is not a fact of common sense but of revelation. Tell him God lives—evidenced to your heart when you abandoned your right to yourself and let Him take the rule. On July 3, after two draining weeks of preaching and counseling, Oswald’s tone was more personal: It is a great refreshment to think of you for I have had such a drenching with the sad and sordid sorrows of so many blighted lives, but glory be to our God how blessedly He saves and delivers and heals. During July Oswald’s travels took him from Cincinnati to camp meetings in North Attleboro, Massachusetts, and Old Orchard, Maine. New York City and Biddy were right on the way. Undoubtedly, he called on her as he traveled north, and again before he left for England. An August 19 letter indicates a rapid progression of their feelings for each other: “All in His good time we have the love, thank God, and the discipline of our characters alone or blended, it is all in his hands.” Biddy remained in New York to finish her job commitment while Oswald returned to a demanding schedule of League meetings in Britain. For the first time in many years, however, he had someone to whom he could pour out his deepest thoughts and feelings. On August 20 he wrote: The great hunger is on me more than ever for Him and His work. O how few love Him and how feeble is my most passionate love. I scarcely know anyone who is consumed for Him. It is all for creeds and phrases and belief, but for Him how few! To know Him—that is it. How I fear and hate the pattern and print of the age. August 23—London: It is Sunday night and I have finished my second Sunday at Wesleys Chapel. God, as usual, undertook. He looms large again tonight. Oh that I had more of heart and brain and body for Him. My mood tonight is one of sorrow that I cannot serve and be spent for Him better. September 16-Eltham: How does your spirit develop in intimacy with Him? Nothing else is right if that goes not well. He has all the circumstances in His hand— in His hand my whole life and yours with me must be for Him and not for domestic bliss. October 4: I have a blessed and beautiful text for you— ‘For I know the plans that I am planning for you,’ saith the Lord, ‘plans of welfare and not of calamity, to give you an end and expectation.’ A new translation but it is exquisite. October 5: I do not think anyone realises more keenly than I do the struggles and difficulties of people, and yet all my messages broke them on the wheel. On October 18, he wrote to Biddy’s mother from Plymouth: Dear Mrs. Hobbs: Do you object to my corresponding with your youngest daughter, Gertrude? I love her, and naturally would like to write her and see her occasionally as my missions allow. But we should like to know that this is with your sanction and certain knowledge of the kind of friendship forming. I return to London on Friday, Oct. 23rd. I shall esteem your reply as early as convenient—highly. Yours heartily, Oswald Chambers. As he awaited a reply from Mrs. Hobbs, his letters to Biddy continued. October 19—Plymouth: God should make our faces radiant and patient for all the sordid cares of others. Our love but makes a more sure haven of rest for multitudes of strained and stressed lives. From our love should spring great patience and gentleness and service for others, for love is of God. October 21: High over us shadows His Cross—This have I done for thee—what hast thou done for me? The world is our parish and He will open the way. Mrs. Hobbs replied immediately but indicated that instead of clearing the air, Oswald had merely muddied the water. He wrote to her again on October 21: Dear Mrs. Hobbs: Thank you very much for your letter, and I am deeply concerned that my letter gave you more trouble than it otherwise would if I had only thought to have told you the sort of friendship I mean. I certainly do not mean ‘Platonic’ (which to me is apt to mean the meanest [most ordinary] of all friendships) but I do mean a friendship with view to an engagement and ultimate marriage. Regarding a mere ordinary friendship I should never have thought it necessary to ask your sanction—but I could not hold correspondence with your daughter having in my mind and heart what I have without your certain knowledge. Please forgive my causing you unnecessary anxiety over and above the inevitable anxiety such a letter as mine must certainly cause a mother. My present position as a ‘missioner’ is just temporary and quite a Godsend, it has been a good break to me from my College tutorial work and already permanent work is inviting me and as soon as that is settled I should like to become engaged. Again thanking you for your letter and hoping you will be able to reply to me before I leave here Friday morning. I am yours heartily, Oswald Chambers. After posting the letter, he walked along the waterfront and gazed out at Plymouth’s famous harbor known as The Sound. Far out on Penlee Point, the lighthouse cast its beam of welcome and warning. “You’re almost home,” it seemed to say to ships off the rugged coast of Devon. “Beware of the rocks as you near your goal.” Oswald thought how quickly God had broken into his life of solitary service and given him a love for Biddy. He was astonished by the longing he had for her, and staggered that she loved him too. His letters to Biddy continued: October 23—Plymouth: I have nothing to offer you but my love and steady lavish service for Him. I can hear you say: Foxes have holes ... but the Son of man hath not where to lay His head. I have His Word, let us both take it, subsequent days will prove His meaning in it—Let us go forth unto Him, without the camp, bearing His reproach. Mark it in your Bible and I will do the same, with the date. Following the mission in Plymouth, Oswald traveled north to the little Yorkshire village of Denby Dale. It had been two years since he and Nakada stepped off the train and “put their feet down in Denby Dale for Jesus Christ.” The results of their first meetings were still being felt upon his return. On October 28, he wrote to Biddy: He takes what we present Him (Romans 12:1) and from the basis of a heart at leisure from itself He can pour out His blessing to others. Pour out lavishly all you have on others. You have surely far more reason for making dull sordid places bright and beautiful because of the love of your heart. No good thing will He withhold from us. With pen still in hand, he contemplated the next letter he needed to write. Until it was sealed and posted, he could not move on to anything else. He had already put it off too many times and expended far too much time and energy thinking about it. He must write it now and put the matter behind him. He scribbled out the heading, then gripping the pen tightly in his long, slender fingers, he stared out the window, paralyzed. For a thirty-four-year-old man known in England and America for his unique vocabulary and powerful clarity of expression, this was an agonizing impasse. After several false starts and crumpled pages, he took a deep breath and began to write: ‘Hortulan’ Denby Dale October 28, 1908 My dear Mother and Father: I want to tell you that I am in love and it is quite such a new experience that it opens up so many unknown things that I do not know quite how to put it I love plenty men and women and am loved in return, not slightly but grandly and truly; yet this is quite different It did not come passionately or suddenly but all permeatingly and now I have abruptly told you the fact I have been more usually absorbed in Him and work for Him than even you would suppose, that this ‘thing’ has been a trial foreign to me, and now has come a sense I never had before, a sense of my own loneliness came to me. Of course I do not know what the future holds out and I do not intend to anxiety. My call is still as strong as ever. ‘Go ye into all the world and make disciples of all nations’ and I will go and ultimately I expect Miss. Gertrude A. Hobbs will go with me. I cannot yet conceive what good I can be to any woman, but I never feared until now, yet I am sure His hand leads. Of course I quite understand the avalanche of common sense and wisdom that my many kind friends will see fit to subject me to and I’ll try my best not to [be] overwhelmed or frozen. But I want you to know from me and I find it awkward and difficult to write about myself. My thoughts for seven years past have never pictured me further on than 35 years of age and if you remember I sometime used to say I should like to go to more commodious premises then—and now this comes and in amazement I took the cup more or less dazed and stupid and am very and unspeakably thankful. Please tell Gertrude. I have ever lacked tenderness much to my distress and prayer and perhaps this new relationship will develop it Now my dear Mother excuse this letter writing so incoherent and abrupt because I cannot write this sort of thing well. I would like to bring her to tea before I go away next time, may I? Your loving son, Oswald There, it was done. He could almost predict the reactions when the letter arrived in London. His mother would read it with a smile and say, “Of course he can bring her to tea.” She would think it was wonderful that her youngest son was in love. His father would frown and say, “Does Oswald have a position, a salary, a home, or any set plans for the future? No. His itinerant preaching with the League of Prayer is a hand-to-mouth existence providing nothing more than meals, lodging, and train fare to the next engagement. Does Oswald have any concept of what is needed to support a wife, and eventually children? Not likely. Yet it is time for him to bring his head out of the clouds and face the realities of life. Perhaps marriage will force him to do it.” Oswald was used to the criticism of his family and friends, particularly in the area of money. He believed that Jesus’ words, “Give to everyone who asks,” meant exactly that. One evening, walking back to his lodgings after conducting a League meeting, he was accosted by a drunken man asking for money. Chambers listened intently to the man’s story, then told him, “Man, I believe your story is all lies, but my Master tells me to give to everyone that asks, so there is my last shilling.” After putting the coin into the man’s hand, Chambers noticed that it was not a shilling but half a crown worth two and a half times more. It didn’t matter. “There you are,” he told the man, “the Lord bless you.” When Oswald’s hostess heard this story, she chided him for being foolish. “I believe beggars are sent to test our faith,” Chambers replied, nonplused. “My duty is plain—to obey the command of God and give to everyone that asks. What the recipient may do with it is not my concern.” As the woman shook her head in disbelief, Oswald added with a twinkle, “Besides, the Lord always gives double for all I give away.” The next morning Chambers received a letter enclosing a gift from a person who was bedridden and could not come to hear him preach. The gift was three times what he had given the drunken man the night before. Humorous or barbed comments about his living on “nothing a year” had little effect on Chambers’ dedication to his chosen path. When his way caused others pain, he deeply regretted it but was not swayed from his course. But now he was about to ask a fine young woman to join him in this life many people considered one of a spiritual vagabond. Was it fair to her? He read again the letter he had just written to his parents and shook his head at the woodenness of his expression. How could a relationship that filled him with such anticipation and joy appear so cold and lifeless on paper? Laying the letter aside, he opened his Bible and thought ahead to the evening meeting. It was the same sometimes with his preaching. Many nights he fell into bed wishing that more of his love for Christ would have come through in what he said. “If I could only tell Him as I know Him.” Biddy returned to England in time for Oswald’s special mission at Speke Hall. On November 13, he took her to St. Paul’s Cathedral, a favorite place for both of them. For a time they wandered through the vast nave, unable to resist the pull of their eyes skyward toward the magnificent dome. Then, standing in front of Holman Hunt’s famous painting, “The Light of the World,” they pledged their love to each other and became engaged. A small ring set with three tiny diamonds sealed their promise. It was more than a romantic gesture that brought Chambers to this place for this most important moment of promise. Hunt’s painting shows a door, locked, barred, and overgrown with ivy. Christ holds a lantern in his left hand as he knocks gently with His right. Beneath the painting are the words of Revelation 3:20: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and sup with him and he with me.” Oswald would have been quick to notice that Christ came at night carrying light and a gentle request for entrance to a door that could be opened only from the inside. The meaning was clearly and skillfully portrayed on the canvas. He and Biddy were pledging their love, first and foremost, to Jesus Christ, and to His work in this dark world. Their commitment went far beyond a hope for personal happiness to embrace a calling to belong first to God, and then to each other. At the same time, their engagement was a love-match of the highest order. No one who knew either of them would ever view their pledge as a utilitarian arrangement for more efficiently furthering the kingdom of God. Efficiency, in the usual sense of the greatest benefit for the lowest cost, was not in Chambers’ vocabulary. His approach was “spend and be spent,” with nothing held back. Biddy loved him dearly and shared his vision. They left St. Paul’s ablaze with hope, unmindful of the cold or the night.[1][1][1] Tomorrow: 13 LEADERSHIP IN THE LEAGUE (1908–1909) ________________________________________
Posted on: Mon, 28 Oct 2013 11:46:27 +0000
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