At George’s Bedside

“But when Jesus heard it, he said, This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified thereby.” — John 11:4 (ASV)

In November 1883 Charlie’s brother George fell desperately ill. George was the brother closest to him, a fine batsman and his companion on the tour of Australia. For some days the doctors didn’t expect him to live.

Charlie sat by the bed. Years later he described what went through his mind. What was all George’s fame worth now? The runs, the wickets, the newspaper praise, the thousands who had cheered: none of it could help him. The only thing that mattered was whether he was ready to meet God. And Charlie, a Christian for five years, found he was ashamed of how he had lived. He had given cricket his strength and Christ almost nothing.

George recovered, and the family saw it as an answer to prayer. Charlie never forgot the questions he had asked at that bedside.

That winter Moody was preaching in London again. Charlie went, and the preaching that had changed his father brought him back to the joy he had felt at eighteen. This time he didn’t keep it quiet. He started talking to his friends about Christ, invited cricketers to the meetings, and gave away Christian books. Some people found it attractive. Others found it alarming. His family noticed, and not all of them liked it.

Then came the big question: what should he do with his life? He could have become a clergyman, worked among young men at home like Kynaston, or kept playing cricket and talked about Jesus on the side. For some months, by his own account, he didn’t know. He was drawn to teaching about the surrendered life, which said you can’t have a divided heart and peace with God. He took it literally, the way he took everything.

He also heard about the China Inland Mission, founded by Hudson Taylor in 1865. It sent workers far inland, asked them to wear Chinese clothes and live in Chinese houses, and promised no salary: they trusted God for support. To some it looked like madness. To Charlie it looked like the New Testament. In 1884 he met Taylor and offered to go.

His family was dismayed. His mother, a widow for seven years, begged him not to go. Kynaston, a committed Christian himself, thought Charlie was being carried away by emotion. Friends called it a waste. It’s easy to call that worldliness, and Studd’s fans usually do. But these were the fears of a loving family who had already lost a father, and who knew inland China killed missionaries with grim regularity. They weren’t entirely wrong to be afraid.

Charlie said later that their opposition was one of the most painful parts of the decision. He settled it from the Bible and decided he must obey God rather than his family. Jesus warned, “He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.” That verse has sometimes been used to excuse cruelty. There’s no sign Charlie was harsh with his family in 1884. He was sorry to grieve them, and he went anyway. Kynaston ended up helping with the preparations.

Notice what Charlie didn’t do. He didn’t say he had never really been a Christian before. When he told the story later, he said he had truly been converted at eighteen. His problem had been a faith that was never allowed to cost anything. That’s more common than unbelief, and maybe more dangerous, because it feels so safe.

Sometimes it takes a hospital bed, a funeral or a scare to show us what matters. Jesus said Lazarus’s sickness was “for the glory of God.” Fame is what people give you. Glory is God being seen. Charlie had had plenty of fame. Now he wanted the other thing.

One thing to do this week: write down one thing you would want to have done if you only had a year left. Then do one small step towards it, and if it involves people who love you, talk it through with them honestly.