Chapter 12

ERIC

February 21, 1945. Our hearts are heavy today. Eric Liddell, one of our best-loved friends in camp, died yesterday morning.

'' The remainder of this chapter is an adaptation of "Eric Liddell Remembered" which appeared in the November-December 1988, issue of Outreach Magazine.

The first time I saw him was shortly after our arrival in camp. I was standing with Dr. John D. Hayes. "Do you know who that man is?" he asked, pointing to a slightly balding missionary coming down a lane we had dubbed "Rocky Road." He was wearing his usual baggy knee-length shorts and bold-figured sports shirt (fashioned, we later learned, from drapery material he and his wife, Florence, had used in their Tientsin home). "That's Eric Liddell," said Hayes, "the Olympic 400 meter champion who refused to run on Sunday." Liddell was now in his early 40s but still walked with a spring in his step, his stride longer than most. His broad smile exuded confidence and hope, especially welcome in those dismal surroundings.

When Marcy Ditmanson first met Eric, he did not realize that this man was the famous 1924 Olympian. Modest and self-effacing, Liddell never mentioned his Olympic exploits nor his heroics on the rugby and cricket fields. After Tipton and Hummel escaped, the Japanese retaliated with a major reshuffling of housing assignments and Marcy found himself in the same room with Eric Liddell.

"Eric spoke with a charming Scottish brogue," Marcy remembers, "and more than anyone I have ever known typified the joyful Christian life. He had a marvelous sense of humor and was full of laughter and practical jokes but always in good taste. His voice was nothing special but how he loved to sing, particularly the grand old hymns of the faith. Two of his favorites were, "God Who Touches Earth With Beauty" and "There's a Wideness in God's Mercy." He was no great orator by any means, but he had a way of riveting his listeners with those marvelous clear blue eyes of his. Yes, that's what I remember most about him as he spoke — those wonderful eyes and how they would twinkle."

Eric so lived in the Word that, when he spoke, it was with a sincerity that made you feel he was speaking directly to you. His illustrations were usually from everyday life. He loved to draw upon observations he had made in the chemistry lab, and often preached from the Sermon on the Mount emphasizing the importance of putting Christianity into practice.

Christine recalls one of Eric's illustrations: "He told of an evangelist in Australia who had spoken on Christ's triumphal entry. A young man had been faithfully witnessing to a friend of his who was a jockey and had invited him to attend this service with him. At the close of the message, the jockey remarked, `What wonderful hands this Jesus must have had. If an untamed ass's colt came through a screaming, palm-waving throng of people and yet arrived safely at the destination and without harm to a single person, the only explanation is the amazing hands of Jesus.' As a result, he committed his life to Christ."

Eric did more than talk about his faith. He lived it out in the most practical ways. He would volunteer for unpleasant tasks that others shunned cleaning the latrines or the filthy chore of making fuel by rolling balls of coal dust mixed with clay. When the camp teenagers broke their hockey sticks, he tore his own few bed sheets into strips to tape the splintered shafts, and for an adhesive used a foul-smelling fish glue. He was always careful to work at this task well-removed from the dwelling areas so the odor would not offend.

The youth and particularly teenagers were Eric's special love. From the outset he organized and managed youth activities, especially sports programs. The lone student in his chemistry class was Joyce Stranks, a Salvation Army girl of 16. Since they had no textbooks, Eric proceeded to write out an entire chemistry textbook by hand. He had taught that course in Tientsin and was an excellent instructor. She still has that book, penned in his meticulous handwriting, and values it among her most precious treasures. Of course there were no test tubes, chemicals or other equipment, but in imagination Eric and Joyce would perform all kinds of experiments. He would describe the mixing of certain chemicals, and then Joyce would have to explain the reaction.

At this time Eric was also writing his manual for Christian discipleship. It was later published under the title Disciplines of the Christian Life. His purpose was to provide youth with a practical guide for their spiritual growth. In the section on the morning quiet time, he suggested starting each day with six questions:

1) Have I surrendered this new day to God, and will I seek and obey the guidance of the Holy Spirit through its hours?

2) What have I specially to thank God for this morning?

3) Is there any sin in my life for which I should seek Christ's forgiveness and cleansing? Is there any apology or restitution to make?

4) For whom does God want me to pray this morning?

5) What bearing does this morning's Bible passage have on my life, and what does He want me to do about it?

6) What does He want me to do today, and how does He want me to do it?

The camp teenagers came so frequently to Eric's dorm, that his exasperated roommates finally devised a flip card sign reading, "Eric Liddell is in/out." By turning the card to "in" or "out" Eric could keep the youth posted as to his whereabouts.

I have a beautiful memory of Eric. Returning from the camp hospital late one night I passed the youth activity center. Eric was still there bent over a chess board teaching some of the boys the intricacy of advanced attack and defense. It was the youth, too, who most insisted upon visiting him in the camp hospital before he died.

The first symptoms of Eric's illness came in the form of severe headaches. Then he became forgetful. One doctor suggested he was having a nervous breakdown. This bothered Eric, who reasoned that Christians living as God intended, shouldn't have nervous breakdowns. In order to improve his memory and help him concentrate, he began to read and memorize segments from The Tale of Two Cities. In the book a memorable passage depicts Sidney Carton facing the guillotine in the place of his friend, Charles Darnay. Carton's long soliloquy, eloquently expressing his view of life, was a selection Eric memorized.

He was never one to solicit sympathy. Even after he entered the hospital, few knew the seriousness of his condition. Joyce, his chemistry student, was one of the many teenagers who, to the annoyance of Eric's devoted nurse, Annie Buchan, would flock into the men's ward to visit their hero. Incredibly, in spite of the excruciating pain, he continued to teach and counsel the youth using his book of discipleship.

At this time in another ward of the hospital, Christine was recovering from her near-fatal bout with typhoid fever. On Sunday afternoon, February 18, just 38 hours before his death, Eric came to the door of the women's ward to borrow a hymnal. He was writing a letter to his wife, Florence, then in Toronto, and was quoting from the hymn, "Be Still My Soul." Characteristically he wanted to be sure of accuracy. Strange that he was in the midst of a letter to Florence. We didn't write letters in those days for there was no possibility of mailing them. And yet — yet, he was writing. Surely, he must have known it was to be his last word to his precious family. ---

"This letter was carefully kept and hand carried to Eric's wife in Canada five months after our liberation.

--- Eric spotted Christine, waved his hand and flashed the wonderful broad smile which even the pain of his final ordeal had not erased. It was the last time she saw him.

Joyce visited Eric the morning he died. In their study of his book on discipleship they had come to the portion on surrender. "Although I had accepted the Lord as a child of seven," Joyce says, "it was not until this time in my life when, as a result of Eric Liddell's influence, I personally surrendered to the full will of God"

That morning Joyce arrived at the ward ten minutes early, but impatient to see her friend and teacher, she entered anyway. As they went through the lesson Eric looked at Joyce intently and said, "Surrender, surren.... "Those were his last words. The next instant a terrible spasm convulsed his body. Alarmed, Joyce burst into tears and hurried into the hall, calling for his nurse. Annie came running, scolding Joyce for disturbing Eric, and quickly put a screen about his bed. Within minutes he was gone. A postmortem revealed a massive, inoperable brain tumor on the left side of his brain. Eric was just 43, and only 6 months remained before V.J. Day deliverance.

Funerals in the Weihsien prison camp were common enough during those dreadful days, but there was no funeral like Eric's. The wave of sorrow which swept over Weihsien was unbelievable. His was by far the biggest funeral held in the two and one half years of our stay in the prison camp. The church accommodated 300 people and was full, but far more stood outside than could be seated within. The Reverend Arnold Bryson, of the London Missionary Society, conducted the memorial service. There were no long, flowery eulogies but sincere praise to God was voiced for this one who had such far-reaching influence. One of the missionaries testified, "His was a God-controlled life. He followed his Master and Lord with a devotion that never flagged, with an intensity of purpose that made men see both the reality and power of true religion."

Impressive was the fact that not only the missionary community attended Eric's funeral, but many others whose lives he so powerfully impacted. Among them were the usually cynical business people, city government administrators, and even prostitutes. Unlike many missionaries, Eric seemed able to relate to everyone. Of course his celebrity status made him welcome in any conversation, but more than this, he had an unassuming naturalness that gave him rapport with almost everyone he met. Everybody regarded Eric as a friend.

It was a cold February day when they buried Eric Liddell. A piercing wind swirled patches of lightly falling snow. The simple casket was carried on the shoulders of eight missionary colleagues. Immediately behind was the honor guard, Eric's pupils of the Chefoo school, marching two by two.

Eric Liddell was dead, but the influence of this amazing man, who had somehow discovered the secret of living wholly for his Lord and for the sake of others, will continue to touch generations to come.

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