Who is the God who can deliver...

The same God

I was reminded of our family's terrifying situation in China 77 years ago. I’ve shared the story earlier, too. I’ll add the link below. Some stories are worth repeating.

When I was a kid in Sunday School in Sri Lanka, we learned a song about a man named Daniel who was unafraid of anyone because he trusted God. He had three friends who also had such faith in God that they were willing to risk their lives. Daniel and his friends were taken as prisoners of war to Babylon (now Iraq).

Throughout history, there have been kings and rulers in various nations who thought they were mightier than God. Nebuchadnezzar, the ruler of Babylon, was one from 1121 to 1100 BC. He had a golden statue made in his own image and gave the following command:

Now when you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipe and all kinds of music, if you are ready to fall down and worship the image I made, very good. But if you do not worship it, you will be thrown immediately into a blazing furnace. Then what god will be able to rescue you from my hand?” Daniel 3:15

Daniel’s three friends refused to worship the image.

“King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”

You can read from this link what happened. ... They saw that the fire had not harmed their bodies, nor was a hair of their heads singed; their robes were not scorched, and there was no smell of fire on them.

Now, back to my family’s story from 1947: World War II was over. Missionaries stranded in China during the war were returning to their home countries, and others were eager to return to their pre-war posts. China was in turmoil. The Japanese had left. Mao was rising in power, and the Nationalistic Army was waging a losing battle against him.

Steamships that had survived the war were now crossing the Atlantic and the Pacific, carrying families and single missionaries both ways. Among those returning to China were my parents, who were traveling from Finland. This time, they had five preschool children with them. They crossed the Atlantic on the S.S. Drottningholm. The ten-month journey through America, partly by train and partly by car, brought them to the West Coast to wait for an opportunity to get to China.

My father acquired a single ticket on a steamship in September 1946. It carried several hundred missionaries from San Francisco to Shanghai in September 1946.

My mother followed him a few months later, with us five kids on the S.S. Marine Falcon from Seattle, crossing the date line around New Year 1947. My father met us in the chaos of a bombed Shanghai.

A few days later, we boarded the S.S. Taiping, heading north to the Port of Tientsin (Tianjin). Hundreds of Chinese passengers filled the ship beyond capacity. They all wanted to get home to their families in time to celebrate the Chinese New Year, the Year of the Pig. Mother and we children were placed in a cabin. Dad was among the crowds crammed down in the hold.

The icy winds from Mongolia kept the passengers off the decks. We arrived outside the Port too late. The pilots had already left work for their New Year holiday, and no ships were allowed into the harbor anymore. Ice floes were spreading their cover over the Yellow Sea. The ship's steam engines were silent. Angry voices cursed the captain for coming too late. Some even threatened to throw the captain overboard.

Suddenly, there were screams: Fire! Fire! A load of bamboo on the front deck was in flames. Sabotage. My father ran up to the captain on the top deck. The captain was in a frenzy. He asked my father,

"Do you know what cargo we are carrying? We have gasoline and bombs for the Nationalistic army. Soon, this ship will blow up if we can't stop that fire!"

"Can't you turn the ship so the wind blows the flames away from the boat?"

"The engines are cold. It would take hours to get enough steam to start them up again."

"What about fire extinguishers? Why don't you use the water pipes?"

"The water in them is frozen. The pumps won't work!"

A Chinese Army General stood beside them. My father told him,

"Command all your men to the dining saloon to pray. Only God can save us."

Just minutes later, all the soldiers and passengers were kneeling, crying out to the missionary's God. Most of them did not know who God was, but in their fear, they gripped hold of their only hope: the assurance that seemed to flow through the missionary's prayer.

When my father opened his eyes after his prayer, he was amazed. The flames were much smaller than a moment ago. He saw two young Chinese men on the front deck, throwing the burning piles of bamboo overboard. The heat of the fire had melted the water in the pipes. The crew pumped water all over the smoldering deck. The sound of the hissing and steaming heat rose to the saloon on the upper deck as the last flames were put out. The two young men were doused with water as well.

With a grin nearly tearing his face apart, the ship's cook brought the two men to the saloon. Their clothes smelled of smoke, but they were not hurt. Not a sign of burns could be seen on their hands. The men said, "God told us to go and throw the burning bamboo into the sea. He promised: 'When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.' Isaiah 43:2

The fire had eaten under the deck and stopped just inches from the explosive cargo. Now, everyone was prepared to learn more about the eternal salvation God offered them after he had saved their lives from a sure death.

(I wrote this version as a Challenge article for Faith Writers about 10 years ago. Here is the link to my earlier version of the same story on Substack: Fire! Fire!