Collection › The Lutheran Pioneer (St. Louis) › Vol. 54 (1932) › Page 30
The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1932, Page 30
front matter 1
Page 1
Page 2
Page 3
Page 4
Page 5
Page 6
Page 7
Page 8
Page 9
Page 10
Page 11
Page 12
Page 13
Page 14
Page 15
Page 16
Page 17
Page 18
Page 19
Page 20
Page 21
Page 22
Page 23
Page 24
Page 25
Page 26
Page 27
Page 28
Page 29
Page 30
Page 31
Page 32
Page 33
Page 34
Page 35
Page 36
Page 37
Page 38
Page 39
Page 40
Page 41
Page 42
Page 43
Page 44
Page 45
Page 46
Page 47
Page 48
Page 49
Page 50
Page 51
Page 52
Page 53
Page 54
Page 55
Page 56
Page 57
Page 58
Page 59
Page 60
Page 61
Page 62
Page 63
Page 64
Page 65
Page 66
Page 67
Page 68
Page 69
Page 70
Page 71
Page 72
Page 73
Page 74
Page 75
Page 76
Page 77
Page 78
Page 79
Page 78
Page 79
Page 80
Sheet 84
Page 82
Sheet 86
Page 84
Page 85
Page 86
Page 87
Page 88
Page 89
Page 90
Page 91
Page 92
Page 93
Page 94
Sheet 98
Page 96
Sheet 100
Page 98
Page 99
Page 100
Page 101
Page 102
Page 103
Page 104
Page 105
Page 106
Page 107
Page 108
Page 109
Page 110
Page 111
Page 112
Sheet 116
Sheet 117
Page 115
Page 116
Page 117
Sheet 121
Page 119
Sheet 123
Page 121
Sheet 125
Page 123
Page 124
Sheet 128
Page 126
Sheet 130
Page 128
Sheet 132
Page 130
Page 131
Page 132
Page 133
Page 134
Page 135
Page 136
Page 137
Page 138
Page 139
Page 140
Page 141
Page 142
Page 143
Page 144
Sheet 148
Page 146
Page 147
Page 148
Page 149
Page 150
Sheet 154
Sheet 155
Page 153
Page 154
Sheet 158
Page 156
Page 157
Page 158
Page 159
Page 160
Sheet 164
Sheet 165
Page 163
Sheet 167
Page 165
Page 166
Page 167
Page 168
Sheet 172
Page 170
Page 171
Page 172
Page 173
Page 174
Page 175
Sheet 179
Sheet 180
Sheet 181
Sheet 182
Page 180
Sheet 184
Page 182
Sheet 186
Page 184
Page 185
Page 186
Page 187
Page 188
Page 189
Page 190
Sheet 194
Page 192
Concordia Seminary Library, St. Louis (scholar.csl.edu/lutheran_pioneer/54)
⤓ Download page image (full resolution)
Transcription machine transcription, uncorrected
30 THE LUTHERAN PIONEER
even when no word was spoken. In those warrens
of old streets that line both shores of the Golden
Horn, the memory of the blond stranger who gave
out “letters from God” will not soon be forgotten.
I remember a sunny morning when Anders had
been cajoled into joining a Bible-society picnic, and
we were leisurely dressing and enjoying that sense
of well-being which follows a dip and a sun-bath.
Three Turks, who had finished their swim, passed
the time of day with us as they went by.
“What are they?” asked Anders, hurrying into
his shirt.
I did not understand his question.
“What do they speak?” he repeated, almost
impatiently.
In a second he had taken three Turkish gospels
from his satchel and was running after the Turks,
A Bible Colporteur.
his long white legs making great play in the sun,
his untrammeled shirt-tails streaming in the wind
of his progress. It was a situation perilously near
to laughter, yet redeemed and transfigured by the
-white-hot spirit of the man, which made him more
concerned. about the spiritual welfare of passing
strangers than with his’ own want of trousers.
After some months the Constantinople police
picked him up and questioned him as to his work.
He had already informed them fully of what he
had proposed to do at the time of his arrival. One
of the three officers examining him began to use
rough methods and threatened him with immediate
expulsion from Turkey.
“J say that’s too bad,” interposed one of the
others with a smile. “This gentleman has just
been kind enough to bring me a letter from God.”
“And one to me,” said the third.
“The fact is;? they expostulated, “in the whole
of Turkey God has only one postman, and him you
are threatening to expel!”
Anders finally agreed not to give away Scrip-
tures, which was regarded as illegal “religious propa-
ganda,” but to sell them instead.
“As long as you sell your books, you are the
guest of Turkey and can go where you please and
remain as long as you like,” he was told.
Shortly after this he set out to see what could
be done since the American Bible Society colpor-
teur had left with the rest of the native Christian
population five years ago. He found that he could
easily sell quite a number of New Testaments every
day and that no one interfered. The door that
had appeared so fast shut had opened at his first
touch, and he entered unhesitatingly.
There came a day in December, 1926, when an
anxious friend showed me a letter in which Anders
stated that he was at death’s door with fever and
was writing in an interval of lucidity between spells
when the fever mounted to his brain. On coming
to, he found himself lying on a wet mattress spread
on the mud floor of some poor, ignorant folk with
whom he had taken lodging. He had asked for
some dry straw into which to crawl hoping that he
might recover. This alarming letter was then over
three weeks old, and no further word could be ob-
tained from him. Fortunately there is an Amer-
ican school for girls in that city, and the ladies in
charge were told about him. They found him in
the isolation ward of the Turkish hospital, recover-
ing from an attack of the deadly typhus, which was
so severe that the doctors were astonished that he
had not succumbed. In a short time he came out
and settled in a cheap rooming-house. He was very
much emaciated and weakened; but the desire to
be at work again drove him out into the streets
despite the pleadings of his new friends.
One day a messenger came to the school to say
that “Mr. Ohlsson was very ill. They found him
stretched on a springless sofa, breathing very hard
and plainly suffering with penumonia. Before ar-
rangements could be made for his admission to the
hospital, night had fallen, and his transfer had to
be postponed till the next day. But while the
teachers were still at breakfast, word came that he
was dead.
There is no Christian church nor pastor in that
city, and the ladies decided to ship the body to Con-
stantinople. As the coffin was about to be sealed,
the school servant said to the peering crowd of spec-
tators and officials who crowded the room, “Every-
body has his own customs at a time like this. Please