“Eric Liddell is dying,” it read. “He would like it if you played ‘Finlandia’ / ‘Be Still, My Soul.’” The ragtag band somberly collected themselves, and the melancholy melody soon floated through the windows of the hospital.
In the morning hours of Wednesday, February 21, Eric climbed the stairs again to visit with the missionaries who lived there.
After returning a plate they had used to send some treat to Eric the day before, he smiled and then told the couple he felt much better. Later in the day, he managed to write a short note to Florence with the desire to get it to the post that day.
Somehow, he managed.
While walking back to the hospital, Eric ran into the wife of a missionary he had worked with in Tientsin.
“Have you heard from Flo?” she asked him, thrilled to see that he appeared his old self.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I got one of her letters recently.” And then, though his words were slower than usual, he told the missionary’s wife the news Florence had sent his way.
The woman, concerned that Eric had been out too long, encouraged him to return to the hospital so he could rest.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I must just get my walking legs again.”
It was now three thirty in the afternoon; the missionary’s wife walked with him to the hospital door so he would arrive in time for tea.
Later, Joyce Stranks came in to visit with “Uncle Eric.” One of Eric’s favorite topics for the youth was surrender to Christ, which he shared again with Joyce. The teenager listened intently as he spoke until, lost in thought of this complete and absolute surrender to Christ, Eric began to have a seizure. Joyce ran out of the room, calling for Nurse Annie, who reprimanded the teen for tiring her patient, and then drew the curtains around his bed.
As Annie tended to Eric, he managed to breathe out his last words. “Annie,” he said, “it’s complete surrender to God . . .”
With that, Eric Liddell faded from consciousness.
Joyce stood on the other side of the curtain, sobbing until someone escorted her out of the room.
Later that night, twenty minutes after the clock struck nine, Scotland’s greatest athlete crossed the finish line of his earthly life and into his heavenly home.
He had completed the race.
[103] Norman Cliff, Courtyard of the Happy Way (Evesham Worsc., England: Arthur James Limited, 1977), chapter 11, as quoted in Weihsien Picture Gallery, accessed September 27, 2017, http://www.weihsien-paintings.org/NormanCliff/Books/Courtyard/txt_Chapter_11.htm.
[104] Ibid.
[105] Langdon Gilkey, Shantung Compound: The Story of Men and Women under Pressure (New York: HarperCollins, 1966), 113.
[106] Ibid.
[107] Russell W. Ramsey, God’s Joyful Runner (South Plainfield, NJ: Bridge, 1987), 166.
[108] “Stephen Metcalf Talks about Eric Liddell,” People’s Recollections, Eric Liddell Centre, accessed September 25, 2017, http://www.ericliddell.org/stephen-a-metcalf/.
[109] The Scotland Register, June 20th, 2014.
CHAPTER 26
ERIC IS OUT
I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?
John 11:25-26
ON FEBRUARY 22, 1945, silent snow descended from the heavens. Nature’s halfhearted attempt to blanket the internees with a pure facade brought no warming comfort. There was no coal to burn for a fire anyhow. Chilling news began to spread as internees fussed to seek warmth. “Eric Liddell died last night.” The bitter words were repeated over and over that day, seemingly growing more dominant each time. The Eric Is In / Eric Is Out sign, which hung on Eric’s dormitory door, proved to be too painful to any who came to seek solace from Eric’s peers regarding his absence. The sign soon came down.
Everyone struggled to process the grief or find words to make the emptiness subside. Young Beryl (Goodland) Welch, the fourteen-year-old daughter of a Chefoo teacher, managed to scratch in her diary that day, “Dear (Old) Uncle Eric died last night. It was so sudden. He wrote a letter to his wife just that day. Everyone was greatly impressed. I feel so sorry for her. Most people thought he was the best man in the camp. What a loss!”[110]
So many of the youth close to Eric felt as though the light had left the camp. But they were not alone. Grown men who would otherwise never cry in public broke down unashamedly at the news.
An autopsy, in which Joe Cotterill aided, was performed on Eric’s body the following day. The doctors confirmed that an inoperable brain tumor had grown to the point that Eric’s surrender to that infuriating outcome was the sole remaining option. His death could not have been prevented medically. Even if Eric had been in the finest of facilities and under the best of care, it would have taken a miracle to guide Eric unscathed through that surgery to health again.
Funeral arrangements began to take shape. Rev. Arnold Bryson, senior missionary of the London Missionary Society, would conduct the service, though many others would voice their endearing thoughts. On Saturday, February 24, Eric’s fellow internees—who together represented twenty-one nationalities—poured into a Weihsien church built to hold 350 people. When all the seats had been taken, the remainder of the mourners gathered outside in the bitter cold and swirling snow, unaffected by dropping temperatures or their hunger, to pay their respects to a man who had been the “finest example of Christ”[111] many of them had ever known.
Rev. Bryson began the service with the same triune invocation Eric’s father had spoken over him in his baptism: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit . . .”
Rev. Bryson continued,
It is fitting that the predominant notes of this service should be praise and thanksgiving to God for all that Eric Liddell has done and all that so many of us owe to him. To most in the camp who heard on Thursday morning that he had suddenly passed away after a relapse on the previous night, the news came as a great shock, and to a large number, with a sense of personal loss. For he was an outstanding figure in our community, known to all and respected by everybody.
From his humble and modest demeanor, no one could have guessed that here was a man with an international reputation on the running track and football field.
The sudden removal of such a man in the prime of his life, and at the peak of his powers, inevitably raises questions in our hearts. Why did God take him from a world in which such men are so sorely needed today? But God makes no mistakes. His thoughts are not our thoughts, neither are his ways our ways. Perhaps in God’s loving purpose, by Eric’s early promotion to higher service he was spared years of acute suffering, and we can only bow to God’s will.
Yesterday a man said to me, “Of all the men I have known, Eric Liddell was the one in whose character and life the spirit of Jesus Christ was preeminently manifested.” And all of us who were privileged to know him with any intimacy echo this judgment. What was the secret of his consecrated life and far-reaching influence? Absolute surrender to God’s will as revealed in Jesus Christ. His was a God-controlled life and he followed his Master and Lord with a devotion that never flagged and with an intensity of purpose that made men see both the reality and power of true religion. With St. Paul, Eric could say, “I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.” If anyone was ready for his Master’s call, it was our friend, whose happy, radiant face we shall see no more on earth, but his influence will surely live on in the hearts and lives of all who knew him.
Rev. Edwin Davies gave a final prayer. The congregation sang “For All the Saints Who from Their Labors Rest,” then recited the Lord’s Prayer.
Eight men, one being Stephen Metcalf, raised the fragile casket carrying Eric’s earthly body onto their shoulders. Gingerly they walked out of the church toward a small cemetery adjacent to the Japanese garrison officer’s residence. Behind them, the youth and children of Chefoo marched as the honor guard.
As they walked
along, the wind slicing through their thin clothing, Stephen glanced at his newly received track spikes that had been so lovingly given to him only weeks earlier by his hero. Is this all that happens to honor such a great man? Is this it?
When they arrived at the burial site, the eight men lowered the casket into the grave, then—along with the five hundred who had followed them—recited the Beatitudes and wept.
Even the handful of Japanese guards in the cluster removed their caps.
On March 3, A. P. Cullen hosted a special memorial service for many of the people who still grieved. Eight hundred people attended. Annie Buchan, Carl Longman, and numerous friends and colleagues spoke.
At the end of the service, Cullen shared the thoughts that had gripped his heart for more than a week:
Death has been very busy in our ranks the last few months, and now it has stricken down in the very prime of manhood, and almost without warning, one of the best known and most deservedly popular of our number. To our eyes there is something tragic and almost unbearably poignant in the sudden blow that has shocked the whole camp, the swift passing of one whose life, with its many contacts, was so valuable, so worthy of the highest praise. But this afternoon we are not here to dwell on the apparent tragedy nor yet upon the sense of irreparable loss. We are here, first and foremost, in this Memorial service, to give thanks to God for the life so finely lived, the fight so nobly fought, the race so cleanly run, and to find renewed inspiration for ourselves in the example that Eric Liddell left us. To him those stirring words of Bunyan may be as fittingly applied as they were to Mr. Valiant-for-truth: “So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.”’
The congregation sang a few hymns, including “Be Still, My Soul,” and read from one of Eric’s favorite passages on love, 1 Corinthians 13. Mere human words could not take away the pain and sadness, but the words of Scripture, and the promise of the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting, would and did begin the healing process.
Cullen wrapped up his thoughts for the group.
Why is it that Eric was one of the best-known, most popular and respected persons in camp? Why is it that in a camp like this, where criticism is so rife that hardly anyone in the public eye is immune from it, why is it that no one ever seems to have a word to say in criticism of Eric—always the reverse? Something, of course, has to be allowed for his renown as an international athlete. But at the bottom the answer to each of these and similar questions would be found to have its basis in one fundamental cause—Eric’s Christian character.
Mr. P. A. Bruce, Headmaster of the China Inland Mission School at Chefoo, gave the final address. After several minutes of relaying what he knew of and about Eric Liddell, he paused, drew in a breath, and said,
One word more. What is to be the effect of this life upon us here? Why did he live the life he lived? Why did he become a missionary? Because he felt he could do no other. On the one hand, he strove to live a life well-pleasing to God at all times. And on the other hand, to commend the gospel of God to all whom he met. What effect has his life here amongst us made upon you?
After the service, friends hovered together, sharing fond memories of the man they had loved so much. A prostitute in the camp confided special insight of her own about when Eric had helped her with a shelving unit. “He was the first man to help me without asking for a favor in return.” The quiet chatter soon turned to cautious but contagious laughter—the predictably muted joy which so often happens at funerals when loved ones exchange untold tales.
Years later, Mary Taylor Previte penned, “There, a little bit of Scotland was tucked sadly away in Chinese soil.”[112]
Eric Liddell’s influence would live on because Eric Liddell’s legacy and impact would remain with the people in the camp. One day, they would be free, and for days and years thereafter, for the rest of their lives, they would tell their stories of Uncle Eric.
In amazing tragedy, the news from that horrible week remained contained within the walls of Weihsien.
On May 1, 1945, Mr. Cocker-Brown at the London Missionary Society received an envelope from the British undersecretary on a day when excitement buzzed in the air. Word of Adolf Hitler’s death had begun to spread. The atrocities of war were about to end. Surely this day—and this envelope—could contain only good news.
Full of optimism and vigor, he tore into the letter.
Sir, AZAS
I am directed by Mr. Winston Churchill to inform you with regret that the Swiss representative at Shanghai has reported by telegraph that the Reverend Eric Henry Liddell died at Weihsien on the 21st February, 1945. The cause of death is not stated.
I am, Sir,
Your obedient Servant,
I. W. O. Davidson.[113]
In utter shock, Cocker-Brown called Rob Liddell immediately. Rob had been working at a hospital in Edinburgh. The men decided as the heartbreaking conversation unfolded that LMS headquarters would relay the news to Florence in Toronto and that Rob would share the sad tidings with the remaining Liddell family in Scotland.
Jenny took the news exceptionally hard. Mary Liddell had passed away only months earlier. However, with the resurgence of new grief, Jenny could at least trust that Eric had never had to bear the loss of their beloved mother. Now James, Mary, and Eric celebrated eternal life on streets of gold.
On May 2, more than two months after Eric’s passing, Rev. A. E. Armstrong and Rev. George King knocked on Florence Liddell’s door. It was a day she would never forget. Her heart shattered as the news set in. She dropped to the stairwell and sobbed uncontrollably with her mother. Maureen and Heather followed the sounds of sadness.
“What’s wrong?” the girls asked.
“Daddy is in heaven with Bumpa,” Florence said past her sobs.
That afternoon, Patricia came home, anxious to tell her mother that she had won first place at a school track meet. But her fleeting joy evaporated. Together with her mother and sisters, she would learn a new kind of endurance.
On May 5, 1945, Toronto honored Eric with a memorial service at Carlton Street United Church. The next two days culminated with a global celebration of victory in Europe (V-E Day), which only added irony to the injury suffered by the Liddell/MacKenzie family. Their hope for the resolution of war for so long, and its fulfillment, seemed forever spoiled by irreplaceable loss.
On May 27, 1945, Morningside Congregational Church in Edinburgh, Scotland, observed a memorial for Eric. There, his Scottish siblings, extended relatives, and friends lamented together in loving remembrance. More than one thousand people attended, packing the church to overflowing.
D. P. Thomson attended the service, later commenting,
The details of the last few years of his life are not yet known to us, but we can be certain that under the most severe of all trials, he exhibited just those qualities which he showed in his sporting life. His was perhaps a short one; but his work, as he clearly saw it, and, as we believe divinely inspired, carried out away from the applause of the crowd, will remain an inspiration to many. In these days of exaggerated hero worship and publicity for sporting champions, Eric Liddell’s example reminds us to put things in their proper perspective. Sport to him was sport—not the be-all and end-all—and success in it did not prevent him from picking out the things spiritual from the things temporal. He was an example which must have helped others to make a similar choice.[114]
All of Scotland mourned in a Saltire salute for their beloved son. The Scottish flag hung at half-mast for a good while in honor of Scotland’s national treasure. England’s Union Jack followed suit.
It is interesting to note that the Scottish Saltire flag bears St. Andrew’s cross—a white X-shaped cross across a blue field, which honors the stylistic martyrdom of St. Andrew. The beaches of St. Andrews, Scotland, later became the iconic backdrop of the 1981 blockbuster film Chariots of Fire, immortalizing Eric Liddell, running in all his glory among the legendary 1924 Olympians.
To those
who miss him, or any faithful loved one in death, Eric left a bit of comfort behind in his theological writing about Holy Communion with the saints, those on earth with those in heaven. During the sacrament of Holy Communion, it is as if the skies are ripped open, uniting believers in the world with Christ and the saints who have fallen asleep in him.
Eric wrote,
Many have found the act of communion the means of grace by which they are best able to realize this great truth of our abiding in Christ, and Christ’s abiding in us. . . .
The sacrament also has its social aspect. From the beginning the disciples used to meet together for a service in memory of our Lord which they called the Breaking of the Bread. At first it was an ordinary meal (called the Love Feast) and ended with the Lord’s Supper being observed. In this way it was a reminder that Christian discipleship is not a solitary life, but a life in which we are united together in a great fellowship because of our common relationship to Jesus Christ. Our fellowship with Christ finds expression in a spirit of brotherhood and sisterhood in our attitudes to, and conduct with, one another. . . .
The fellowship of those we have known and loved is never more real than when we join with others in the act of communion with our Lord and Savior. We are part of—and in fellowship with—those who have gone before, who by faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, lived lovingly; who by patiently enduring, suffering, and serving have worked for his kingdom on earth.[115]
Those who miss the faithful departed need only look to Christ and the Holy Sacrament of Communion that he freely offers, connecting the two.
[110] David Michell, A Boy’s War (Singapore: Overseas Missionary Fellowship, 1988), http://www.weihsien-paintings.org/books/aBoysWar/ABoysWar(LaTotale)-pages.pdf
[111] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 208–17. These and the following words are a composite of the many praises lauded over Eric at his funeral.
The Final Race Page 22