It is difficult for me to say how I reached the age of
forty-two years having grown in my love for literature and having been inspired
from my youth by the writings of Dr. Martin Luther King - how I might have
taken this long to begin reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin. I pretend to have no excuse and will only
move forward with gratitude for what this story is speaking to me now. I am just over half way through the book and
I don’t know what is yet to come in the story, nor, sadly, do I know anything
about the author, Harriet Beecher Stowe.
For these reasons, I hesitate to comment on the entire book, knowing the
importance of the story not only to American literature, but also to American
society.
Nonetheless, on this particular morning, I encountered in
the middle of this tragic, painful tale, the most beautiful description of an
unlikely friendship between a patient, humble sufferer and an innocent, loving
child. A slave sold away from his family
and a young girl, the daughter of the slave owner who had purchased him. The redemptive impact of the friendship with
Evangeline on the lost years of Tom’s life is exchanged for a profound
spiritual growth and depth of compassion growing in Evangeline as a result of
her close association with this gracious, kind saint. I can’t begin to describe the impact of this
interaction on me, so I will just share some of the text directly from Uncle
Tom’s Cabin.
From CHAPTER XXII – “The Grass
Withereth – the Flower Fadeth”
Life passes, with us all, a day at
a time; so it passed with our friend Tom, till two years were gone. Though parted from all his soul held dear,
and though often yearning for what lay beyond, still was he never positively
and consciously miserable…
Tom read, in his only literary
cabinet, of one who had “learned in whatsoever state he was, therewith to be
content.” It seemed to him good and
reasonable doctrine, and accorded well with the settled and thoughtful habit
which he had acquired from the reading of that same book.
His letter homeward was in due time
answered by Master George. It contained
various refreshing items of home intelligence… The style of the letter was
decidedly concise and terse; but Tom thought it the most wonderful specimen of
composition that had appeared in modern times.
He was never tired of looking at it, and even held a council with Eva on
the expediency of getting it framed, to hang up in his room. Nothing but the difficulty of arranging it so
that both sides of the page would show at once stood in the way of this
undertaking.
The friendship between Tom and Eva
had grown with the child’s growth. It
would be hard to say what place she held in the soft, impressible heart of her
faithful attendant. He loved her as
something frail and earthly, yet almost worshipped her as something heavenly
and divine… and to humor her graceful fancies, and meet those thousand simple
wants which invest childhood like a many-colored rainbow, was Tom’s chief
delight.
Nor was Eva less zealous in kind
offices, in return. Though a child, she
was a beautiful reader; - a fine musical ear, a quick poetic fancy, and an
instinctive sympathy with what’s grand and noble, made her such a reader of the
Bible as Tom had never before heard. At
first, she read to please her humble friend; but soon her own earnest nature
threw out its tendrils, and wound itself around the majestic book; and Eva
loved it, because it woke in her strange yearnings, and strong, dim emotions,
such as impassioned, imaginative children love to feel.
The parts that pleased her most
were the Revelations and the Prophecies, - parts whose dim and wondrous
imagery, and fervent language, impressed her the more, that she questioned
vainly of their meaning; - and she and her simple friend, the old child and the
young one, felt just alike about it. All
that they knew was, that they spoke of a glory to be revealed, - a wondrous
something yet to come, wherein their soul rejoiced, yet knew not why; and
though it be not so in the physical, yet in moral science that which cannot be
understood is not always profitless. For
the soul awakes, a trembling stranger, between two dim eternities, - the
eternal past, the eternal future. The
light shines only on a small space around her; therefore, she needs must yearn
towards the unknown.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Harriet Beecher Stowe
The story brought to mind my young friends Claire and Carly -
their beautiful innocence and disarming kindness warm the hearts of so many
haggard saints whose lives have seen trouble and pain and injustice. They sit together with old children in a
sanctuary in South Minneapolis on Sundays listening to Pastor Walt expound the
book of Revelation while his own heart longs together with many of us that
these precious young ones will one day take refuge in God when they meet with
suffering - that like Hannah, they will pour out their soul before the Lord in
that day (I Samuel 1:15). The story
reminded me also of the old children who shared the Word with me in the innocence of
my own youth and who prayed for me from nursing homes and hospital beds that I
myself might find grace to help in my own hour of need. I am grateful for them, and humbled to be the
beneficiary of their patient faith and kindness. And together with these dear friends past and present, I yearn toward the unknown,
the glory yet to be revealed, the wondrous something yet to come.
