Hello readers! John here. This is a retelling of a story in the book, “Tales of God’s Packmen” by E.W. Smith. I really loved the stories written in the book and wanted to share them with you! The book is SUPER old, but the stories are timeless. They showed me what it looked like to be a Christian who takes up his cross, as well as a worker who puts his hand to the plow and doesn’t look back. I hope you’ll be encouraged by these just like I was.
Prologue
In the days of old, before the luxury of internet or audiobooks, our brothers and sisters of the faith held their Bibles close. The word of God was dear to them, and they held a strong conviction that others needed to hear it. They were given a command: “go and make disciples of all nations.” This command they obeyed willingly, and eagerly. The faithful people of ages past knew the love of Christ and were compelled to love their neighbours because they were loved first.
In a time before railways and motor vehicles, a group of kingdom workers called the packmen of God took it upon themselves to be the much-needed messengers of the Gospel. These packmen, sometimes referred to by the title of “colporteurs”, or “pedlars”, carried our precious book of God’s word to those who had yet to hear. The Bible, which we have so readily available at the press of a button, once needed to be carried hundreds of miles, across oceans and deserts, through treacherous lands and foreign territory. These messengers would go, leaving behind their chances at having a family, as well as an easy life. For the lost to hear of God’s message and salvation, these people had to give up their safety, their wealth, and their comfort, yet they did so without hesitation.
Part 1: The Sicilian Brigand
The bright autumn day was drawing to a close. A narrow white road ran towards the setting sun over the wide plain in the centre of Sicily — the island that looks on the map like a football at the toe of Italy. Along this road came a solitary traveller, carrying a bag filled with books of the New Testament. He was very tired, for he had been at work in a town ten miles away. He still had a few miles to travel, and he knew that it would be dark before he arrived. For in Sicily, the night falls as soon as the sun sets.
As the traveller treaded down the path, he began to pick up a low rumble. It was the noise of galloping hooves. Turning his head, he saw a rider on his steed quickly approaching. The rider was a tall, dark man with fierce eyes, an upturned black moustache and a black beard. He wore a wide felt hat that shadowed his eyes, and long boots that came up to his knees. A big black cloak shrouded his figure. When he reached the traveller, he reined in his horse.
“Buona sera, signore” (Good evening, sir), said the man on foot.
The horseman did not reply immediately. Instead, he leapt to the ground and looked closely into the traveller’s face. Then he asked, “What is your business? What have you in that bag?”
“Books, signore.”
“Ah, then I’ve caught you at last. You are the man that goes about selling these despicable books which corrupt the morals of simple people. Thank God, I have got you now. Look here you mongrel, first I’ll burn all your books, and then, I’m going to shoot you.”
So saying, he threw open his cloak, showing that he carried two ugly pistols in his belt.
“Put your bag down here and then go and gather sticks to light a fire. Don’t even think about running. Any funny business and you’re dead.” He pulled out a pistol and shook it in the colporteur’s face.
The packman knew that he had fallen into the hands of a brigand — one of the brigands who were at the time numerous in Sicily. Thinking it was best to keep a silent tongue, he made no reply. He went off and presently returned with a big armful of brushwood.
By the time the fire was lighted, night had come, and the stars shone brightly overhead. Then at last the Packman spoke. “Sir,” he said, “I will ask one thing before you burn my books and shoot me. Allow me to read you some passages from them.”
“Fine,” said the brigand, “that is fair. Sit down.”
The brigand sat on one side of the fire with the pistol in his hand. The Packman took his place opposite and selected a little paper-covered book, the Gospel of Luke. He began to read: “A certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among thieves…”
Now that was bringing it home rather closely to the brigand. The Packman was bold — this is not the passage which most of us would have chosen, but the brigand did not show any resentment. He listened while the Packman went on reading. The Italian language is extremely musical, and the parable of the Good Samaritan sounded very beautiful in the silence of that evening under the stars.
“I like that story,” said the brigand. “We won’t burn this book. Put it down here.”
The Packman then took up the Gospel of Matthew, and turning to the fifth chapter, began to read: “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment. But I say to you…’” He read on until the brigand interrupted him.
“That is good. There is nothing bad about that book. Read another.” The Packman then took up a New Testament and read the thirteenth chapter of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians — the great hymn of Christian love. It sounds even more musical in Italian than in English.
The brigand went into raptures. “What beauty!” he exclaimed. “What truth! Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast… It does not insist on its own way… Love bears all things… Eccellentissimo (very, very fine). Certainly, we cannot burn that book. Put it here, and read another.”
The Packman went on reading from book after book and the brigand went on saying: “We won’t burn that one… Not that one either… Keep that one.”
Finally, the Packman said: “That is all of them.” The brigand said sharply, “Nonsense, fetch out the bad books. I want to see the stuff you sell the village folk — the books that corrupt their morals.”
“But, sir, I have no other books.”
“My friend,” said the brigand, “do not lie to me. That would be a mistake.”
He got up and came to where the Packman’s bag was lying. When he opened it, he found it empty. He felt in the Packman’s pockets and also found no books. Then he laughed. “Bravo!” he said. “You can go, but remember, if ever I catch you selling evil books I shall shoot you like a dog.”
He called his horse and rode off. The Packman took his bag and went on his way, thanking God for his escape. He reached the village, found an inn, and went to bed. The next morning after breakfast he went out into the marketplace, carrying his bag. He walked quietly up to one group of men gathered around a donkey that was for sale. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Would you like to hear a story about Jesus?” “Sure,” replied the men, and they turned away from the donkey. The Packman read how Jesus sent two of the disciples to fetch a donkey and how He rode on it into Jerusalem. The story interested the men and one of them asked the price of the book. “One halfpenny,” said the Packman.
“That is cheap. I will take it.”
But before he could get the money out of his pocket, a voice shouted: “Beware, friends, this man is a rogue! His books should not be read!” Then a tumult began. Some people took the Packman’s side, but most of them were against him. “Down with the heretic!” they shouted.
“Death to the blasphemer!”
“Stone him!”
Men and women left their wares and crowded round, yelling and threatening. Things began to look ugly. Then in the nick of time, a horseman came galloping across the marketplace and pushed his way into the mob. He was a tall, dark man with black, upturned moustaches and a black beard. He wore a big cloak, long boots, and spurs. Everybody in that village knew him —most of them were afraid of him. “Hold!” he cried. “Leave that man alone.”
“But, sir, he is trying to sell evil books. He deserves to be stoned.”
The brigand sat there on his horse in the middle of the crowd and talked. He told them what had happened the night before. “The books are good,” he concluded. “Let the man alone. Anyone who hurts him will have to deal with me.”
Years afterwards, the very same Packman was surprised at receiving a letter from America. It read like this: “My dear friend, do you remember the brigand who stopped you one night on the road? I am he, but a brigand no longer. I have never forgotten you nor the words you read to me. They saved me from an evil life, thank God.”
Epilogue
You can imagine packmen just like this one — travelling on foot with a heavy knapsack filled with books, and hardly anything else. With little to no money in their pocket, and no fame to their name. They set out, confident that God goes before them, and trusting that the Lord will provide everything they need. When their limited rations ran out, they carried on in their journey, stomachs rumbling. If they got attacked, then they surrendered their wares and submitted themselves to a beating. If they had not reached a village or secured shelter from a host by night, they laid down on the cool sand and slept under the stars.
These travellers had one purpose, to share the good news of God and His free gift of salvation. The way they did that was by transporting and selling copies of the Bible. Carrying dozens of copies in varying languages, they went out, offering the holy Scriptures at a minimal price to anyone who was interested. If the price ever seemed like a deterrent, they did not hesitate to give them away for free.
As they journeyed, the packmen of God often left behind in their wake stories upon stories of God’s miraculous works. Many hearers would later tell of their fated meeting with a happy packman, who persuaded them to buy a Bible. These are the tales of how a simple group of people, by the love and power of God, were able to change the lives of countless others for the better.
