By Joanne Landon

James Gilmour

Numbers, results, church growth! All broadcast success. At least in the world’s eyes. But what of that lonely, faithful missionary on a slow, hard field with only one soul to report in 21 years of Gospel endeavor? Should not this consecrated, self-sacrificing servant also be remembered?

James Gilmour admitted he labored amongst those who felt no need for Christianity. Yet, for two decades he preached the Gospel to the Lama Buddhists of Mongolia. His long, lonely treks and steadfast love for the lost reveal boots-on-the-ground realism rather than a glowing success story.

James Gilmour was born June 12, 1843, into the godly home of James and Elizabeth Gilmour. His father was a builder and timber merchant on the Cathkin Estate, Glasgow, Scotland. Twice a day his father held family worship, and all the locals knew no business interrupted such sacred times.

James was third in a family of six boys. His mother regularly read religious stories to her boys, and often ended with a comment such as, “Now wouldn’t it be fine if some of you, when you grow up, should write such nice little stories as these for children and do some good in the world that way!” Thus, seed thoughts were planted, for years later Gilmour’s articles and books were published for young and old.

At school Gilmour excelled, a fact he attributed to his mother and his own competitive nature. He freely admitted that he was so eager to place first, it was hard for him to befriend any competitor!

After high school, Gilmour entered Glasgow University, where that first year proved a turning point in his life. Not only did he confirm his own salvation, but he took to heart the commission, “Go ye.” For him, that meant the place of most need. From then on, he earnestly studied the Bible and went out alone seeking evangelistic endeavors in the open air or with roadside workers.

Gilmour’s wise use of time enabled academic success (BA 1867, MA 1868) and kept him focused for overseas service. He was accepted by the London Missionary Society (LMS), completed seminary studies at Cheshunt and studied Chinese. He was ordained in Edinburgh in 1870 and sailed for Peking ten days later. On board the steamship, Diomed, he held church services and earnestly sought the salvation of all the passengers and crew.

In Peking Gilmour resumed Chinese language studies and prepared for his first trip into Mongolia—that vast land of some 3000 miles (east /west) by 900 miles (north/ south), which was steeped in Lama Buddhism. Gilmour followed a large trade route of 850 miles between China and Russia that cut through the Gobi desert, where nomadic Mongols shepherded their flocks. To learn the language, he travelled with a Russian postman, a Scottish trader, and then shared a tent with a Mongol who was attended by two lamas (Buddhist monks or priests). By the end of the year, he could slowly read and write Mongolian.

For several years Gilmour repeated these long, rough mission trips into Mongolia each summer, then returned to the LMS work in Peking each winter. To save money, Gilmour ate poor, basic food and walked rather than hire a camel. He repeatedly shared the Gospel and offered basic medical help but saw no spiritual interest from the Mongolians. He longed for a colleague or spouse and often took this need to the Lord in prayer.

While visiting a missionary friend, Samuel Meech in Peking, Gilmour saw a photograph of Emily Prankard, the younger sister of Mrs. Meech. Being encouraged by Mrs. Meech to write Emily, Gilmour’s first letter proposed marriage. When he returned to Peking 6 months later, Emily’s letter was waiting for him. She said yes! Emily then set sail in the fall 1874, and the couple were married that December in Peking. They were an ideal match, and Emily quickly learned Chinese and Mongolian.

The next few years proved busy with the LMS Chinese work, and the Mongolian mission trips to the shepherds of the plains or the traders of Peking. This rough lifestyle, along with poor food, and now two young boys, took a severe toll on Emily’s health, necessitating a furlough (1882-3). While in Britain, Gilmour took a series of meetings for the LMS and saw his first book published, Among the Mongols.

Within a year the family were back on the field, seeing souls saved and baptized in the Chinese work (Emily taught in the Chinese girls’ school), or taking the long missions trip back into Mongolia (James).

Finally, after 14 years of endeavors, Gilmour witnessed his first (and only) Mongol convert— a nomadic layman, Boyinto, who openly testified of Christ as Savior. Commenting on this breakthrough, Gilmour said, “The place was as beautiful to me as the gate of heaven, and the words of the confession of Christ . . . as inspiring to me as if they had been spoken by an angel from out the cloud of glory.” Boyinto’s solid profession was further shown by his baptism almost a year later.

But challenges lay ahead. The Gilmours welcomed a third son (in 1884), but sadly Emily had a weakening illness and died a year later. Now with three youngsters, Gilmour bravely sent the two oldest, James (9) and William (7), to Britain for schooling, and Baby Alick was cared for by his aunt in Peking, but sadly he died young of a spinal malady.

Yet through all, Gilmour bravely toiled on with the Mongolian work. Finally in 1889 when a missionary doctor arrived to help, he quickly assessed Gilmour’s broken health and advised a furlough. Back in Britain, Gilmour soon recovered to stir up missionary zeal amongst the churches, and to spend delightful times with his two young boys.

But Gilmour’s heart was ever in Mongolia and before the year was out, he was back on the field resuming Gospel outreaches. That next spring (1891) Gilmour chaired the annual LMS meeting in Tientsin, but died of typhus a month later, aged 47.

James Gilmour’s race was won. His long, lonely Gospel treks had ended. No longer would he request prayer for Divine Help, a helper—or even one letter! Through all, he had remained hopeful, fervent in spirit, and engaged with the people. He ever loved and prayed for the Mongolians and stirred up believers to do likewise. His steadfast calling still cheers Christian workers on slow or forgotten fields.

Go ye remains a sacred commission—regardless of hardships, results, or others’ opinions.

As my Father hath sent Me, even so send I you (John 20:21).