You know, I’ve been thinking about Mary Slessor — the Scottish missionary who arrived in Calabar in 1876.
Some call her a saint.
Some call her a colonialist.
And quite a few are not quite sure what to call her.
But here’s the thing — she was different.
Here’s how her obituary was announced in England on January 13, 1915:
Quote
“Mary Slessor, the ‘White Queen of Calabar’ Dies.”
“If goodness be counted an essential element of true greatness — if eminence be reckoned by love and self-sacrifice, by years of endurance and suffering, by a life of sustained heroism and purest devotion — it will be found difficult, if not impossible, to name her equal.”
— J. H. Morrison
Born near Aberdeen in 1848, at the height of the Industrial Revolution, Mary’s family lived on the edge of poverty. Her father — an alcoholic shoemaker — drank away their meagre income. At eleven, the red-haired girl with the bright blue eyes began working in the jute mills of Dundee. By fourteen, her father and two brothers were dead of pneumonia. Only Mary, her mother, and two younger sisters remained.
Through her mother’s faith and devotion, Mary grew into a fervent believer — a lover of Scripture and a dreamer of missions. When she heard of David Livingstone’s death, she decided to go to Africa in his stead.
Unquote
The barefoot missionary
Mary Slessor was not one to preach from a distance.
She walked the African earth barefoot.
Lived among the Efik and Ibibio.
Ate their food.
Spoke their tongue.
Slept in their huts.
She did not stand above the people — she stood with them.
She defended them, fought for them, risked her life to protect the helpless — especially women and children.
She stopped the killing of twins, a practice rooted in the belief that such children were cursed.
And yet, let’s be honest: she was still a woman of her time. Her own words reveal it:
“The natives are like children — quick to learn, quick to forget, easily moved by kindness, yet easily swayed by fear.
But I love them. I cannot imagine life without them. They are my people now.”
Love, wrapped in condescension. Revelation, clothed in reservation.
That was Mary Slessor — a heart caught between compassion and conditioning.
But aren’t we all like that? iknow I am — when I write about the corrupt clan that deceives the poor and feasts on their misery; while preaching virtue. I’m no different.
We are all caught — between the revelation we’ve received and the horror that unfolds before our eyes.
A digression — to today’s preachers Permit me a brief detour.
To numerous pastors, bishops, and churchpreneurs today, the very testimony of Mary Slessor is a rebuke: a mirror of judgment.
“The labourer is worthy of his hire,” says 1 Timothy 5:18.
And you love to quote this. Agreed…. Worthy indeed he is of his hire. Worthy. Not more, not less.
Remember Shylock? “A pound of flesh. No more. No less?”
Portia’s warning rings down the centuries:
“This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; the words expressly are a pound of flesh.
But in the cutting of it, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian blood,
thy lands and goods are by the laws of Venice confiscate unto the state.”
Take heed, O preacher of prosperity: when you quote “the labourer is worthy of his hire,” make sure no Christian blood is shed in the process.
Back to Mary Slessor.
A Conscience and a Cross
From the same heart that called the people “childlike,” came this:
“They have been wronged enough by white men; they shall not be wronged by me.”
She had a conscience. She had compassion. Christ-like compassion. So, back to the nagging question: Was Mary Slessor racist?
I leave you to judge.
Would you be different if the roles were reversed?
You the missionary, and she the native who prayed to ‘the devil’?
Did they pray to the devil? My opinion? I have little doubt that they did – for even today with the revealed words of Christ, with the Bible, many still hanker after a ‘Jesus’ whom simply isn’t the Jesus of the Bible!
These are they who are Cruel to immigrants,
Who denounce empathy.
Who despite everything - the forward march of civilization… The evolution of the human mind and scientific revelations, are not men or women… of their time rather, of a discredited past in which slavery and racism were in full acceptance.
These are recalcitrants Who boastfully carry prejudices that should have been buried with the Victorians.
Are you surprised that they have full throated support from those who preach a ‘Jesus’ whom simply isn’t the Jesus of the Bible!? Who called themselves evangelicals?
Are you surprised even than many a Catholic theologian give their full throated support?
The Catholic Church you must remember contributed little or nothing to the abolition of slavery. (William Wilberforce was definitely NOT Catholic)
Back to Mary Slessor…
Whereas she said of Africans,
“They have been wronged enough by white men; they shall not be wronged by me,”
they say the opposite:
“They have not been wronged enough by white men; they shall be wronged by me.”
Whatever spirit guided Mary Slessor, its opposite rules the hearts of today’s recalcitrants — those who wrap hate in holiness, who praise a counterfeit Christ.
The Aros
The full measure of her heart lies in her encounter with the Aros — a people feared even by their neighbours.
Her words, written after that perilous journey, tell the story better than any biographer could:
“I prayed as my bare feet carried me farther into the jungle.
I shall never forget the day I heard of the Aros tribe.
They were considered the fiercest in the land — a people who sold even their own kin as slaves.
They prayed to the devil and ate human flesh, yet the land of the Aros drew me like a magnet.
The British government firmly disapproved. They warned me that no white woman had ever gone among the Aros and returned alive.
But the call of God was stronger than the voice of fear.
So I went — armed with faith alone.
Through thick jungle and fever-ridden swamps, I pressed on.
At night, I slept on mats beneath the stars, my lantern flickering beside an open Bible.
When at last I reached their villages, I found idols and altars stained with blood.
The smell of death hung in the air, and yet I felt no fear — only pity.
I told them of a greater Spirit — a God who did not demand blood, but offered His own for love of mankind.
They listened in silence — astonished that a woman would come alone, without soldiers, without weapons, without fear.
Slowly, the walls began to crumble… The same hands that once carried spears began to build schools and chapels.
Mothers brought me their children instead of casting them away.
And where drums of war had sounded, I began to hear the songs of peace.”
It is an extraordinary confession — horror transformed into revelation.
Source: https://youtu.be/HZGCHZzgzzY?si=_SEVBdqSaOKus2cr
Of the video in the link above, I find it curious that white peoples would gather to listen to this… even more that the term “Nigeria” was used. There was no Nigeria. Nigeria came into being 4 years after Slessor’s death - #dk
Conclusion: Between Revelation and Condescension
Today, Mary Slessor is remembered with reverence among the Efik and Ibibio.
Because history rarely remembers how we judged — it remembers how we loved.
She was not a saint of empire some argue - but I think she was. She was a servant of grace. Caught between revelation and horror…. between faith and fear… Though she was fragile, and flawed, she was courageous. Though she walked through the valley of the shadow of death, she feared no evil. (For the rod and the staff of God was with her).
And perhaps that is all that God ever asks of us.
Don Kenobi
#MolueMonOLogUEs
#AssistedResearch.
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