What’s it like to be the last one? When you’re so old there’s no one left for you to ask, “Remember when?”

In recent years, we’ve seen it happen as the last veterans of World War 2 slowly fade away. The reunions get smaller, and then they stop. A few stooped men are left alone to think of long ago.

Memories are powerful, more so when they are shared. And that’s what we see in Joshua 14. Perhaps this isn’t the final meeting of Joshua and Caleb, but it’s the last time that Scripture brings them together. It’s near the end of the road for these two old men, these brothers-in-arms. Imagine the memories as they look in each other’s eyes!

At first glance, verses 6-15 don’t seem to signify much. We can sum them up in just a few words. Israel is in Canaan, which is now being divided among the tribes. Caleb is old but full of energy, and he asks Joshua for a specific place as his inheritance. He tells Joshua that old age won’t stop him from fighting for the land God promised him. Joshua blesses his request, and Caleb leads a successful fight, winning the hill country near Hebron for his own.

That’s the basic story, and Caleb’s grit and faithfulness stand as a rebuke to many who quit too soon. But this isn’t just an inspiring story about one old hero, it’s about two old soldiers who are seeing long-awaited promises fulfilled.

Chronologically, the story falls near the end of the book of Joshua. Based on Caleb’s recounting, it’s been about five years since Israel crossed the Jordan – long enough for the people to have fought and won many battles.

Among their victories was the battle for Hebron, the place Caleb now asks for. Chapter 13 began with Israel dividing the land west of the Jordan. God had commanded that these divisions were to be made by a land lottery, and Joshua is now able to comply.

The lottery is announced at the start of chapter 14, but the author interrupts himself to speak about one man and his inheritance.

Caleb’s first words to Joshua are gripping. Listen. “You know the word which the LORD said to Moses the man of God concerning you and me in Kadesh Barnea.”

Did you hear him repeat the word “you”? He is inviting Joshua to go back in time, back to when they had just returned from spying in the land of Canaan. That was long ago and in a different world. Caleb is now 85, and Joshua is “old, advanced in years.”

In the coming verses, Caleb will tell his own story, but it’s clear from these words that the promise he is claiming was given to Joshua as well.

They had been the two faithful spies who scouted Canaan for 40 days. They had traveled from south to north and back again, in constant danger of being discovered. They had returned to the people and given a good report of the land. They had believed that God was able to give it to them, and they had wanted to start the invasion immediately.

But the others rebelled, and the nation almost stoned Caleb and Joshua to death— a crisis which neither could have forgotten. God intervened with His glory cloud to spare them, but they were forced to wander in the wilderness until their unbelieving relatives had returned to dust.

Standing now at Gilgal, near the ruins of Jericho, the old friends were the only ones left from their generation. They were the founding fathers. They were surrounded by an entire nation whose parents and grandparents had died in the desert.

They were the only ones who knew the story firsthand— of millions of Israelites, Joshua was the only one to whom Caleb could say, “You know the word which the LORD said to Moses the man of God concerning you and me in Kadesh Barnea.”

Having sparked Joshua’s memory, Caleb kept reminding him of their shared story. He told how on that day God had rewarded his faithfulness with a promise spoken by Moses: “The land on which your feet have walked will be your inheritance and that of your children forever, because you have followed the LORD my God wholeheartedly.”

That was forty-five years ago, said Caleb, and God has kept me alive through it all. As he goes on, he says in effect, “now we are here, and I want my land.” At Kadesh, God had promised a special inheritance, but due to the sin of others, he had waited a very long time to get it.

Caleb’s words were true of Joshua’s life as well. They both had endured the desert’s dangers. They had watched as all the others had dropped, one by one, into the dust.

For forty years they had eaten manna from heaven. They had watched the building of the tabernacle, been shocked by the sudden deaths of Nadab and Abihu, seen Korah and his rebels swallowed by an earthquake, and heard the news of Miriam’s leprosy. In the end, they had seen Moses climb Mt. Pisgah, never to return.

Years ago, when the spies had returned from the land, and the nation was terrified by reports of giants, it was Caleb who had spoken to quiet the people. He was the main hero of Numbers 13. A few verses later, Joshua is mentioned first, but Caleb had been first to speak.

After this event, Caleb disappeared from history until this meeting. In the intervening years, he has been silently faithful while Joshua has risen to the top. Caleb crossed the Jordan with the people, but God exalted Joshua (Josh. 4:14). Caleb marched around Jericho, but it was Joshua whose fame spread through the land (Josh. 6:27).

Although he’s been hidden in the shadows, he’s not grown jealous over Joshua. But his words indicate that he feels it’s time to speak for himself. Having heard that Israel is about to receive the land by lot, it’s as though he rushes up to Joshua to make sure his promised piece of ground isn’t given to someone else.

Does he also think that Joshua doubts his ability to fight? Does he fear that Joshua will keep him from battle to protect him from the danger of combat? Whatever his motive, he argues strongly for his case.

“Here I am today, eighty-five years old! I am still as strong today as the day Moses sent me out; I’m just as vigorous to go out to battle now as I was then. Now give me this hill country that the Lord promised me that day.”

Joshua listened to his friend and gave his blessing. Caleb then led the younger generation to victory by driving out the same enemies that had terrified his own. His lifelong confidence in God was vindicated, and he was given possession of the hill country of Hebron – the hills of Abraham.

After this story about Caleb and his inheritance, the story resumes with details of the tribal land allotments. Unlike Caleb, who obtained his property by promise and by choice, all the rest was assigned by lot—except for that of Joshua.

Nearly five chapters contain long lists of towns and territories, but the final verses of chapter 19 give the only other account of an individual receiving his inheritance. After all the lands had been assigned (except for the cities of the Levites), Joshua finally received his. “According to the word of the LORD they gave him the city which he asked for, Timnath Serah in the hill country of Ephraim.”

The stories of Caleb and Joshua receiving their lands are bookends to the long lists of tribal borders and boundaries.

Caleb settled in the hill country of Judah, and Joshua in the hill country of Ephraim. It’s not clear if they ever met again. By the close of the book, Joshua has died, but it seems as that Caleb still lives (Josh. 14:14).

Never again would men from Ephraim and Judah be so close, but in these verses we see God keep His promises to two faithful men, men who had endured and who fought to the end.

Too often, the stories in our day are ones of compromise and quitting. We see too many men abandoning their posts or steering their ministries into the rocks of doctrinal drift and moral failure.

Thankfully, we still have some old Joshuas and Calebs among us.

Where are you now? Where will you be at 85?

There remains a rest for the people of God. May we fight all the way to the finish. Our inheritance is waiting.

“Crazy sad news in Baltimore this morning”

March 26, 2024

It was before dawn this morning, and, like the sun, my mind was still below the horizon. A twilight blend of sleep, half-prayed prayers, and thoughts of the coming day. At 5:38, my phone chimed, and I rolled over to see who would be texting at that hour.

It was my brother Enoch, in Florida, with three short messages that my sluggish mind could not comprehend. His first words read, “Crazy sad news in Baltimore this morning. Made me think of you right away with your knowledge of Key.”

Below his words I saw a link to CNN and an image of Donald Trump. The link said only, “Breaking News.”

Then, more words from my brother: “Hard to believe my eyes.”

What could these jumbled words mean? I couldn’t imagine anything happening in Baltimore that could explain them. I mean, I was born there, and grew up in the area, but I have no remaining ties to the city. So what “crazy sad news” was worth a text? And what did Donald Trump have to do with it?

The confusion prompted me to open the link and see what the news was all about. And that is when I saw, not Donald Trump, but a dimly-lit and silent video of a bridge collapsing into the water. It seemed surreal, but now I was awake.

By now, we all know about the collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, an iconic symbol of Baltimore, a name heard on a thousand daily traffic reports, a bridge I’d crossed many times.

Francis Scott Key and “his bridge”

Of course, we were all shocked by the news, but, as indicated by Enoch’s words, this touches me especially closely. Twenty years ago, I began to research the life of Francis Scott Key, a Christian who loved his God and loved his country. Since then, I’ve come to treasure his Christian witness and how full of biblical counsel his letters were.

It was Key’s love for his country and an old family friend that had, in September 1814, placed him on a ship that was moored not far from today’s now-ruined bridge. It was from that ship that he watched “bombs bursting in air” and composed what is now our National Anthem.

Last July, on a return flight from Minneapolis, I was blessed to fly over the Key Bridge as the sun was going down. Somehow, it made me feel like I was home, even though I left Maryland 20 years ago. The lighting was perfect, I was in the window seat, and the plane banked just right to catch the bridge with my camera.

How could I have known how significant that picture would become?

“Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish”

The collapse of the bridge this morning was a tragedy, and yet it is no different than things that have happened throughout history. When I heard the news, I was reminded of how Jesus spoke of 18 people “on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them” (Luke 13:4). His message was that they were no more sinful nor righteous than those who survived, yet, for them, death came without warning.

He used that tragedy to call those still alive to repentance: “unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.”

Events like what happened this morning remind us how things which seem so unchangeable are more fragile than we realize. Buildings collapse, ships sink, bridges fall.

Key’s counsel to his children

In March 1812, three months before the War of 1812, Francis Scott Key was in southern Maryland. As a lawyer, he was often on the road, making the rounds of county courts. When they were in session, he was away from home. We do not know what prompted it, but on March 20, at the age of 33, he updated his will and wrote his wife to let her know he didn’t expect to live long. (As it turned out, he had another 30 years.)

Along with that letter, he included one for his many children, to be given them in the event of his death. His words speak to Christians of every age.

My Dear Children:

When this letter will be read by you, your father will be gone to where you will no longer be able to see him nor to hear him. I am therefore writing to you to remind you then (when I can no longer speak to you) of that which, above everything, it is important and essential you should never forget.

O my children, you, too, will die, you also will all stand before God! You have read your Bible: how God made us, what he requires of us, how Christ died for us, how we must pray and strive to do everything right and shun everything wrong. I have endeavoured to instruct you. Never forget this, my dear children, and remember that we cannot serve and please God of ourselves, but we must pray to Him to help us for Christ's sake.

"Watch and pray, and it shall be given unto you."

Think of death; when you think of me, think of death, and remember, that after death is happiness or misery forever and ever. O let us all strive to meet in happiness. Let us pray that not one of us may be lost.

Remember that temptations will surround you, that you must "Watch and pray," that if you are careless you will be lost. Read your Bibles every morning and evening. Never neglect private prayers, both morning and evening, and throughout the day strive to think of God often and breathe a sincere supplication to Him for all things.

Join, also, in family prayers—sometimes, instead of your mother, one of you (by turns) should read prayers. Go regularly to church, plainly drest, and behave reverently. Do all possible good to all—to your mother, to each other, to all your relatives, to the poor and everybody within your reach. Do not love or indulge yourselves; learn and practice self-denial, and do everything for God's sake, and consider yourselves always in His service.

Remember that you do not belong to yourselves. Christ has bought you, and His precious blood was your price.

O my children! shall we all meet in Heaven? Pray not only each for himself, but all of you for all, that God may bless you and bring you together to His blessed presence and kingdom.

So has prayed, and I hope will be able to pray with his dying breath,

Yr father,

F. S. Key

P. S. —Each of my children will take a copy of this letter, and keep it and read it at least once a year.

Taking it home

On this day, when a bridge collapse reminds us of the uncertainty of life, may we resolve to live like Key and to convey his message to the loved ones in our lives.

Beginning in the summer of 2022, our church began preaching through the book of Joshua. I had the opportunity to preach about the crossing of the Jordan River and the fall of Jericho. In preparing for those sermons, I came to appreciate the life of Joshua. This is the first of several articles about this important person in the story of redemption.

(5.5 minutes)

Enemy at the Gates

Less than three months after Egypt, Israel was camped in the desert. God had just given them sweet manna in response to their complaints, and now they panicked because they saw no water. This time, God gave them water from a rock. Then Amalek attacked.

This is Israel's first battle, and Moses is watching from the hilltop. Aaron and Hur are beside him. And this is when we meet Joshua, the son of Nun. It’s actually a little unusual. Up to now, we’ve have heard nothing about him, yet when it’s time for battle, Moses tells him to gather men and fight.

Before we think about Joshua as a general, it will be good to see where he’s come from. We probably aren’t told much because when Moses was writing, everyone knew about him.

So who is Joshua?

Ninety days ago, Joshua was an Egyptian slave. Where did he learn to fight with a sword? or lead an army? Did Israel have a secret militia that trained in the swampy ground of Goshen? What made Joshua different from the other Hebrews?

From the Tribe of Ephraim

Scattered through the Old Testament are clues about Joshua’s background. First, he was of the tribe of Ephraim. This means that he descended from Joseph, whose mummy is currently headed for Canaan in Israel’s baggage train! We know the tribes of Levi and Judah are important, but we might not realize how important Ephraim is.

Think how God blessed Joseph – he didn’t become one tribe, he became two! Like Jacob had foreseen, his sons each became a tribe. And as with Jacob and Esau, the younger would be the greater one. Ephraim would always be more prominent than Manasseh – and nearly every other tribe. Centuries later, in the days of the kings, Ephraim was the main northern tribe, like Judah was in the south.

Think of God’s amazing plan in Joseph’s life. Though he was sold into slavery, God used his brothers’ sin to bring blessing. Unlike their cousins, who arrived in Egypt as hungry refugees, Ephraim and Manasseh were born into luxury. Their father was second only to Pharaoh in power, and their mother was the daughter of an Egyptian priest.

The boys almost certainly got the kind of higher education that Moses later had. Joshua came several generations after Ephraim, so it’s hard to know how many of these advantages reached him, but even in his day, the Ephraimites remained prominent among the other tribes.

Son of Nun, but Not a Nobody

These things teach us about Joshua’s tribal heritage, but what about his immediate family? His father was named Nun, but we don’t know anything about him, or about Joshua’s mother. Maybe they didn’t even make it out of Egypt! Were they buried back in Goshen?

On the other hand, we do know Joshua’s grandfather, Elishama. When the Israelites left Egypt, they traveled by tribal groups. Each tribe was led by a main man, and the leader of Ephraim was Elishama. In the first census of fighting men, about a year after this battle, Ephraim is one of the tiniest tribes. Even so, Elishama has an army of over 40,000. Years later, Gideon said he came from the weakest clan within his tribe and that he was the least in his father’s house. This wasn’t true of Joshua.

A Solitary Figure with a Family and a Past

The Bible doesn’t say how old he was, but we can come close. For one, we don’t meet him as a shepherd boy, but as a general. He was at least 20 when he joined Caleb as a spy; since Caleb was 40 at that time, Joshua might have been as well. He couldn’t have been much older, because Moses calls him “a young man.”

This means that Joshua had been a slave in Egypt who had lived under Pharaoh and had heard the good news of Moses’ return from his exile. He had seen the plagues that God sent.

Joshua also had a family. We know this because when he says goodbye to his people at the end of his life, he speaks of himself and of his house. This tells us that through much of his story, he had a wife and children who watched him learn from Moses and cross the Jordan River.

The Bible doesn’t tell us much about the life or background of Joshua, but it tells us more than we may have realized. Somehow he learned to fight. Somehow he learned to lead. God equips His people for service, and then He sends them out.

From time to time, I come across things written in the past that have incredible relevance for today. As I was working through my articles from a year ago, I found this article and was compelled to update it and post it again. This short piece from the 1830s needs to be read and heard by Christians everywhere, especially those who believe they are standing for truth. The essay was written by a pastor who was grieved by the attitudes he saw in the churches of his day. Among those who were “contending for the faith,” he saw too much pride and very little love. As he looked at the churches, he saw few of the childlike qualities that Jesus had insisted upon. Our writer asks, “If the Apostle John were alive today, would he even think of addressing his readers as ‘my little children’?”

Please read this article prayerfully. It should be read by every father, every church member, and every pastor. The principles apply within the home and within the church. At the end of the article I’ve included a short account of the author and of the context in which he wrote these words.

Practical Thought #15: The Conversion of the Church

We hear a great deal now-a-days about the conversion of the world. It is in almost every Christian's mouth; and we cannot be too familiar with the phrase — we cannot be too diligent to promote the thing. It ought to have our daily thoughts, prayers, and efforts. It deserves our hearts. It is the great object of Christianity. But there is another community besides the world, which I think needs to undergo a measure of the same process that the world so much needs. It is the church. While the conversion of the world is made so prominent, I think we ought not to overlook the conversion of the church, especially since this comes first in order.

Every thing, we know, begins at the house of God, both in judgment and mercy (1 Peter 4:17). But what do I mean by the conversion of the church? Is not the church converted already? Suppose I admit that; may she not need a new conversion? Regeneration is but once, but conversion may be many times. Peter had been converted when Christ said to him, “and when you are converted, strengthen your brethren.” There is no doubt the church might be converted again, and that without any injury to her.

But why do I think the church needs conversion? I might give several reasons, but I will assign only one. It is founded on Matthew 18:3: “Except you be converted, and become as little children.” Here we see the effect of conversion is to make the subjects of it as little children, and hence St. John addresses the early Christians as little children. Now my reason for thinking the church needs conversion is, that there does not seem to be much of the little child about the church of the present day. There is a great deal more of “the old man” about it, I am afraid. I think if John were living now, he would not be apt to address the members of the church generally as “little children.” No indeed. I question whether, if he were even addressing an assembly of the ministers and officers of many of our churches, he would not be apt to apply other terms than “little children" as a preface to his exhortation “love one another," which I am sure he would not forget.

Little children are humble, but humility is not a remarkable characteristic of the church of the present day. I don't think the scholars of either of the schools have got the lesson of lowliness very perfectly from their Master. I fear, if the Master were to come in upon us now, he would be likely to chide many in both the schools. Why two schools? There is but one Master.

How confiding little children are, and how ready to believe on the bare word of one in whom they have reason to feel confidence, and especially if he be a father! But not so the church. “Thus saith the Lord” does not satisfy her sons now. They must have better reasons for believing than that. They must hear first what he has to say, and then see if they can get a confirmation of it from any quarter before they will believe it. How unceremoniously many of these children treat some of the things which their Father very clearly says, because they do not strike them as in accordance with reason, justice, or common sense!

How docile the little child is! Mary, who “sat at Jesus' feet and heard his word,” was such a child. Never a why or a how asked she of him. I cannot say so much for the church of our day. Simplicity also characterizes little children. How open and artless they are — how free from guile. Such was Nathanael (John 1:47). Whether this trait of character be conspicuous in the church now, let the reader say.

Little children are moreover characterized by love, and their charity “thinks no evil.” How unsuspicious they are! But too much of the charity of the present day, so far from thinking no evil, thinks no good. It suspects every body. It “hopes” nothing. Indeed love, and her sister peace, which used to lead the graces, are become as wall-flowers with many; into such neglect they have fallen. They seem to be quite out of the question with many. Some good men appear to think that contending for the faith is the end of the commandment and the fulfilling of the law. But it is not. It is a duty, an important duty — one too little regarded by many — one never to be sneered at as by some it is. I acknowledge some treat it as if it were nothing. I only say it is not everything. There is walking in love, and following peace, which, as well as contending for the faith, are unrepealed laws of Christ's house. I believe they can all be done, and that each is best done when the others are not neglected. I am sure truth never lost any thing by being spoken in love. I am of opinion that a principal reason why we are not more of one mind, is that we are not more of one heart. How soon they who feel heart to heart, begin to see eye to eye! The way to think alike is first to feel alike; and if the feeling be love, the thought will be truth. I wish, therefore, for the sake of sound doctrine, that the brethren could love one another. What if we see error in each other to condemn, can we not find any thing amiable to love? I would the experiment might be made. Let us not cease to contend for the faith — not merely for its own sake, but for love’s sake, because “faith works by love.” But, in the conflict, let us be careful to shield love. It is a victory for truth scarcely worth gaining, if charity be left bleeding on the field of battle.

You see why I think the church needs converting. It is to bring her back to humility, and simplicity, and love. I wish she would attend to this matter. She need not relax her efforts for the world. She has time enough to turn a few reflex acts on herself. The object of the church is to make the world like herself. But let her in the meantime make herself more like what the world ought to be. It is scarcely desirable that the world should be as the church in general now is. Let her become a better model for the world's imitation. Her voice is heard for Christ; but let her “hold forth the word of life” in her conduct, as well as by her voice. Let her light shine. Let her good works be manifest. Let her heaven-breathed spirit breathe abroad the same spirit.

The work of the conversion of the world goes on slowly; but it makes as much progress as the work of the conversion of the church does. No more sinners are converted, because no more Christians are converted. The world will continue to lie in wickedness, while “the ways of Zion mourn” as they do. Does any one wonder that iniquity abounds, when the love of so many has waxed cold? We are sending the light of truth abroad, when we have but little of the warmth of love at home.

We are often asked what we are doing for the conversion of the world. We ought to be doing a great deal — all we can. But I would ask, what are we doing for the conversion of the church? What to promote holiness nearer home, among our fellow Christians and in our own hearts? Let us not forget the world, but at the same time let us remember Zion.

An introduction to “The Conversion of the Church,” an essay by William Nevins. Published in Practical Thoughts by the American Tract Society, 1836.

The life and ministry of William Nevins

William Nevins was born in Connecticut in 1797, the 12th and youngest child. He did not have any meaningful Christian upbringing, but was converted during a spiritual revival at Yale while he was a student there. After Yale, he attended the newly-formed Princeton Seminary, where he studied under the small faculty of Archibald Alexander and Samuel Miller. One of his fellow students was Charles Hodge, who later became a well known theologian and Bible commentator.

Following Princeton, he became the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Baltimore at the age of 23. Miller, his former professor, preached the installation sermon, and the occasion sparked a friendship that lasted until Nevins died fifteen years later. His ministry would prove to be short, but it was highly-regarded and touched countless lives. God sent revival to his church early in his ministry, and one of its fruits was extensive evangelism—his took the gospel to the streets of Baltimore, which led to the founding of another church. Nevins endured many trials in his short life, including the loss of at least one child and the death of his wife ten months before his own. She went for a walk on a Friday evening, felt unwell after returning, and died in less than 24 hours from cholera, a miserable intestinal disease.

Nevins rarely had good health as an adult, and in his last year had to leave his motherless children in Baltimore as he traveled to find relief. When he could no longer preach, he began writing spiritual essays for publication. He died at the age of 38 in September 1835, and many in Baltimore grieved his loss. Letters commending his life and ministry were sent to his church, including one from Samuel Miller, who said that he considered Nevins, during the last few years of his life, to be “among the very best preachers in the United States.”

His congregation asked George Musgrave, pastor of Baltimore's Third Presbyterian Church, to preach the funeral sermon. No record of the sermon exists, but some time later Musgrave made a list of praiseworthy character qualities that he had seen in Nevins. His comments help modern readers to appreciate the significance of Nevins' essay “The Conversion of the Church.” A few of those comments are as follows:

Musgrave said that no one could listen to Nevins without thinking, “There is a man who believes what he says!” He said that he was “sound in doctrine and in practice, with no sympathy with the idle speculations and innovations of the age.” At the same time, he was opposed to the extreme measures and “vindictive spirit” of others who professed to be contending for the truth. He was never known to pursue anyone with “personal and vulgar abuse.”

Nevins was talented and popular. He could easily have had a larger ministry, but he was committed to his local church and did not want to involve himself in things that would interfere with his primary calling. For years he had wanted to write, but always feared he would do it from a wrong motive. Were it not for his failing health, we would probably have nothing that he wrote. Were it not for his early death, we would probably not even have the few details of his life that we do. Before he died, he told his friends that he did not want his biography written, so all that we know about him comes from an extended introduction to a collection of his essays. I pray that the words of this humble and gifted pastor will be for the modern church words that wound in order to heal, and words that convict in order to bring greater conformity to the One who died in order to present to himself a glorious church.

The historical context of the essay

Tension and division within the church are nothing new. If Paul had to withstand Peter to his face, and if even Barnabas and Paul reached a point where they could not work together, we should expect similar tensions to erupt throughout the history of the church. And they have. In Nevins' day, there was controversy between the Old School and New School Presbyterians. While those names do not say everything about the issues that divided them, they do hint at the conservatism and progressivism that underlay the conflict. Nevins held dearly to the truth but also knew that contending for truth was not all that God required from the church. Truth without love or humility is a caricature of the church and a distortion of the truth. This is the burden of “The Conversion of the Church,” and it is one that the church must reconsider in our own contentious day.

John Newton wrote many hymns, not just Amazing Grace

Many Christians are familiar with John Newton’s testimony, how he had once been a sailor and slave trader and had despised the God of the Bible. Through a series of crises in his life, his eyes were opened to see and believe. His testimony is partially recorded in his well-known song Amazing Grace.

But Newton wrote many other hymns during his lifetime, including one that I wanted to share on the blog today. I first learned it about 20 years ago when we were members at Trinity Reformed Baptist Church near Baltimore. It quickly became a special song to me.

Newton reminds us that sins committed against us are nothing compared to the sins we commit against God

This morning, I preached at our church’s outdoor service, which we hold once a year during the Labor Day weekend campout on the church property. I spoke about things I’ve been learning lately as I’ve dealt with some hard situations where I was treated unjustly.

As I had looked for ways to comprehend and process the feelings that I was having, a friend reminded me of Hebrews 12:3, which says, “Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.” (ESV)

The sins of others can sting us deeply

Not many years ago, my friend had been swindled out of nearly $300,000 by another of his friends. He said that this verse helped him in that dark period of time. He realized that when we experience sins against us (horizontal sins), we can use the pain that we feel to point us to the sins that we ourselves have committed against God (vertical sins).

Feeling the sting of sin against us helps us to more fully comprehend what it is for us to sin against God. When we are sinned against, we must consider what Jesus endured from sinners like us; otherwise, we will grow weary and fainthearted.

One There Is, Above All Others: Newton’s hymn teaches about the patience of Christ

Speaking of these things reminded me of this hymn by John Newton entitled, One There Is, Above All Others. It speaks of the great kindness of Christ to forgive us and befriend us in spite of our sin against him and the grief we must bring to him.

This copy of the hymn has six verses, all of which have words that comfort or challenge me. I read verse 5 during the sermon, since it is a clear picture of how often I fail to see and appreciate the patience and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. Newton’s emphasis is on the Friend that Jesus is to sinners. (To listen to an instrumental track of the song that you can listen to as you read the words, click here.)

One there is, above all others,
Well deserves the name of Friend;
His is love beyond a brother's,
Costly, free, and knows no end:
They who once His kindness prove,
Find it everlasting love!

Which of all our friends to save us,
Could or would have shed their blood?
But our Jesus died to have us
Reconciled, in Him to God:
This was boundless love indeed!
Jesus is a Friend in need.

Men, when raised to lofty stations,
Often know their friends no more;
Slight and scorn their poor relations
Though they valued them before.
But our Savior always owns
Those whom He redeemed with groans.

When He lived on earth abased,
Friend of sinners was His name;
Now, above all glory raised,
He rejoices in the same:
Still He calls them brethren, friends,
And to all their wants attends.

Could we bear from one another,
What He daily bears from us?
Yet this glorious Friend and Brother,
Loves us though we treat Him thus:
Though for good we render ill,
He accounts us brethren still.

O for grace our hearts to soften!
Teach us, Lord, at length to love;
We, alas! forget too often,
What a Friend we have above:
But when home our souls are brought,
We will love Thee as we ought.

(10 minutes)

Her first words: “my head hurts”

This past Sunday in our church, we sang the hymn, “O Father, You are Sovereign,” written by Margaret Clarkson in 1982. That may not be the most familiar hymn to you, but it is a hidden treasure. (Click here for a recording.)

Not only is it meat-and-potatoes to our souls, but it was written by someone who had come to lean heavily on the sovereignty of God.

Margaret Clarkson was born in Canada in 1915, the year after World War 1 began. In her own words, she was born into “a loveless and unhappy marriage," and her parents divorced when she was 12. From almost her earliest days she was afflicted with physical pain.

The first words she remembered saying were, “My head hurts." She had juvenile arthritis and frequent intense headaches, and this was only the beginning. She would continue to deal with disability, pain, and surgeries throughout her 93 years.

Meeting Jesus in Pilgrim’s Progress

But God had a special place in his church for Margaret. When she was still a young girl, she attended some church meetings about the story of Pilgrim's Progress, the well-known allegory of the Christian life by John Bunyan (1628-1688). Bunyan himself knew suffering — his book was written while he was in prison for preaching the gospel. Without that prison time, he most likely would not have had time or opportunity to write.

Bunyan's suffering produced a book that God used 300 years later to bring young Margaret to salvation.

Disability destroys her dream of missions

Later, Margaret longed to be a missionary, but her health would never allow her to live a life in a remote jungle or in tropical heat. Instead, she became a teacher, and taught in lumber and mining camps in northern Canada. She also spent 38 years teaching elementary school.

Along with teaching, God gifted Margaret as a writer, and she wrote about the things she had learned about God by living with disability. Two of her books on suffering are Destined for Glory: The Meaning of Suffering, and Grace Grows Best in Winter.

The title of that second book comes from the words of another 17th-century Christian named Samuel Rutherford. Like Bunyan, he was persecuted for preaching the gospel and was exiled from his small congregation in Anwoth, Scotland. He is well known for the descriptive imagery that he included in the many pastoral letters he wrote to his far-off congregation.

On December 30, 1636, he wrote to “Lady Culross" about how hard it was to be cut off from his church, and compared that suffering to the cold dark of winter. He said, “I see grace groweth best in winter."

A ray of hope for Joni Eareckson

Suffering Margaret was clearly familiar with suffering Samuel, but she was not the only young woman in the 20th century to live with disability. In July 1967, a 17-year-old girl from Baltimore dove into the water and broke her neck, becoming paralyzed for life.

The joyful Joni Eareckson Tada we know today as a treasure of God's grace has come a long way from the first dark days after her accident. Joni tells some of that story in the brief foreword to the 1985 edition of Grace Grows Best in Winter. She writes,

“It was not long after I left the hospital in 1967 that I fell into a deep pit of depression. I was but a young girl, yet I was facing an overwhelming future — a life of total and severe paralysis. I was in desperate need of answers. . . A young friend who often came by my home for visits stopped by one day with a special book in hand. . .Together we read that book through weeks of winter. . .I eagerly looked forward to each chapter — discovering sense in sovereignty and delighting in a new grasp on God's grace. . . You have in your hands that same special book that I read back in that first winter of my disability. Grace grew then for me. And through grace, you will grow too!”

The sufferings of two Puritans had encouraged Margaret, and what she learned in her own sufferings helped deliver Joni from despair.

Thoughts of creation and of Christ keep her pen busy

In addition to her writings on suffering, Margaret also wrote several books on nature, drawing from her delight in observing God's creatures. Both her Conversations with a Barred Owl and All Nature Sings are celebrations of God's handiwork.

But her legacy has lived the longest in the words of her hymns. When I was a child, our church had a large, week-long missions conference each spring. Every year we sang Margaret's hymn, “So Send I You.” She first wrote this hymn in 1954, and it has a somber tone toward the work of missions. Consider these words:

So send I you — to labor unrewarded,
To serve unpaid, unloved, unsought, unknown,
To bear rebuke, to suffer scorn and scoffing —
So send I you, to toil for Me alone.

So send I you — to bind the bruised and broken,
O’er wand’ring souls to work, to weep, to wake,
To bear the burdens of a world a-weary —
So send I you, to suffer for My sake.

So send I you — to loneliness and longing,
With heart a-hung’ring for the loved and known,
Forsaking home and kindred, friend and dear one —
So send I you, to know My love alone.

So send I you — to leave your life’s ambition,
To die to dear desire, self-will resign,
To labor long, and love where men revile you —
So send I you, to lose your life in Mine.

So send I you — to hearts made hard by hatred,
To eyes made blind because they will not see,
To spend, tho it be blood, to spend and spare not —
So send I you, to taste of Calvary.

“As the Father hath sent Me, So send I you.”

Margaret later realized that these words did not adequately reflect the power of God in the work of missions. A decade later, she had come to see that because of God's power in salvation, missionaries could go out with great confidence. The work would still not be easy, but God's grace would be there to overcome. Consider the confidence that Margaret had learned from her own suffering by the time she sat down in 1963 to rewrite her hymn—

So send I you — by grace made strong to triumph
O’er hosts of hell, o’er darkness, death and sin,
My name to bear and in that name to conquer —
So send I you, My victory to win.

So send I you – to take to souls in bondage
The Word of Truth that sets the captive free
To break the bonds of sin, to loose death’s fetters —
So send I you, to bring the lost to Me.

So send I you — My strength to know in weakness,
My joy in grief, My perfect peace in pain,
To prove My pow’r, My grace, My promised presence —
So send I you, eternal fruit to gain.

So send I you — to bear My cross with patience,
And then one day with joy to lay it down,
To hear My voice, “Well done, My faithful servant —
Come share My throne, My kingdom and My crown!”

“As the Father hath sent Me, so send I you.”

Margaret Clarkson became a living example of the power of God to preserve his people in trials when he chooses not to deliver them from their trials. There is truly a ministry of suffering that is reserved for those those who have been through the flames. We hear their voices more clearly, and through them we see that God can do for us in our lesser trials what he has done for them in their greater ones.

O Father, You Are Sovereign

Next time you have the chance to sing “O Father, You Are Sovereign, the Lord of human pain,” remember a little girl whose life of suffering was used by God to bless a future quadriplegic, and through her, to bless the world.

O Father, you are sovereign in all the worlds you made;
Your mighty Word was spoken and light of life obeyed.
Your voice commands the seasons and bounds the ocean's shore,
Sets stars within their courses and stills the tempest's roar.

O Father, you are sovereign in all affairs of man;
No powers of death or darkness can thwart your perfect plan.
All chance and change transcending, supreme in time and space,
You hold your trusting children secure in your embrace.

O Father, you are sovereign, the Lord of human pain,
Transmuting early sorrows to gold of heav'nly gain.
All evil over ruling, as none but Conq'ror could,
Your love pursues its purpose — our souls' eternal good.

O Father, you are sovereign! We see you dimly now,
But soon before your triumph earth's every knee shall bow.
With this glad hope before us our faith springs up a-new:
Our sovereign Lord and Savior, we trust and worship you.

(Words © 1982 Hope Publishing Company, 380 S Main Pl, Carol Stream, IL 60188)

A note on Margaret’s hymns

In 1987, Hope Publishing Company released A Singing Heart, a collection of Margaret’s hymns. In the introduction, she tells of growing up on the deep theology of the old hymns of the faith. Though out of print, the book can sometimes be found online. You can read the texts of all the hymns at Hope’s website.

(4 minutes)

Pioneering missionaries

It’s hard to be the first at something. With the release of a new product, people often say, “That was so simple—why didn't someone think of it before?” Being second is easier. Being first also comes with failures and uncertainties. Without a guide or lessons learned by others, honest ignorance brings confusion.

When we look at people willing to lead the way, we should admire them for their courage, not criticize them for their mistakes. They blazed the trail and made the mistakes for us. We stand on their shoulders.

For centuries, there were hardly any missionaries. After Jesus returned to heaven, the apostles took God’s word into the world, but when those early generations died away, nearly 1500 years passed without foreign missions. An occasional monk or priest would cross a sea or continent, and after the Reformation the church began to think of far-off people.

In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, this changed.

William Carey is usually given credit for launching this movement in 1792 when he formed the Baptist Missionary Society in England. He sailed for India the following year. Following his example, other societies were created in England, and they sent other missionaries. But it took American Christians nearly twenty years to do the same.

Adoniram Judson plans for overseas missions

In 1810, Adoniram Judson was a 22-year-old graduate of Andover, a seminary in Massachusetts. He and a few friends longed to be missionaries, but there were no organizations to send them.

That June, some pastors were scheduled to meet in Bradford, Massachusetts. Judson and his friends took advantage of the opportunity and pleaded with them to establish a mission society. Their request was accepted, and the young men were hopeful that they might soon be able to sail for distant shores.

Youthful dreams often don’t see the obstacles in front of them. The young men learned that it would take time to organize the society, determine its goals, and begin to raise funds. This was discouraging, but God mixed joy with sorrow.

Adoniram meets Ann

During his visit to the pastors, he met Ann Hasseltine, a young schoolteacher who had been born, raised, and educated in Bradford. They quickly grew close to each other.

In that day, most pioneers travelled west toward the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains. But Adoniram and Ann were to be pioneers of a different sort. After a time of praying, planning, and waiting, they sailed east, into their own uncertainties.

By its close, the 19th century would be known as the great century of missions. In the decades following the Judsons, thousands Christians left homes and families to spend their lives in China, India, Africa, and the South Pacific. But the Judsons, and their few friends, were the first.

They had no missions manuals or language classes. They were heading into a tropical climate full of diseases – without effective medicine. They’d had few experiences with other cultures, since the America they were leaving wasn’t the diverse nation we know today. Their communications with family and supporters at home couldn’t travel any faster than a sailing ship. At times they would not have a single Christian to speak to.

Ann Judson’s resolve, no matter the consequences

The Judsons finally left for India in 1812. They arrived in June but quickly learned they couldn’t stay. Through trials and discouragements, God led them to Burma, where Adoniram served for the rest of his life. In 1850, he died while on a voyage and was buried at sea.

Ann's race was shorter. She did live to see some fruit come from her sacrifices, but died after 13 years as a missionary. Her grave in Burma is still there today, surrounded by a golden fence, within sight of the ocean that separated her from America, the country she always loved.

She had known the risks. She had once written, “I consider how short my life will probably be.” But Ann found joy in bringing the good news to people in spiritual darkness, and she is now experiencing eternal happiness.

(4 minutes)

Ann Hasseltine’s early years: always on the move

By the time Ann was born in 1789, her family had been in America for over 150 years. Their home was in Bradford, Massachusetts, which is just south of the Merrimack River, in the eastern part of the state that pokes itself into southern New Hampshire. If you drove down Greenleaf Street today, you’ll still see their large white house, but it has been changed into apartments and appears worn and neglected, like so many old homes.

Ann was the youngest of several sisters and a brother, and from the time she was small, was always on the move. She was intelligent and happy, and loved parties and entertaining. Her first biography says that she had a restless spirit which few things other than books could tame. She loved to learn.

Ann’s church: true godliness was lacking

The Hasseltines were members of the Congregational Church, where generations of the family had been baptized and buried. Ann’s father was a deacon, and she grew up under the preaching of Jonathan Allen, but people complained that his life “was not as solemn as his sermons.” Ann’s family had a dance room on their second floor, and Pastor Allen was a frequent guest.

If her pastor had spent more time studying and less time dancing, Ann might have grown up with a better understanding of the Bible. With such a superficial spiritual environment, it's little wonder that she grew up with a sense of godliness but without its power.

Sometime after she was saved, she looked back on her childhood and remembered that her mother had taught her to obey, and to never steal or lie – this was how she could escape God's judgment. Hell frightened her, so these instructions turned her into a little Pharisee, good on the outside but sinful on the inside. She tried her best to do good and say her prayers twice a day.

To Bradford Academy, where parties drown her prayers

Ann was able to keep up these works of self-righteousness until the age of 12 or so, when she began attending Bradford Academy, a popular school within sight of her home. She was a good student, and her teachers were sure that she would go far. But there was more than homework to fill her time at school. If she had enjoyed social life as a child, this new environment gave her the chance to become queen of the ball.

There was no end to Ann’s time-wasting, and when she wasn’t too exhausted to say her prayers, she found she couldn’t concentrate on God after a night on the dance floor. This made her feel guilty for a while, not because she was indulging her desires, but because she was failing to pray. But it wasn’t long before these thoughts didn’t bother her anymore. Instead, she found excuses, reasoning that if that she were old enough for social life, she was too old to say her prayers.

Several years later, she wrote, “for two or three years, I scarcely felt an anxious thought about the salvation of my soul, although I was rapidly heading towards eternal ruin. [I] was carefree in the extreme; my situation in life gave me as many chances to indulge it that I could wish; I was surrounded with friends who were as wild and fickle as myself, and often thought myself one of the happiest creatures on earth."

God is merciful. Ann lives long enough to encounter the true gospel

If she had gotten sick and died (it wasn’t uncommon back then), or if she had been allowed to keep going down this path, she would have reached a point of no return. But God was kind; although she was happy in her sin, He was about to send trouble to her soul. He would not leave her alone until she had found her true happiness in Him.

(4.5 minutes)

God brings some to repentence while leaving others in sin

Paul persecuted Christians, but God stopped him in his tracks. Herod did something similar, but God let him die as an unbeliever. We can thank God that he saved Ann like he did Paul.

In part 2, we left her as a teenager who lived for pleasure and considered herself “one of the happiest creatures on the earth.” But this started to change one Sunday morning in 1805.

Today, we start a three-part series, talking about how God brought Ann from darkness and into the light.

Ann stumbles onto a book that starts to change her life

That Sunday morning, which started like any other Sunday, Ann had gotten out of bed and started to dress for church. She had just finished when, to use her own words, she “accidentally” picked up a book by Hannah More and read the lines “she that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth” (1 Tim. 5:6).

The words on the page were italicized and “struck her to her heart.” She didn't see a light or hear a voice, but for a few moments she thought that some invisible being had caused her eyes to see those words. Her conscience was immediately troubled, but it gave in almost as fast. She quickly convinced herself that those words didn't apply to her as much as she had first thought.

Reading Pilgrim’s Progress, coming to the wrong conclusion

Ann was able to hold back these troubling thoughts for a while, but God was after her, and she was not going to get away. A few months later, she began to read Pilgrim’s Progress on Sunday afternoons, and she became interested in the story of Christian, who leaves the City of Destruction and makes a perilous journey to the Celestial City. On the day she finished the book, she concluded that Christian had made it to heaven because he'd stayed on the narrow path. She felt that his good works had brought him safely through the trials of life. 

This book convinced her to become serious about becoming a Christian, but she didn’t know the true way of salvation. Instead of putting her faith in Christ, she doubled down on her old efforts to do all the right things. She did ask God for help, but she concluded that the way to get to heaven was to reject  parties and entertainment. This resolve was tested the next day, when a friend told her of a New Year's Day party they had been invited to. Ann felt good that she could resist that temptation, but that evening she gave in to another one. 

This second invitation was for a small party at a friend’s house. Since it would just be the family, Ann thought she could accept without breaking her commitment. But when she arrived, she found that three or four other families had also come. The music started, the dancing began, and she was swept into the thick of it—just as if she had never heard of Hannah More or Pilgrim’s Progress. When she returned home that night, she found another invitation and accepted it without a thought.

When good works get too hard, Ann goes back to seeking pleasure

That next party came and went without a twinge of guilt, but when she returned home, she felt she was undone. What chance did she have of keeping another resolution? And if she couldn't keep them, why make them? For the next four months, she spent nearly every waking moment thinking about clothes and the next event on the calendar. 

Ann’s friends are convinced that God is about to judge her

She had glimpsed the light, but in the futility of self-effort she despaired of ever reaching it. Later on, she said of those months, “I so far surpassed my friends in gaiety and mirth, that some of them were afraid that I had but a short time to continue my life of folly, and would suddenly be cut off.”

(4.5 minutes)

Revival comes to Bradford

In the middle of a cold New England winter, the Holy Spirit began to bring light to Ann's hometown. In the preceding months, He had begun to work in her heart, but His activity wasn’t limited to just one teenaged girl. During the early months of 1806, while Ann continued to seek parties and pleasure, others were organizing religious meetings. She doesn't say why, but in April she began to attend these special services.

Warned of judgment, but given no way of escape

If she went to the meeting hoping to hear how her burden could be taken away, she was initially disappointed. Over and over, she heard the preachers tell her to respond. They warned their hearers that if they were not quick about getting right with God, one day they’d find themselves crying out, “the harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved” (Jer. 8:20). Ann wanted to be free but didn't know the way. It seems these preachers could warn about judgment but couldn’t explain the way of escape. 

For the first time, she sensed how important a Christian life was. The parties lost their sparkle, and she lost her appetite for excitement. She tried to hide her feelings; she kept attending dances and parties, but only so others wouldn’t think she was acting strangely. When the parties ended, she faked a smile and walked home with her friends. She knew she was at a point where she “must obtain a new heart or perish forever."

A godly principal points to the truth

Abraham Burnham was the academy headmaster, and he did understand the gospel. One Sunday night he explained how Satan often tempts those under conviction to hide their feelings. This struck close to Ann's heart, and she couldn't listen anymore. Struggling to keep her composure, she ran out into the garden. 

She had planned the following week to go with friends and visit a former classmate. Now she wanted no part of it. This made her anxious; she didn't want to go or to explain her desire to stay home. When the day arrived, Ann decided the easiest way out was to visit her aunt, whom she had learned was also beginning to see the light.

Ann visits her aunt in hopes of finding help

She hoped that her aunt wouldn’t ask too many questions. Maybe she’d even share some of her own story. Ann arrived to find her aunt reading a religious magazine. She hadn't been there long, when her aunt asked her to read the magazine to her. After a few sentences, she burst into tears. Her aunt gently asked what troubled her. For the first time in her life, Ann realized she didn’t care if her aunt, her town, or even the whole world knew that she was a sad and miserable sinner.

Look to Christ

Her aunt advised her not to trifle with her conscience and pointed her to Christ. Ann resolved to give up everything and be reconciled to God. Her feelings didn't fade as she travelled home. She feared that if she let them pass, they would never return. Upon her arrival, she found a crowd of students. At first, she planned to stay and visit, but her fear of drifting away returned. She was sure that if she stayed with the group, her conscience would excuse her sin and she would be lost forever. 

Afraid to let go

Ann spent an anxious night in her room. She feared that she wasn’t yet safe from judgment, but was also not sure how to find peace. She realized how little truth she had learned and how poorly she understood the Bible. In spite of all her years in church, she felt “as ignorant of true religion” as someone who lived where the gospel had never been.

The next morning, she asked the headmaster what she should do. He told her to pray for mercy and to submit to God. He also gave her some religious magazines to read. She found in those pages stories of others who had once felt as she did now, but who had been enabled to trust in Christ. This gave her hope, and she spent several days in her room, reading and crying out for mercy.

After a period of discouragement, followed by anger toward God, Ann finally found peace. By the best we can figure, she was 16 years old.

(5.5 minutes)

Weeks of darkness, alone in her room

Following the sorrowful visit she had paid her aunt, Ann spent two or three weeks praying in her room. Heaven seemed like iron. As the days wore on, she grew frustrated and increasingly angry. She had begun these weeks with a deep sense of her sin, but now God was letting her see the darkest corners of her heart. She realized she hated both God's sovereignty and His holiness. 

Hating God’s holiness and sovereignty

She wrote, “I thought it was unjust in Him, not to notice my prayers and my repentance. I could not tolerate the thought that He was a sovereign God, and had a right to call one person while He left another one to perish (Rom. 9:10-19). Rather than seeing that He was merciful in saving even one person, I thought it was cruel for Him to send any of His creatures to hell for their disobedience. But my main distress came from a view of His perfect purity and holiness. My heart was filled with aversion and hatred towards a holy God; and I felt that if He allowed me into heaven with the feelings I had at the time, I would be as miserable as if I were in hell.”

Not her idea of a goodness

God had pressed her to the wall, with nowhere to turn. She wanted to be saved from hell, but did not want to love this God or submit to Him on His terms. She wanted to love and be saved by a God who fit her idea of goodness and love. Rather than enter His presence, she wished that she could disappear forever— “In this state, I longed for annihilation; and if I could have destroyed the existence of my soul as easily as I could have destroyed my body, I would have quickly done so." 

“Just the kind of Savior that I needed”

Then the Holy Spirit opened her eyes. Ann wrote, “But that glorious Being, who is kinder to His creatures than they are to themselves, did not allow me to remain in this state for long. I began to discover beauty in the salvation that comes through Christ. He appeared to be just the kind of Savior that I needed. I saw how God could be just in saving sinners through Him.”

It was when she began to look to Christ that the heavy burden and hatred left her mind. Now, rather than seeing God's justice as cruel, she saw how it displayed His hatred for sin and how He desired good things for the people He had made. “A view of His purity and holiness filled my soul with wonder and admiration. I felt that I could commit myself into His hands, and leave it to Him to save me or cast me away; I felt that I could not be unhappy as long as I had the privilege of considering and loving such a glorious Being.”

New heart, new desires

The pleasure she had found in parties and balls was now found in communion with God and in His word— the “sacred Scriptures were sweet" to her. “O how different were my views of myself and God from what they had been. I felt myself to be a poor lost sinner, with nothing to recommend myself to God's favor; I knew that I was by nature inclined to every evil way, and that it not been my own goodness, but God's sovereign, restraining mercy that had kept me from the most flagrant sins. My highest happiness now consisted in contemplating the moral perfections of the glorious God. I longed that everyone would love Him.”

Forgiven much to love much

In the years to come, Ann was going to be tested. She “longed that everyone would love Him,” but would she be willing to give up everything for that to happen?

Jesus taught that those who are forgiven much will love much. Peter experienced this, and so did Paul. Now Ann had seen this great salvation. Would the ministries of Peter or Paul have been the same if they had not been brought to see their sin so clearly? Ann's painful new birth was part of God's preparation for a lifetime of difficult service.

(5.5 minutes)

New heart, new hunger

Ann had always enjoyed people. Before she was converted, her greatest happiness had come through social events. Now that she was living for God's glory, this natural inclination and desire was not removed; it was changed. She dedicated herself to doing good for others. When she spoke, her conversations had a different sound. Years later, one friend recalled many years later that people would spend days with her and hear her talk of nothing but “redeeming love.” Her great concern was the present and eternal welfare of her friends.

A book to change her life

She had always been a reader, but her book diet changed. Theology books became close friends, especially A History of the Work of Redemption by Jonathan Edwards. This book follows the progress of God's salvation plan from creation to the days of Edwards (he died in 1758), and anticipates the completion of that work at the end of the age. The book gave her a new vision, and a friend recalled Ann's detailed notes and smile when she spoke of what she was learning. Time spent in David Brainerd’s journals stirred her as well.

A new attitude and purpose in her schooling

Her new life also changed her attitude to school. She knew that few young women had access to a good education, and she determined that she would commit the rest of her schooling to improving her ability to serve God and others.

When she finished school, she was asked to teach several children. Despite feeling unqualified, she saw it as an opportunity that shouldn’t be turned down. She trusted God to provide the ability when she had the need. A few years later, as she thought about the high calling of foreign missions, her response was the same. She might feel inadequate, but if she went where she believed God was guiding her, then she would rely on His grace.

Ann and Adoniram

In June 1810, during these years as a teacher, Ann met Adoniram Judson. He and several friends planned to ask the pastors to create a missionary society and send them. Ann was interested in missions before she met Judson, but a single young woman had no realistic way of acting on such desires.

But now she faced a sobering decision. They were quickly drawn to each other, but marriage meant missions. To dream was one thing, but to actually go would mean sacrifice and maybe even death. Later that year, Adoniram held nothing back when he wrote to her father—

“I have now to ask, whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world; whether you can consent to her departure for a heathen land, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life; whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of India; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death. Can you consent to all this, for the sake of him who left his heavenly home, and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing, immortal souls; for the sake of Zion, and the glory of God?”

Perfect fit for a pressing need

Ann’s parents approved. When she talked about her plans with others, most were apathetic or opposed. Some were supportive, but many thought that she was contemplating something “wild and romantic in the extreme, and altogether inconsistent with prudence and delicacy.” Yet James Knowles, her first biographer, considered how God had prepared her to be the first woman missionary from America.

When her love of adventure and good education were mixed with a determined spirit and a close walk with God, they formed a vessel fit for the master’s use (2 Timothy 2:21). The decision did not come quickly or without inner conflict, but when it came, she did not look back. “Yes, I think I would rather go to India, among the heathen, notwithstanding the almost insurmountable difficulties in the way, than to stay at home and enjoy the comforts and luxuries of life. Faith in Christ will enable me to bear trials, however severe.”

Ann’s decision also helped to secure another set of hands for the work. On October 20, 1810, Harriet Atwood noted that Ann had just told of her decision to become a missionary. She had known Ann for years, and Ann’s words convicted her. In response she wrote, “I have felt more for the salvation of the heathen this day, than I recollect to have felt through my whole past life. . . .Great God, direct me! Oh make me in some way beneficial to their immortal souls.”

Three days later, Harriet met Samuel Newell, one of Adoniram's friends. The two were attracted to each other, and, the following spring, she was faced with her own difficult decision. By October, when she turned 18, Harriet had also committed to a missionary life.

The Judsons were not able to leave until February 1812. When they finally sailed from Salem, they were accompanied by Samuel Newell and Harriet, his wife of ten days.

(5 minutes)

Missions in wartime

Politics often affects missionary efforts. Paul functioned under Nero, and Luther had Leo—who, while serving as pope, was fundamentally a politician. The first missionaries from America had their own hurdles. In 1811, England and America were on the verge of war.

Although churches in Massachusetts had set up a missionary society in 1810, it still wasn't ready to send anyone. In January 1811, Adoniram Judson crossed the Atlantic, hoping to receive support from the London Missionary Society.  His time in London was fruitful, and he arrived home in August.

In September, he met with the Massachusetts society, but they were still reluctant to send him. Some felt that the expected war should run its course first. Judson told them that he was going to go—if they did not send him, the London society would. It's not clear how his comments were received, but his resolve turned the tide. He would go out as an American missionary backed by Americans.

Goodbye, America

With the promised support, preparations were made for departure. Ann and Harriet had the special comfort of companionship as the fall colors of New England decorated the surrounding landscape. They visited friends, began packing, and prayed for the trials and opportunities ahead. Anne Shirley (of Green Gables) said that “Looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them.”

If that is true of pleasure, perhaps the opposite is true of trials. Dreading them may be half the pain. The two young friends (Harriet was 18 and Ann 23) did not expect to ever return home. On February 18, 1812, the missionaries stepped on board the Caravan, and that afternoon Ann put her feelings on paper—

 “Had so long anticipated the trying scene of parting, that I found it more tolerable than I had feared. Still my heart bleeds. O America, my native land, must I leave thee?”

A cold day to sail away

Imagine getting onto a wooden ship in the middle of a Massachusetts February. We don’t know the temperature that day, but it’s not hard to picture some sense of the discomfort. Ann and Harriet had both been married for less than two weeks, and that fact alone must have brought emotions that rose and fell like the waves beneath them.

Honeymoon cruise like no other

This was going to be a honeymoon cruise like no other—one that would take four months to round Africa and cross the equator twice.

Ann spent the first four days in bed, seasick.

As far as sail-powered, round-the-world voyages go, theirs was a good one. (Another group had sailed from Philadelphia at the same time and arrived in India six weeks after them.) Good winds took them into warmer waters within a week, but conditions on board weren’t great. Space was limited, and their health suffered due to lack of exercise. Eventually, someone had the idea to “jump the rope,” and by doing this several times a day they began to feel better.

When they felt well, they filled the time with letter-writing, journaling, and studying. On Sundays, the men took turns leading a small church service in the cabin.

East of India: land at last

The ship and its passengers spent 20 rough, rainy days as they went around the southern tip of Africa. There were nights where the rocking boat and roaring winds kept Ann from sleep. She wrote of this time, “I never felt before, my entire dependence on God for preservation.” After 112 days at sea, they finally saw land. At first it was mountains on the horizon, but soon they could see trees on the eastern coast of India.

Once the ship had arrived in the northern part of the Bay of Bengal, the crew waited a few days for a local pilot to guide them into the Hooghly River. They survived a frightening night where the anchor cable broke, and then they were guided safely past the shoals. After a short journey upriver, the crew lowered the Caravan's anchor into Calcutta's harbor. On June 18, they saw the friendly face of William Carey, who welcomed them on shore. 

(6 minutes)

A door slammed in their faces

As a child, Ann had always been in motion. At 23, she was still going, having spent her first months of marriage rolling about on the ocean. When she stepped onto Indian soil, she must have been glad to feel the ground under her feet, even as she thought about a future that was very much up in the air. The society had instructed them to move on to Burma, so she'd never anticipated that India would be her permanent home. But the time in India would be much shorter than expected.  

They spent a night in Calcutta before travelling upriver to Serampore, home of William Carey, the pioneering English missionary. She was grieved to see the idol worship, as well as the brutal way that Europeans treated the Indians – like animals, she said. Ten days after arriving in Serampore, Adoniram and Samuel Newell were recalled to Calcutta, where the authorities told them to take their families back to America. Carey may have given them a warm welcome, but most people wanted them gone. It seems India had no room for more missionaries. 

When all the doors are closed

This news shocked them, but also required a decision. Where would they go? They considered their options. Burma wasn’t promising. The government was oppressive and previous attempts to establish a mission had failed. They considered several options before getting permission to go to the Isle of France (Mauritius), a tiny island 600 miles east of Madagascar, and over 2,000 miles from Calcutta. The Newells sailed at the beginning of August, leaving the Judsons to wait until room could be found on another ship. As Ann said goodbye to Harriet, she couldn’t know it would be their last farewell.

Risking ruin for conscience’s sake

Two months passed before the Judsons found a ship. During this time, they experienced a life-changing event. They were baptized. Adoniram had left America convinced of infant baptism, but he had donse so knowing that his time Asia would be among Baptists. In preparation, he had been studying the Bible's teaching on baptism.  

He’d initially done this so he could better explain his position. But in the process, he became a Baptist himself. This might seem minor to us today, but he knew it would probably cost them the support of their mission board.   

Ann was overwhelmed by the fear of being far from home, with no solid plans, few friends, and the likelihood of losing financial support. This is clear from the uncharacteristic way she responded to her husband’s doctrinal shift. Though she studied the same verses and books on baptism that he did, she refused to change her mind, even when she began having doubts. She said later, “I tried to have him give it up, and rest satisfied in his old views, and frequently told him, if he became a Baptist, I would not.”

In the end, her mind changed too. Even if it meant they would lose everything, they determined to follow their new conviction. In the end, they lost their supporters, but the crisis caused the Baptists of America to organize and stand with them. 

Loss of an only friend

On January 17, 1813, the Judsons arrived in Mauritius. Ann was anxious to see Harriet, only to be shaken by the news that her friend had died six weeks before.

The ship carrying the Newells had faced several setbacks, culminating in a storm which left Harriet and her newborn drenched and cold. The baby died after only five days of life, but Harriet lingered for a time. She died with confidence, making it clear that she had no regrets about her decision to leave America for this early grave.

Ann was stunned, and wrote, “O Death, you destroyer! Could you not have found victims elsewhere in the world to satisfy your cravings? We were so few and needed each other so much.”  

“No resting place on earth”

Mauritius quickly proved no more a home than India had been. After less than a week, Ann wrote, “It seems as if there was no resting place for me on earth. When shall I find some little spot, that I can call my home, while in this world?”

Discouraged yet again, they set their sights on Penang, in Malaysia. That would mean reversing course. Again. By June they’d reached Madras, in India, but could not find a ship for Penang. The situation was urgent. England and America were now at war, and the Judsons feared if they stayed in India they would be sent (unwillingly) to England.

Every door was shut. What was left, but Burma? Seventeen months after leaving Massachusetts, they arrived in Rangoon. Such as it was, they were home. 

When the Judsons arrived in Rangoon, it was home to forty thousand people; at that time, it was larger than Boston, the biggest city in Massachusetts. But there was no evangelical influence. A few years before, the English Baptists had started a mission, but it had not taken root. The only person to greet the Judsons was the wife of Felix Carey (the son of their friend William). At the time, Felix was in Ava, the capital, and before long he and his family would move there.

The Judsons' home would be the mission house, which was nice for the area, even though the walls inside were bare and unfinished. The house was about half of a mile from the town walls, and was surrounded by several acres of gardens and fruit trees. This was a pleasant place to live, but as Adoniram would later realize, it was not the best location for a mission. The house was not on the main road, so they rarely got visitors; this became a hindrance to their future ministry.

Ann did not feel well when she stepped off the boat, and wasn't sure how she was going to get from the harbor to the house. Riding a horse was out of the question. Eventually, an armchair was found, and bamboo poles were placed under it to carry her. The arrival of two white Americans had caused quite a stir, and in the commotion, the men who were carrying Ann got far ahead of Adoniram. Nervously, she went where they took her, hoping that she was not being kidnapped. Her pulse returned to normal when they placed her in front of the mission and Mrs. Carey came out to greet her.

It felt good to have something of a home after 17 months of travel, but there were still emotional challenges. A week after arriving, Ann wrote, “were it not for the support we derive from the gospel of Jesus, we would be ready to sink down in despondency, in view of the dark and gloomy scenes around us. . . . .I find here no dear female friends, with whom I can unite in social prayer, nor even one with whom I can converse. [Mrs. Carey was friendly, but her English was limited.] I have, indeed, no society at all, but that of Mr. Judson.” The only thing that brought happiness was remembering why she had come.

Within a few weeks, the Judsons began to study Burmese, since they couldn't tell anyone the good news without being able to speak the language. Ann had a good education, and Adoniram was a gifted linguist (she remarked how well-fitted he was to this task), but both struggled. Adoniram remarked how different it was than learning a western language that shared common roots with English. They found a native teacher who knew Burmese well but who did not speak English. This meant that they had to start learning the language by pointing to things and writing down the sounds they heard.

Ann knew that it was more important for Adoniram to learn the language, so she committed to managing the house and mission to give him 12 hours of study each day. Ironically, as she interacted with servants and local neighbors, she gained the rudiments of the language more quickly than he did. His efforts were not in vain, however, because he was gaining a better grasp on grammar, which was essential to future translation work. Adoniram believed it was essential to have some portions of Scripture translated before he started to preach to the Burmese, and it would end up taking them three or four years to get to this place.

In September, the young couple celebrated the Lord's Supper for the first time in many months. It seemed strange to take part in such a special ceremony with only two of them, but they were refreshed by the reminder that they were not truly alone. Knowing that Christ was with them brought comfort and support. For nearly four years, there were no other missionaries to help them or to join with them in church services.

Ann gave birth to Roger Williams on September 11, 1815, two years after arriving in Rangoon. Their choice of this name shows the Judsons’ deepening connection to their Baptist beliefs, since the original Roger Williams (1603-1683) had founded the first Baptist church in America. It had been so long since they had seen a family member, and to have a little boy of their own brought indescribable happiness. From the beginning, they prayed that “his life may be preserved and his heart sanctified, that he may become a Missionary among the Burmans.”

Eight months later, through tear-clouded eyes, Ann wrote to her mother that Roger had died. For two months, he had been sweating at night and had not slept well. But during the day, he seemed better and continued to eat and grow. On Tuesday, April 30 (a week before her letter), he turned for the worse. He began coughing and became feverish. They called for a Portuguese priest (the only one in the area who knew anything about medicine), but his remedies were useless. On Friday night, Ann sat with him until two in the morning, then went to bed exhausted. Roger eagerly drank the milk that Adoniram gave him, but died 30 minutes later as he rested in his crib. They buried him that afternoon.

Can you imagine what this was like? They had been gone from America for four years, and had experienced hardly anything besides trial, loss, and death. Homeless for over a year, the death of Harriet, three years of lonely language study, and now their first happiness had been taken. Feel Ann's sorrow as she writes, “Our little Roger Williams, our only little darling boy, was three days ago laid in the silent grave.” During these days, Ann must have felt like she was in the book of Exodus. It's not surprising that she wrote, “all is Egyptian darkness around us—not a glimpse of light.”

After years of Ann's “Egyptian darkness," the sun rose over Rangoon in the fall of 1816. When George and Phebe Hough arrived from India in October, the Judsons were thrilled. They were no longer alone. A further reason for rejoicing was the printing press that came with the Houghs. Judson would now be able to print his tracts and translations of Scripture passages.

The following February marked 5 years since the Judsons had left home, but Hough recorded that Adoniram was still not preaching publicly. Judson had begun conversations with people as soon as he could speak basic Burmese. But both men agreed that until they had more Scripture translated, their preaching efforts would be hindered.

Life for the Judsons continued to be like the waves that had brought them to Burma. Up and then down, up and then down. The Houghs were a high point, but inconstant health was a low. They had expected that their health would suffer in Burma, and they were not mistaken. Usually, only one of them would be sick at a time, so they were able to care for each other. December 1817 was a season of poor health for Adoniram, and he decided to take a trip with two purposes. A voyage to Chittagong (500 miles north of Rangoon, in today's Bangladesh) would accomplish two things: his health might improve and he would be able to bring back a Christian native who spoke Burmese. Having such an assistant would be a great help to his missionary activity.

Judson expected to be gone for three months. Any separation, especially by sea, was unsettling in those days. Once he left there would be no way to communicate with each other. Since the Houghs were now in Rangoon, Ann would not be alone, but the next months would be a test unlike any she had faced before. She had lost a son, but in nine months time, she came close to losing the mission.

The trouble began when Judson's ship was not able to navigate north, and was instead blown west, toward India. The captain hoped to make land in Madras, but missed that port as well. Madras was already 1,000 sea miles from Rangoon, but by the time the ship docked, it was nowhere near Madras!

Judson was off course, in the wrong country, and far behind schedule. He had to travel 300 weary land miles just to get to Madras. Once he reached Madras, he could not find a ship to take him back to Rangoon. His health evidently had improved, but from a human perspective, this trip had been a complete failure and waste of time. He, like we, must have wondered why God allows such inefficiencies in the middle of kingdom service.

Not until July 20, 1818, was Judson able to get a ship for Burma. By then, eight months had gone by. Eight months when he wasn't translating or speaking the gospel to the Burmese. Eight months of Ann wondering where he was, and if he were still alive.

Three months after Adoniram left Rangoon, just as Ann began to look for his return, she got news that he had never made it to Chittagong. She wasn’t one to despair easily, but we can imagine this news hit hard. We might expect that her first thought was that his ship had sunk and that he had been dead for months. She had lived through years of loss and disappointment, and would not have been surprised if dark clouds of God’s providence had come again.

As if this were not enough, a few days later George Hough received a message to appear at the courthouse at once. He did so, and was interrogated for hours. This threatening behavior continued for several days, and the missionaries knew that they needed help.

The regional atmosphere had been hospitable to the mission, but local officials were taking advantage of recent events. Not only was Judson gone, but the viceroy, who tolerated the Judsons, could not be reached. His own family was away at the time, and those who were holding George knew that it was not culturally proper for Ann to call on him if he was at home without them. In spite of this impropriety, the situation with George became so dire that George and Ann developed a petition to give to the viceroy. Ann then followed in the steps of Esther and brought it to the viceroy. Thankfully, her petition was received in the way that Esther's had been, and George was released.

As soon as this crisis was over, cholera came. This horrific intestinal disease was feared and was often deadly, even in western countries. In Burma, it was attributed to evil spirits, and the missionaries recorded how the Burmese fired cannon and hit their houses with clubs to chase away the spirits. In all, it was a noisy, unnerving time—in the midst of an epidemic that by itself was frightening.

Cholera increased pressure on the mission, but a growing threat of war between England and Burma nearly shut it down. One by one, English ships began to leave the area, and Hough felt that they should also leave before all hope of escape was gone. Adoniram had not been heard from in six months, and Ann was unsure what to do. Everything in her made her want to stay. Unlike the Houghs, they had so many years of investment here. Little Roger was buried nearby.

She kept her resolve until there was only one ship left in the harbor. She realized that even if Adoniram were alive, if the harbor was closed to English ships, he would not be able to return. She packed with a heavy heart. If there were any probability of his return, she would have stayed.

On July 5, 1818, Ann and the Houghs sailed down to the coast. As Rangoon disappeared behind her, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Just before the ship reached the sea, the captain announced that it had been loaded improperly and that they would need a few days to adjust the cargo. For Ann, that was enough. She was going back to Rangoon, even if she went alone. And she did.

After the delay, the Houghs continued on to India, taking the printing press with them; but Ann settled in at the mission house. She wrote a few weeks later, “I know I am surrounded by dangers on every hand, and expect to see much anxiety and distress; but at present I am tranquil, and intend to make an effort to pursue my studies as formerly, and leave the event with God.”

At this point in July, Adoniram had been missing for eight months. Ann had no idea where he was, and every reason to think that he was dead. But six days after she wrote of “dangers on every hand,” Adoniram stepped on board a ship in Madras to begin the thousand-mile voyage home. It isn't clear how or when she got the news of his safe return, but it is not hard to imagine her tears of joy. Thanks to her courage and faithfulness, the doors of the little mission were still open to welcome Adoniram home.

Letter 6

April, 1772

My Lord,

My last two letters were devoted to a sad subject—the depravity of the human heart. Every time we want to do good it hinders us and pollutes our best intentions. Because of this, we have a good reason to walk carefully for as long as we live. But we don't need to grieve like those who have no hope. The Lord has provided relief for His people under these circumstances, and He helps us to learn from them. If the evils that we feel could not be overruled for good, then He would not allow them to remain in us. We can infer this from His hatred of sin and His love for His people.

As to the cure, neither our standing before Him nor His honor is affected by sin that remains in the hearts of Christians—the people whom He has taught to wrestle and mourn because of what they feel. Although sin wars against us, it shall not reign; and though it disturbs our peace, it cannot separate us from His love. It is also not inconsistent with His holiness and perfection to show favor to such poor, defiled creatures, or to allow them into fellowship with Himself. He does not look at them as they are in themselves. He looks at them as they truly are—one with Jesus, the one to whom they have fled for refuge and by whom they live a life of faith.

They are accepted in the Beloved! They have an advocate with the Father. He made atonement for their sins, and now He lives forever to intercede for them. They cannot keep the law, but He has fulfilled it for them. The obedience of Christ the Head is spotless and complete. Even though there is much evil in His people, there is also something good—the fruit of His own gracious Spirit. Their actions are motivated by love for Him, they aim at nothing less than His glory, and the longings of their hearts are supremely fixed upon Him. There is a difference in kind between the feeblest efforts of faith in a real believer and the highest and most artificial accomplishments of those who are wise in their own eyes and prudent in their own sight. Yet this conflict inside believers will not continue for long, and the enemy will not win in the end. They are supported by Almighty power and led on to certain victory. They will see Jesus as He is and be like Him and with Him forever.

The Lord uses the sense and feeling of our depravity to accomplish many gracious purposes. In our sin and failure, we see His own power, wisdom, faithfulness, and love displayed. His power is displayed as it continues His work in us in the midst of fierce opposition. It is like a spark that can burn in the water, or a bush that is not burned up by flames. His wisdom is seen as He defeats and controls all the plots which Satan is encouraged to enact against us. Our Adversary has overthrown many who seemed to be good Christians, and like Goliath, he goes on to challenge the whole army of Israel. Yet this Enemy finds that there are some against whom he cannot prevail, even though he fights relentlessly. In spite of the victories he sometimes appears to win, God's people are still delivered, for the Lord is on their side. The unchangeableness of the Lord's love and the riches of His mercy are also more clearly seen by the many pardons He grants to His people than if they needed no forgiveness at all.

Through these mercies, the Lord Jesus becomes more lovely to His people. Through them, all self-righteous boasting is effectually excluded, and the glory of full and free salvation is attributed to Him alone. Imagine a sailor who is surprised by a storm, and spends a dangerous night on the water. If he's rescued and brought safely home, he might rejoice in being saved. But he will not be affected by this like he would if he were rescued after being tossed in a storm for months and escaping many life-threatening situations. Peter says that "it is hard for the righteous to be saved." He doesn't say this because their salvation is uncertain, but because to them the dangers along the way will make it seem impossible.

Yet after repeated proofs of their weakness, willfulness, and ingratitude, they will find that none of these things can separate them from the love of God in Christ. For this reason, Jesus will become more and more precious to their souls. They love much, because much has been forgiven them. They will not dare to ascribe anything to themselves; instead, they are glad to acknowledge that they would have perished a thousand times over, if Jesus had not been their Savior, their Shepherd, and their Shield. When they were wandering He brought them back, when fallen He raised them, when wounded He healed them, when fainting He revived them. By Him, out of weakness they have been made strong. He has taught their hands to fight, and protected their heads in the day of battle. In a word, some of the clearest proofs they have had of His excellence have resulted from the proofs they have had of their own sinfulness. They would not have known so much of Him, if they had not known so much of themselves.

Additionally, a spirit of humility—which is both the strength and beauty of our faith—is greatly enhanced when we feel that evil is present with us when we want to do good. A broken and contrite spirit is pleasing to the Lord. He has promised to dwell with those who have it. Experience shows us that the more we sense our sinfulness, the more inclined we are to strive for holiness. But none of us has ever learned how depraved we are just by being told about it. Indeed, if we could receive and consistently maintain a right assessment of ourselves, by what is plainly declared in Scripture, it would save us many tears of grief. But experience is the Lord's school, and those who are taught by Him usually learn by their mistakes that they have no wisdom, and by their slips and falls they learn that they have no strength.

Every day shows us some new sin that we hardly noticed before, or at least shows it in a stronger light than before. This is how God, by degrees, weans us from leaning to any supposed wisdom, power, or goodness in ourselves. We feel the truth of our Lord's words: “Without Me you can do nothing," and the need of crying with David: “O lead me and guide me for Your name's sake." It is mainly by this frame of mind that one Christian can be distinguished from another. Although these are inward feelings, they have very observable outward effects. God says that the knowledge of his full and free forgiveness, which was given to Israel after her constant backslidings and transgressions, will make her ashamed and will silence the unruly thoughts of her heart (Ezekiel 16:63). You will open your mouth in praise; but you will no longer boast in yourself, or censure others, or murmur at the way that I deal with you.

In these respects we are exceedingly prone to speak unwisely. But a growing sense of our great unworthiness and awareness of God’s great forgiveness inhibits these evils. Whoever is truly humbled will not be quick to become angry and will not be rash, but will be compassionate and tender to the weakness of his fellow-sinners, knowing, that if there is a difference between him and them, it is grace that has made it, and that he has the seeds of every evil in his own heart. Under all trials and afflictions, he will look to the hand of the Lord, and lay his mouth in the dust (Psa. 22:15), acknowledging that he suffers much less than his iniquities have deserved. These are some of the advantages and good fruits which the Lord enables us to obtain from that bitter root, indwelling sin.

March, 1772

My Lord,

I think my last letter was based on Paul's words in Galatians 5:17, “You cannot do the things that you want to do." Romans 7:19 is a parallel passage to this, but in that location Paul adds another clause— “The evil that I do not want to do, that I do." If you put these two ideas together, you will have a complete picture of the dark side of my experience. To illustrate this passage, please allow me to tell you a little part—not of what I have read, but what I have experienced. I will tell you just a little part, for some things cannot and must not be told.

I do not want to be captured by wild, vain, or even worse imaginations, but this evil is present with me—my heart is like a highway, like a city without walls or gates. The most false, absurd, impossile—even horrid idea can come into my mind. And it doesn't matter where or when! No place is exempt—the study, the pulpit, not even the Lord's table can keep such thoughts away. Sometimes I think of my words as the treble clef of an instrument, while my thoughts are the bass (maybe I should say, anti-bass), in which every rule of harmony is broken. Rather than a pleasant sound, all that I hear is discord and confusion, utterly inconsistent with the intended melody.

Oh, what music would my prayers and preaching make in the ears of the Lord of hosts, if he listened to them as they are mine only! Those around me who hear me pray or preach can only hear my words—the melody of the music; but I am held back from accepting their praises because my conscience tells me they would be astonished and disgusted if they could hear the whole song.

But even though I cannot completely avoid these terrible effects of my depraved heart, I still don't want to allow or indulge this inconsistency. Yet that is what I end up doing. In spite of my best judgment and desires, I find something inside me that cherishes and clings to evil thoughts. I should be startled by these ideas and flee from them, just like I would if someone put a toad or a snake in my food or in my bed; but I don't. How wicked must my heart be, when it will entertain such abominations, even when I know so well their nature and tendency. Anyone who finds himself capable of this (regardless of how good he looks on the outside) should easily consider himself less than the least of all saints, and the chief of sinners—and do so without any sense of false humility.

I never want to be influenced by my self, yet I am often guilty of this evil. As clearly as I can see the sun, I can see how low and absurd such actions are. I do not go around pretending that I am ten feet tall, and I know that desiring to be thought of as wise or good is just as contrary to reason and truth. I would be grieved or angry if other people even thought I wanted to be seen as wise or good. This tells me that even though I complain about my self, it plays a considerable role in motivating my desires to hide its influence. When I see pride in others, it offends me and makes me try hard to hide my own, because their good opinion of me depends on their not perceiving my pride. But the Lord knows how this dead fly (see Ecclesiastes 10:1) taints and spoils my best services and makes them no better than glossed over sins.

I do not want to give in to vain reasonings concerning the wisdom or ways of God's providence, yet I am prone to do it. That the Judge of all the earth will do right (Gen. 18:25) is to me as clear and necessary as that two and two make four. I believe that He has a sovereign right to do what He wills with His own, and that this sovereignty is just another name for the unlimited exercise of wisdom and goodness. But when I look at the hard and mysterious events of life, I often reason like I had never heard of these principles or had even renounced them. I feel a presumptuous spirit that tries to explain everything and tries to dispute what it can't comprehend. What an evil thing this is, for a piece of pottery to contend with its Maker! I do not act this way toward my fellow creatures; I do not find fault with the decisions of a judge, or the directions of a military leader. Even though I know they are fallible, I grant that they are wiser in their areas of expertise than I am. But I take this liberty with God, where it is most unreasonable and inexcusable.

It is not my desire to hold on to the idea of earning righteousness by good works. After all that I have just written, it would seem that I have plenty of reasons never to think this way. But I still persist in it. I desire to pray like David did, “Do not enter into judgment with your servant, O Lord." I embrace it as a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptance that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners (1 Tim. 1:15). It is the main pleasure and business of my life to preach the necessity and all-sufficiency of Christ and to proclaim his righteousness alone. But here, as in everything else, I find a vast gap between my judgment and my experience. God invites me to take the water of life freely, yet I am often discouraged because I have no money to pay for it. If I am sometimes blessed with some freedom from the evils I've spoken of, it usually just makes me think better of myself, rather than admire the Lord's goodness to such an unworthy creature. When my corruptions return, and they convince me that I am still the same, an unbelieving spirit of legalism urges me to conclude that the Lord has changed, or at the very least, I begin to feel weary of being dependent on him for his constant forgiveness. Sometimes I fear that my fighting against sin and my aspiration to be holy is secretly motivated by a desire to not be so absolutely indebted to him.

This, my lord, is just a faint sketch of my heart, but it is taken from actual life. I would need a book rather than a letter to fill in the details. But I believe you will not regret that I will say no more on this subject. Although my disease is grievous, is is not desperate. I have a gracious and infallible Physician. “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord." (Psalm 118:17)