James Hudson Taylor (1832-1905) was a remarkable man, one I have come to admire. He was a missionary who spent fifty-one years founding the China Inland Mission. That résumé bullet was not easy to attain. In fact, I would venture to say that very few have the same grit and faithfulness Taylor had in preparation. Taylor was not a rich man; neither was he skilled, and he was even scorned by his own church when proposing missionary work in what they called “barbaric” China. But he was undeterred, and he knew his calling. He was so determined that he elected to do something that, to me, is still a feat I’m fearful of undertaking today. Before departing for China, he decided to live like a missionary at home—that is, England. He wasn’t just a “missionary” in England in word only, but in lifestyle as well. Taylor writes in his memoirs A Retrospect, “I soon found that I could live upon very much less than I had previously thought possible. Butter, milk, and other such luxuries I soon ceased to use; and I found that by living mainly on oatmeal and rice, with occasional variations, a very small sum was sufficient for my needs” (13). Butter and milk?! Luxuries?! I would have considered them staples. How remarkable! What a sacrifice and what labor for the Gospel!
Taylor had also made a pact with himself never to ask for money, even if it was due him (which was often the case with his absent-minded employer). And he would also spend his free time and spare money ministering to the poor in the slums of England. How would he describe this experience, you ask? Taylor said it was “as if heaven were begun below” (14). That’s right, heaven. I suppose anywhere is heaven-like when you’re in obedience to the Father.
Well, there was one Sunday that pushed Taylor to his breaking point. Weeks had gone by, and his employer had again forgotten to pay him his wages. His rations had been reduced to ‘water gruel,’ with only a day’s worth remaining. Come Monday, he would be fasting, and not by choice. The only remaining money he had was one small coin in his pocket—‘a half-crown piece.’ Yet, after leaving church that Sunday night knowing there was nothing to eat the following day, he writes that his “heart was full and brimming over with blessing” (14). As he trudged through the snow in his blissful state, he was approached by a poor Irishman who begged him to come and pray over his wife and family. Having recognized the man’s accent and assuming him to be Catholic, Taylor inquired why the man hadn’t asked a priest. The Irishman had asked, Taylor was told, but the priest refused to pray without payment. To Taylor, prayer was powerful; it wasn’t an empty Facebook promise. He valued prayer above money itself. In fact, he often refused donations to missions, because he felt the donor would abandon the cause once the money hit the offering plate. Rather, Taylor solicited prayers over pounds, which is why he went with the Irishman.
After walking the flights of stairs to the man’s dark apartment, he would see something that was no doubt seared into his consciousness: “Four or five poor children stood about, their sunken cheeks and temples all telling unmistakably the story of slow starvation; and lying on a wretched pallet was a poor exhausted mother, with a tiny infant thirty-six hours old, moaning rather than crying at her side, for it too seemed spent and failing” (16). In shock, Taylor began to pray, but his mind and hand were locked onto the half-crown piece in his pocket. He felt the Holy Spirit urge him to give it to the family. But this was all he had. If he gave this, he would have nothing. Nothing! In the fog of his prayer, he recalls rationalizing that if he had more money, he would have handed it over without hesitation. In that brief moment, Taylor had faith, just not faith minus the half-crown. Oh, how many times I have been in the same state but never acted as nobly as Taylor did. Against all natural impulses, he pulled the half-crown from his pocket and handed it to the Irishman in hopes that it would quell, in some small measure, his grief. In that moment, Taylor felt the fog of prayer clear and a flood of comfort come over his soul. He realized that the half-crown piece in his pocket wasn’t sovereign over his life, and neither was the employer who supplied it, or the government who produced it, but rather the Father who would have him do without it.
You know, as men, we don’t often like to talk about our weaknesses, our vulnerabilities, or our failures. Honestly, what man wants to feel shame or the social sting of exile? That’s why we tend to shake hands during “radical” hospitality without knowing the name of the person whose hand we shake. And if we do, it’s because we’re only comfortable shaking their hand and no one else’s. (not very radical, is it?) I was once told by a friend that southerners have a thin outer shell and thick inner one, while northerners are thick on the outside and thin on the inside. She was right. As southerners, we’re good at becoming acquaintances, but poor at becoming friends. Seriously, how many friends do we have that we truly open up to? That we’re willing to let in the dark, dank apartment of our life, or to venture to theirs, seeing their gaunt family? This is probably because too many Christians have been burned by other Christians. Their testimonies have become fodder for gossip, and prayer requests have become a platform for rumors. We tend to denigrate those that open up, and exalt those that are closed off. And in the secret place, we judge ourselves harshly. We think, ‘we’ll never measure up to them,’ ‘they have such perfect kids,’ ‘they’re such perfect parents.’ All the while we don’t realize they have the same issues that everyone else has.
Despite this fear to open up, though, I think it’s time for us men to be courageous enough to be vulnerable. How many of you truly know me? Would you be surprised to know that I have a wretched past? That I, like Solomon (in Ecclesiastes), tried it all—that is, all that the world has to offer—knowledge, money, pleasure, career, adventures. And, like Solomon, it left me empty; it was “meaningless,” “vanity,” “futility.” To this day, I still struggle. Would you be surprised to know that I struggle with anger? As a father of four, I could blame it on the lack of sleep, but that’s merely a poor excuse for my personal sin. I often find myself raising my voice to my children when it’s not warranted, and I know that’s not how God wants me to act because that’s not how He acts toward me.
The point is this: we should get to know one another. We should make ourselves vulnerable for the sake of the gospel. “Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ”
(Galatians 6:2 NASB). We call ourselves Baptists, but I don’t think we understand the term. It means “to immerse or submerge” (from the Greek baptismo; Anglicized for us ). John wasn’t understood as John the Baptist, but rather as John the Immerser. Jesus said in the Great Commission, “make disciples of all nations, immersing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Ruach ha-Kodesh” (Matthew 28:19 TLV). We are to immerse ourselves in the life of Jesus, but we are to also immerse others in the life of Jesus. You can’t do that without getting to know others. We are not Northcrest Baptist Church; we are Northcrest Immersing Church, because we are involved in the lives of one another to the glory of Jesus. I’m not a Baptist; I’m an Immerser.
Realize this, though. Taylor is not my source of motivation. He’s not the reason I’m calling others to be vulnerable. Yes, Taylor was a great man—an exemplary Christian—but Taylor never became poor so that I would become rich (2 Corinthians 8:9); he never endured persecution that I might receive glory; he was never despised and rejected that I might be favored and accepted by the Father (Isaiah 53); and he was never buried that I might live. No, that was Jesus. And He’s the point. If these past days are any proof, we live in a world where much is out of our control, and life is fleeting. Therefore, trust in the God who controls. And be vulnerable like Jesus for the sake of the gospel to others.
1 William Arndt et al., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 165.