To the Golden Shore - Adoniram Judson

“Malden, his birthplace; the ocean, his sepulchre.” So reads the plate affixed to the inconspicuous stone on the neat green lawn in front of the white house facing the traffic of Malden’s Main Street. And in truth, that was the trajectory of his life: in navigator’s language, from latitude 42 0 25.25' North, longitude 71 0 04.4' West, to latitude 13 0 North, longitude 71 0 East.

The great circles of his navigation on our globe has certain intersections: at an unidentified inn in western Massachusetts; in a grove behind the Academy at Andover; in the front room of a commodious house in Bradford; in the Death Prison at Ava on the Irrawaddy; beside a long-open grave in the tigerish jungle below Moulmein; in the harbor of the island of St. Helena; in the city of Philadelphia; at the seaport of Amherst by the Gulf of Martaban. And there is a final trajectory on a curve only one Navigator can draw, to an intersection only one Navigator can locate.

This One issued a command: All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.

He obeyed it.

The question remains: Why?

So opens the amazing story of the life of the Adoniram Judson, father of the American missionary movement. I remember the first time I picked up a copy of Courtney Anderson’s biography of Judson several years ago. I had no idea how profoundly the story of this man’s life and ministry would impact me – simply put, the book would end up touching almost every area of my life and as a result, my ministry. Years ago while still a seminary student, I was challenged by a professor to read the biographies of great men of God of yesteryear. I have read biographies of men like Jonathan Edwards, George Whitfield, George Mueller, David Brainard, Martin Lloyd-Jones, and Hudson Taylor. Never have I been as profoundly moved by the presentation o f a life as I was by Anderson’s biography of Judson. First printed in 1956, it was reprinted by Judson Press in 1987 to honor the 175th anniversary of Adoniram and Ann Judson’s sailing from Salem aboard the ship Caravan as two of the first missionaries every to go forth from North America. That journey would begin on February 19, 1812 and would officially end with Judson’s death 38 years later on another ship, the Aristide Marie, on Friday, April 12, 1850.

Raised in the home of a Congregational minister, Adoniram at first rejected the faith that he would later spend his life sharing with the Burmese people. He had been taught the Scriptures from his boyhood. In fact, his mother taught him to read in the course of a one week of 3 and he surprised his father upon his return from a preaching trip by reading an entire chapter of the Bible – all of this at the incredible age of 3! However, his early love for the Bible would be shaken during his college years by a close friendship formed with one Jacob Eames of Belfast, Main. A committed deist, Eames so influenced Adoniram that he soon became as great an unbeliever as his friend. At 19 years of age, seeking his way in the world, Adoniram set forth for Boston and eventually ended up in New York to pursue his dream of a career in theater. Like the prodigal son in a far-off land, young Adoniram soon found himself living as he would describe it himself, “a reckless, vagabond life, finding lodging where we could, and bilking the landlord when we found opportunity – in other words running up a score, and then decamping without paying the reckoning.” Finally, disgusted and heartsick at what he had become, he left New York and set off for home. On his way home he sought lodging at an inn in a small village beyond Plymouth. The only room available was next to the room of a young man who was critically ill and dying. Throughout the night he could hear the sounds of agony and distress coming from the adjacent room. As he waited the morning, he could not escape the thought that the man next door might not be prepared for death. He thought of his father’s faith and realized that his father’s creed rendered death a welcome door to immortal glory. But to Adoniram, the confirmed deist, death was not an entrance but an exit; an exit to an empty pit, to darkness darker than night itself. As these night terrors washed over his soul he thought of what his friend Jacob Eames would say. He imagined Eames’ laughter, and felt ashamed. Awakened refreshed the next morning, Adoniram went to pay his bill. Upon meeting the innkeeper, he was informed that the young man in the next room had expired during the night – a young man from the college inn Providence – named Eames, Jacob Eames. This experience would lead young Adoniram back to the faith of his father, and more importantly, to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

In February of 1810 he became convinced that God had called him to invest his life as a missionary. He himself described that moment with these comments, “It was during a solitary walk in the woods behind the college, while meditating and praying on the subject, and feeling half inclined to give it up, that the command of Christ, ‘Go into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature,’ was presented to my mind with such clearness and power, that I came to a full decision, and though great difficulties appeared in my way, resolved to obey the command at all events.” From this point on, Judson would remain fixed in his resolve to be a missionary. His commitment to the missionary call is evidenced in the letter he wrote to John Hasseltine requesting the hand of his daughter, Ann, in marriage.

“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, 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? Can you consent to all this, in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory, with the crown of righteousness, brightened with the acclamations of praise which shall redound to her Saviour from heathens saved, through her means, from eternal woe and despair?”

After their marriage, the Judsons set sail for India on the sailing ship, Caravan. Joining them was another couple, Samuel and Harriet Newell. When the ship finally sailed on the 19th of February, none of them knew the testings that would lie ahead. When Nancy said farewell to her family to go with her new husband, she had no way of knowing she would never set foot in America again. On October 24, 1826 just 14 years after sailing on the Caravan, Nancy Judson died of fever. She was buried near the spot where they had first landed in Burma. Nor was this the only hardship faced by Adoniram in his endeavor to bring the gospel of Christ to the Burmese people. Having started out as a Congregational minister, he became convinced that the New Testament taught believers baptism by immersion and upon arriving in India on his way to Burma, his first task was to inform the churches that sent him that he had become a committed Baptist. Their first child was born dead aboard the ship that was carrying them to Burma and was buried at sea. In 1816 a little son, Roger, was born to them and brought them brief respite from their grief. However, during a time when Adoniram was suffering the debilitating effects of “fever” young Roger became ill and within two days was dead. Here is the heart wrenching account of his death.

“All through the night and the next day, Roger continued the same while Nancy sat up, anguish in her heart, holding him. But the second night, about two in the morning, exhaustion overcame her and Adoniram, sick as he was, took the baby. The little creature drank his milk with much eagerness and Mr. Judson thought he was refreshed and would go to sleep. He laid him in his cradle – he slept with ease for half an hour, when his breath stopped without a struggle, and he was gone. His death and interment occurred almost before they could feel grief. But in the next few days, as they put away the little evidences of his short life – the cradle, his clothing, the few toys – until the only tangible reminders were his absence and the fresh grave in the mango circle, their hearts began to bleed.” Nancy would later write of this in her journal, “Our hearts were bound up in this child; we felt he was our earthly all, our only source of innocent recreation in this heathen land. But God saw it was necessary to remind us of our error, and to strip us of our only little all. O may it not be in vain that he has done it....”

For some time to come would seem as though their sacrifices were indeed for naught. Finally, after six long years of tireless work, they had their first Burmese convert, a man named Maung Nau. Upon returning from Nau’s baptismal service, Adoniram wrote, “O, may it prove the beginning of a series of baptisms in the Burmese empire which shall continue in uninterrupted succession to the end of time. However, it would be a full two years later on July 19, 1820 before there would be 10 Burmese converts to form a Christian church. Shortly after this, Judson would spent several months in the notrious “Death Prison” in Ava. During this time, their third child, Maria, was born. She would outlive her mother by six months. Adoniram wrote of her death to Nancy’s mother back home in America.

“The next morning (after her death) we made her last bed in the small enclosure that surrounds her mother’s lonely grave. Together they rest in hope, under the hope tree, which stands at the head of the graves, and together, I trust, their spirits are rejoicing after a short separation of precisely six months. And I am left alone in the wide world. My own dear family I have buried; one in Rangoon, and two in Amherst. What remains for me but to hold myself in readiness to follow the dear departed to that blessed world.”

Some years later, Judson married Sarah Boardman, the widow of a fellow missionary to Burma. In an effort to protect her young son from her first marriage, six year old George, Adoniram and Sarah determined to send him back to America to live with Sarah’s family. The story of their parting reveals the incredible price that was demanded of these early missionaries. “I shall never forget his looks as he stood by the door and gazed at me for the last time. His eyes were filling with tears, and his little face red with suppressed emotion. But he subdued his feelings, and it was not till he had turned away and was going down the steps that he burst into tears.” While Sarah, her heart breaking, hurried to her room and fell to her knees in tearful prayer, Adoniram carried the little boy in his arms to the small boat that would take them to the Cashmere. All the way down, Adoniram comforted the boy as best he could. On board the Cashmere, he saw George’s little bed properly made up in the cabin, made sure he would be well cared for, and then returned to comfort Sarah. Sarah would never see her little boy again on earth. Even this would not be the end of sorrow for Adoniram. He would father eight children by Sarah during their years together and two would be buried in Burmese graves. In 1845, Adoniram would bury Sarah who died of dysentery. Eventually he would marry a third wife, Emily, whom he met on his one journey back to the Unites States.

Before his death in 1850, Adoniram would translate the Bible into Burmese and complete the monumental task of compiling an English-Burmese dictionary. Scores of Burmese had come to know the Lord as a result of Judson’s life and ministry. At 4:15 on Friday afternoon, April 12, 1850, Adoniram Judson was called home by the One who had called him to Burma. He was buried at sea.

Although the final results of Judson’s life and ministry are impressive, that is not what impacted me most in reading this story of his life. It was his utter abandonment of everything that I hold dear in my life in order to obey the call of God in taking the gospel to a people who for the most part did not seem to really wish to hear it! He willing surrendered to God those things that I hold most tightly from God – wife, family, children, ministry success. It is no wonder that we are still reading about his life today. However, this willingness did not come easily. After the death of Nancy and the three children borne by her, he received news that his father had passed away as well. He began to understand that his real motive in becoming a missionary was ambition – ambition to be the first American foreign missionary; the first missionary to Burma; the first translator of the Bible into Burmese: first in his own eyes and in the eyes of men. This subtle spiritual pride masked the ugly lust to excel. He began by giving away all his professions, stopping the work that he had taken so much pride in – the translation of the Old Testament into Burmese, and absenting himself from the presence of all important personages who would honor him in this life. Yet this was not sufficient. He finally had a grave dug in the jungle and sat beside it for days meditating on the death of what was hidden in his heart. For forty days he would carry out his vigil; yet for all his self denial, seclusion, and sacrifice the inner peace he sought eluded him. He would find that God was in the process of breaking His servant in order to make him most useable. He would write of this process to Sarah upon the death of her first husband.

“You are now drinking the bitter cup whose dregs I am somewhat acquainted with. And though, for some time, you have been aware of its approach, I venture to say that it is far bitterer than you expected. It is common for persons in your situation to refuse all consolation, to cling to the dead, and to fear that they shall too soon forget the dear object of their affections. But don’t be concerned. I can assure you that months and months of heart-rending anguish are before you, whether you will or not. Yet take the bitter cup with both hands, and sit down to your repast. You will soon learn a secret, that there is sweetness at the bottom.”

Not all are called to make sacrifices to that level as was Adoniram; however, his life stands as an example of what we should all be in our heart willingness to God. I would urge you to get a copy of the book, set apart a weekend and secret yourself away from the routines of your life and get alone with God as you read the story of this great servant. May his spirit infuse our hearts as we seek to invest our life for God with the same abandon as he did.