Hudson taylor, god’s venturer



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Chapter 13

LAUNCHING A MISSION

Wang the painter shuffled along the narrow passage of No. 1, Beaumont St., Whitechapel, and opened the front door. In his loose-fitting Chinese clothes, his skimpy pigtail dangling down his back, he looked strangely out of place against a rather dingy little house in a London sidestreet. The young man standing outside the door suppressed a start of surprise when he saw him. It had not occurred to him that the missionary from China whom he had come to see would have brought a Chinese servant back with him.

“Is Mr. Taylor at home?” inquired young Meadows.

“Please come in,” said Wang in his soft pidgin English. “I go see master.” In a minute he returned to show the visitor into a small, barely-furnished room. Hudson was sitting there, engrossed on the task that had occupied him since he had returned from China a few months previously, and which was likely to prove a long one—the revision of the New Testament in Chinese. His pigtail had gone, now that he was back in England, and in his old, well-worn suit he looked like a poor clerk. Cold though the day was, the fire was nearly out! Young Meadows’s quick eyes took in the apparent poverty of the man he had come to see, and who was rising now, a bright, welcoming smile on his face, to greet him. When, later, he sat down to a simple dinner with Hudson and Maria, and observed that the tablecloth was distinctly grubby, and the food, cooked by Wang, was not up to standard, he might well have felt discouraged at what he saw of the life of missionaries. But as a matter of fact, he was not discouraged. These two young people, both under thirty, who could tell him such tense and thrilling stories of besieged cities, escapes from pirates, and who had such wonderful answers to their prayer, made a deep impression on him. It was evident that they had a purpose in life. It did not matter to them if their clothes were old-fashioned or their carpets had holes. They simply were not concerned about clothes and carpets. What absorbed them was the realization that millions of Chinese knew nothing about the true God, and therefore they must be told. And young Meadows who felt the same way about it, and wanted to go to China to tell them as soon as possible, decided that Hudson was the missionary society he would like to join!

Hudson had to explain that although he was most eager that people should go to China to spread the good news that God loved man, and hoped to return there himself soon, he was really not in the position to be a missionary society, as he had no money! He had not enough to send even one missionary to China. Actually, since he had returned to England, a very sick man, he had rarely known from where the next month’s rent would come. He had long since left the Chinese Evangelization Society, and was so busy completing his medical training and revising the Chinese New Testament that he had no time to “work for a living.” It was remarkable how the money came in, sometimes in the very nick of time, from friends and relatives who were interested in him, and in China. He realized that it was God who moved them to do it, and his faith in his heavenly Father increased greatly. All the same, he felt he was in no position to employ missionaries, in those circumstances, and said so.

Young Meadows, however, felt otherwise. After all, if God could move people to support His servant, Hudson Taylor, could He not also move people so support His servant, young Meadows? At any rate, inspired by what he had seen and heard, he assured Hudson that he was willing to go to China on the assumption that God would do for him.
And so Hudson obtained his first missionary, who sailed for China a few months later. Remembering his own early experiences in Shanghai, Hudson determined that his missionary should receive money and letters regularly, not spasmodically. He bought a large, important-looking account book, in which he made careful entries of money received and transmitted it to young Meadows very promptly. He also bought a file to keep letters in, and wrote often. After a year, young Meadows’ only cause for complaint was that he was so well looked after, and received money so regularly, that he sometimes felt he was not living by faith in God at all! He seemed quite disappointed at not suffering hardships through shortage of money! Hudson replied that he had no idea where his next month’s salary was coming from, or how much it would be, and that they must continue praying to God for supplies. Young Meadows was reassured!

But what was one more missionary in a land where millions upon millions of people were living and dying without once hearing of the only True God? There was a large map of China hanging on the wall of the little study in 1, Beaumont St., Whitechapel. Hudson’s eyes constantly roamed over it was he lifted them from the Chinese and English Bibles on the desk before him. He read over and over again the names of provinces far away from the coast. Such musical, picturesque names they had. They stirred the imagination—South of the Clouds, Four Streams, West of the Mountains, North of the Lake, Clear Sea, South of the River…. Protestant missionaries had never penetrated into these distant places, and Hudson thought of the hundreds of cities, the thousands of towns, and the tens of thousands of villages they contained. Hundreds, thousands, millions. …It was the thought of the millions that continually oppressed him. Millions of Chinese people—lovable, erring Chinese people, like Mr. Nee, and Wang the basket maker, and the farmer from the village of O-zi. He was reminded of the Chinese people every day as he looked into the face of the faithful painter Wang, who had left home and country to serve him. And then he remembered the monk who was walled into a cell in the temple, hoping to find “the Way.” He thought of Mr. Nee’s father, who had sought “the Way” for twenty years, and died without finding it. And the more he prayed that God would send missionaries to those faraway provinces, the more he felt he ought to do something about it himself.

He had already approached all the missionary societies he could think of, to urge them to send men to inland China—to those vast provinces where millions of people were still waiting to hear of Jesus. He had been listened to sympathetically enough, but told that nothing could be done at present. The thought came again that he ought to start a missionary society himself, to go to those remote inland regions West of the Mountains, South of the Clouds, North of the Lake...

He studied the map on his study wall long and earnestly and often. There were eleven great provinces, and the mysterious country of Tibet, with no missionaries. If only, thought Hudson, there were but two missionaries for each province! That would, at any rate, be a start.

“Then why don’t you ask God to send them to you?”

It was a most unwelcome thought, and Hudson did not like it. He did not want to start a missionary society to go to inland China. He was quite prepared to go there himself, but he did not want to send other people. Suppose when young men and women sent by him got there, insufficient money was received to support them? Suppose they died of starvation? Or suppose the Chinese were angry at people coming to preach a different religion, and killed them? All sorts of horrible possibilities came to his mind. How terrible, thought Hudson desperately, to have been the one to send them to their death! The responsibility was too great, he felt, and he tried to put away the thought of starting a missionary society. But he could not. There it was, and there it remained.

It was on a Sunday morning in June, on the beach at Brighton, that he finally decided he would have to do it. Walking slowly over the pebbles down to the water’s edge, he looked across the calm, sunlit sea with his mind in a turmoil. Think of being responsible for sending men and women to the unknown regions of inland China, where perhaps they might die of starvation! On the other hand—think of leaving those millions of Chinese to die without knowing God! That was far more dreadful. And then, quite suddenly, it occurred to him that even if the missionaries did all die of starvation, well, they would go straight to Heaven—and what could be better than that! And if, before they died, they had turned only one Chinese from worshipping the Devil to worshipping God, it would have been worth it. This somewhat pessimistic reflection, strangely enough, made him feel quite a lot brighter.

Then another thought occurred to him. If he did start a missionary society to go to the inland of China, it would only be because he knew that God was urging him to do him, then all the responsibility for what happened would be God’s, not his!


Now why, thought Hudson, had that not occurred to him before? God would be responsible, not he! As this realization sank into his mind, he felt as though a great, crushing load was being gently rolled away.

“Oh, Lord!” He prayed with a tremendous sense of relief. “Thou shalt have all the burden!” It had gone already—no longer was he oppressed by the thought of starving missionaries! “I will go forward as Thy servant, at Thy bidding...” Yes, he must start a missionary society, and now he knew he could. All fears of what might happen in the future had disssolved like a morning mist before the sun. What happened as a result of obeying God’s voice was not his responsibility. All he had to do was to go forward, asking God to send what was necessary to start a missionary society to go West of the Mountains, South of the Clouds, North of the Lake...


Eleven provinces and Tibet, thought Hudson. There should be two workers for each, to begin to take the good news of God’s love to man to the interior of China. Twice twelve are twenty-four. So Hudson, standing bare-headed on the beach that Sunday morning, closed his eyes. He stood like that for several minutes, the waves lapping at his feet. Then he opened his Bible, and made a note in it. “Prayed for twenty-four willing skillful laborers at Brighton, June 25, 1865,” and walked lightheartedly over the pebbles to the promenade where full-skirted ladies strolled with top-hatted gentlemen, and sprightly horses trotted between the shafts of coaches and pony traps. But Hudson had no eyes for the fashionably dressed people thronging the sea front. His thoughts were very far away. Twenty-four workers, including Maria and himself, to take the good news to the millions in Four Streams, South of the River, Clear Sea, North of the Lake...

He never doubted but that God would answer his prayer. Nor did it trouble him that he, who had barely enough money to support his wife, and family, would now begin to require an income of thousands of pounds a year to support the twenty-four willing, skillful laborers. If he was doing God’s work in God’s way, God would certainly send in the money required!

Hudson was very practical. The workers and the money would be provided, were probably already on the way! He must prepare for them. He returned to London on Monday, and on Tuesday he paid a visit to the bank.

“I want to open a new banking account,” he told the manager.

“How much have you to start with?” inquired that official.

“Ten pounds.” ($50)

“And whose name is the banking account to be in?”

“The China Inland Mission,” said Hudson.

The missionary society was launched!



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