Friday, 27 December 2019

Adoniram Judson (1788 – 1850): an uneasy voice for modern Christians

I was sitting around with a few English Christians and mentioned I had just finished a biography of Adoniram Judson. Every face was blank.

It would have been different if I had been in America. Judson was the first Protestant missionary to leave their shores.

And it would have been very different in Burma. When he arrived there in 1813 there were no Protestant Christians; when he died there were about seven thousand. Today there are over three million Protestant Christians in Burma, over half are Baptists, the denomination founded by Judson. Fittingly the Christians in Burma have a Judson day; a Judson church; a Judson College.

And a Judson Bible. He translated the whole Bible, almost single-handedly. This is a translation that won wide respect for its accuracy and style when first published. It is still used today[1].  

This is an impressive legacy.

Reading about his life[2] there are three fixed points in his way of looking at the world that form the foundation of this legacy: a conviction about the Gospel; a single-minded focus; and an acceptance of suffering as a part God’s good will for his life.  

One: Conviction about the Gospel.

During nearly forty years of ministry in Burma, Judson made just one visit back to America. Not surprisingly the churches were packed for his meetings.

At the Baptist Church in Morrisville, North Carolina, the people were disappointed. They were expecting to hear of his exotic adventures in Burma; instead he spoke, ‘with simplicity and pathos of what the precious Saviour had done for His people.’

Asked about why he did not share about his adventures in Burma, Judson replied:

‘I gave them a story – the most thrilling one that can be conceived of…the wondrous story of Jesus’ dying love.’

Judson continued to answer his critic:

‘My business is to preach the Gospel of Christ and when I can speak at all I dare not trifle with my commission. When I looked upon those people today and remembered where I should next meet them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain curiosity – tickle their fancies with amusing stories, however decently strung together on a thread of religion. This is not what Christ meant by preaching the Gospel.’

Judson believed the Gospel with all his heart. He believed that sin, the wrath of God and hell were sober realities. He believed the atonement on the cross was a glorious reality. The Gospel saved people from hell and brought them to heaven.

That was his conviction.

One reason Judson was so gripped with the Gospel is because he had not always been a believer. Though from a devout Christian home, the fiercely intelligent[3] Judson abandoned the faith of his parents when he was a student at Brown University in Providence, Massachusetts.

Here Judson became close friends with the charming and clever Jacob Eames – a student one year his senior. Eames was a sceptical Deist[4], and soon Judson shared his doubts. Judson’s father, the Congregational minister in Plymouth, was angry; his mother distraught. After graduating with distinction, life at home was tense, so Judson left for New York. Here he joined a troupe of actors. These were Judson’s wild weeks.

‘We lived a reckless, vagabond life, finding lodgings where we could and bilking the landlord where we found opportunity.[5]

Judson soon tired of this life-style. He left the actors and decided to travel Westwards. He did not get far. Taking a room in a tavern one night, the land-lord apologized to Judson for the groans coming from a dying man in the next room. Judson had a restless night. Death was near, and Judson’s new-fangled beliefs weakened. He stared at eternity and wanted to know about his own soul.

In the morning Judson found out the man had died. Then came the shock. Asking if he knew who the man was, the land-lord replied:

 ‘Oh yes, a very fine fellow. His name was Eames. Jacob Eames.’

Judson was stunned: his scepticism at sea, his soul without an anchor. In a state of confusion he gave up his travel plans to the West and returned home. Though not a Christian, he enrolled in a new seminary at Andover, Massachusetts, seeking to resolve his crisis of faith. Slowly light dawned. A friend wrote:

‘He was prayerful, reflective and studious of proofs; and gradually faith, trust in God, and finally a hope though the merits of Christ, took possession of his soul, he scarcely knew how; and from the moment that he fully believed, I think he never doubted. He said he felt as sure that he was an entirely new creature…’

Judson’s conviction about the Gospel was not head knowledge; it came from this painful crisis of faith that he had lived through. For the rest of his life he never had a more beautiful story to tell than that of the dying Christ who saves men and women from the wrath of God.

Judson was not shy about the word hell or the fate of the unbeliever. Seeking permission from his future father in law to both marry and take his young bride overseas for missionary work, Judson was blunt about the risks:

 ‘Can you consent to her exposure…to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death?’

And he was equally blunt about one of the reasons for taking such risks:

‘Can you consent to all this…for the sake of perishing immortal souls?’

This conviction about hell remained throughout his missionary career.

When questioning baptismal candidates he would ask: ‘’Do you believe then that none but the disciples of Christ will be saved from sin and hell?’

If they answered no, he would not baptize them.

Without this conviction there would have been no legacy. This raw belief that without Christ men and women are destined for hell undergirded all he did.

Two: Single-minded for life

In June 1810 Judson, aged twenty-two, presented himself for missionary service with three friends before the annual conference of the Congregational Church of Massachusetts. In a speech that moved many to tears[6], this is what he said:

‘After examining all the information which they can obtain, they (the four students) consider themselves as devoted to this work for life, whenever God in his providence shall open the way.’

This was not just the idealism of a young man. He meant it. Judson left America in 1812 and gave the rest of his working life to mission in Asia.

Such commitment was challenging because mission to Asia was not the norm for Christians in the early 19th C in Massachusetts.

With his father a Congregational minister and he a seminary student, Judson’s future was obvious. He would become a Massachusetts clergy man. And if there would be any mission work, this would be to the native Indians in America, the only mission work Americans were engaged with at that time.

News though of the British missionaries in Asia was reaching the American churches. William Carey in India, and Robert Morrison in China were particularly well known.

Then at seminary Judson read the transcript of a sermon given by an English clergy-man who had served as a chaplain with the East India Company. The sermon was titled: ‘The Star In The East’. It was a call for Christians to go to India where people were ready to respond to the Gospel. Judson did not consider the sermon as being ‘peculiarly excellent’, but it had a great impact on his mind. A strange excitement filled his heart, and ‘it left a strong desire to prosecute my inquiries and ascertain the path of duty.’ The sermon directed Judson to India. He then read a book called, ‘An account of an Embassy to the Kingdom of Ava.’ This was all about Burma and it left Judson fascinated. Mission to the East for Judson now meant either India or Burma.

Judson’s new interest in mission was immediately challenged by his peers. He wrote that he was ‘condemned by all and not infrequently ridiculed and approached.’
There was a dearth of encouragement, yet Judson kept on praying and asking God: ‘Should I become a missionary?’ He soon reached a settled decision:

‘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 ye 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.’

This decision was immediately tested – by his own family.  His father had been talking to his friend Dr Edward Griffin who wanted Judson to be his assistant at Park Street Church in Boston, the largest church in the city. After telling his son about this offer, his mother added, as only a mother can, ‘And you will be so near home’. When Judson told his parents and sister of his missionary plans, his mother, predictably, burst into tears.

The tears failed to dissuade Judson. His determination and passion resulted in the Congregational Church forming a Mission Board and on February 6th 1812 Judson and four others were ordained as missionaries. Two weeks later, Judson and his young wife, Ann, were on their way to Calcutta. When the new American missionaries arrived they were welcomed by William Carey, but they were almost immediately ordered to return to America by the East India Company, resolutely hostile to Christian mission. Either they had to find another country to go to, or they would be forcefully deported.

The other country that Judson most wanted to go was Burma – the population was immense; there was no Bible in Burmese and translation was a task much suited to Judson’s fine intellect; moreover, going back to his days in seminary, this was a country he had always felt called to.

So it was that on July 13th 1813 Judson sailed into Rangoon. Within Burma Judson lived in different cities; but he never shifted his attention to another country. His whole work life only had one item on the agenda: bringing the message of Christ to the Burmese. He gave himself initially to learning the language, labouring often for twelve hours a day.

Once he had learned the language he immediately set about translating the Scriptures. He finished the New Testament in 1822, less than ten years after arriving in Rangoon. He finished the whole Bible in 1834. This was a monumental achievement for one man. And it was no mediocre translation. A colleague said ‘It was the best translation in India… free from all obscurity to the Burmese mind. It is read and understood perfectly.’

The Scripture was translated to be given out for Judson was a committed evangelist. His preferred method was to build a ‘zayat’, familiar buildings in Burmese culture. Here men would talk, and a religious teacher would teach. This is exactly what happened in the ‘Zayats’ Judson built. Seekers would come and Judson would sit with them, sometimes for a whole day, talking about faith in Christ, giving them a Scripture portion, or a tract he had written himself. It was through this Zayat evangelism that the first converts came to faith in Rangoon.

As well as Rangoon, Judson took teams of Burmese Christians for evangelism to other cities. One was Maulmain from where he got involved in the evangelism of the Karen people who are now solidly Christian[7]. Judson kept his printer busy[8] – especially when there were large Buddhist festivals. Thousands would come into the streets, and Judson liked to be ready with Christian literature.

Though in his last years Judson gave a lot of time to a Burmese-English dictionary which he saw as crucial for missionary success, he never gave up his preaching and increasing pastoral duties. He remained faithful to one of his many resolutions: ‘Go and preach the Gospel every day’

Judson was single minded in his work - and in his private life. All that strengthened his mission or relationship with God was cultivated; all that undermined them was ruthlessly cut out. 

Judson believed fervently in private prayer. To a friend he writes -

‘Arrange thy affairs if possible so that thou canst leisurely devote two or three hours every day…to the very act of secret prayer and communion with God. Endeavour, seven times[9] a day, to withdraw from business and company, and lift up thy soul to God in private retirement.’

Judson combined with prayer with self-denial. Here is some of his advice:

‘Use no intoxicating liquor as a beverage … Be content with the plainest diet…fast often…dress in course and poor apparel…discard all finery…occupy a poor habitation…allow no amusementsget rid of the encumbrance of worldly property; sell what thou hast and give to the poor.’

Judson was certainly sacrificial when it came to money. In 1828 he gave all his savings[10] to his mission, ‘or rather to Him “who loved us”; and in 1829 he asked the board to reduce his salary by a quarter.

Judson’s social life was also strictly curtailed. With his proficiency in Burmese, Judson had access to the elite of those in the British administration, indeed he was a friend of General Archibald Campbell, the victor of the Anglo-Burma war. However in 1828 Judson cut himself off from all Westerners. This was not because he was shy or uncomfortable in fashionable society; to the contrary he enjoyed educated company. His son, Edward, talks of his ‘thoroughly genial nature of his sociableness’. The issue was time and the calling on his life.

The same strictness was applied to his intellectual life: ‘Read no book in English that has not a devotional tendency’. Newspapers were firmly rejected: ‘Indulge in no foreign – that is English or American, newspaper reading, except a regular course of some one religious paper and sometimes an occasional article from other papers.’
Some might assume that with this strict intellectual diet Judson was a dire conversationalist. To the contrary, his third wife Emily, who had a vivacious intellect, wrote this about Judson after a year of marriage: ‘I never met with any man who could talk so well, day after day, on every subject, religious, literary, scientific, political…’[11]

Judson was keenly aware of the desires of the flesh for recognition which would mar life with God. To deal with this he took robust action that to many seemed to verge on the excessive. In 1828 he asked Brown University to withdraw a Doctor of Divinity degree they had awarded him five years earlier. He himself burnt the letters of thanks he had received from Sir Archibald Campbell for his work on drawing up the treaty ending the First Burma War. And, fearing fame after his death, he gave these severe instructions to his sister:

‘My request is that you will entirely destroy all my old letters which are in your and mother’s hands.’

The letters were destroyed; but of course, such was his achievement, recognition was inevitable.

Judson’s achievement is impossible to ignore because he was single minded. Single minded in his calling to live and die in Burma; single-minded in his ministry – Bible translation, evangelism, and church planting; and single minded in his private life, every moment of every day was to be used either for worship or work.

Judson’s legacy is built on conviction, single-mindedness. And a lot of suffering.


Reading about Judson it is impossible not to be struck by the amount of suffering he endured. Some affliction came from the government, suspicious of any foreign faith. However the distress caused by this official hostility to the new church is slight compared to the personal misery that was Judson’s constant companion. It seems that almost on every other page a close colleague or family member is either desperately sick, or dying.
Judson adored his first wife, the vivacious and attractive and intelligent Ann Hasseltine. He met her when she was twenty. She was so beautiful the man of many words was struck silent. When Judson later proposed, he offered Ann both his hand, and a life overseas in mission. Ann, a keen Christian, accepted both, indeed she was more than ready ‘to carry the Gospel to the distant, benighted heathen.’ Ann and Judson were extremely well suited. They were nearly the same age; both voracious readers; both keen language students, both committed to mission.

Ann’s happy marriage to Judson though was marked by suffering. In her first year abroad Ann’s close friend and missionary colleague Harriet Newell died at sea, a few days after giving birth to her first baby who had also died.

Ann also gave birth to the Judsons’ first child at sea on the way to Rangoon. The baby was stillborn; and there were serious fears for Ann’s life too. She survived; and in September 1815 gave birth to a healthy boy, Roger Williams. He gave Judson and Ann, ‘unspeakable joy’. The joy was short-lived. In May 1816 the baby had coughing fits and a fever. Ann sat up with him t into the early hours of May 4th. Laid to rest in his cot, Roger Williams at last settled down to sleep. He never woke up and was buried that same afternoon. Ann and Judson, overwhelmed with grief, were again childless.

Ann’s own health was vulnerable. She suffered from a liver ailment and in August 1821 the decision was made that she needed to return to America. Judson would not accompany her. Writing about the oncoming separation Judson wrote: ‘I feel as if I was on a scaffold, and signing, as it were, my own death warrant.’ The separation lasted well over two years. And because some post was lost at sea, for over a year Judson received no letter. At times he gave up hope he would ever see the love of his life again, indeed according to Ann on ‘the very day I arrived, he had in despair yielded all hope of my existence.’

A year later (1821) a very cruel separation struck the missionary couple. As the British waged war against Burma, Judson was accused of being a spy and arrested and dragged off to prison. Here he was fettered with about fifty other prisoners in a dark airless hall. The stench was appalling. At night ‘the prisoners’ feet were raised by a pole until only their shoulders and heads rested on the floor’. They were being tortured. And there were barbaric executions. These always happened at three o’clock in the afternoon. A gong would sound and the prisoners knew one of them was to be executed; but nobody knew who. This was psychological torture. For throughout the time of Judson’s imprisonment there were constant rumours that the government were going to execute all the foreigners as Burma was losing the war against the British. The foreigners would be offered up as a sacrifice to please the gods of war. During transfer from the first prison to another, Judson, weak with fever and bloodied feet, ‘ardently longed’ to end his life by throwing himself over a bridge into a river thirty feet below. He restrained himself because of the enormity of the sin of suicide, and because he was tied to another prisoner whose life he would risk.

During this dreadful trial, which eventually ended in December 1825, Ann was again pregnant. Indeed she gave birth to a daughter, Maria, while Judson was still in prison. When he came home to his wife and daughter it was not joy though that met him, but misery.

At first, he did not recognise his new daughter, a scrawny dirty baby cradled in the arms of the Burmese servant.

As for Ann:

‘The face was of a ghastly paleness…and the whole form shrunken almost to the last degree of emaciation’.

Ann was desperately sick with cerebral spinal meningitis. Soon after Judson came home she lost consciousness and fell into a raging fever. The doctor expected her to die, but, somehow, she recovered and both she and Judson were able to enjoy a respite from suffering as guests of the English.

The respite did not last long. In early October 1826 the fever returned. At first the doctors were hopeful of another recovery, but it was not to be. Judson, away from home, received a letter with a black seal on it. Ann had died on October 24th. She was only thirty-six. Judson had lost his soul-mate and the wife of his youth. He was utterly devastated, with ‘bitter, heart-rending anguish, which… would admit of no mitigation’.

One would think that Judson had already tasted enough of the mystery of suffering, that now there would be a pause. There was not. In early April his only daughter, Maria, became ill with a bowel complaint. She was taken to the doctor, but there was nothing medicine could do. Maria died on April 24th 1827 aged just two years and three months.

Two months later in June there was more news for Judson of the reaper’s work: in November the previous year his father had died. At least he had had his three score years and ten. Not so for his brother Elnathan. He was only thirty-eight when he died in the spring of 1829. Judson had been very concerned about the spiritual state of Elnathan, and was deeply relieved when he learned that he had cried ‘Peace, peace’ on his death bed.

It was Ann’s death of course that caused the most anguish. Two years after her death he wrote of his ‘desolation’ and the ‘grief for the dear departed’. The grief also gnawed at his faith. He wrote to Ann’s sisters on the third anniversary of her departure, and coming from the pen of this great pioneer missionary, the words have a shadow hanging over them:

‘Have either of you learned the art of real communion with God…? God is to me the Great Unknown. I believe in him, but I find him not.’

Happiness in Judson’s personal life returned seven years later in 1834 when he married Sarah Boardman, a missionary widow. The two had had some formal contact. Judson had immediately written to Sarah when her husband had died – ‘You are now drinking the bitter cup whose dregs I am somewhat acquainted with’; and she had written to fulsomely congratulate Judson on completing the translation of the Bible into Burmese: ‘I am delighted with the graphic style of the narrative part; and think many of the doctrinal passages are expressed with a force and perspicuity entirely wanting in our (English) version. She ended that letter with, ‘Yours affectionately’, so perhaps Judson sensed he would be welcomed as a suitor.

The marriage was a very happy one, especially as Sarah brought with her a step-son, George. However there was still suffering. As soon as Sarah arrived in Judson’s home town, Maulmain, her health sank with an attack of dysentery which brought her ‘to the brink of the grave’. For weeks she lay in bed, with Judson sometimes carrying her from their bed to a couch so she could enjoy a small change in the scenery. Sarah recovered, but soon there was a new trial. This was the sending of George, aged six, to America for his education. Sarah wrote, ‘I shall never forget his looks as he stood by the door and gazed at me for the last time...his little face red with suppressed emotions…it was not till he had turned away…that he burst into floods of tears.’

In October 1835 a daughter was born to Judson and Sarah, Abigail Ann; in April 1836, a son, Adoniram Brown; in July 1838 another son, Elnathan; and in January another 1839, another son, Henry.  At last there is a sense of normal, happy family life. To his sisters Judson proudly wrote that Abigail was pretty fluent in Burmese; and with obvious delight he wrote this about his first son – ‘When he is brought into the chapel, and sees me in my place, (he) has the impudence to roar out Bah (as the Burmans call father) with such a stentorian voice that his nurse is obliged to carry him out again.’

In 1841 the shadow of sickness and death returned. In March that year Sarah gave birth to a stillborn son; Sarah was struck down with dysentery; and all four of their children suffered from whooping cough. The translator and evangelist became a full-time nurse. Sarah and the elder children got better; but the two younger ones grew weaker. Henry, a sweet toddler, died aged just one year and seven months on July 30th.

After this tragedy, the shadows stayed away for three years, and the Judsons had
two other sons, Charles (born December 1842) and Edward (born December 1844). But then the shadows returned. Early in 1845 Sarah went down – again – with dysentery. The doctors were unanimous that she would have to return to America to survive, and Judson considered it ‘savage inhumanity to send her off on her own’. However, this meant leaving three of their children alone in Burma, a separation that ‘wring out bitterer tears from the heart’s core, than any can possibly conceive.’

On the voyage West Sarah’s health, after an initial recovery, deteriorated. She never made it to America. She died on board their ship off the coast of Virginia, near Jamestown on September 1st, 1845. Again Judson was a widower. Again he had to drink the bitter cup, the dregs even harsher because Sarah had been the mother of his children.

Judson’s first visit to his home-country after thirty years thus began in grief.

‘For a few days, in the solitude of my cabin, with my poor children crying around me, I could not help abandon myself to heart-breaking sorrow.’

Even in America the reaper gave Judson no peace. In August he learned his young son Charles, left in Burma, had died. He was nineteen months old.

Out of this blackness, Judson was surprised by joy. As were many others. Judson married the successful story writer Emily Chubbuck in June 1846. She was twenty-eight; he fifty-seven. Despite this age difference, and Emily’s very different career, the marriage was happy and Emily proved to be a true mother to Judson’s children. She also bore Judson a daughter, Emily Frances.

However, as with Ann and Sarah, Emily soon became acquainted with Judson’s constant companion - suffering. In 1847 there was a severe shortage of food in Rangoon, so much so that Emily wrote that she was ‘within an inch of starvation.’ She was so weak she could hardly walk across a room without falling over. Then during the difficult rainy season sickness swept through the whole city. Emily wrote, ‘We seem to be hemmed in by death.’ Judson fell ill with dysentery; and both of his young sons were also struck down by sickness. Edward’s was particularly alarming. His face was covered with purple spots and he had ‘an abscess in his forehead and the acrid matter has eaten back into the bone.’

Judson’s young wife was ill; his children in Burma were ill – and he was separated entirely from three of his children and a step-son who were in America. There was a brief year after the birth of her daughter that Emily’s health was stable; but again in 1849 her health sank.  There was a fear it was consumption and Judson would be facing the departure of his third wife. However it was not consumption, it was congestion of the liver and with the correct treatment Emily recovered.

Now it was Judson’s turn.  

In September 1849 Judson suffered a violent attack of dysentery accompanied by a burning fever. He would suffer severe pain for several hours every day. Emily wrote that ‘his wan face was of ghastly paleness’ and that ‘his groans would fill the house’. Right to the end Judson’s suffering was extremely intense. He told a friend, ‘No one could conceive the intensity of his sufferings. Death would have been a glad relief.’

The relief finally came on April 12th, 1859. Judson was sixty-one.

Here then is a life of suffering. The two great loves of his life, Ann and Sarah died; seven[12] of his thirteen children died; severe life-threatening sickness was usually near; and as well as the official intimidation of the new church, there was the terrible trial when Judson was imprisoned as a foreign spy.

And just in case we had not noticed this theme in Judson’s life, he had to endure six months of intense suffering before his final departure.

Judson was no Stoic when suffering swept into his life. He wept, he grew despondent, even tempted to commit suicide.  However Judson refused to question God’s ways. As storm after storm crashed into his days, so the anchor of God’s sovereignty secured his soul.

We are given a clear glimpse into Judson’s approach to suffering in a letter to a friend on hearing that many of his possessions had been lost in a fire.

‘Why has this grievous interruption been permitted, and this precious time lost? And why are our houses and property allowed to be burned up? And why are those most dear to us, and most qualified to be useful in the cause, torn from our arms, and dashed into the grave, and all their knowledge and qualification with them? Because infinite wisdom and love will have it so. Because it is best for us, and best for them, and best for the cause, and best for the interests of eternity, that it should be so.’

Judson bowed under the inscrutable will of God and accepted the river of suffering that flowed into his life as being for the best.

Without such a faith it is unlikely he would have left the legacy he did.


It is sad that Judson’s name is not that familiar among Christians in the UK. He was a remarkable man who has left a remarkable legacy.

And yet, looking at the fixed points in Judson’s outlook that shaped his life and left such a legacy, his voice carries unease for modern Christians.

There is unease over hell; unease over a radical single-minded focus; and certainly unease over a willingness to accept suffering as the good will of God.

It would be easy to explain this unease by saying our generation of Christians is indecisive, feeble, and faithless.

We are indecisive over what happens to a man or woman when they die without faith in Christ.

We are feeble when it comes long-term commitment and radical self-discipline.

We are faithless when it comes to suffering. We are quick to question God’s goodness. Indeed vast swathes of the church teach that suffering is from the devil and must be resisted

Unease is usually an invitation to for some thorough examination. So we need to examine ourselves for any needless indecision, indulgent feebleness and resentful faithlessness.

However it would be unwise though to let this unease follow through to become a blanket condemnation. Moreover it is surely wise to not to be too dogmatic on some matters. Hell is real; but we should not presume to know who is there. And it is important to have balance when it comes to our ministry and our spiritual lives, especially for our families. Extremism can cause immense hurt. And while Judson accepted the sovereignty of God, the valley of depression was not unknown to him.

Judson’s life should be known by Christians. His life will no doubt stir some unease in our hearts. Let that be a call to a healthy examination of our hearts from which we emerge stronger and fitter for the work God has called us to do.

Tom Hawksley
December 2019

[1] Just google Judson Bible available and you can download the PDF -
[2] This article is based almost wholly on the excellent biography ‘Adoniram Judson: Devoted For Life’ by Vance Christie, published by Christian Focus, 2013. All quotations are taken from this book.
[3] Judson learned to read when he was three; he entered Brown University aged 17 and was the top of every class.
[4] The belief in a supreme being as the originator of the universe whose qualities can be discerned by reason. Divine revelation in the Bible is rejected.
[5] After Judson became a Christian he made a point of seeking out those land-lords and settling up his debt.
[6] ‘Grey hairs were all weeping’ one eye-witness related.
[7] The Karen have faced severe persecution from the Burmese government in recent years
[8] Judson would write long robust letters to his printer urging more output when his supplies ran low.
[9] The seven comes from Psalm 119: 164. It develops in the monastic tradition as the seven watches: 6.00. 9.00, 12.00, 15.00, 18.00, 21.00, and 24.00.
[10] About $6,000
[11] It is said that C.S Lewis barely glanced at the headlines of the newspapers. He too was a charismatic conversationalist – as well as being one of the greatest Christian writers of the 20th C.
[12] All three of his children with Ann died, the first was still-born, Roger Williams and Maria died when toddlers. Three of his children with Sarah died, one was still born, Henry and Charles died when toddlers. His second child with Emily, Charles, died after one week.

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