Pioneer Missionary Quotes

The pioneers and missionaries of religion have been the real cause of more trouble and war than all other classes of mankind.

The great Pioneer Missionaries all had 'inverted homesickness' this passion to call that country their home which was most in need of the Gospel. In this passion all other passions died; before this vision all other visions faded; this call drowned all other voices. They were the pioneers of the Kingdom, the forelopers of God, eager to cross the border-marches and discover new lands or win new-empires.

Better, my brethren, [to] wear out and die within three years than live forty in slothfulness.

Neither the tears of his mother and sister nor the hopes and dreams of his father could deter him from his call to go to the nations for Jesus’ sake.

Judson once remarked, “It is possible my life will be spared; if so, with what [zeal] shall I pursue my work! If not—His will be done. The door will be open for others who will do the work better.”10

I hate the churches of the world, however, that have become havens for heretics. I resent a TV church that, in many cases, has become a den of thieves. I would love to see the divine Lord take a whip and have at it in the religion of our time. I sometimes pray imprecatory psalms directly on the heads of certain people. But mostly, I pray for the kingdom to come. Mostly I pray for the gospel to penetrate the hearts of the lost. I understand why John Knox said, “Give me Scotland or I die. What else do I live for?” I understand why pioneer missionary Henry Martyn ran out of a Hindu temple exclaiming, “I cannot endure existence if Jesus is to be so dishonored!

Such a man as Carey is more to me than bishop or archbishop: he is an apostle.

How solemn and beautiful is the thought, that the earliest pioneer of civilization, the van-leader of civilization, is never the steamboat, never the railroad, never the newspaper, never the Sabbath-school, never the missionary—but always whiskey! Such is the case. Look history over; you will see. The missionary comes after the whiskey—I mean he arrives after the whiskey has arrived; next comes the poor immigrant, with ax and hoe and rifle; next, the trader; next, the miscellaneous rush; next, the gambler, the desperado, the highwayman, and all their kindred in sin of both sexes; and next, the smart chap who has bought up an old grant that covers all the land; this brings the lawyer tribe; the vigilance committee brings the undertaker. All these interests bring the newspaper; the newspaper starts up politics and a railroad; all hands turn to and build a church and a jail—and

The mighty significance of the Judson Spirit is not the fact that when a missionary is left alone with his Bible he becomes a Baptist, but the significant thing is that when a Baptist is left alone with his Bible he becomes a missionary.

The poor Burmans are entirely destitute of those consolations and joys which constitute our happiness; and why should we be unwilling to part with a few fleeting, inconsiderable comforts, for the sake of making them sharers with us in joys exalted as heaven, durable as eternity! We cannot expect to do much, in such a rough, uncultivated field; yet, if we may be instrumental in removing some of the rubbish, and preparing the way for others, it will be a sufficient reward. I have been accustomed to view this field of labor, with dread and terror; but I now feel perfectly willing to make it my home the rest of my life.

One statement recorded from that convention summarizes well the life of Adoniram Judson, guided by the Spirit and the Word: The mighty significance of the Judson spirit is not the fact that when a missionary is left alone with his Bible he becomes a Baptist, but the significant thing is that when a Baptist is left alone with his Bible he becomes a missionary.

On one hand the Christian missionaries sought to convert the heathen, by fire and sword if need be, to the gospel of peace, brotherhood, and heavenly beatitude; on the other, the more venturesome spirits wished to throw off the constraining traditions and customs, and begin life afresh, levelling distinctions of class, eliminating superfluities and luxuries, privileges and distinctions, and hierarchical rank. In short, to go back to the Stone Ages, before the institutions of Bronze Age civilization had crystallized. Though the Western hemisphere was indeed inhabited, and many parts of it were artfully cultivated, so much of it was so sparsely occupied that the European thought of it as a virgin continent against whose wildness he pitted his manly strength. In one mood the European invaders preached the Christian gospel to the native idolaters, subverted them with strong liquors, forced them to cover their nakedness with clothes, and worked them to an early death in mines; in another, the pioneer himself took on the ways of the North American Indian, adopted his leather costume, and reverted to the ancient paleolithic economy: hunting, fishing, gathering shellfish and berries, revelling in the wilderness and its solitude, defying orthodox law and order, and yet, under pressure, improvising brutal substitutes. The beauty of that free life still haunted Audubon in his old age.

One of the most pathetic pages in the history of Christian missions is that which describes the scene when Judson was finally released and returned to the mission house seeking Ann, who again had failed to visit him for some weeks. As he ambled down the street as fast as his maimed ankles would permit, the tormenting question kept repeating itself, “Is Ann still alive?” Upon reaching the house, the first object to attract his attention was a fat, half-naked Burman woman squatting in the ashes beside a pan of coals and holding on her knees an emaciated baby, so begrimed with dirt that it did not occur to him that it could be his own. Across the foot of the bed, as though she had fallen there, lay a human object that, at the first glance, was no more recognizable than his child. The face was of a ghastly paleness and the body shrunken to the last degree of emaciation. The glossy black curls had all been shorn from the finely-shaped head. There lay the faithful and devoted wife who had followed him so unwearily from prison to prison, ever alleviating his distresses and consoling him in his trials. Presently Ann felt warm tears falling upon her face and, rousing from her daze, saw Adoniram at her side.12

55 The expansion of cultures can also be tracked by following the waft of alcohol. Commenting on the settling of the American frontier, Mark Twain famously characterized whiskey as the “earliest pioneer of civilization,” ahead of the railway, newspaper, and missionary.56 By far the most technologically advanced and valuable artifacts found in early European settlements in the New World were copper stills, imported at great cost and worth more than their weight in gold.57 As the writer Michael Pollan has argued, Johnny Appleseed, whom American mythology now portrays as intent on spreading the gift of wholesome, vitamin-filled apples to hungry settlers, was in fact “the American Dionysus,” bringing badly needed alcohol to the frontier. Johnny’s apples, so desperately sought out by American homesteaders, were not meant to be eaten at the table, but rather used to make cider and “applejack” liquor.58

robbery by European nations of each other's territories has never been a sin, is not a sin to-day. To the several cabinets the several political establishments of the world are clotheslines; and a large part of the official duty of these cabinets is to keep an eye on each other's wash and grab what they can of it as opportunity offers. All the territorial possessions of all the political establishments in the earth—including America, of course—consist of pilferings from other people's wash. No tribe, howsoever insignificant, and no nation, howsoever mighty, occupies a foot of land that was not stolen. When the English, the French, and the Spaniards reached America, the Indian tribes had been raiding each other's territorial clothes-lines for ages, and every acre of ground in the continent had been stolen and re-stolen 500 times. The English, the French, and the Spaniards went to work and stole it all over again; and when that was satisfactorily accomplished they went diligently to work and stole it from each other. In Europe and Asia and Africa every acre of ground has been stolen several millions of times. A crime persevered in a thousand centuries ceases to be a crime, and becomes a virtue. This is the law of custom, and custom supersedes all other forms of law. Christian governments are as frank to-day, as open and above-board, in discussing projects for raiding each other's clothes-lines as ever they were before the Golden Rule came smiling into this inhospitable world and couldn't get a night's lodging anywhere. In 150 years England has beneficently retired garment after garment from the Indian lines, until there is hardly a rag of the original wash left dangling anywhere. In 800 years an obscure tribe of Muscovite savages has risen to the dazzling position of Land-Robber-in-Chief; she found a quarter of the world hanging out to dry on a hundred parallels of latitude, and she scooped in the whole wash. She keeps a sharp eye on a multitude of little lines that stretch along the northern boundaries of India, and every now and then she snatches a hip-rag or a pair of pyjamas. It is England's prospective property, and Russia knows it; but Russia cares nothing for that. In fact, in our day land-robbery, claim-jumping, is become a European governmental frenzy. Some have been hard at it in the borders of China, in Burma, in Siam, and the islands of the sea; and all have been at it in Africa. Africa has been as coolly divided up and portioned out among the gang as if they had bought it and paid for it. And now straightway they are beginning the old game again—to steal each other's grabbings. Germany found a vast slice of Central Africa with the English flag and the English missionary and the English trader scattered all over it, but with certain formalities neglected—no signs up, "Keep off the grass," "Trespassers-forbidden," etc.—and she stepped in with a cold calm smile and put up the signs herself, and swept those English pioneers promptly out of the country. There is a tremendous point there. It can be put into the form of a maxim: Get your formalities right—never mind about the moralities. It was an impudent thing; but England had to put up with it. Now, in the case of Madagascar, the formalities had originally been observed, but by neglect they had fallen into desuetude ages ago. England should have snatched Madagascar from the French clothes-line. Without an effort she could have saved those harmless natives from the calamity of French civilization, and she did not do it. Now it is too late. The signs of the times show plainly enough what is going to happen. All the savage lands in the world are going to be brought under subjection to the Christian governments of Europe. I am

Carey wisely understood that missions appropriately begins with our expectation of God to act prior to our plans or actions.

North American church continues to blur the meaning of the word “missions” such that it encompasses anything the church does outside the four walls of its building. The problem with calling everything the church does by the term “missions” is that it dilutes the urgency of prioritizing the church’s task toward those who currently have no access to the gospel.

Yet even these missionaries of mechanical progress cannot entirely ignore the older passion for nature that still survives as an essential part of our New World heritage; for they have invented a prefabricated substitute for the wilderness, or at least an ingenious equivalent for the hunter's campfire. That ancient paleolithic hearth has become a backyard picnic grill, where, surrounded by plastic vegetation, factory-processed frankfurters are broiled on an open fire made with pressed charcoal eggs, brought to a combustion point by an electric torch connected by wire to a distant socket, while the assembled company views, either on television or on a domestic motion-picture screen, a travelogue through an African game preserve, or scenes with the grizzly bears in Yellowstone. Ah! Wilderness. For many of my own countrymen this is, I fear, the terminus of the pioneers' New World dream.

Carey called for a new extra-biblical ecclesiastical structure—a society—to establish policies, commission missionaries, and provide their financial support.250 While councils, committees, societies, and mission boards are too numerous today to count, most Christians who read Carey’s pamphlet or heard him speak had never conceived of an organization with global missional responsibility.

The means Carey initiated for global outreach, the mission society, is a core strategy for Baptists around the world. Much good has come from using this method, but perhaps at the expense of keeping all believers in local churches lashed to the burden of global mission responsibility. The proliferation of mission societies on every continent, in almost every country and for every conceivable purpose, has diversified missionary outreach. It has also, perhaps to the detriment of Baptist churches, diluted efforts by expending so much money on administration, promotion, fundraising, and management of thousands of well-meaning organizations, rather than investing more resources directly in the field.

She regretted her decision almost from the time the ship departed. Dorothy did not adjust to missionary life; the climate challenges, cultural adaptations, grinding poverty, strange sicknesses, and the death of a child took their toll. After about three years, she lapsed into a deep depression. She lived her final thirteen years in a padded room behind a locked door.

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 [Judson’s first destination]; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death.153

Today we face many challenges similar to those faced by the Judsons, such as whether or not we will sacrifice our personal plans for the sake of a larger vision of reaching the world for Christ. A central characteristic of both ages is courage. Deciding to live among peoples previously unreached with the gospel requires courage and faith, no matter where that might be. In fact, it is a rare individual who is willing to give up life, home, and liberty for the sake of others. Surprisingly, Christian family and friends in our globalized world still greet such aspirations with incredulity, despair, and even ridicule.

So many things had to happen for these men to arrive at their deaths. Start with the invention of the internal combustion engine. Follow with the development of Europe and the Americas and the rest of the world creating a ravenous appetite for oil, which created oil rigs and refineries and massive wealth for desert princes. Then global supply chains, trade agreements, secure shipping routes, and the law of the sea. Negotiated arms sales, too. Add in the vast edifice of Western science. Computing and radio technology. The space race and the microchip. Silicon Valley and the military-industrial complex. And other, subtler developments. American-pioneered methods of high-value targeting. The post-9/11 explosion of private military contractors. It took all of the massively complex, interconnected modern world to bring these men their deaths. It was a shame they were incapable of appreciating it.

Nearly two centuries ago, Charles Simeon had hanging in his study at King’s College, Cambridge, a portrait of Henry Martyn, his protégé, a pioneer missionary who gave his life in service to the Muslim world. Simeon would sometimes tell visitors that the businesslike expression on Martyn’s face in the portrait came as a message to him every time he looked at it, reminding him of the importance of not frittering life away in trifling pursuits. Then he would wag his finger at the portrait and say, in front of his visitors, playfully yet seriously, as it were to Martyn, to himself, and to his Lord, “And I won’t trifle—I won’t trifle.

When the need for Christian character is most acute, we realize that this is just what Evangelicalism has failed to develop. We have been closeted in ghettos, instead of pioneering ways of sacrificial living in the outside world (except perhaps through missionary activity to Africa or wherever!). Within an increasingly soft culture, church leaders have accommodated rather than challenged our desire for comfort. We have become as spineless as the rest.

I know I am God’s. I know I only want His Glory and the salvation of others and I know he knows it. I never was better or stronger for years, but best of all; I know God is with us. He talks to me and His blessed word more than ever before and makes me burn to dare and do for him.

One finds after a short absence that things in the old environment are, somehow, not the same; that there has ceased to be a niche which one can fill; that one has a fresh point of view; and as time goes on and the roots of life go deeper into the soil of the new country, the realisation comes that it is in the homeland where one is homeless, and in the land of exile where one is at home.

Movement pioneers form missionary bands that become catalysts for evangelism in unreached fields, leading to initial discipleship, church formation, and church strengthening. These bands work in partnership with new and existing local churches. Neither the churches nor the bands control the other.19

Jonathan Edwards saw God’s work of redemption as his greatest and most glorious work, for which all other works exist. “Church participation in the work of redemption is the most glorious of all the works of the Church. For in that participation, the work of redemption is completed, and that work perfected which brings the most glory to God” (Chaney 1976, 225). “For the glory of God and His kingdom!” was the slogan of the late eighteenth-century Dutch pioneer missionary Johannes Theodorus Van der Kemp (Enklaar 1978, 284).

The emphasis on the translation of Scripture as an essential part of missions represents the predominate methodology employed during the early years of the modern missions movement.