For months, missionary Hudson Taylor struggled with doubt, sin, and spiritual weakness. In a moving letter, he describes how the realization of his intimate connection with Christ fundamentally transformed his life of faith—moving him away from his own efforts and toward rest in Jesus. By Hudson Taylor

Reading time: 11 minutes

October 17, 1869. “My dear sister! Thank you so much for your long, loving letter! …

I don’t think you’ve ever written me a letter like this since we’ve been in China. I know you feel the same way I do—you don’t get around to writing, even though you’d like to. Body and spirit can only work up to a certain limit, can only endure a certain degree of strain. I’ve never been given such a heavy workload, nor has it ever been so demanding and difficult. But the burden and strain are gone. The past month has perhaps been the happiest of my life, and I’d love to tell you what the Lord has done for my soul. I’m not sure, however, if I’ll be able to do so fully, because it’s actually nothing new, strange, or miraculous—and yet everything is new. In a word: “I was blind, and now I see.”

Perhaps I need to go back a bit to make myself clearer. My dearest, during the last six or eight months, my soul was very weighed down because I was aware of the need for greater sanctification, life, and strength—both for my own soul and for the entire mission. I felt the ingratitude, the sin, the danger of a life that was not more closely connected to God. I prayed, tormented myself, fasted, and struggled; I made resolutions, read Scripture more diligently, and sought more time for inner reflection—yet all to no avail.

The Painful Struggle for Sanctification

Every day, almost every hour, the awareness of sin weighed heavily on me. I knew that everything would be all right if only I could remain in Christ—but I could not. I began the day with prayer, determined not to lose sight of Jesus for a single moment. But my duties, with their demands and constant interruptions—which are so exhausting—often caused me to forget Him. Moreover, the climate affects my nerves so much that it’s hard to resist the temptation to get irritated from time to time, which easily leads to evil thoughts and unkind words. Every day brought a litany of sins, failures, and weakness. The will was truly there, but I was unable to carry it out.

Then the question arose: Is there no salvation from this? Must it remain this way until the end—a constant struggle, and often defeat instead of victory? How could I proclaim that Jesus gives those who receive him the power to “become children of God”—that is, to become divine—when my own experience did not match that?

Instead of growing in strength, I seemed to grow weaker and weaker and less able to resist sin. So it was no surprise that my faith—and even my hope—were fading. I hated myself, hated my sin, and yet gained no power over it. I felt like a child of God, for despite everything, His Spirit cried out in my heart, “Abba, dear Father!” But I was unable to exercise my privileges as a child. I was utterly powerless.

When One’s Own Efforts Reach Their Limits

I thought that sanctification—practical sanctification—could be achieved through the continual use of the means of grace. I felt that I longed for nothing in the world more than this and that I needed nothing more urgently. But far from even partially attaining it, it eluded me the more I strove for it and fought for it. Finally, I had hardly any hope left of attaining it, and I even began to think that God wanted to withhold sanctification from us here on earth so that it would be all the more beautiful in heaven.

I do not believe that I strove for it in my own strength, for I knew my own powerlessness. I told this to my Lord as well and asked Him for help and strength. Sometimes I almost believed that He wanted to preserve and sustain me. But when I looked back in the evening—oh, then I had nothing but sin and failure to confess and lament before God! I do not wish to give the impression that this was the daily experience of those long, difficult months. Yet my soul found itself in this state all too often and to an increasing degree, so that I fell completely into despair. And yet Christ never seemed more precious to me—a Savior who could and would save a sinner like me…

Sometimes there were also moments of peace, even of joy in the Lord. But they passed so quickly, and what remained was a sorrowful sense of powerlessness. Oh, how good the Lord was to bring this conflict to an end! Throughout it all, I was aware that in Christ I had everything I lacked. But how could I receive it from Him—that was the practical question. He was rich—truly rich—but I was poor. He was strong, but I was weak. I knew full well that there was an abundance of life-giving sap in the root and the trunk, but how I could get it into my little branch—that was the question. As the light slowly dawned on me, I realized that faith is the only thing required to grasp His fullness and make it my own. But I didn’t have that faith! I struggled for it, but couldn’t gain it. I tried to practice it, but to no avail. The more I recognized the riches of grace hidden in Jesus—the fullness of our glorious Redeemer—the more my helplessness and guilt seemed to increase.

The sins I committed were small and insignificant compared to the sin of unbelief—the root evil of not taking God at His word and instead branding Him a liar. I felt that unbelief is the most damning sin in the world—and yet, I committed it. I prayed for faith, but it did not come. What was I to do?

The crucial question: How do I receive God’s power?

When my inner struggle had reached its peak, God used a sentence from a letter by my dear friend McCarthy to remove the scales from my eyes. The Spirit of God now revealed to me the truth of our oneness with Jesus, as I had never before recognized it. McCarthy, who had himself suffered from the same failure but had received clarity before I did, wrote (I quote from memory):

The liberating discovery: Resting in Jesus

“How can my faith be strengthened? Not by struggling for faith, but by resting in Jesus.”

When I read that, everything became clear to me. “Even if we do not believe, he remains faithful!” I looked to Jesus and saw (and as I saw, oh what joy!) that he had said, “I will never leave you!” Yes, there is rest, I thought. I’ve been struggling in vain to rest in him. I don’t want to struggle anymore. Didn’t he promise to stay with me and never leave me—never let me down? And my dear, he never will! But that wasn’t all.

The Mystery of Union with Christ

When I also thought of the vine and the branches, what a light the Holy Spirit poured into my soul! How great my mistake had been, thinking I could draw the sap, the fullness, out of him! I realized not only that Jesus never wants to leave me, but that I am a member of his body, “flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone.” The vine, I now see clearly, consists not only of the root, but as a whole of root, trunk, branches, twigs, leaves, blossoms, and fruit. And Jesus is not only that, but He is also the soil, the sunshine, the air, and the rain—and infinitely more than we could ever have dreamed of, desired, or needed. Oh, what a joy it is to recognize this truth!

I pray only that “the eyes of your understanding may be enlightened,” so that you may recognize and experience the riches freely given to us in Jesus. My dear sister, it is wonderful to be allowed to be truly one with the risen and exalted Savior, to be a member of Christ! Consider what this means! Can Christ be rich and I poor? Can your right hand be rich and your left hand poor? Or can your head be well-nourished while your body starves? Consider, furthermore, what this means for prayer!

Could a bank clerk say to his customer, “It was only your hand that wrote the check, not you”? Or, “I cannot pay this sum to your hand, but only to you yourself”? Likewise, neither your prayers nor mine can be rejected if they have been prayed in Jesus’ name (that is, not in our own name or merely for Jesus’ sake, but because we are His possession, His members), as long as we have remained within the limits of His credit—a broad limit!

Peace Instead of Worry

If we ask for something that is not in accordance with Scripture, that does not correspond to God’s will, then even Christ could not act upon it. But “if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us, and … we know that we have the requests we have asked of him.” The most beautiful thing about this is the peace that comes from being absolutely one with Christ. I no longer worry about anything since this has become clear to me. For I know that He is able to carry out His will, and His will is mine.

It does not matter where or under what circumstances He sends me. I leave that to His plan; after all, He must bestow His grace upon me even in the easiest of situations, and in the most difficult, I am content with His grace.

It makes no difference to my servant whether he is to buy the cheapest or the most expensive item. In both cases, he uses my money and brings me what he has purchased. Must God not give me very clear instructions when He places me in great difficulty, along with abundant grace in difficult situations and great strength under oppressive circumstances and temptations? Do not be afraid! His resources are sufficient for every need, and they belong to me, for He belongs to me, is with me, and dwells in me. All of this comes from the believer’s oneness with Christ.

Christ Lives in Me

How happy I have become since Jesus has been dwelling in my heart through faith! If only I could tell you about it, instead of just writing about it… I am no better than before (in a certain sense, I would even say I don’t even wish to be and don’t strive for it). But I have died and been buried with Christ—yes, and I have also been raised and ascended to heaven! Now Christ lives in me, and “whatever I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”

I now believe that I have died to sin. God sees me this way and commands me to see myself this way. He knows best. All my past experiences may have shown that this was not the case. But I no longer dare to say that it is not so, because He Himself says it. I feel and know: The old has passed away. I am still capable of sinning, but Christ is present in a way I have never been aware of before. He cannot sin; He can keep me from sin.

I cannot say (unfortunately, I must say this) that I have not sinned since this enlightenment; yet I feel that I did not have to. Furthermore: I walk more in the light, and therefore my conscience is more sensitive. I recognize sin more quickly, confess it, and receive forgiveness, peace, and joy (in all humility). Only once did I experience it differently. On that occasion, I remained unhappy for several hours, but through that I clearly realized that I had not fully confessed my sin, but had partly justified myself.

Faith, I now see, is the reality of what one hopes for (Heb 11:1, according to the English translation), not merely a shadow. It is no less than seeing, but more. Seeing captures only the outward form of things. Faith grasps their reality. One can rely on reality; one can draw sustenance from it.

Faith as a Lived Reality

If Christ dwells in our hearts through faith (that is, by believing in His promise), this is truly power and life. Christ and sin cannot coexist. Nor can we possess His presence while at the same time being attached to the world and preoccupied with worldly cares.

Christ—the Source of Spiritual Strength

Now I must conclude. I have not even said half of what I would like to say. If I had the time, I would go into even greater detail. May God grant you the ability to grasp this truth! Let us no longer say, “Who will ascend to heaven (to bring Christ down)?” We need not seek Him far away, for God has made us one with Him as members of His body. Incidentally, let us not believe that this understanding is intended only for a select few. On the contrary, it is the birthright of every child of God, and none may live without it if God is to be properly honored. The only power that frees us from sin and prepares us for service is Christ.”

From: H. and G. Taylor, Hudson Taylor: A Man Who Trusted God, 9th ed., Giessen; Basel: Brunnen-Verl., 1996. Reprinted in our magazine *Unser festes Fundament*, No. 6–2004, with kind permission.