Where His Heart Now Shudders: The Liberating Pen of John Newton – Part One
By the end of the 18th century, hundreds of thousands of Africans had been forcibly sold into slavery to North America and European nations. During this same period, God was raising up a remnant in England that would be mightily used to liberate their fellowman. Of this band, several fought the battle with their pens, recording history, crafting poetry, scripting stories and penning calls of repentance to an empire grown calloused to the suffering of others. One of them was an elderly minister, once a slave captain, named John Newton. This is his story.
Silence fell as the old man finished his last sentence on the parchment. Normally, cheer and humor beamed from him like a circle of light around a candle. But tonight, even the ticking of the old parish clock seemed to hush as John Newton dried his quill and read silently over his confession. Too late has it been in coming, the aged captain-turned-minister thought. His heart grew heavy as he read over the deeds, his deeds. How long had it been? Twenty, thirty years? He himself had barely been twenty years old when he was stolen away to serve in the Royal Navy. In the 1700s, serving in the army of the sea was little better than being a slave. It was as a sailor that John endured the humiliation of his first whipping. It was there he bore the weight of forced servitude. It was there he experienced the simmer of hate, helplessness and silent rage, until it melted into a toxic sludge, poisoning his soul.
Years passed and with it the poison went systemic, infecting every fiber of John’s conscience and moral system. Opportunity provided an occasion for him to become the captain of a slave ship. By this time, a work had begun in John’s heart that was detoxing him from the inside out. While this resulted in him implementing measures that his human cargo be treated humanely, it would take decades of removal from the pit before he would see how dark it truly was.
Slowly lifting and shuffling the frail papers, John began the second misery of his work: read over it again. Even after nearly two score years since his forced removal from the trade, it had taken all his willpower, all powers, to not let emotion cloud the fruit of his pen. This will be brought before Parliament, I cannot have one fact slip, one memory beguile my judgment into testifying to anything less than truth. His dimming eyes flowed over his opening.
“If I attempt, after what had been done, to throw my mite into the public stock of information, it is less from an apprehension that my interference is necessary, than from a conviction, that silence, at such a time, and such an occasion, would, in me, be criminal. If my testimony should not be necessary, or serviceable, yet, perhaps, I am bound, in conscience, to take shame to myself by a public confession, which, however sincere, comes too late to prevent, or repair, the misery and mischief to which I have, formerly, been accessary.”
Kenzi Knapp is a follower of Christ, homeschool graduate and student of history. A fourth generation Missourian she enjoys writing about daily life enrolled in Gods great course of faith and His story throughout the ages at her blog, Honey Rock Hills.
