I was born in 1725, and I died in 1807. The only godly influence in my life, as far back as I can remember, was my mother, whom I had for only seven years. When she left my life through death, I was virtually an orphan.
My father remarried and sent me to a strict military school, where the severity of discipline almost broke my back.I couldn't stand it any longer, so I left in rebellion at the age of ten. One year later, deciding that I would never enter formal education again, I became a seaman- apprentice, hoping somehow to step into my father's trade and at least learn the ability to skillfully navigate a ship.
By and by, through a process of time, I slowly gave myself over to the devil. I determined I would sin to my fill without restraint, now that the righteous lamp of my life had gone out. I did that until my days in the military service, where once again discipline worked hard against me-- butI further rebelled.
My spirit would not break, and I became increasingly more and more a rebel.
Because of a number of things that I disagreed with in the military, I finally deserted, only to be captured as a common criminal and beaten publicly several times.
After enduring these punishments, I again fled. I entertained thoughts of suicide on my way to Africa, deciding that would be the place I could get farthest from anyone that knew me--and once again I made a pact with the devil to live for him.
Somehow, through a process of events, I met a Portuguese slave trader, and I lived in his home. His wife, who brimmed with hostility, took her anger out on me. I was at that time still in my teens. She often beat me, and forced me to eat like a dog on the floor of their home. If I refused to do that, she would whip me with a lash. I fled penniless to the shoreline of Africa, with only the clothes on my back. There I built a fire, hoping to attract a ship that was passing by.
The skipper thought I had gold or slaves or ivory to sell and was surprised to learn I was a skilled navigator. I lived in Africa for a very long time, working on that slave ship.
I went through all sorts of narrow escapes with death only a hairbreadth away. One time I opened some crates of rum and encouraged every man on the crew to get drunk. The skipper, incensed by my actions, beat me and threw me into the galley, where I lived on stale bread and sour vegetables for an unendurable length of time.
When I was brought up to be beaten again,I fell overboard. Because I couldn't swim, the skipper harpooned me to get me back on the ship. I lived with a scar in my side, big enough for my fist to fit, until the day I died.
On board, I was inflamed with fever and enraged with humiliation. A storm broke out, and I wound up again in the hold of the ship, down among the pumps. To keep the ship afloat, I worked alone as a servant of the slaves.
In the hold of that slave ship, bruised, confused, bleeding, and diseased, I was the epitome of the degenerate man. It was there I finally remembered and appreciated the words of my mother. The only glimmer of light I could see came through a crack in the ship's deck above me, so I looked through it and cried out to God. I asked Him Him to save me. God heard and delivered me through His mercy and grace.
Thirty-one years passed. I married a childhood sweetheart and entered the ministry. In every place I served, rooms had to be added to the building to handle the crowds that came to hear the Gospel and the story of God's grace in my life.
The tombstone above my head reads: "Born 1725, died 1807. A clerk, once an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves in Africa, was by the rich mercy of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned, and appointed to preach the faith he once long labored to destroy."
I decided before my death to put my life's story in verse.
And that verse has become a hymn.
My name? JOHN NEWTON
The hymn? "AMAZING GRACE"
