Becoming One of Them

“To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.” — 1 Corinthians 9:22 (ESV)

When Taylor first reached China he did what nearly every foreigner did: he stayed a foreigner. He wore his English clothes, kept his English haircut, and looked exactly like what he was — an outsider from the other side of the world. And the effect was constant. In some places he and his companions were followed through the streets by shouts of “foreign devil,” “foreign dog,” “foreign pig.” Everywhere he went, the clothes announced him before he could open his mouth, and people reacted to the strange Englishman instead of listening to what he had come to say.

On the advice of an experienced older missionary, Taylor made a decision most of his countrymen thought was undignified, even embarrassing: he adopted Chinese dress. He put on the long gown, and he wore his hair in the style of the people around him. To a proud young Englishman of the 1850s, this felt like a genuine loss of status — deliberately making himself look like the people others sneered at.

But the results were impossible to argue with, and the clearest proof came through his friend William Burns, an older and more experienced preacher whom Taylor deeply admired. The two of them travelled and preached together, Burns still in his English clothes, Taylor now in Chinese dress. And Burns could not help noticing the difference. Taylor, in local dress, drew quiet, attentive listeners; he was invited into people’s homes. Burns, in his foreign suit, drew crowds of rude boys and gawkers, and was politely never invited anywhere, because hosting a foreigner meant hosting the mob that trailed him. After some weeks of watching this, Burns — the senior man — humbled himself and adopted Chinese dress too, and found the same doors opening.

Think about what Taylor actually gave up here. Not comfort, mainly — pride. He surrendered the right to be recognised, respected, and treated as the important visitor he technically was. He made himself look ordinary, even lowly, to people who already looked down on his kind, so that nothing about his appearance would get in the way of the one thing he came to give them. He decided the message mattered more than his image.

That instinct runs dead against everything you are trained to want. Almost every message aimed at you says the opposite: stand out, build your brand, curate your look, protect your image, make sure people see how interesting and different you are. Taylor did the reverse on purpose. He worked out that his own distinctiveness — the very thing that made him noticeable — was the thing standing between people and Jesus, so he laid it down.

Paul said the same about himself: he became whatever he needed to become to win people, sacrificing his own preferences and status “that by all means I might save some.” This is not about being fake or having no convictions — Taylor’s convictions never bent an inch. It is about being willing to be less impressive, less noticed, less catered-to, for the sake of someone else actually hearing you.

You will feel this most sharply with people who are different from you — a new kid nobody talks to, someone from another background, someone the group has quietly decided is beneath them. Loving them almost always costs you a little standing. You have to step down from wherever you rank to meet them where they are, and people will notice you did it, and some will think less of you for it. Taylor thought that was a bargain.

One thing to do: find the person or group you have been keeping at arm’s length partly to protect your own image, and close the distance in a way that costs you something visible — sit with them, stand with them, be seen with them. Taylor changed his entire appearance so that nothing about him would keep people from Jesus. Start with something a good deal smaller than that.