The
Life of General William Booth
Vol.
2 ~ Chapter 15 ~ 1893
Contents
GOING BACK TO FIRST CAUSES
DURING the three years in which he was absorbed by the Darkest England
Scheme there were moments when he found himself haunted by the call of
the world evangelist; and after these three years of absorbing labour,
of almost unbroken obsession, he left the business of social reform very
largely in the hands of others and returned to his work as preacher of
salvation.
Social reform seemed to him an important business; he acknowledged it,
indeed, as a wing of Salvation Army activity; to the end of his life he
was proud of the Darkest England Scheme and interested in its welfare;
but from 1893—1894 onwards he himself turned more and more to the
centre of his Army, and with as much ardour as in his earliest years,
but with more breadth and profounder sympathy, preached the great gospel
of the changed heart.
Extracts from his letters and diaries are now full of this central cause.
We read but seldom of match manu-factories, patent coffee, tea plantations,
and colonies in Rhodesia. Instead we come across constant cries for more
faith, more power to convert the world, more strength to drive his blundering
forces straight at the main position of iniquity — indifference
to God.
The following extracts from his correspondence for 1893 will give the
reader a faithful and authentic impression of his turbulent, troubled,
and yet deeply affectionate character:
. . . he never had much tenderness or tact in getting at the hearts. Heart
Work is what we seem to want everywhere. HEART WORK!
. . . I love you and miss you very much. . . . It is foolish not to find
a little more time for the practice and culture of affection — human
affection — sanctified human affection. It must be of God. Anyway,
I finished up as I began without any intention of doing so with the observation
that what the S.A. needs is HEART WORK HEART WORK!
I expect a good night. But — 7 o’clock is too early for the
town.— We don’t get the working men! And we must!
But I have not learnt how to preach yet. I am much down on my work to-day.
It is not straight or simple enough, and I lack the tenderness that breaks
the heart.
But the stinking, unventilated hall I have been in is certainly enough
to poison the devil!
If the parsons came and helped us it would be something. It is a great
query whether it would not be better to try and secure the co-operation
of the churches if they are to reap so largely of the results. But I suppose
they would only cripple us.
We had a swell veterinary surgeon out in the morning — with great
practice. Already wants to throw up and come in as an Officer. Also a
parson who testified this afternoon to getting a clean heart.
I cannot see through that Anti-Liquor League Meeting at Exeter Hall. I
have no heart for it. I am much exercised about mixing up in any way with
those who are not for my Lord.
You cannot imagine the early Xtians going to Caesar to ask for help in
rectifying the sins and miseries of the world. They said Jesus Christ
was the Saviour. “None other Name.”
I am going back to the faith of my early days. Not a philanthropist or
a parson shook hands with me at Liverpool. Not one! ! !
I do want to learn how to save souls. I feel there is yet much to learn
— some secret. I know I am wanting in faith. I expect that is my
weak spot.
The Holy Ghost convicting people of sin, making them saints and soldiers
— sacrificing, weeping, toiling to save men from sin and hell —
there is our power in a nutshell.
I am awfully alone! and I must own with some little shame that little
things try me not a little. Still I am struggling to keep believing.”
Speaking
about the Darkest England Scheme and his inability to answer critics about
the results because of his ignorance of statistics, he writes to Bramwell:
You
see — I don’t know enough! No one will be at the trouble to
teach me! Or else I won’t find time to be taught.
I want some one with me who won’t fuss me but fix me!
This “gadding about” is not such a “pleasant Sunday
afternoon” as you imagine.
We must shake the world in some way. Oh that I knew how!
I have read Mrs. Butler’s letter. My dear boy, I cannot go in for
any more “campaigns” against evils. My hands and heart are
full enough. And, moreover, these . . . reformers of Society have no sympathy
with the S.A. nor with Salvation from worldliness and sin. Our campaign
is against Sin! And our great difficulties lie in the direction of a lot
of professed followers of Jesus Christ who are full of humanitarian pleasant
Sunday afternoon Moodyism or the like. The Christ people who are not for
a religion of deliverance from sinning are God’s great enemies.
All except two or three silly students very attentive. I snubbed these
fellows, and they were quiet until the middle of the Prayer-Meeting, when
one of them fired off a cracker, which made a terrible row in the gallery.
Our “Salvation Roughs “— as they call them — collared
him and frightened him out of his wits. It didn’t affect the Prayer-Meeting.
. .
The follies big and little of the S.A. make a perpetual marvel to me as
to its survival!
I get so sad when I go away sometimes. I cannot get my bit of food. I
shall have to give up the diet. And I hate Hotels of any sort!
Speak plainly to them. Tell them they must take their commands or say
so! I will tell — as plainly to mind her own business when I see
her.
. . . I am not strong enough and am too nervous now for the heavy cattle
I have to deal with.
I quite agree with you about bringing expenditure and income to the same
level. Thought we had done this; if not, the sooner it is done the better.
You know my views about begging from the rich.
Why don’t you look into things? A general oversight is what is wanted
and leave a lot of details to other people. Excuse me. but that is the
one great error of your management and mine, spending our energies on
details and leaving greater things to take care of themselves.
I see from a Westminster just arrived that you have had rain. I like to
know something about secular affairs —— that is very different
to devouring 2 daily secular papers and 3 or 4 religious weeklies.
The Victoria, another Ironclad gone. They will continue building these
“death-traps” whatever occurs. Poor fellows. I saw Tryon once.
He was a fine intelligent-looking fellow.
Of Mrs. Bramwell Booth, whose work for the rescue of fallen women had developed in a most wonderful fashion since 1885, he writes to Bramwell, asking:
Why does she not write a book on How our girls are damned? . . . or, if she does not like swearing in her title, put it blasted, blighted, ruined, only it should be a good expletive!
Speaking of the bad arrangements for one campaign, posters wrong, meetings on market-days, etc.:
No
room for my comet in this concern simply because there is nobody to describe
my orbit.
Your letter to ----- is excellent and must do good. . . . I have spent
the day so far over mine to — and a few other unimportant epistles.
Oh the time spent over these wretched misunderstandings. The Devil knows.
He understands how to waste time and stop progress.
You can please feel perfectly safe in any intimations of affection you
make to me. My objection is not to expressions of love and sympathy when
they are real — perhaps few prize such terms more highly or regard
them as more sacred — but I certainly do object to extravagant phrases
which are not borne out by the evidences of every-day life. I know you
care for me, and the knowledge of it is one of the chief human sustaining
influences of my life. My love for you is more than. I can tell.
. . . I did not write to Mr. — when it came to it. I hardly knew
how to do it. I cannot play the toad or appear to have feelings which
I do not entertain, and I hardly know what to say. I won’t ask him
for money, and I hardly know how otherwise to approach him. He has not
answered my last and has evidently made up his mind to cut us —
and he will do so until God brings him round again, or takes him home.
I am either so occupied or so weary, or sleeping or trying to sleep most
of the time! Not that I am quite content that it should be so. I could
welcome a little leisure--ever so little, but it seems to be denied to
me. But I don’t repine or complain. I go forward. I certainly would
like a Comrade to travel with me . . .who understood me and my little
fads—without my having to plead for every one — over and over
again. John Wesley allowed himself this from the beginning, and I do think
it might be allowed me.
I wonder how you are? How little time we have for the amenities of life.
I suppose we shall have time up yonder.
Send me Tolstoi’s article in New Review, with no expectation that
I shall answer. Once and for all let ----- and all else know that I don’t
write about Jesus Christ and Salvation or anything else simply to sell
people’s Reviews or newspapers or anything else. I don’t hold
my pen and my opinions so cheap myself, if other people do.
I don’t understand how it is I go so poorly at times, and no one
seems to take any notice of me. They think it is Wolf! Wolf!! But it is
not. I wish I had a doctor whom I could talk to who would have patience
with me. But what good are they? I am quite willing to endure all, only
these low weak helpless fits hinder me so much.
The
aside which he had uttered in 1891, “We must have some more spiritual
work up and down the country,” had now become the ground-swell of
his soul.
“We must shake the world in some way,” he cries in 1893, and
adds, “Oh, that I knew how!” But he knew at least the secret
of Salvation Army power—”The Holy Ghost convicting people
of sin, making them saints and soldiers — sacrificing, weeping,
toiling to save men from sin and hell.”
And when he finds fault with bad arrangements or stupid excuses, when
he says, “I want some one with me who won’t fuss me but fix
me!” he is groping his way through the temporal and material exigencies
of his tempestuous career only that he may clutch the inviolable shade,
only that the unconquerable hope of his soul may achieve the salvation
of men.