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Who Cares?
by
General William Booth, from British War Cry,
June 20th, 1885
Below is an the extract from one of the Founder's letters. The
vision is compelling in its expression; and seems to hints
strongly at the Darkest England book that would be published
five years later.
Here, my comrades, there rises to my view a
vision which came to my soul a few days ago when musing on
this question, and which I cannot refrain from telling you.
I thought I saw a dark and stormy ocean. Over it the black
clouds hung heavily, through which every now and then loud
thunders rolled, and vivid lightnings flashed; and the winds
moaned, and the waves rose and foamed and fretted and broke,
and rose to foam and fret and break again.
In that ocean I thought I saw myriads of poor human beings
plunging and floating and shouting and shrieking and cursing
and struggling and drowning, and as they cursed and shrieked,
they rose and shrieked again, and sank to rise no more.
And out of this dark angry ocean I saw a mighty rock rise up
above the black clouds that overhung the stormy sea; and all
round the base of this rock I saw a vast platform; and up on
to this platform I saw with delight a number of the poor,
struggling, drowning wretches continually climbing out of the
angry ocean; and I saw that a number of those who were already
safe on the platform helped these to reach the same place of
safety.
On looking more particularly I found a number of those who had
been rescued scheming and contriving by ladders and ropes and
boats to deliver the poor stragglers out of this sea. Here and
there were some who actually jumped in, regardless of all
consequences, in their eagerness to save; and I hardly know
which gladdened me most—the seeing of the poor people climb
the rocks and reach the place of safety, or the devotion and
self-sacrifice of those who only seemed to live to save them.
And as I looked I saw that the occupants of that platform were
quite a mixed company. That is, they divided themselves into
different sets, and were employed in quite different ways; but
there were only a very few, comparatively, who seemed to make
a business of getting the people out of the sea.
What puzzled me very much about the former was to observe that
though all had been rescued at one time or another, from the
ocean, nearly every one seemed to have forgotten all about it.
Anyway, the memory of its darkness and danger no longer
afflicted them; and what was equally strange and perplexing to
me was that these people did not seem to have any care—that is
any agonizing care—about the poor perishing ones who were
struggling and drowning close by, many of whom were their own
husbands and wives and mothers and sisters and children.
And this unconcern could not have been because they were
ignorant of what was going on, because they lived right in
sight of it all, and talked about it sometimes, and regularly
went to hear lectures which described the awful state of
things.
I have already said that the occupants of this platform were
engaged in different pursuits.
Some were absorbed night and day in trading in order to make
gain and store up their savings in boxes and by other means.
Many spent their time in amusing themselves with growing
flowers on the side of the rock; others in painting pieces of
cloth, or in performing music, or in dressing themselves up in
different ways and walking about to be admired.
Some occupied themselves very much in eating and drinking, and
others were greatly taken up with arguing about the poor
drowning creatures in the sea, and what would become of them,
or in going through rounds of curious religious ceremonies.
Some found a passage up the rock leading to a higher platform
still, which was fairly above the black clouds that overhung
the ocean, and from which they had a good view of the
mainland, which was not very far away, and to which they
expected to be taken off at some distant day. Here they passed
their time in pleasant thoughts, congratulating themselves and
each other on their good luck in being rescued from the stormy
deep, and singing songs about the happiness they were to enjoy
when they should be taken to the mainland that they imagined
they could see just " over there."
And all this time the struggling, shrieking multitudes were
floating about in the dark sea, quite near by—quite near
enough to have been pulled out; instead of which there they
were, right in full view, perishing, not only one by one, but
sinking down in shoals, every day in the dark and angry sea.
And as I looked, I found that the handful whom I had observed
before—oh, God! how I wished there had been a multitude of
them !—were still struggling with their rescue work. Indeed
they seemed to do little else but fret and cry and toil and
scheme for the perishing people. They gave themselves no rest,
and sadly bothered everybody they could get at around them. In
fact, they came to be voted a real nuisance by many quite
benevolent and kind-hearted people, and many who were very
religious too. But still they went on, spending all they had
and all they could get, in boats and rafts and drags and
ropes, and every other imaginable thing they could invent for
saving the poor, wretched, drowning people.
A few others did much the same at times, working hard in their
way; but these people who attracted my attention made such a
terrible business of it, and went at it with such fierceness
and fury, that many even of those who were doing the same kind
of thing were quite angry with them, and called them mad.
And then I saw something more wonderful still. I thought that
the miseries and agonies and perils and blasphemies of these
poor struggling people in this dark sea moved the pity of the
great God in Heaven; moved it so much that He sent a Great
Being to deliver them. And I thought that this Great Being
whom Jehovah sent came straight from His Palace, right through
the black clouds, and leaped right into the raging sea among
the drowning, sinking people, and there I saw Him toiling to
rescue them, with tears and cries, until the sweat of His
great anguish ran down in Blood. And as He toiled and embraced
the poor wretches, and tried to lift them on to the rock, He
cried out continually to those already rescued—to those whom
He had helped up with His own bleeding hands—to come and help
Him in the painful and laborious task.
And what seemed to me most passing strange was that those on
the platform to whom He called, who heard His voice and felt
they ought to obey it—at least, they said they did—those who
loved Him much and were in full sympathy with Him in the task
He had undertaken—who worshipped Him, or professed to do—I saw
that these were so taken up with their trades and professions
and money-saving and pleasure and families and circles and
religion and arguments about it, and preparations for going to
the mainland, that they did not attend to the cry that came to
them from Him out of the ocean. If they heard it they did not
heed it. They did not care, and so the multitude went on
struggling and shrieking and drowning in their darkness and
anguish.
And then I thought I saw something that seemed to me the
strangest of all that I saw in this strange vision. I saw that
some of these people on the platform whom this wonderful Being
wanted to come and help Him, heedless of His cries to them,
were always praying and crying to Him to come to them.
Some wanted Him to come and stay with them and spend His time
and strength in making them happier.
Others wanted Him to come and take away various doubts and
misgivings they had respecting the truth of some letters which
He had written them.
Some wanted Him to come and make them feel more secure on the
rock—so secure that they would be quite sure they should never
slip off again; while numbers of others wanted Him to make
them feel quite certain that they would really get on to the
mainland some day, because, as a matter of fact, it was well
known that some had walked so carelessly as to miss their
footing, and had got back into the stormy waters.
So these people used to meet and get as high up the rock as
they could, and looking towards the mainland, where they
thought the Great Being was, they would cry out, “Come to us!
Come and help us!” And all this time He was down among the
poor struggling, drowning creatures in the angry deep, with
His arms around them, trying to drag them out, and looking
up—oh, so longingly, but all in vain—to those on the rock,
crying to them with His voice all hoarse with calling, “Come
to Me! COME AND HELP ME!”
And then I understood it all. It was plain enough. That sea
was the ocean of life—the sea of real, actual, human
existence. That lightning was the gleaming of piercing truth
coming from Jehovah's Throne. That thunder was the distant
echoing of the wrath of God. Those multitudes of people
shrieking, struggling, agonising in that stormy sea, were the
thousands and thousands and thousands of poor harlots and
harlot-makers, of drunkards and drunkard-makers, of thieves
and liars, and blasphemers and ungodly people of every kindred
and nation and tongue.
Oh, what a black sea is there! and, oh, what multitudes of
rich and poor, ignorant and educated, and yet all alike in one
thing—all sinners before God, held by, and holding on to, some
iniquity, fascinated by some idol, the slaves to some devilish
lust, and ruled by some fiend from the bottomless pit!
“All alike in one thing” ? Nay, in two things— not only the
same in their wickedness, but unless rescued, alike in their
sinking, sinking, sinking, down, down, down to the same Hell.
And that great sheltering rock was Calvary, and the people on
it were those who had been rescued, and the way they employed
their energies and gifts and time set forth the occupations of
those who profess to be rescued from sin and hell, and to be
the servants of God. And the handful of fierce, determined
saviours were Salvation Soldiers, and a few others who shared
the same spirit. And that mighty Being was the Son of God,
“the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever," who is still
struggling to save the dying multitudes about us from the
terrible doom of damnation, and whose voice can be heard above
the music and machinery and hue-and-cry of life calling on the
rescued to come and help Him to save the world.
My comrades, you are rescued from the waters; you are on the
rock. He is in the dark sea, calling on you to come to Him and
help Him. Will you go?
Look for yourselves. The surging sea of perishing souls rolls
up to the very spot on which you stand. This is no vision or
imagination I speak of now. It is as real as the Bible; as
real as the Christ who hung upon the Cross ! as real as the
Judgment Day will be, and as real as the Heaven and Hell that
will follow it.
Look! Don't be deluded by appearances—men and things are not
what they seem. My vision was only a fiction, but the reality
is far more harrowing than any fiction can possibly be. All
who are not on the Rock are in the Sea. Look at them from the
standpoint of the Great White Throne, and what a sight you
have! That is matter of fact enough, and it is also matter of
fact that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is in the midst of
this dying multitude, struggling to save them. And it is also
matter of fact that He is calling on YOU to jump into the
sea—to go right away to His side and help Him in the struggle.
"Will you jump? That is, my comrades, will you go to His feet,
and place yourself absolutely at His disposal? A soldier came
to me the other day, saying that for some time she had been
giving Him profession and prayers and money, and now she
wanted to give Him her body. She wanted to go right into the
fight. In other words, she wanted to jump. As when a man from
the bank sees another struggling in the water, lays aside
those outer garments that would hinder his efforts, and jumps
in to the rescue; so will you who still linger on the bank
thinking and singing and praying about the poor struggling
souls, lay aside your shame, your pride, your care about other
people's opinions, your love of ease and all the selfish loves
that have hindered you so long, and jump to the rescue of this
multitude of dying souls.
Does the surging sea look dark and dangerous? Unquestionably
it is so. There is no doubt that the leap, for you as for
every one who takes it, means distress and scorn and
suffering. For you it may mean more than this. It may mean
death. He who calls to you from the sea, however, knows what
it will mean; and knowing it, He still beckons you and bids
you come.
You must do it. You cannot hold back. You have enjoyed
yourself in religion long enough. You have had pleasant
feelings, pleasant songs, pleasant meetings, pleasant
prospects. There has been much of human happiness, much
clapping of hands and firing of volleys—very much of Heaven on
earth.
Now, then, go to God, and tell Him you are prepared to turn
your back upon it all, and that you are willing to spend the
rest of your days grappling with _these perishing multitudes.
You MUST do it. You must go down among the perishing crowds.
Your happiness now consists in sharing their misery; your ease
in sharing their pain; your crown in bearing their cross; and
your heaven in going to the very jaws of hell to rescue them.
I say no more; but yet I will speak again more I particularly
how this rescue business can be carried on, but must wait till
next week.
Your affectionate General,
WILLIAM BOOTH.
June 15th, 1885.
Extract: “ “Who cares?” from the “War Cry,” June 20th,
1885.”
in The General’s Letters, 1885,
London: International Headquarters, 1890
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