Duty and love

The sense of duty may become morbid if it is not transmuted by love. Many servants of God never learn the secret which makes Christ’s yoke easy and His burden light. They have to confess to themselves that they cannot say, “To do Thy will, O Lord, I take delight.”

It would be strange if any of the Booth children had not learned the secret. Catherine discovered it early, learned it thoroughly, and it became in after years one of the hidden sources of her power. As a child she lived in union with Christ; she practised and felt the Real Presence; she understood that Christianity is a Divine Service transfigured by a Divine Friendship. In Victoria Park there was a shady alley where she was in the habit of walking, because Some One walked beside her! In Clifton, where she lived for a time, she had a tiny upper room in which she felt that she was never alone. That was her childhood’s religion, which she never needed to change. She found it to be utterly independent of time and place, form and ceremony. In the glare of public life, in the storm of persecution, in the hour of temptation and danger, she always had a cathedral into which she could retire that she might find peace. She was spiritually akin with the Hebrew mystics who lived in the secret place of the Most High, who had at all times a pavilion from the strife of tongues. In her Neuchatel prison she wrote some simple words that sent a thrill through the heart of Christian Europe:

Best Beloved of my soul, I am here alone with Thee;
And my prison is a heaven, Since Thou sharest it with me.

Whatever gifts were the dower of the young evangelist, she never regarded herself as different in God’s sight from the poorest and meanest of sinners. If God loved her, He loved all with an equal love. That conviction was the motive-power of all her evangelism. A limited atonement was to her unthinkable. How often she made vast audiences sing her father’s great hymn, “O boundless salvation, so full and so free!”

When she was conducting a remarkable campaign in Portsmouth (around the age of 17), she found herself one day among a number of the ministers of the town, one of whom in his admiration of her and her work persisted in calling her one of the elect. This led to an animated discussion on election. Katie listened for a while, but lost patience at last, and rising, delivered herself thus: “I am not one of the elect, and I don’t want to be. I would rather be with the poor devils outside than with you inside.” Having discharged this bombshell she flew upstairs to her mother. “Oh!” she cried, “what have I done?” When she repeated what she had said, her mother, whose laugh was always hearty, screamed with delight. Election as commonly taught was rank poison to the Mother of the Army. The doctrine that God had out of His mere good pleasure elected some to eternal life made her wild with indignation.