In John Wesley's house in the City Road, London, is a small room which
was built expressly to be the prayer-chamber of the Founder of Methodism.
When I entered the small sitting-room of one of Kate Lee's field
quarters, I was conscious of feelings of reverence similar to those which
possessed me in Wesley's prayer-room. There she had wrestled and prayed,
planned and studied, written and interviewed callers who sought her help.
It was holy ground.
The sitting-room of the little home which she enjoyed for the last two or
three years of her life, was a reflex of her character in modesty,
simplicity, and usableness. A soft green paper covered the walls, dark
lino the floor, a rug or two here and there; a writing-desk, book-case, a
cottage piano, a couple of easy chairs, and a couch completed the
furniture. On the walls and mantleshelf were Army photos, a print of
Christ at prayer; a few treasures, 'with a meaning' (her sister
explains), picked up here and there as mementoes of her furloughs; a
small French bronze of Jesus carrying His cross; a petrified bird's nest,
which has served as an object lesson in children's meetings, and so on.
This quiet room was the dearest of retreats to Kate Lee. Here, with her
sister, who anticipated her every wish and lavished love upon her, she
shut the door upon the world with its turmoils, and gave herself up to
study and rest. Her books were her greatest treasures. In them she
enjoyed the company of the greatest and best of souls, who believed as
she believed, fought for the things she counted worth while, and
triumphed as she was endeavouring to triumph.
Her bookshelf contained, perhaps, one hundred volumes in all; chosen, as
were all her small possessions, with an eye to the highest values.
A notebook furnishes a list of the books she read during her field
service; they included The Founder's and The Army Mother's works,
Finney's 'Revivals,' many biographies, Meyer's 'Bible Characters,' and
more thoughtful studies such as Butler's 'Analogy.' How she had managed
time for reading during those busy, rushed days, is revealed in a reply
to a young officer who had consulted her on self-improvement. She wrote,
'I trained myself to read one chapter of some good book every day.'
To sit at the desk where Kate Lee had worked, open its drawers and draw
out the contents, was to discover on everything the stamp of the
principles which had governed her life. Everything was in perfect order.
Here is her diary, a memorandum of coming events and engagements
fulfilled; and her accounts. Here a locked box; in it a tiny leather bag,
holding the balance of her 'Lord's money,' with a reference to her diary
for the exact amount due; also the covenant mentioned elsewhere. A
much-worn 'Where Is It?' contains a record, with shorthand remarks, of
every address she had delivered, in alphabetical order of the place where
she had spoken. She commenced these entries at her second corps, nearly
thirty years earlier, and by reference, could ascertain in a few minutes
the addresses or lectures she had given on Holiness, Salvation, Social,
or other subjects, whether in Sunderland, Brighton, Croydon, Thetford, or
elsewhere. For her there was no unpleasant wondering as to whether she
might repeat her subject on a return visit anywhere.
Kate had a peculiar shyness and reserve regarding her subject-notes. They
were sacred to her; she had received them on her knees 'in the mount,'
often in loneliness and tears. Commandant Lucy drew out from her sister's
desk three half-leather, locked volumes. She handled them gently, smiled
and hesitated a moment, 'No one but Kate has ever opened these,' she
said. 'Sometimes I used to tease her, and pretend to take one up, but no,
until the end that was not allowed.'
A key was inserted in one of the books, and it fell open. Treasure trove
indeed! Six hundred pages of most carefully prepared subject-notes and
illustrations on every imaginable topic that might appeal to the soul.
Every page an example of method, care, and good taste.
Under bold, red headings, in her shapely, flowing hand, the various
subjects are classified, and set out. The second volume is similar; the
third is only half filled, and turning to the end it seems as though she
anticipated that this was to be her last book, for there are personal
notes and entries on the chief events of her life. The latter begins,
'Born August 3, 1872; born again September 17, 1885. First bonnet,
Alexandra Palace, 1887; Trade Headquarters, November 20, 1889.
Commissioned Lieutenant, June 20, 1890. Chalk Farm Training Garrison,
June 19, 1892.' Then follow her appointments till the last, which appears
in pencil, when she was 'Awaiting appointment.'
There are mottoes she chose on New Year's Day for many years. Among the
number are 'Keep thy Soul Diligently'; 'Deal Courageously and Deal with
the Ones '; 'Obey, Bear, Seek'; 'Stand by the Flag.'
The first of the subject-notes in the last of the volumes deals with
Barabbas. One sees him in the dungeon, a thief, a terror. There is a
picture of the world in his day. He is called to die. Christ appears.
Christ dies for Barabbas.
The next notes are on 'Life. How to view it. The Servant; the Mistress;
the Workman; the Master; the Soldier; the Sergeant; the Local Officer;
the Officer.'
Ezekiel seemed to have gripped the Adjutant's imagination during the last
year of her life; she had prepared several powerful addresses from his
prophecies.
'Paradise Lost' and 'Paradise Regained' provides thought for several
closely-packed pages. Then follow a series of addresses to young people
on Good Behaviour. I. At Home. II. In the Street. III. In The Salvation
Army Citadel. IV. Toward the Opposite Sex. V. On Tobacco. VI. Reading.
There are comprehensive notes on Christianity.
Notes of a Session at the College for Staff Officers.
Twenty closely written pages on the Bible. How written? Why so called?
Written by whom? Notes on each book. Translations, etc.
Madam Guyon on prayer.
Many pages on 'Preaching' being expressions from master preachers,
showing how to capture the souls of men.
To fill over one thousand pages with careful, close writing, took time.
But Kate Lee did no fancy work; she never gossiped; she kept no pets; she
did not even 'garden'; she seldom went for a walk except on a mission.
She cared only for those things that would forward the Kingdom of God,
and while some played with shells and made sand castles that a day's tide
swept away, she delved in the King's mines, finding precious things
wherewith to serve the Holy War.
Kate gathered in order to give out again. Her gift of expression was
small at the beginning, but she so stirred it up and improved it, that,
with increasing ease, she was able by both spoken and written word to
express her thoughts in simple, direct English that reached hearts. The
knowledge grew upon her that she would not always be able for public
work, and she determined to prepare herself to appeal to souls by her
pen. In her last letter to her sister, she wrote:--
There are one or two things I would like you to see to for me. In
the cupboard, under my writing-desk, you will find some articles I
have written. No. 1. 'Temples of Fire.' It is a subject that has
been upon my soul for a long time. I did not offer this series for
publication as I intended to shape it up again. I hardly know if the
articles will be considered worth accepting; but if something could
be done with them, I should be glad.
There is another series I was trying to write on 'The Master's
Locals.' You will also find, 'The Story of Jesus,' and 'Thoughts
about the Cross,' and several other little articles. I am afraid
none of them are up to the mark, but if anything could be done with
them to help souls, I should rejoice.
These manuscripts show how she spared herself no pains to prepare a
message. Over and over again she would draft a sentence, a page, or an
article until she felt the message to be arresting. Then she sent it
forth with much love and prayer. When it appeared in print--often
anonymously--sometimes under her name or initials, she delighted and
wondered that God gave to her the broad platform of The Army
publications. The following articles, both of which appeared in 'The War
Cry,' indicate something of the fresh, crisp heart messages that she gave
to saint and sinner from her platform. When pressed by editors of The
Army publications for an article, she took some hours from her sleep in
order to prepare them for the press. Kate did not speak from notes. She
had in her Bible a few headings on a sheet of paper, but having prepared
her subject with great prayerfulness, after reading the Scriptures she
left the reading desk, and in the simplicity and earnestness of her pure
soul, freely gave out her message.
A GLORIOUS CLEANSING
_'Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean'_
(Matthew viii. 2)
The story of the leper is, to my mind, one of the most wonderful
stories in the Bible, as it so forcibly illustrates how God looks
upon and deals with sin. Leprosy was in the days of Christ an
acknowledged type of sin, and we see in the condition of the leper
a picture of its utter loathsomeness.
I fancy I see the poor fellow outside the city gate--cut off from
his home and friends.
But they do not forget him, and each morning some loved one--a mother,
perhaps--at an early hour comes to the gate and there places a little
basket of provisions sufficient for his needs of the day. Then she
goes away, and from a distance watches the poor creature draw near,
and take the much-needed food. One morning the basket must, I fancy,
have contained, in addition to the food, a message which, as the poor
leper reads, brings a ray of hope into his wretched, weary life.
The note tells of Jesus, the wonderful Christ, who is going about
healing all kinds of incurable diseases, and even raising the dead
to life.
'Oh, if only _you_ could _see_ Him! If only you could get
near enough to Jesus, there might be a chance for you, my poor boy!'
his mother may have written.
As he reads, his poor face brightens as he murmurs to himself, 'Yes,
I will try, I will risk all; I will chance the consequences.'
Let us look at him a moment. Here is vileness indeed, a very type of
impurity; and here we see how sin looks in the eyes of God.
His limbs swollen, his hair white, tumours appear on his jaws, his
breath noisome, and his whole person fitted to inspire loathing.
Leprosy is infectious and of slow progress. It begins within the body,
and throws out a moisture which corrupts the outside, and covers it
with a kind of white scale. It is said that the body becomes so hot
that a fresh apple held but an hour in the hand will be withered and
wrinkled. The parts of the body infected become insensible, and in
time fall off.
The leper is conscious that he is vile. He wears the leper's garment,
and day by day from his lips comes the mournful cry, 'Unclean,
unclean!'
Then, the leper is not only conscious of his vileness, and
acknowledges it, but he despairs of cleansing. He knows that unless
some Supreme Power intervenes death will ensue.
It was, perhaps, his desperate condition which led this leper, of whom
we speak, to break, with heroic courage, through the ceremonial law,
and to expose himself to the risk of being stoned to death that he
might cast himself at the Saviour's feet.
See him venturing through the gate into the city to find Jesus. And
when at last he approaches the place where he expected to see Jesus,
he discovers to his great disappointment that the Lord has gone up
the mountain side.
I fancy I see the leper crouching, waiting, and watching for Jesus. At
last, that wonderful Form appears, and comes down the mountain with a
great crowd following.
How can he get to Jesus? is the leper's first thought. With a dash and
the cry,' Unclean!' which causes the crowd to make way and shrink back
in horror, he rushes forward and prostrates himself at the feet of
Jesus. 'Lord, if Thou wilt,' he cries, 'Thou canst make me clean.'
Here we see the vast difference between curiosity and need. The crowd
follow out of curiosity. The leper flings himself in abandon at Jesus'
feet because of his need. _Need_ alone will make a man really
come to Jesus. The soul that feels its need, and realizes its sin,
will make an effort--a dash to get to God.
Listen to the leper's prayer! 'Lord.' He owns Jesus as his Lord. He
makes a complete, unconditional, and unreserved surrender, and feels
his helplessness! Only God can save him! That is the way to come to
Jesus!
His was a model prayer--simple, short, direct. It was grounded in a
glorious faith in the power of Christ to heal; a prayer that did not
limit God; believed, indeed, that with Him nothing was impossible.
It is well to recollect that God has never failed with a case yet.
Those who have wandered the farthest away from Him, those who have
sunk the lowest, He can restore, and will never turn His ear from a
prayer fashioned like that of the leper's.
I fancy I see the breathless crowd shrinking back in horror! I fancy,
too, that I hear those clear, beautiful words ring forth: 'I will; be
thou clean.' But Jesus not only speaks; to the astonishment of the
crowd, He puts forth His hand and _touches_ the leper. That touch
may have been a violation of the letter of the law, but not of the
spirit. Jesus knew His touch would give healing to the leper, and not
pollution to Himself.
At the cry of the leper, Jesus touched him immediately, true figure of
God's readiness to forgive and cleanse sin.
Jesus is the same to-day. He deals with sin and the sinner in the same
way. If you will come in the same spirit as the leper, His hand will
be immediately stretched forth to save.
When Jesus touched the leper I can picture the crowd drawing nearer.
They watch the wonderful change take place. A flush passes over the
leper's pale face, the despairing look gives way to an overwhelming
look of joy. The cringing stoop and feeble gait change to an upright
attitude and a firm tread. See him going to show himself to the
priest. He is commanded to 'tell no one,' but as he goes he meets an
old friend. The temptation is too great; he tells him what has
happened, and then another and another. He cannot keep the truth in,
but blazes it abroad.
Oh! If you would find Christ you must push through the difficulties
and the hindrances that would keep you away from Him. If, in the
spirit of the leper, you come as you are, conscious of your sin,
confessing it with faith in God's power to cleanse you, you will
hear the selfsame words from those gracious lips: 'I will; be thou
clean,' and immediately your leprosy, your sin, will leave you.
I see the new creation rise,
I hear the speaking Blood;
It speaks! Polluted nature dies,
Sinks 'neath the cleansing Flood.
The cleansing Stream I see, I see,
I plunge, and, Oh it cleanseth me!
Oh, praise the Lord, it cleanseth me!
It cleanseth me, yes, cleanseth me!
* * * * *
HARVESTS: JOY AND SORROW
_'The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few'_
(Matthew ix. 37)
As we read these words of the Master we fancy we can see His benign
and majestic Presence as He stops and, turning round, looks not upon
the beautiful harvest fields, with waving corn, but upon the vast
field of the world, with its teeming masses of humanity.
So many are ready to look upon the cornfields of gain, to look for
something to fill their baskets and store, but hearts like the
Master's are wanted that see the great harvest fields of humanity,
all ripe and ready to be gathered in. Hearts are wanted that will
not only go out in sentimental sympathy, but that will give a
helping hand, where it is required, leaving the fields of gain, and
toiling for love amidst human need. There seem to be two thoughts
in the mind of the Master. As He speaks He strikes two notes--one of
joy, and one of sorrow.
A plentiful harvest always brings joy. Another harvest of the earth
is being gathered, and as I write I am looking upon the golden
cornfields, and see the men all busily engaged. Thank God for plenty!
Do we praise God sufficiently for His mercies? Do we always value
them? Sometimes we do not fully appreciate them until they are
withdrawn.
It seems to me that if the Master walked our crowded cities, He would
repeat again those words, 'Truly the harvest is plenteous.' Plenty to
reap; only labourers are wanted to go out. The masses are still there;
the need is for some one to go to the masses.
Then the note of sorrow seems to drown and spoil the note of joy. 'The
harvest is plenteous'--rejoice! 'But the labourers are few'--cause for
sorrow. The masses are there--the opportunity--but so few to take hold
of it. Corn to be gathered in, but few reapers.
The harvest was plenteous in the time of Christ, but it is even more
so now. The people are waiting for us, they expect us and look to us,
who are the followers of Christ, to go to their help!
Oh, the open doors! Was the door of the public ear ever more ready to
listen to us than at the present time? Those who once turned a deaf
ear, and did not believe in us, now say, 'Yes, you are right. You have
got the right thing, and are doing the right thing.'
Were people ever more ready to open their doors to us than they are
now? How they appreciate the visit of the Salvationist! The doors,
too, of the workhouses, the prisons, the hospitals are opening more
widely to us.
Yes, the people are ready to open their hearts to us. The poor
drunkard, as he rolls from one side of the road to the other, exclaims
when he sees a Salvationist, 'God--bless--General--Booth!'
The masses may not always rush as excitedly after us as they once did
--there are so many counter-attractions now--but they are there. We
must go to them; they need us.
I have heard the story of a little boy who lost his mother, and was
found lying upon her grave weeping and praying. Some one who had felt
moved to do something for the motherless boy discovered him in this
position. 'Jesus has sent me to you!' said the lady. 'I am going to
love you as my own little boy.' 'Oh,' he said, through his tears as
he looked up as though he had been expecting her, 'so Jesus has sent
you! You have been a long time coming though, haven't you?'
Do the sinners and drunkards feel we are a long time coming, because
the labourers are too few, and you have kept back from becoming one?
Above the note of joy, above the plentiful harvest, rings out so
loudly the note of sorrow--'But the labourers are few!' How few in
comparison to the masses! So few labourers who will put off the coat
of formality, who will pull up the sleeve of ease! Few who will work
by the sweat of their brow and make a sacrifice for souls! Sacrifice
is needed in God's service to-day as much as ever, and never was
there a more urgent call for men and women who, like our precious
General, can say, 'I am never out of it; I sleep in it; I shall die
in it.' Nothing worth anything can be accomplished without sacrifice.
How many are there in God's service who merely look on? More are
wanted who will work. The success of The Army has been because of its
willingness to come down to the level of the people--to strive to
save them. A reckless dying to self is what is needed. Was it not
dying made the harvest? The dying is part of the success. The grain
was dropped into the ground, and died before it could spring forth
and produce living results. There must be the dying to sin, and to
self, and self-interests.
Men and women of heart are wanted--men and women, who in seeking
souls will give themselves up in the spirit of the champion aviator
who said, 'If I had not succeeded I should not have been here. I was
determined to win, or die in the attempt.'
Labourers are wanted who will dig right deep down into the heart of
sorrow, and find those desires and longings after purity and goodness
which even the heart itself scarcely realizes are there.
In the man of the world, though one would hardly believe it as one
sees the cynical look and sneer and hears him say, 'I don't want your
church--your Army!' there is underneath, in spite of his apparent
indifference, a longing after God and a disgust of the world.
Men and women are wanted to grapple with the vast harvest--this great
opportunity--and to gather in God's sheaves. Oh, to leave the world
of vice and folly as naked as the earth is after the harvest! Empty
public-houses! Empty gambling dens! Empty abodes of impurity! Empty
slums! Empty all places where God is not! But thanksgiving in the
home; the House of God filled with rejoicing people, telling out of
hearts of gladness that labourers came into the fields of sin and
gathered them in.
Many letters, folded and handled until almost worn to pieces, but
treasured above gold, lie before me. They are addressed to Kate Lee's
spiritual children, to the sick, the discouraged, or those living far
from an Army hall and rarely able to get to the meetings. These letters
are short, often mere notes of one page, rarely running into more than
two or three folios; and they are not clever. Kate had little imagination
in her make up; she did not see pictures wherever her eyes lit, and never
had time to give to studied composition. The value of these letters to us
is that any ordinary girl, anyone with a heart 'at leisure from itself'
could write such letters. Over and over again in The Army Founder's life
we find him saying, 'It is _heart_ work we want. HEART work.' It is
because Kate Lee's letters came from a heart full of love that they
reached hearts and never failed to bless them.
She had a delightful way of remembering the anniversary of some of her
trophies' conversion. She called them birthdays. Here is a little scrap
to a man battling bravely against ill health and other adversities:--
I am enclosing a Money Order for five shillings so that you can get
some little thing for yourself or your wife. Just a little birthday
gift for _your twelfth birthday_. God bless you! Keep near to
Jesus and do all in your power to lead those around you to Him.
Praise Him that He has kept you all these years. He is a wonderful
Saviour and worthy of our praise.
No work of art was so beautiful in the eyes of Kate Lee as the
photographs of men and women to whom God had given 'beauty for ashes.'
She writes to one:--
The photo is lovely--I am proud of you. It gives me real joy to hear
that you are still wheeling your barrow around and reminding souls of
Eternity. Give my love to your precious wife.
To a man just lifted from a pit of sin, and whose feet still tottered,
she wrote:--
I cannot call and see you as I am away until Friday night Then I shall
look for you at the meeting. I have asked a comrade or so to call and
see you. I am praying much for you. Hold on to God, and He will
prosper you and bless you, and soon, if you only serve Him with all
your heart, things will be so different with you and your dear family.