C. T. Studd's Wealthy, Generous, Missionary Committee
In a letter to Dr. Wilkinson C. T. told of the fire burning within him in characteristic style:
“The Committee I work under is a conveniently small Committee, a very wealthy Committee, a wonderfully generous Committee, and is always sitting in session—the Committee of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.
“We have a multi-millionaire to back us up, out and away the wealthiest person in the world. I had an interview with Him. He gave me a cheque-book free and urged me to draw upon Him. He assured me His Firm clothes the grass of the field, preserves the sparrows, counts the hairs of the children’s heads. He said the Head of the Firm promised to supply all our need, and, to make sure,
One of the Partners, or rather Two, were to go along with each member of our parties, and would never leave us or fail us. He even showed me some testimonials from former clients.
A tough old chap with a long beard and hard-bitten face said that on one occasion supplies had arrived and been delivered by black ravens, and on another, by a white-winged angel.
Another little old man who seemed scarred and marked all over like a walnut shell said he had been saved from death times untold, for he had determined to put to proof the assurance that he who would lose his life for the Firm’s sake should find it.
He told stories more wonderful than novels and Arabian Nights, of escapes and hardships, travels and dungeons, and with such a fire in his eye and laugh in his voice, added, ‘But out of all of them the Partner delivered me.’
He said gambling for Christ was the best game in the world. He said the compulsory rest cure was rather hard on him now with his gambling craze still there, but the Chief Partner commanded it, and said he must not be selfish and greedy about it, that he had had a good long innings and made the highest score so far, and had better sit quiet a bit, with pads off and coat on, and encourage the others.
“It did me good to see this old warrior. He was like a bit of red-hot quicksilver, and one felt scorched up with shame—and ever since I saw him, and heard him, I have had a sort of pocket telephone inside, ringing me up and saying at intervals, ‘Go it, old chap, go in for a slog! Your eye’s in all right, and their bowling is getting weak. Take the long handle, only a few minutes till the stumps are drawn. Go it! Go it! Go it! Bravo! Now again!!!”
Norman Grubb, C T Studd