The Sin of Blasphemy

Improvement Era Vol. XVIII APRIL, 1915 No. 6.

The Sin of Blasphemy

BY J. W. BOOTH

Far back in the days of Isaiah, when that gifted seer was viewing through his prophetic telescope the distant scenes which now are near to us, he uttered with a joyous heart these strains of glorious melody "Awake, awake. Put on thy strength, O Zion :

put on thy beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the Holy City;" and, then, turning from that scene of joy, he quotes the words which God himself proclaimed in sad, rebuking tones: "My name con- tinually every day is blasphemed." Young men of Zion, was it our Zion to whom these awaken- ing words were sung? Was it modern Jerusalem, (starving, famine-ravished city that she is) now about to put on her beautiful garments? Was it us, of America, dear reader, upon whom that prophetic lens was focused with such convincing accuracy as to reveal, so far away, this awful sin of "continual blasphemy?" 1

fear it is true. Whether or not we are the objects of Isaiah's words, we —a number of us at least —are guilty of that awful sin. Take note of some evidence aginst us For some time past the writer has been investigating this most impious habit of using the sacred name of Deity in our common talk. I asked one man if he had any idea of how many times he had profaned during a certain period. His own estimate was over five hundred times a day. To another habitual swearer, I put the question "Now, Mr. you have been in nearly every state of ,

the Union, working for many years among men of various classes, and I want to get your candid opinion on a question on which you can give me some 'expert testimony.' as you are an expert

474 IMPROVEMENT ERA in this line. Now, please tell me what per cent of the men of this nation, in your opinion, are guilt}' of blasphemy?" The gentleman unhesitatingly replied : "More than one-half of them." Another, even more vile with his lips, said "Yes, more than :

two-thirds of them." I once spent about thirty minutes in one of the barracks of the

United States army, and among the soldiers, in their usual talk, profanity was indulged in at the rate of about three times a minute for each of fifty men. During a year's time, I kept tab on my associates, and men with whom I worked, and I found that 63 per cent of them were men who took the name of God in vain. I later learned that some of these would profane when among profaners, but did not do so in my hearing. Now, what does all this mean? In the United States there are about one hundred millions of people. Of these, fifty millions, we will say, are females, to whom we shall not impute this heinous crime of the remaining fifty millions there ;

are half of them children too young to swear. Of the remaining twenty-five million men and boys, we will take a safer figure than two-thirds, or 63 percent of them, and say that only 40 percent, or ten millions, are guilty of blasphemy. I shudder to tell it, but that if. about the percentage in my own home town, dear old Alpine, within the precincts of which, but a few decades ago, the name of God was seldom heard, except in reverence. But now, about one- tenth of the population ignorantly dares to utter his holy name to emphasize their otherwise weak and senseless expressions of some of their common talk. Let us be more lenient than the one who swore five hundred times a day and give their average in more mitigating terms. I have often heard men take wicked oaths at the rate of eight to ten times a minute but these were, of course, extreme cases. Following is one man's conclusion, on fairly good authority, on daily average swearing:

Of ten million profaners in the United States it is estimated that, on an average,

1,000,000 swear 50 times every day, amounting to 50,000,000 times 2,000,000 swear 25 times every day, amounting to 50,000,000 times 3,000,000 swear 10 times every day, amounting to 30,000,000 times 2,000,000 swear 5 times every day, amounting to 10,000,000 times 1,000,000 swear 3 times every day, amounting to 3,000,000 times 1.000,000 swear 2 times every day, amounting to 2,000,000 times

Total 145,000,000

That sacred Name ! Blasphemed one hundred and forty-five million times a day by this army of Christian ( ?) soldiers It !

means that every hour, more than six million times, the fourth

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commandment of the decalogue is broken that more than one ;

hundred thousand times every minute Deity is defied that more ;

than sixteen hundred times every second the most holy names of the Father and the Son are taken in vain by vile and impious tongues in' this choice land, where liberty abounds from sea to sea. Astonishing, is it not? Doubt it if you will, but investigate, as I have done, from numerous points, and you will probably be convinced of this sad fact. Sixteen hundred times a second ! What means this awful cyclone of sin, carrying in its whirling circles the slang and filthy phrases of so many millions, and hurling itself with bullish fury into the face of heaven's King? Whence comes this woeful wind of wickedness this blizzard of blasphemy that makes the blood run ;

cold? Think you this storm originates within the higher atmos- phere of love and affection? In the boundless regions of reason? I'oon the great, wide waves of wisdom? Among the inland hills of intelligence? On the mountains of manhood? Or out on the dry deserts of sober sincerity? Nay, but from the heated pampas of passion arise the heavily laden vapors of vice and ;

these, mingled with the inrushing currents of ignorance, im- — pregnated only with cold irreverence, stir up the storm at first in levity, but finally ending in this soul-destroying whirlwind of wickedness. Ask the man in whose heart dwell love and charity, if he ever feels like cursing his fellow man in God's holy name. Ask him whose mental powers are swayed by reason if he could ever give an answer, in reason, why such things are done. Ask the wise man if he knows why. Appeal to one of superior intelligence for a justifiable excuse to drag the sacred name of our Creator into the mire of maledictions. Ask your very choicest specimen of manhood if he thinks that manhood would mix and mingle the glorious appellation of Christ the Redeemer with a cursing mockery of all things sacred to the human heart. Ask Sincerity. herself, if she ever felt proud of a polluted profaner, or ever boasted of a bumptious blasphemer. No No a thousand times ! !

no ! These nobler qualities have no part nor portion in that in- fernal practice so prevalent among the people of this country. more strongly emphasize my thoughts in story form At the opening of one of the great historic wars, between two powerful nations of the earth, the call, at first, went out from one of them for volunteers to come and fight, for the honor of the nation had been assailed. A second call was followed by con- scription wherein, within one family, the last of seven sons, Iago, was listed for the morrow's march. Father and mother, with broken hearts, finding solace only in their love of country, were willing that their last and seventh son should don his regimentals in the morning-. The trio spent that night as only war-infested

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families know. In another house, nearby, two parents and their only son sat pondering on the sadness in their neighbor's home across the way. The father of this only son of love and promise spoke, and said "My son, our neighbors over there have now sent all but one to war, and if he, too, falls in battle, it will bring that poor old couple to their graves with unrelenting haste. I wonder if — But ere the thought was half expressed, the brave young heart responded with the willing words "I'll go myself and save them such a fate." "Magnanimity personified !" exclaimed the father, whose heart had never felt the taint of selfishness^ while the mother's — pride loomed up in thankfulness to God for such a son and yet, forebodings of what might occur hung pensive shadows in the hall, while hasty preparations went ahead. The night passed on and ere the aurora of morning had pushed aside the curtains of the early hour, this noble son was at Iago's side with news of his unpurchased ransom, and the wailing of that unhappy home was turned to thankfulness and joy, that this one son was spared to comfort them. At 6 a. m., in uniform, this fearless volunteer was waiting for the bugle's call. A father's fond embrace and blessing; a — mother's loving clasp and a kiss a boy, choking, "good-bye" ;

and he was gone. For three long years and more the battles raged. Salvador, with his great heart had won distinction as a private and, up ;

through official ranks, had been commisioned Captain of the Mighty Host. Meantime. Iago. at home, ha grown forgetful of 1

his neighbor's love, and into his cold heart there came no im- pulse of gratitude for such a sacrifice made for him and his. Tidings of the glorious achievements of Salvador were only sneered at and rejected by this degenerate son. At last the Captain saw the hour of victory had come but ;

victory at such a price! Two plans were laid and were dis- cussed thus First, to call twelve legions more, and with these multi- tudinous troops fight man to man and death to death until the foe surrendered. Second, to take his trusted staff alone and with these few, scale the hights, descend the rugged path, and lure the enemy — from his intrenchments knowing well that death would be their own and final doom, but that while these few encountered death, the army would be blessed with glorious victory. And so it was! That brave and noble leader fell— a volunteer in death, as in his life, to save his comrades from the fate of war. On mournful wings the news was sent throughout the land of the sad but glorious death of Salvador. His corpse would

Til l£ SIN 01? i;i,ASL'l I LCM V 477

soon be borne in honor to his native town. That hour came. Ten thousand, weeping, went to welcome home the greatest hero of the war. In the suburbs of the city, where the mourners met the incoming cortege, there was an outburst of lamentations. As the solemn procession passed along the crape-hung boulevard, the populace, too, bowed heads and paid the tribute of their tears. All seemed to understand that the occasion was so unspeakably touching that every feature of the program which bore the slight- est hint of coarseness must be avoided. Military music, it was feared, would lack in tenderness (though the hero was a soldier true), and in its place, a harp, with tones as delicate as the voice of angels and tuned in perfect harmony with the tensioned sweet- ness of his mother's soul, was given into "David's" skilful hands. Just as the casket was being carried acrosss the threshold of the old home, the dextrous harpist touched the strings which uttered, in almost human voice, a tune akin to our sweet melody, "The Soldier's Farewell." Solemnity was more intense than tongue or pen can describe. As the last tones blended into celestial silence there was such a peace-distilling, love-encircling, divinely beautiful influence per- vading that holy precinct that no one wished to break the still- ness, even with a muffled moan. But hark !Sin's evil darts now pierce the heart of Inno- cence ! Across the way, on the balcony of his home, sat the wretched Iago, with more such sons of 'Belial. Sneering in ri- bald jest, they mocked the sacred scenes before them made ;

sport of Salvador's great sacrifice for Iago threw taunting ;

insults at the throng for being tender hearted shouted in fiendish ;

falsetto the moanings of the mother, now overwhelmed by grief. They cursed the father of the dead man denied honor to the;

son, and at last, in drunken revelry, they sought, with the tink- ling of their cursed wine cups, to mimic the tones of the hal- lowed requiem of the harp. In the midst of this infamous up- roar, a letter was handed to the father by an officer, to whom it was given by Salvador the hour he left his army for the fatal move to draw the opposing forces from their fort. It read "Salvador to his honored Sire, Greetings: Your epistle from home brings joy. May it ever be well with you and mother. Duty calls me this day to meet the crisis. Better for one to die than for my whole army to perish. Peace be with you. Farewell." This short postscript was added:

"I heard of Tago's indiscretion. Forgive his folly for my sake. Again, farewell."

The rabble on the balcony listened long enough for these words to be read by the funeral orator, when again with cursing

478 IMPROVEMENT ERA derision their tumultwas resumed. But the hero's body was at last entombed with honor, and they who mocked his memory were brought to answer in the courts of justice. What think you was their punishment? Was mercy found for them? Was the court influenced by those last words of Sal- vador, pleading for his recreant neighbor? Speak out, and say what sentence you would pass in such a case. Mr. Blasphemer, come to judgment. Render your decision in case the hero were your own dear brother. What? Full justice? Be careful, friend — be merciful, for — thouart the man! Thou art Iago :

Salvador is the Christ. Listen to what the poets have said and how they tell in verse the story of The Suffering One: "He left his Father's home on high With man to live, for man to die." "Here's love and grief beyond degree, The Lord of Glory died for man." "How great, how glorious, and complete, Redemption's grand design ;

Where justice, love and mercy meet In harmony divine."

"See,from his head, his hands, his feet. Sorrow and love flow, mingled down; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet Or thorns compose so rich a crown?" "Come Saints, and drop a tear or two For Him who groaned beneath your load; He shed a thousand drops for you, A thousand drops of precious blood." And now. Friend Scoffer, come! Stand up and face these facts like a man — and tell me if your pusillanimous excuses "just a habit," "oh, I was 'hot'," "it relieves me" — are really justifiable? For these are the only excuses, silly as they are, that I ever heard offered by even the most intelligent of your class. Had you been one of that motley crowd on Calvary, when the Son of God hung in agony on the cross, would you, with your present feeling, have been a mourner with the mother, or a mocker with the mob? Choose the latter and you confess that you, too. would have taken part in that most diabolical crime of the ages Tf you sav that in the nresence of such an awful tragvdv von would have defended that Sinless Sufferer, then you must confess again that, in hiding behind the curtains of two millenniums to change your sympathy into this (now) wicked scoffing, you make your- self the incarnation of crouching cowardice, for you dare not face him with vour polluted oaths, nor mock him as he hung unon the cross in that uneven struggle with death, pleading to the very last for you before the courts of an offended God.

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— Think you that you are secure from justice perched there upon the high balcony of your own free agency, and flinging your slimy sentences with dastardly defiance into the face of your dying Redeemer? Will the Lord ever hold such impious mockery guilt- less before his holy throne? Oh why can we not cease this senseless sin and, in the place of cursing all mankind and all that God has given into our care, cultivate the nobler traits of gratitude and praise for the great gift of eternal life through the precious blood *of Him who never sinned? In the visions of St. John, he saw, in the days of the mighty Armageddon, that the earth, because of wickedness, would be overwhelmed with plagues, and that men would even blaspheme God while dying. Another class of men, recipient of his kindly care, will join that glorious anthem, singing:

"Thy mercy, O God, is great above the heavens, And Thy truth unto the clouds."

The choice is ours to be in one or the other of these throngs, and the hour of our choice should be not long delayed. CASTLE ROCK, UTAH

M. I. A. CLASS IN LEADERSHIP, ST. JOHNS, ARIZOX,