“I want to be a soldier of the cross

Brave-hearted and true…”

Once we were “red-hot and righteous”—now we are “The Most Effective Organization in the United States.”

I’ve been wondering—what does that mean? Does it indicate progress? Maturity? Growth? Keeping up with the times? What’s it mean to be red-hot? Do we really measure effectiveness? How?

I’m proud of this Salvation Army—most of the time—and love it all of the time. It’s where I’ve spent a significant portion of my life. It’s where I found my wife and helped raise our children. It’s where I’ve made my “best” friends and discovered my spiritual self.

“I’ll never let the old flag fall…”

No, I won’t…although I might suggest that we change the words on the flag because we fail to communicate to the public their original intent (heresy—heresy). Here’s a thought. How about…Love and Justice.

So you see, I’m an enigma. Somehow, I have this passionate commitment to our Army’s traditions of working with the total person—facilitating development in the entire human organism: mental, physical, emotional, social and spiritual. The last is what everyone else leaves out. I’m glad we’re not serving any particular class, race or gender structure. We’re committed to anybody and everybody. We don’t forget about saving and serving the poor, the destitute, downtrodden and marginalized. That is the Jesus plan.

“And we’ll roll the old chariot along…”

I don’t think we’re dragging on behind, but I don’t know about everything we do. I’m grievously disappointed when we close programs serving the poor on skid row or any other part of town. I’m saddened that we have given up elements of foster care for difficult young children and adults who tend to act out their dissatisfaction with a society that turns its back on them. I understand the rationale for such decisions, but have a difficult time accepting it. The explanation for almost any program closure seems shrouded in dollar signs.

Personally, I believe the Army should always be just a little bit in debt, and then turn the responsibility for raising the difference over to God.

Simultaneously, however, I want to be an instrument of significant change, and am delighted when territorial leadership approves and invests in programs that have “future” written all over them. That’s the way I perceive Jesus, and I want to walk with him…

“All the way to Glory.”

Being red-hot and righteous and highly effective are not mutually exclusive. We can be both. We must, however, be passionate if we are to be red-hot. Also, we must be knowledgeable and skilled if we are to be effective. They must be combined.

So, how does one measure organizational passion? I believe we measure it by the quality and leadership of programs serving a designated population.

We need programs that stimulate soldiers to be in helping relationships with those in need, and we need more soldiers with a passionate willingness to sacrifice some time and effort to meet that need. As soldiers, we have become overly willing to delegate all social services. We lose a vital opportunity. We fail too often to minister to those to whom Jesus called us. We might not be willing to return to the days of the “Slum Sisters,” the “broom brigades” or the “boozers parades,” but soldiers still need to feel motivated to be much more than simply church members.

“Launch out into the deep

O let the shoreline go!”

In my judgment the current territorial leadership loves action and moves without fear into uncharted waters. This is a perfect time for action.

We’re great at disasters. Shortly after terrorists destroyed New York’s Trade Center towers and portions of the Pentagon, an article appeared in Worth magazine titled “Calling in the Troops.” In it, John Sedgwick and Loch Adamson said: “The Salvation Army has been called the most effective organization in the country. New York City now knows why.”

The “why” described an immediate response appropriate to the problem, a focus on mission, a stimulation of volunteers, perseverance of commitment, and an application of Christian love—delivered with passion.

The same thing happens with every other manmade or natural disaster.

There are disasters, however, that receive much less attention. They are the unpublicized, small-scale human disasters generating one small story in the morning paper. It only touches a few. Somehow, we need to study various such circumstances, determine what can be done, and train responders to do it.

“I’m a soldier should you want me,

You’ll find me in The Salvation Army.”

Two articles in the current edition of The Officer magazine emphasize the Army’s commitment to the process of human transformation—a changing of one’s belief system and lifestyle. One, by General Linda Bond, titled “I Believe in Transformation,” focuses on her hopes for the international Army’s accomplishment of one of her 12 goals: “We will reaffirm our belief in transformation.”

In her article, she speaks poignantly of her great friend, General John Gowans, recently promoted to Glory: “He experienced the ultimate transformation, that dramatic change, ‘…the perishable clothed with the imperishable, the mortal with immortality…death swallowed up in victory’” (1 Cor: 15:53, 54).

Bond considers a number of dramatic accounts of different individuals who, themselves, were transformed. “Let’s never shy away from our belief in transformation,” she writes.

“What God has done, he still can do; his power can fashion lives anew” (Salvation Army Song Book, no. 335).

The second article, by Lt. Colonel Laurie Robertson, questions the reader: “Are people being transformed by God?”

“The Salvation Army exists because God still wants to use it to transform people—which means getting people saved and living holy lives,” Robertson writes. “It involves a complete change.”

Both Bond and Robertson refer to John Gowans’ song in our Song Book (no. 324):

I believe in transformation,

God can change the hearts of men,

And refine the evil nature

Till it glows with grace again.

Others may reject the weakling,

I believe he can be strong,

To the family of Jesus

All God’s children may belong.

It’s evident here that the word “transformation” as used by these writers has spiritual intent, probably based on Romans 12:2, where Paul urges: Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Anything that can change can also be transformed. Also, anything that can be transformed can also be converted. These are all synonyms. Webster’s Encyclopedic Dictionary of the English Language contains more than two pages of words beginning with the Latin prefix “trans.” The prefix itself has multiple meanings as does the word “transform.”

Paul’s phrase “the pattern of this world” indicates anxieties found in various religious circles concerning aspects of “worldliness.” The Army perceives itself as “in” but not “of” the world. Thus, we circulate among sinners. The concern here is negative incursion on individuals by the common culture. The “new” becomes threatening and, therefore, often receives the label of “sin.” There has always been, and there is now, great tension between the enticements of some facets of the common culture and the belief systems of religious groups. This fact has not changed since the beginning of time.

Paul, himself dealt with it in Galatians 1 as the Christian churches he had initiated in this region were confronted by Judaizers, Jewish Christians who believed that a number of ceremonial practices of the Old Testament were also required by the New Testament churches.

For instance, if a group holds values that demands strict separation from a society that embraces the values of the common culture, it would isolate itself and resist anything that facilitated information about or connection with others acting on those values. No telephones—wireless or wired. No television—cable, satellite or regular transmission. No newspapers or magazines. (My grandfather, a retired Salvation Army lt. colonel, was shocked that my father allowed my brother and me to read the comics in the Sunday paper.)

The culture grows. Some call it progress. Others call it sin. Each must test God to determine for himself or herself right action versus wrong action.

Let’s explore, now, factors of a spiritual nature related to Paul’s phrase “the renewing of your mind.”

The prefix “re” comes to English usage through the Latin and means “again” or “again and again.”

Paul writes that the means by which one is transformed comes with mind renewal. We must change the way we think. Thought triggers feeling, and feeling triggers behavior.

Referring to our first parents, he writes of the godlessness of mankind: Since (mankind) did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind to do what ought not to be done (Rom. 1:28).

We must, therefore, grow in knowledge of God and, thus, make our minds new.

From this, I presume that Paul saw the relationship between thought and behavior. Belief is “mind” driven. We use our cognitive processes, our minds, both to maintain a strong belief system in a God we’ve never seen as well as to justify mind slippage as the culture presents us with a wide array of choices—some very good, and some very harmful. To achieve transformation, we must change the way we think as we seek to test and approve God’s will for us.

This year, Easter ushered in April, the most beautiful month of the year. Hope is in the air. Choose to feel and act on it.

Easter has become a time for celebration, for enjoying the flowers of springtime, the warm greetings of a Sunday morning, special events, sumptuous dinners, excited voices of happy children and the pleasures of family. I do not minimize these things. They are all wonderful and important.

We must not, however, allow the meaning of this special day of remembrance to slip slowly away—along with memories of a very special morning—in the haste of preparation and the joy of celebration.

Easter means “resurrection”—defeat for the tomb, new life for humanity, new beginnings in the critical aspects of identity formation, new personal power as we grow in faith.

What did this historic event teach me that I need to hold dear in the forefront of my brain and the depth of my heart? People are talking about the events surrounding the death and resurrection of Jesus more than 2,000 years after it happened.  What did I learn from Easter? Let’s start at the beginning of the week as Jesus arrived in Jerusalem.

Cheering crowds are fickle.

Ask any athlete. Ask politicians. Audiences seem only to want to know what you’ve done for them lately.

Change demands courage.

Because the Jewish culture had matured, Jesus sought to teach a new revelation of God. It concerned a shift in a basic ethic—from rules and laws to love and principles of human relationship. As God in the flesh he shared the narrative of that ethic with stories.

Change is not automatic. Someone courageous must lead it and keep it going forward in the desired direction.

Usually, it’s risky. Most people don’t resonate positively to changing the way things work. This is especially true in matters of the spirit. In The Salvation Army we get almost accustomed to shifting corps officers around every few years. Sometimes, the abrupt change comes as a shock. We diminish that shock if the soldiers of the corps have strong, consistent and visible leadership, and the congregation perceives the officer as the facilitator of the member’s spiritual development as well as administrator of the franchise.

Lay leadership must build family. The corps becomes a family when the schedule provides time and opportunity for the members to relate to one another. The corps becomes a family when members share their narrative—their past, present and future story with one another. The corps becomes a family when the narrative of the corps itself becomes visible to the members. This is the way the corps (and a family) build identity.

Crises and threat distress courage.

The presence of Jesus brought courage to his followers. When push came to shove, however, when knives and swords flashed in the evening firelight, only Peter followed the impulses of his courageous spirit. When Jesus was absent, however, and the threat took a personal turn, even Peter cowered, and he and his colleagues found a hiding place behind locked doors.

But with the resurrection and its conquest of doubt, these followers brought continuity to the change. They preached and sang the glories of a new way of life. Their courage was restored because Jesus was with them and stayed with them. Only John died a natural death—and that was because he spent so much time imprisoned.

Hope trumps despair

In the Fridays of our life, we must always remember that “Sunday is coming.”

Loss happens. Loss demands respect. Ignoring loss maintains its pain. We recognize loss when we grieve. It is essential to grieve when you have sustained a significant loss. Tears lubricate our progress to acceptance.

To despair is to live a life without integrity, an incomplete life. People without integrity fall into hopelessness.  Hopelessness is the absence of faith. Without faith you’re “going it alone.” Your grief escalates, because now you feel isolated, lonely no matter how many people are around you. In your loneliness you grow disappointed, even disgusted with yourself.

Hope remains in the wings, ignored and forgotten. You bring it out onto the stage by filling in the empty spaces created by your absence of faith.

Love stands the test.

When you are in a trough, at the bottom of your emotional sine wave, feeling low, where is your focus—on self  or others? If it’s the former, the “poor me” syndrome becomes a reality. When things go awry, or you get hit with something unexpected, it’s natural to center your own pain and confusion on your self.

Please remind yourself that you don’t have to stay there. If you are “full of yourself,” no room exists for thoughts about others. If you can push your mind toward otherness, you will discover that, truly, love stands the test.

And so, this Easter, I have observed many lessons, and many more beyond those printed here. I suspect you have many to add to my list. I’d enjoy hearing from you. Have a wonderful April.

I’m sure you’re aware of our Army’s mission, and the interpretation of it made by John Gowans. Just to remind you, he said: “The Salvation Army exists to save souls, grow saints, serve suffering humanity.” Simple. Straightforward. Specific. This is who we are and what we do. I buy it.

I wonder, though, are these expressed in a particular order? Do they all have equal emphasis? Are we left to choose among them? Is one more important than another?

I see them as having equal emphasis, but I wonder how “the field” sees them—how they are actually implemented in practice. I believe that the emphasis varies widely with most corps emphasizing the first one—saving souls; not too sure about the second one—growing saints; and delegating the third one to a qualified employee—serving suffering humanity.

I see the “growing saints” part of our mission as discipling. Facilitating growth is critical in the life of the new believer. If it is their intention to attend regularly, give them a responsibility.

It was in October 1890 that Booth published his major social work treatise, “In Darkest England and the Way Out.” This book underlined his Army’s commitment to the poor and caused us to have the third statement of our mission: serving a suffering humanity.

What does that mean? It means we meet the needs of those in distress through multiple approaches depending on the needs of the population served.

How might we identify this “suffering humanity”? We need to know a lot more about what it means “to suffer.”

The characteristics of today’s suffering humanity are much like those of the people William and Catherine Booth found in East London 150 years ago—what he called the submerged 10th—the poor. This population, today, has now grown in this country to the forgotten 15th. More than 15 percent of today’s America live below the poverty line. They are the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the unemployed, the frightened, the ill, the elderly, the addicted, the marginalized, the disenfranchised—the 46.2 million people today living below the “poverty line.” That line, for a family of four, represents an income around $22,000 per year for everything.

Originally, when this “line” was created it represented 50 percent of the median income of a family. Today, that figure represents only 30 percent of median income. This amount is far below the actual amount for a family to survive. These are the people that some in Congress, in order to balance the budget, believe need less money.

Actually, I doubt that we have any idea how to measure poverty. I don’t think it’s quantifiable. How does one put a number on survival? Can you figure the cost of being poor?

The church, including the Army, cannot confront poverty by itself. We must share that responsibility with others; including the federal government. It needs to be involved, but so do we. As discussion continues on budget-balancing issues, we must join other churches and organizations equally committed to the poor in advocating for those living in poverty. That’s a place to start.

I firmly believe that, in many cases, the Army has become much too insular. The poor are our people, yet the tactic we use to relate to them seems to be built on a waiting strategy. When they come to us for some kind of help we will aid them. We need to design a tactic of going out and exploring how we can become more inclusive and feed the poor a lot more than simply food.

For some reason our current image of a “poor person” is rarely seen as elderly. This must change.

James Firman, president of the National Council on Aging, stated that official measures of poverty levels are inadequate in that they underestimate the 20 to 40 percent of total income that those 65 and older currently have to pay out of pocket for health care.

Alicia Munnell, director of Center for Retirement Research at Boston College, stated that credit card debt is rising faster among the elderly than any other groups because of demands to pay high medical fees.

Our image and our reality must be perceived as the primary advocate for the poor—the poor in spirit, the poor economically and anyone else the culture denigrates unfairly.

Who speaks for the poor? Whose voice will be most trusted? It is the voice that speaks with accurate  authority and has assembled the facts, understands how they are misused or kept secret, a voice without  any gain other than serving a suffering humanity—one of our missions.

In this nation, the Army needs some kind of data-gathering agency whose responsibility will be to keep us apprised of issues we face in the present and the near future. We need a think tank.

In a few days, we will reach the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox. Then we will celebrate Christianity’s climatic event: Jesus’ victory over death. Easter is upon us, and with it comes spring and the dramatic display of the glory of new birth. The days grow brighter and our moods seem lighter. Resurrection Day approaches.

Along with Easter we have God’s reminder of the important linkage between those of us who worship a Jew whom we believe to be God’s chosen one—his Son, Messiah, the Christ— and Judaism itself.

A short time prior to Passover—perhaps the most significant of Jewish holy days—Jesus needed some vital information and surveyed his disciples. It was in Caesarea Philippi that he posed mankind’s most important question. He asked: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”

The disciples mentioned most of the celebrated names in Jewish lore. Interrupting, Jesus asked again: “But what about you? Who do you say I am?”

Peter, a disciple not given to thoughtful rumination, answered quickly: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God!” (Matt. 16:13-15).

Jesus had his answer. His key followers were ready. From that time on Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life (Matt. 16:21).

Peter didn’t want to hear this and rebuked him: “Never Lord! This shall never happen to you!”

Jesus responded with equal emotion: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men.

“If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me (Matt. 16:23, 24).

And with that, Jesus turned his face to Jerusalem and an unenviable future.

Jesus intended to arrive in Jerusalem in time to celebrate Passover, the ancient holiday prescribed by God as the final plague of Moses. This involved the death of all firstborn sons throughout Egypt and guaranteed that Pharaoh would release  the Jews from captivity in Egypt. To escape the plague, Jews were told to kill a year-old lamb during the twilight of the 14th day of Nisan, the first month of the year. The Lord told them to take some of the blood of the lamb and spread it along the sides and top of the door frame in the house where they intended to eat the fire-roasted lamb along with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. While they ate, they were to be dressed for a fast exit with their cloaks tucked under their belts. The death angel would “pass over” their house when they saw the doorposts (Ex. 12:1-13). This escape from Egypt ended approximately 430 years of Hebrew captivity—the last 150 years in servitude and slavery.

Jesus arrived in Jerusalem on Sunday—the first day of the week—upon the back of a borrowed donkey. A crowd celebrated his arrival, shouting “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the Highest.”

The whole city was excited and stirred. “Who is this? they wondered.

The crowd answered: “This is Jesus, the prophet, from Nazareth in Galilee.”

On Monday, Jesus made his presence known at the temple, where he found people buying and selling. He overturned the tables on which they had stacked their wares and the benches on which they sat. He said to them: “My house will be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of robbers.”

He stayed at the temple healing the blind and the lame, spending time with the children who shouted “Hosanna to the Son of David.” When confronted by the chief priests and the teachers, he displayed his intellectual acumen and silenced them.

Tuesday brought parables and controversy. Both the Sadducees and the Pharisees tried to trap him with a series of questions. Jesus mystified them with his superior knowledge of Scripture. He then directed the crowd that had gathered to obey the Pharisees, but not to emulate them.

Wednesday he rested, and on Thursday he celebrated the Passover meal with the disciples. Here, he gave new meaning to the Passover as he ministered to them in the role of servant, washing their feet, and consecrating the food and drink as symbols of his body and his blood by which they were to remember him. When we pray at meals we keep this covenant.

In a dramatic conclusion to the meal, he announced that one of them would betray him. Judas, the betrayer, quietly left the meal.

The disciples, with Jesus, then walked to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus prayed in agony and validated his obedience to God.

As Thursday became Friday, Judas and a crowd of armed henchmen arrested Jesus and dragged him away to face multiple false trials, beatings at the hands of ignorant people, condemnation both by Herod and the Roman governor, Pilate, who, when confronted by an angry mob, sent him to be crucified at high noon the same day. The crucifixion took place on a hill called Golgotha, the place of the skull. As the sacrificial lambs were butchered for Passover meals, the sacrificial Lamb of God died on a cross.

Saturday, the Sabbath, brought hiding, grief, fear and rest for his followers. Then, with dawn of a beautiful Sunday, two women made their way to the tomb where they discovered it empty, and a risen Lord walked among them and us still.

The history of Christ is the best document of the power of character we have.

A youth who owed nothing to fortune and who was “hanged at Tyburn”—by the sheer quality of his nature has shed this epic splendor around the facts of his death which has transfigured every particular into a grand universal symbol for the eyes of all mankind ever since.

He did well. This great Defeat is hitherto the highest fact we have. But he that shall come shall do better.

There ought to be no such thing as Fate. As long as we use this word, it is a sign of our impotence, and that we are not yet ourselves. There is now a sublime revelation in each of us. …I know that the whole is here—the wealth of the Universe is for me.

And yet whilst I adore this ineffable life which is at my heart, it will not condescend to gossip with me, it will not announce to me any particulars of science, it will not enter into the details of my biography and say to me why my son dies in his sixth year of joy.

Herein, then I have this latent omniscience coexistent with omniignorance. Moreover, whilst this Deity glows at the heart and gives me all powers, I know that tomorrow will be as this day. I am a dwarf, and I remain a dwarf. That is to say, I believe in Fate, and will continue to do so until God fills me with his fullness. Then I shall see the disappearance of fate.

I am Defeated all the time, yet to Victory I am born.

If I should write an honest diary, what should I say? Alas, that life has halfness, shallowness. I do not satisfy myself. How can I satisfy others?

“Halfness” is an undefined term in common dictionaries. As such, its meaning requires interpretation. It describes a way of being wherein “we see but a poor reflection [of life] as in a mirror (1 Cor. 13:12 NIV1984). It implies incompleteness.

I view the passage this way. Emerson recognizes the difficulties involved in having the vision of the goal related to living in wholeness; yet, in the reality of our human non-perfection, we are, at this time, unfinished. Doubt invades with unanswerable questions. Temptation vanquishes the weak-willed. Self-centeredness takes over as it plays out its destiny in an ethic swallowed in fog.

We seek some kind of perfection and fail miserably. Perfection is unattainable, for we are imperfect people.

Paul, writing his memorable “Love Chapter” to his church in Corinth, said:

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away, for we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes the imperfect disappears (1Cor. 13:8-10 NIV).

Does this mean we simply give up, lay down, slip sideways and stand for nothing?

Some do. “The mind requires a far higher exhibition of character, one that shall make itself good to the senses as well as to the soul—a success to the senses as well as to the soul” (Emerson).

While recognizing that absolute completeness eludes us, the quality of one’s character and the nature of that person’s belief system determine how close that person is to being full or complete.

I see “halfness” as a quantity less than full—not necessarily an exact measure, neither full nor empty. It describes someone with something to contribute, but stuck in shallow commitment contributing to feelings of guilt, and even that, quickly denied.

What needs to happen, as Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 12, is to invite God’s Spirit into our lives. It’s Holy—how can you go wrong with that? When we do, God’s various gifts are handed out  to us by the Spirit. Each person is given something to do that shows who God is: Everyone gets in on it, everyone benefits. …The variety [of the gifts] is wonderful (MSG).

Paul, then, lists the gifts. Here are some:

• wise counsel

• clear understanding

• simple trust

• healing the sick

• miraculous acts

• proclamation

God decides who gets what and when (MSG).

God wants us to think about how this makes us more significant, not less. He tells us how we can modify our halfness. All humans are dependent on other humans, and, with him, we can put our halfnesses together. If all people do their part and use the gifts given them, we become a power to be reckoned with.

Accepting and using God’s gifts along with others, provide victory even in our halfness.

My corps (Pasadena Tabernacle) recently celebrated its 125th birthday. It was quite a shindig. Lotta people. Mostly past and present soldiers. Many traveled long distances for the occasion, and seeing them brought back warm, fond memories. The event took place on the exact date that the Army held its first meeting in Pasadena more than a century ago. The group celebrated more than longevity. They celebrated victories.

During the celebration planning, I became aware (through reading New Frontier) that a number of other corps in the Western Territory were celebrating 125 years. Two thoughts immediately flashed through my agile and fertile mind. The first was that these other corps were trying to upstage our corps. (This kind of thinking is called “self-centeredness.”)

No…really, big congratulations.

The second thought resonated around the question: “Who was that person leading the territory around 1888 who started opening corps?” And then I realized that the Western Territory didn’t even begin until 1920. So, whoever it was seemed to have operated a long way from “the leader,” acted autonomously, did not feel a need to get permission, worked outside bureaucratic entanglement, and had a bunch of free swinging entrepreneurial risk takers with him/her.

This is the way the Army leapfrogged around the world. Lay people acted independently. The Army in the United States, Australia, France, the Marshall Islands, and probably other places as well, all started with the laity. They were inspired by the Army ethic and wanted it where they lived. They started a corps, and called it “The Salvation Army.” Then, they asked the Army to send officers. And, the Army sent them—fast.

Brilliant. Entrepreneurial. Courageous. What happened?

My guess is that that in our beginning we were very young and feared nothing. Today, we have requirements, such as sufficient funds, available officers, a facility and other bureaucratic entanglements that squelch the entrepreneurial drive of soldiers, who then silently delegate the responsibility for corps building to the establishment.

Now, we still embrace the same ethic, but, administratively, it’s a vastly different Army. It’s also a very different world. Society seems more complicated. The Army is often tied in knots by legalities, rules, regulations, and, strangely, our narrowing conservative nature. The model implemented 125 years ago just might not work.

This corps, 125 years in Pasadena, has maintained a nucleus of highly cohesive soldiery. This did not change even with the addition of close to 200 soldiers when the Hollywood Tabernacle Corps merged with the Pasadena Corps 30 years ago. Together, we carry on rich traditions and celebrate the victories of past giants of lay and officer leadership. At the celebration, the Tab musical forces revealed their skills, and the audience had a chance to compare their current prowess with their own participation in the musical groups of their day. In my judgment, the current groups are as good, or even somewhat better, than their predecessors—except, maybe, the second cornet section in the senior band. There’s one old guy who doesn’t know when to hang ‘em up and insists on sitting first chair in that section, much to the frustration of the 16-year-old “comer,” who is always bothered by the old guy shouting: “Where are we?”

I believe that God has used exceptional corps officers, consistent local officer leadership, a wide array of music programs and the camaraderie of the membership to stimulate much of the growth of our soldiery. The growth trend line reveals a slow, continual climb—both in attendance and program quality. Program development is the harbinger of growth. It requires the ideas, participation and energy of the membership. Our membership seems not only willing to do this, but insists on being involved. After all, it is “our” corps.

Over the years we have been blessed with quality leadership from corps officers and an active corps council. Our current officers, Majors Darren and Mary Norton, along with their four children, have fit in with excellence. I really like a guy who sees a challenge and does something about it while bringing lay leadership along with him. Our World Service donation this year will increase by about four times over, primarily, because Darren had a vision that became a goal owned by the membership and it is moving forward. See more: http://on.fb.me/VHiwOK.

I had a great time.

John Gowans’ contributions to The Salvation Army are of such significance, I believe, that picking one or two is impossible. Regardless, his relationship with all of us held such intensity and authority that no one with him for more than a minute left him without feeling the power of the moment.

Some contributions were more significant than others. His greatest was in choosing Gisele—who always supported him and played important roles in his ministry—to be his wife. Another important gift to The Salvation Army is his succinct, memorable, and remarkable translation of our ethic:

The Salvation Army exists:

To save souls

To grow saints

To serve suffering humanity

In other words, this unique ethic, explained simply with Gowans’ words, seeks to establish a complete, whole, full, total relationship with seeking individuals and facilitates spiritual renewal through belief and faith in Christ. It is both an articulation of our mission statement and a summary of Booth’s Cabhorse Charter. Our relationship is based on the whole person. Let me reprise my perception of that cabhorse charter and its relationship to the Army today. Remember, cabs moved with genuine horsepower in Booth’s day.

When a London cabhorse breaks down, we first stand it up. Then we minister to it in a caring and compassionate manner until it is fully able to return to duty. Then, we put the horse back to work.­

Humans manifest many different types of “break-downs.” When the human animal breaks down, we relate spiritually down through the expression of non-judgmental Christian love; second, we maintain that help by modeling values that parallel Christ; and third, we explore mankind’s search for God. And when that person expresses a desire to help others, we put them to work.

First, we start by picking up the pieces where the need is greatest. This may be from addiction; possibly, it’s ministry through the grief process; possibly, it’s some of many different types of social assistance— health, hunger, housing; often, it’s developmental. Always, it’s non-judgemental.

Second, we insert spiritual modeling along the way, and at the right time, lead them to Christ. This is the soul-saving element. It doesn’t stand alone. It continues for the duration of our relationship. Third, we stimulate Christian growth through increased understanding of God’s Word and showing love to others.

General Gowans presented this simplification of our mission in Atlanta in 2000 at the Army’s Seventh International Congress. The empty stage consumed considerable space in the middle of the large athletic arena surrounded by 20,000 Salvationists. A long, curving ramp led up to the stage. He mounted it slowly, carrying a three legged stool, and when he got to center stage he sat on it. He then began to explore what might happen if one or two legs were removed. The stool, now without balanced support, would not hold him and would collapse.

Gowans related that stool to the Army. It stands firmly on three legs as does the Army on the three points within a single mission: (1) winning souls for Christ; (2) facilitating their spiritual growth through the working of the Holy Spirit; and (3) rescuing people from the distress of social collapse. That’s what we are: all three together, inseparable.

For me, remembering John Gowans presents conflicting emotions of pleasure and loss. The meager personal memories of close individual contact I have assembled over too short a time period pour in rapidly. The power of his preaching or teaching stirred me deeply. He always seemed to be aiming just at me.

He had the greatest laugh I’ve ever heard—often a product of his own humor, yet entirely unassuming. There was nothing small or soft about it. It was rich and full, nothing fake about it. He laughed at that which was funny. I never heard him tell a joke or diminish people with his humor.

He also wrote the book and lyrics for 10-plus Army musicals with fellow officer, John Larsson, who wrote the music. Many of those lyrics have found their way into The Salvation Army Song Book.

Musical drama was a great departure for the Army in the mid 1960’s when Britain’s National Youth Secretary Denis Hunter almost forced these two creative captains to write something like an Army “Guys and Dolls” for an International Youth Festival while still leading significant corps in the British Territory. Some months later, “Take Over Bid” appeared and became an immediate success in Britain and around the world.

His musicals provided a creative, often humorous, always mission-focused means to communicate the Army ethos and ethic to the general public.

I see him as an actor, writer, director, producer on a stage named “life.” By that, I mean he achieved goals, tried new ideas, related to people by walking with them. He was always in thoughtful, dedicated action. But, he was more than an actor. He was real, authentic, genuine, a complete whole, a leader—a “what you see is what you get kind of guy.”

He inspired me.

I can’t describe the feeling. I know I felt the strength of the man I perceived as the most dramatic Army change agent in generations. His charisma washed over people with gentle genuineness, wisdom and warmth. He seemed almost unaware of this gracious generosity.

He listened and was genuinely interested in the ideas of others. His analysis of the quality of the ideas was always thoughtful, pointed, precise as well as kind and considerate. He was open to the ideas and thinking of others, but always focused on why we exist as an organization.

He was always “others” oriented. People mattered most to John. We celebrate his life as he goes on to Glory.

Reviewing “Reflections of a Former Atheist “

Merry Christmas!

This is a time to celebrate re-birth, to recognize the Babe of Bethlehem and his growth as God’s son, the Christ, the Messiah, who gave such a second chance to all who would believe in his name.

The story of one such second chance is captured in a new Frontier Press title, “Reflections of a Former Atheist,” by Major Glen Doss.

In it, Glen tells a story of the war between belief and nonbelief. How does one move from a childhood belief system, fully accepting Christian principles taught by loving parents and others in the church, into a posture of atheistic nonbelief and total rejection of the prior belief system? And, how does one find a way back?

The book is organized in short chapters that tell this story. Each one concludes with “reflections” that help the reader understand the means by which individual spiritual change can take place.

Growing up, Glen read major works by major authors in his deep, hidden sanctuary within a “patch of woods” near the family’s southern Arkansas farm. He wrestled with deep thoughts, trying to make sense of life and of God.

“Few things are as intoxicating as a teenager’s first taste of arrogance,” he writes, realizing that his “new god was none other than—myself.” He made what he describes as an exhilarating leap both into maturity and to atheism.

Much of the book deals with Glen’s life in the military. Stationed with the Air Force from 1967-1968 at Bien Hoa, Vietnam, he experienced an airbase heavily shelled by the enemy. He writes that he had no patience for those who “held on to that (God) myth.”

In major battles, wherein he saw “hoochmates” killed, his responsibility was often to carry the dead or dying to an aid station. “Taking in the scene, I freeze. I feel I am about to lose my composure—to scream and cry out in protest, to sob like a baby—when my new friend, stoicism steps into my mind, shuts the door upon my emotions and securely locks it,” Glen writes.

As the battles raged, some soldiers sobbed, screamed and cried. “And then there was Joe”; as Glen describes: “When the world around us seemed to be falling apart, Joe went about his day unperturbed.”

Glen said to him once, “Nothing seems to rile you. While the rest of us are shaking in our boots, wondering if our number is going to be up next, or getting drunk at the club—doing just about anything to keep our sanity, you sit calmly reading your Bible, maintaining that steady, unworried demeanor. Why is that? Where does your peace of mind come from—this courage that you show?”

“I place my trust in God, and I believe he will do what’s best, and he knows what that is far better than I do. So, why should I worry?” Joe said.

Glen replied, “Okay, that may work for you; me, I don’t believe in God.”

“So I’ve heard,” Joe said. “I know—and how is that going?”

Immediately, Glen writes that he felt angry: “He challenged my assumptions, my fundamental worldview—and suddenly I grew insecure.”

After the war, his absence of faith made him feel powerless as his travels as an editor/reporter for Stars and Stripes brought him into proximity with desperate and hurting people. Glen did not like himself, and seemed disgusted with his bigotry and arrogance.

Time moved on. Now married with two children, Glen brought his self-contempt home, unable to show much affection, lost in his own loathing.

Battling the idea of suicide, Glen checked himself into the Naval Hospital in San Diego. He describes  the conflict of his choices between life and death with a quote by E. Stanley Jones: “We who decided we would not live with God, find we cannot live with ourselves.”

A year later, with his family gone, his anxiety and discontent elevating, he called his brother, Dale, a Baptist minister. “There is real peace to be found in Jesus Christ,” Dale said. But Glen laughed.

By summer 1986, Glen’s resources were exhausted and he recognized that the “death wish was winning.” Then Scripture came to him—Be still, and know that I am God (Ps. 46:10a NIV).

Repeating the verse, he writes that the experience was “a warm, warm feeling of familiarity.” A bolt of “sheer energizing power” shot though him, and “I was overcome by waves of refreshing grace.” He writes: “O Lord, thank you for your patience.”

The new convert needed a church, and it had to be one that existed for “helping hurting, suffering, broken people—not simply to preach and pastor.” Through an article in People Magazine that described the election of Eva Burrows as General, Glen found The Salvation Army.

He researched the organization and began attending the San Diego Citadel Corps where Recruiting Sergeant John Nute introduced him to all things Army. Within a few years, Glen felt a call to full-time ministry and entered training. Ordained and commissioned two years later, Glen began putting his own “practical Christianity” into action.

“Reflections of a Fomer

Athiest” by Glen Doss is 

published by Frontier Press and is available online at

tradewest.com and 

amazon.com.

None of us can claim perfection. We’d like to, but we can’t. We’re human.

In our imperfect humanness we seem required to approach innumerable unsettling and mystifying situations in life. They often occur on a daily basis. We feel threatened, unsafe about something. We perceive a critical glance, a strong word, or negative feedback. We begin to associate that feeling with proof of the accuracy of our own negative self-judgment.

The product comes as a pervasive sense of internal unpleasantness, a steady, unidentified, yet abiding fear. For some, that feeling seems almost permanent. Others experience it and quickly attempt to escape it, often by coming to irrational conclusions.

Regardless of its power, all of us experience it. When we do, we find these situations ominous, difficult to understand. We approach with dread, feeling definitely down, uncomfortable, troubled. Many of us hang on to it, unwilling to let go, possibly even unable to move our minds back to the routine of life.

It’s the “human condition,” the great paradox of life, the major question of our existence. Are human beings good or bad? I want to be good, but, most of the time, I’m just OK. Other questions begin with the word “why.” Why does this always seem to happen to me? Why can’t I be problem free? It then leaps into the realm of the major existential concerns: death and being, freedom and responsibility, loneliness and isolation, meaning and meaninglessness.

Irvin Yalom, in his book Existential Therapy, identified five characteristics for healthy living.

1. Recognizing that life is at times unfair and  unjust.

2. Recognizing that ultimately there is no escape  from some of life’s pain or from death.

3. Recognizing that no matter how close I get to other people, I must still face life alone.

4. Facing the basic issues of my life and death, and thus living my life more honestly and being

less caught up in trivialities.

5. Learning that I must take ultimate responsibility for the way I live my life no matter how much guidance and support

I get from others.

I sense that, at best, we are all highly inconsistent.

As humans, why are we so competitive, aggressive, self-centered? With this spirit, can we truly love? If we believe we do, does that love come from neediness or from giving? Do we realize that true love consists of loving the “different” and the unlovable? Are we only the product of a design error?

Trying to figure out the answer to that one becomes the stuff of poetry, the plot of tragedies, the rhythm of the blues, the lyrics of country music, the pain of daily life.

It’s the dissatisfaction we feel due to our inability to find happiness or even discover its meaning. The evidence seems to point to the design error. In many situations, humans are not nice people; in fact, our brutality directed at others seems annually to escalate. We are close to destroying this fragile planet.

Feelings drive the human condition. That’s the power source. Feelings bring the “condition” into the present. An insidious fear holds sway as the primary contributor to our impulse to remain safe, to reduce the threat of risk, and to avoid growth.

Anxiety is this dread type fear without an object. We manufacture it in our brains.

The fear reveals itself in a large number of different scenarios.

Fear of the unknown

Fear of losing control

Fear of rejection

Fear of emptiness, being hollow

Fear of being boring

Fear of being alone and lonely

Fear of rejection

Fear of making a fool of oneself, ridicule

Fear of intimacy

Fear intertwines with anger. Anger generates hostility. Hostility destroys relationships.

The human condition becomes evident in the magnificent poetry of the biblical book of Job.

Job had everything: a large estate, great land on which pastured large herds, a wonderful family with a loving wife and several children.

Unknown to him at this time, God had called a meeting of all the angels. Satan also showed up, and God asked him what he’d been doing. Satan replied: “Oh, going here and there, roaming the earth” (Job 1:7b NIV).

For some unknown reason, God brought up Job’s name and praised him highly as a man who fears God and shuns evil (1:8b).

Satan knew Job well and confronts God. “Why should Job fear you? You’ve given him everything and built a hedge around him to protect him. What would happen if you took everything away?” (1:9-11).

God told Satan to go ahead: Do what you want to him, but don’t hurt him physically (1:12).

Almost immediately, Job experienced “the first test.” He lost his family, his home, his herds and his fields—gone.

Needless to say, Job was depressed. Nevertheless, he continued to affirm God. “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. May the name of the Lord be praised” (1:21b).

Job’s second test involved his health: terrible sores, scabs from head to foot that took him to a trash heap among the ashes. His wife said to him, “Are you still holding on to your integrity? Curse God and die!” (2:9). Job replied: “You foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?” (2:10). In all this, Job did not sin.

Next, came a series of challenges for Job: in his immense suffering, putting up with speeches from three “friends” who meant well but recited only the conventional religious wisdom of the day. Their answers were “severed from their source”—secularized.

“Real faith cannot be reduced to spiritual bromides,” Eugene Peterson writes in The Message’s introduction to the chapter of Job.

Job’s lesson on coping with the human condition concerns, first, affirming God with perseverance through suffering and second, facing our fears.