The Salvation Army - a reflection

  What’s in a name?  A name can be difficult to live up to, or can be misleading.  When London’s Imperial War Museum was recently refurbished, it was observed by one journalist that the attraction has often had to overcome one obstacle: “the three words of its title”[i] – all of which can turn potential patrons off.

  The Salvation Army, it seems to me, also has a problem with its name.  This is more of an identity crisis, a danger of falling short of living up to its name.  To understand who we are as a movement, a body, a phenomenon, requires digging deeper into the meaning of our title.

  I will look at the words in reverse order, starting with the most common shorthand for our movement: Army.  This automatically throws up the much-debated issue of the military metaphor, which is plagued by the same PR crisis as the Imperial War Museum.  The military metaphor may or may not be satisfactory, although this article does not call for a name change, but greater ownership of the name.

  Similar tension surrounds the Army-related issue of uniform.  Again, one can legitimately ask questions around the suitability and practicality of full Salvation Army uniform (granted, there is a time and a place), but what we should focus on here is the way in which our clothing can identify us.  I would also stress the difference between unity and uniformity: unity is everyone being together; uniformity is everyone being the same.  The former is crucial, the latter undesirable to say the least.  Uniformity implies homogeneity, which is contrary to our DNA as The Salvation Army (the “whosoever” probably won’t look like a lot of Salvationists).  Unity, however, is what we must strive for.  This is born of the kind of sacrifice, selflessness, and humility present in Jesus Christ (cf Philippians 2:1-11, for example).  It suggests a body of people who are prepared to take a bullet for one another, to put themselves on the line for the cause and for each other.

  Identifying ourselves as an Army carries other implications.  Along with the idea of sacrifice for one another, there is the call to sacrifice on behalf of those whom we serve in mission.  And mission is necessarily risky.  Roman Catholic priest and missiologist William Frazier once commented that “Those who receive [the missionary cross] possess not only a symbol of their mission, but a handbook on how to carry it out”[ii].  Mission is costly, potentially dangerous business, and an Army is therefore well-placed to engage in this enterprise.

  An Army is disciplined.  Trained.  In fact, we could shorten the word ‘disciplined’ to ‘discipled’.  Our Army must be discipled, every member a disciple, a student, a follower, of the Master, Jesus Christ.  We seem to accept, in general, that our music requires commitment and discipline.  We build into our programmes musical practices, but what about spiritual practices?  While personal, individual devotions are essential, and we each need to take responsibility for our own spirituality, it is clear to me that we need also to create a culture of spiritual accountability, of training together.  This may take the form of prayer meetings, bible studies, small groups, accountability partnerships, mentoring.  I would not want to prescribe how it should happen, but rather that it should happen.  We are good at training for Sunday morning, but as Message Trust founder Andy Hawthorne has observed, Sunday morning isn’t the match – it’s the teamtalk.  The match – or war, to use our favoured metaphor – happens the whole week.  Let’s train for that.

  As an Army, we must assess whether we are a marching army or a standing army.  A marching army ‘marches as to war’; this is a flexible, fighting force, advancing into enemy territory, breaking new ground, pushing boundaries.  A standing army is stationed with a defensive posture, its primary function and duty to protect key strategic points and guard boundaries.  It remains within its own territory, it is well-drilled in parades and performance.  A good example of this contrast is found in the respective armies of King David and King Solomon.  Only a generation apart, David’s army was a marching army, while Solomon’s was a standing army.  David (latterly, his general, Joab) led his troops into battle, expanding his territory, overcoming enemies.  Solomon, however, inherited his father’s large kingdom, and defended it with a standing army (cf 1 Kings 10:26).  Solomon devoted considerable attention and resources to the administration of his kingdom and building projects (albeit spectacular ones).  What happened after Solomon should sound a note of caution (his kingdom split, ultimately collapsing).

  If, then, we are a marching Army, to which war are we marching?  For whom, for what, and against whom, against what, are we fighting?  We have “a burning desire to… fight for social justice” (from the Territorial Vision Statement).  This is consonant with the gospel, the mission and ministry of Jesus involved a head-on battle with social injustice in many guises.  However, some will argue that our battle is spiritual warfare.  Again, Jesus cast out many demons, and engaged the devil himself.  Paul wrote to the Ephesians that “our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12).  He then goes on to list the items of the armour of God, but many of these refer to this-worldly struggles for social justice, as much as to spiritual battles[iii].  Like the apocalypticists, perhaps we do well to see battles here, intertwined with heavenly war.  Jesus did not see the social and the spiritual as dichotomous, and never the twain shall meet.  Rather, in the mission of Jesus, we see a holistic approach, whereby people are set free from whatever is holding them.

  This brings us nicely to the concept of Salvation.  What do we mean by salvation?  When someone is saved, what are they saved from?  From hell and damnation?  We hope so!  But not only as an eternal, yet-to-come possibility, but a here-and-now reality.  For many people, life is a sort of hell, they are already living as the condemned.  People currently suffering abuse, or survivors of abuse; people who are oppressed, in various ways; people living without a consciousness of God.  People need salvation from all these situations.

  It might be helpful here to revisit our doctrine of total depravity (Article 5: “We believe that our first parents were created in a state of innocency, but by their disobedience they lost their purity and happiness, and that in consequence of their fall all men have become sinners, totally depraved, and as such are justly exposed to the wrath of God”).  It seems to me that the total depravity of humanity is not such that every human being is a monster, with no moral compass, and no possibility of ever doing any good.  Rather, I suggest it has to do with the breadth, rather than depth, of depravity, the range.  Sin has gotten into every aspect of humanity.  Every level and dimension of human life is under the effects of sin.  In fact, sin affects (or infects) the whole of creation, as Paul suggests in Romans 8, because of human distortion of God’s order.

  Thus, sin or evil takes many forms.  There is personal sin, which is perhaps the most obvious and easy to conceptualise.  I find the following definition of sin quite helpful: ‘going against the known will of God’.  Thus, if I know (or believe) that a certain action goes against God’s revealed will, but choose to do it anyway, I am sinning.  This is also helpful, because it frames the issue in relation to the kingdom of God, God’s reign.  God’s reign is about God’s will being done.  So, in the prayer Jesus taught his disciples, we find, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”  Heaven is the place, the state of affairs, where God’s will is done, absolutely and completely and perfectly.  Sin hinders this heavenly order on earth.  But this sin operates in many dimensions.

  There is also structural or systemic evil, whereby sin takes hold of structures or systems (eg, organisational or social) and manipulates these to oppose God’s will.  So, for example, any system which is designed so that, or as a corollary causes the situation whereby, privilege is maintained over against the exploitation or disadvantage of others.  To ground this example in real life, in a corporation where the directors are on six-figure salaries, with even larger bonuses, while the labourers (be they factory workers, retail assistants, etc.) are on barely the minimum wage (or less, as the case may be), I would suggest that structural evil holds sway.  In such a case, the salvation war might call us to boycott their business, or to campaign for greater economic justice (such as the rule of 10%, whereby the lowest salary in the corporation cannot be less than 10% of the highest).  This is just an example, among far too many, alas, of the reality of structural sin.

  Another “consequence of their fall” is bound up in the problem of suffering.  Why does suffering happen?  Why are there natural disasters that wipe out thousands of innocent lives?  Why do good people get cancer?  These are questions which cause heartache, and for some are even deal-breakers between them and God.  I have no intention of trivialising any of this, or trying to explain these away.  Such questions are valid, and deserve to be explored.  But for now, I would offer that the world, the created order, life itself, is under the power of sin, and this means decay and destruction dog our every step.  Paul suggested something along these lines in what is considered by many his magnum opus, Romans 8, as noted above.  It is not just humans who are affected by sin, but the whole creation.  One day, however, we will see “thy great salvation,/Perfectly restored in thee” (SASB 438), as He makes all things new, and removes all suffering, all sickness, all sorrow, all sin.

  It seems to me that we are called to advertise this coming kingdom.  We are called not to build the kingdom, but, as Jesus said, to seek it.  To look for it, to anticipate it, here and now.  And that means we can enact it, on some level.  We can work to alleviate suffering.  We can be there when disaster strikes – personal, communal, ecological, economic, and so on.  Sometimes we can relieve the problem, sometimes we can only live through it with someone.  But that kind of solidarity is holy – Christlike, as He came to share, to take on our pain and weakness, and everything else that human life and inhuman death involves.

  Therefore, if sin affects every dimension of our existence, then so does God’s salvation.  God’s salvation, I suggest, involves the restoration of all relationships.  It involves individuals coming into proper relationship with God, our Father, through Jesus Christ, the Saviour and Lord.  It involves individuals being brought together into the new humanity, where they can relate properly to one another.  It involves individuals being brought into proper relationship with themselves: understanding who God has made them to be.  It involves humanity being brought back to its initial state of proper relationship to creation (cf Genesis 1:28ff).  A salvation which fails to take seriously, but also integrally, the individual and corporate and societal, the spiritual, physical, social, and the ecological dimensions is a salvation which fails to reckon on the God who is “the Creator, Preserver, and Governor of all things”, and who as Trinity is perfectly relational, and invites everyone and everything to join His community of love and wholeness.

  And finally, we come to the beginning.  One little word, easy to overlook, the definite article: “The”.  We do not purport to be simply a Salvation Army, as though there are other such groups.  We make the bold claim that we are “The Salvation Army”, and as such we are saying that we have a particular, perhaps unique or exclusive, calling.  Salvation, it seems, is our business.  But what is our Unique Selling Point?  After all, surely, the Church universal is called to this business, to mission, stemming from God, to the whole world.  How do we differentiate ourselves, so that we can truly own our name and calling as The Salvation Army?

  I would suggest that this has to do with how far we will go.  To the ends of the earth?  In a sense, although not so much geographically, as socially.  We were raised up to reach the parts of society that other movements were not reaching.  Those who would not ‘fit in’ within the existing church cultures and structures.  A wise colleague officer once pointed out to me that we are there to catch those who fall through the gaps – gaps in welfare provision, in church affiliation, in our communities, and so on.  As The Salvation Army, we are perhaps God’s ‘special branch’, for the purposes of search and rescue; of going behind enemy lines and bringing down strongholds; rescuing captives and hostages; disrupting enemy operations.

  Comrades, there is a war going on.  Are we The Salvation Army?  Often, I hear those parting words of the Founder ringing in my ears:

  “While women weep, as they do now, I’ll fight.  While little children go hungry, as they do now, I’ll fight.  While men go to prison, in and out, in and out, as they do now, I’ll fight.  While there is a drunkard left, while there is a poor, lost girl upon the streets, while there yet remains one dark soul without the light of God, I’ll fight.  I’ll fight until the very end.”

  William Booth’s sight was failing by that time, but his vision was undiminished.  He could still see clearly that we were called to the salvation war.  One day, The Salvation Army will find itself in the heavenly version of the Imperial War Museum, as the fighting will be over.  There will be no more weeping.  No hunger.  No crime, no criminals, no victims.  No addiction.  No poverty.  No darkness without God, because everyone will see His light.  Our mission will be accomplished.

  Until then, we fight.  We are The Salvation Army.

---

[i] Marina Vaizey, 22 July 2014, http://www.theartsdesk.com/visual-arts/first-world-war-galleries-imperial-war-museum.  ‘Imperial’ is a throwback to an era many of us are ashamed of, or mourn.  ‘War’ is not a popular word or reality in many cultures, not least in a liberal democracy such as our own.  Even the word ‘Museum’ makes many of us yawn, I would suggest.

[ii] Quoted in Bosch, David J., Transforming Mission, 1991, Maryknoll, NY, Orbis, p.122

[iii] It seems obvious to me that Paul would be well aware of these Hebrew Bible references: in Isaiah 59:17, God puts on the breastplate of righteousness and a helmet of salvation to intervene in the corrupt state of affairs on earth; in Isaiah 11:5, the servant, the shoot from Jesse, will wear faithfulness, or truth, as a belt; also, no shoes are mentioned, but the feet of the one who brings good news (gospel) of salvation are beautiful on the mountains in Isaiah 52:7 (the content of that gospel: “Your God reigns”); God as a shield is a common Old Testament motif, for instance, Psalm 18:30, Proverbs 30:5; God’s word as a sword is not an Old Testament concept, but does feature in the deuterocanonical work Wisdom of Solomon, 18:15f (“your all-powerful word leaped from heaven, from the royal throne, into the midst of the land that was doomed, a stern warrior carrying the sharp sword of your authentic command…”)

Shepherd's warning

(Study passage John 10:1-18)
[This study was submitted to Salvationist magazine months ago.  They haven't published it.]

I remember, as a child, hearing the old saying, ‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight; red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.’  I have no idea whether this is accurate or not, but my interest in it is the contrasting pictures it paints.  This is a common motif in the Gospel of John, who seemingly has an obsession with dualisms, with contrasts between light and dark, love and hate, life and death, sight and blindness, and the list could go on.

  My other reason for mentioning that saying is the shepherd.  In churches, the words ‘pastor’ and ‘pastoral’ are frequently used.  They are generally associated with those in leadership positions within the church community, and carry connotations of caring, of nurturing.  The origin of the word pastor is Latin, where it is the word for shepherd.  The pastor is the shepherd of the flock.  The exemplar of this, of course, is Jesus, who described Himself as the good shepherd in John chapter 10 (verse 11).

  John 10 is a wonderful chapter, but the key to tapping the rich resources of this passage lie in its juxtaposition with the preceding chapter (John 9).  These two, together, provide a classic Johannine contrast, and offer up several more, which will be clear as we proceed: good and bad; give and take; in and out; life and death; come and go; security and insecurity; generosity and jealousy.

  John 9 sees Jesus controversially giving sight to a man born blind.  This leads to the Pharisees investigating the healing.  It’s hardly the stuff CSI is made of, but there you go.  The Pharisees bring in the heretofore-blind man for questioning.  They try to discredit the man, and Jesus.  They even bring in the man’s parents as witnesses.  The parents duck the questions, for fear of being put out of the synagogue (9:22).  The Pharisees, here, are seen as oppressive and exclusive.  Everyone and everything must fit into their categories, and on that basis they decide who gets to participate and who doesn’t.

  When the seeing man is thrown out, Jesus finds him, and has some stern words for the Pharisees.  And the Pharisees overhear.  And it is then that Jesus starts John chapter 10, by talking about thieves and bandits trying to get in on the act.  That most famous and ever popular phrase “life in all its fullness” comes a few verses later, but even this verse (John 10:10) in all its fullness is a contrast.  It starts with the statement that, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy…” The thief is self-seeking, self-serving.  In contrast, says Jesus, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly”.  Jesus is open, inclusive, liberating.

  What kind of outlook do we have, as individuals, as Corps, as a church and organisation?  What is our attitude, our contribution?  Do we give, or take?  Are we about life in all its fullness?  Or are we stealing, killing, destroying?  Are we only out for what we can get?  Members signing up, more money in the pot, or whatever we might seek to gain?  Or are we, instead, all about promoting and presenting and providing abundant life?

  Are we secure in ourselves (and in God), or insecure?  Secure people don’t grab and snatch and grasp.  They are relaxed, ‘light touch’.  Gentle and humble (sound familiar?).

  Jesus, the gate for the sheep (10:7), offers salvation (10:9).  And this is coupled with the image of the sheep coming in and going out and finding pasture.  Interesting that pasture is not (only) found “in” but “out”.  Could it be, then, that Jesus never intended a cosy club, a holy huddle, in specific sacred, sanctified and sanitised places?  But rather, that ‘pasture’ is found ‘out there’, on the road, in our ongoing journey with Him, and with one another – note that this passage is about sheep, plural.

  A final observation.  “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.  The hired hand … sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away – and the wolf snatches them and scatters them” (10:11, 12).  To reiterate, the word pastor means shepherd.  And Jesus is our model.  He lays down His life for the sheep because they are His.  The hired hand doesn’t have that deep connection, commitment, investment, with the sheep.  So when the chips are down, he’s not there.  He’s looking after himself, his own interests.  Perhaps herein is the shepherd’s warning: how good are we as shepherds?  Not just the Officer, or the PCC.  At every level of The Salvation Army, what kind of shepherds are we?  How deep is our commitment to our people – to one another, to those who really need us?  Are we really investing in people’s lives?  So that, when the wolves come – relationship problems, health concerns, employment issues, financial crises, and so on – are we there, laying down our lives?  Or do we disappear?

Losing the plot

In Matthew 21:33-46, Jesus tells a parable of a landowner who plants a vineyard, doing all the right things (he puts a fence around it, and a wine press and watchtower in it).  He then leases it to tenants and leaves the country.  At harvest, he sends his slaves to collect the produce. The tenants mistreat and kill the slaves.  He sends more slaves, and the same happens.  Finally, he sends his son, thinking, they'll respect him because he comes in my name, as my representative... That's not how it turns out.  The tenants see the heir, and kill him, thinking they'll get his inheritance.
Jesus asks his audience, 'What do you think the landowner will do to them when he comes?'  They reply, 'Put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at harvest time.'
Jesus goes on to warn that the Kingdom of God will be taken away from them (his hearers) and given to a people that produces the fruits of it.
This passage is not anti-Semitic.  I once sat in a New Testament class when this passage was being looked at.  Almost everyone in the room thought that this passage was about God 'dumping' the Jews for his new squeeze, the Christians.  However, if we look at the dramatis personae of the piece, we find that this is not at all the case.  It is true that God is the landowner. But if we read verse 45, it clearly tells us that the chief priests and Pharisees got the message: they were the tenants.  Further proof that the tenants are not to be understood as Israel, or the Jews, is given by following the reference upon which Jesus builds this parable: Isaiah 5.
In Isiah 5, God builds a vineyard, the right way: he puts a fence around it, and a winepress and watchtower in it.  He loves the vineyard, he does everything necessary for it, but instead of grapes, it produces wild grapes.  That vineyard, Isaiah tells us, is Israel.  And again, in Jesus' parable, the vineyard is God's kingdom, the ideal, or fulfilment of, Israel.  (It's also worth remembering here that when Jesus told this story, there were no Christians as distinct from Jews.)  The problem, for Jesus, isn't Israel.  It's the powers that be.  The establishment.  They're taking liberties with what God has entrusted to them.  Oppression and structural violence are their modus operandi.  And even when Jesus comes along, they abuse him.
Jesus speaks truth to power.  That's what this parable is about.  Power.  Jesus challenges those who hold it about their relationship with it.  Ultimately, Jesus will remove these people from power and entrust his kingdom to those whose lives reflect it.  The kind of people Jesu wants in power, I suggest, are those who exercise power under people, not power over people.  People who lift others up.  Who encourage, who empower, who release.  Not people who bring or keep others down.  Who discourage, who disempower, who burden.  These latter will lose the plot - the vineyard of God's  kingdom.  After all, didn't Jesus say that the rulers of the Gentiles "lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them.  But it is not so among you" he told his disciples; "but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be the slave of all.  For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mark 10:42-45).  And in a great enacted parable, he got down from the table, took a towl and a bowl of water, and washe his disciples' feet (John 13).
So how are our relationships with power?
It's not enough to claim we are acting in Jesus' name if we are acting contrary to his will and ways.  The tenants thought they would get the son's inheritance by killing him.  How stupid.  Yet many believe that by acting counter to Jesus' kingdom - crucifying him over again - they are getting a share in his inheritance.  No.  They are losing the plot.

They like the church, but not Jesus

  A few years ago, a guy called Dan Kimball published a book called, 'They like Jesus, but not the church'.  The thesis was that there are masses of people outside the church who actually really like Jesus, who respect what he's about, in various ways.  I confess I haven't read the book (my wife has), but I certainly agree with the concept.  It seems there are many people who like the historical figure of Jesus, who respect and even attempt to practise some of his ethical teaching, but have no time for the church, or organised religion.  There might be others who recognise that Jesus is the only, the true, or the best, way to spiritual enlightenment, salvation, fulfilment, or some such idea.  But these people find the church to be at odds with Jesus - either it is hypocritical, or it is too restrictive to facilitate the sought-after spiritual exchanges.
  I would like to suggest that a parallel phenomenon is also occurring - a mirror or shadow version of what is happening outside the church is happening inside it too.  It is, sadly, true that there are a great many who like the church, but not Jesus.  These people may be horrified to realise that Jesus, in fact, did upset the apple cart.
  Jesus talked about stuff - real stuff, God stuff - often dealing in questions and open-ended stories, rather than polished, Hallmark platitudes or finely-tuned and unassailable doctrinal statements.
  Jesus spent more time outside his church building than in it.  (Granted, the 'church' per se did not exist in his time)  In the Gospels, Jesus spends little time at synagogue, and probably less time at the Jerusalem temple (the place to be for the seriously religious).  And some of his visits to these places ruffled feathers (literally on at least one occasion).
  Jesus met lots of people in their homes or on the street.  In their homes.  To talk about God.  Imagine...
  Jesus spent time - lots of time - with 'undesirables'.  He didn't seem to care about his reputation.  Jesus sought out the excluded, and included himself among them.  People like lepers, prostitutes, tax collectors.
  Jesus loved children.  He welcomed them, even when others thought they were noisy and disruptive.  And Jesus' care for children seems pretty sincere to me.  He didn't just see them as 'the future', an investment, an asset, a resource.
  Some people will be shocked by this: Jesus got tired.  Jesus got hungry.  Jesus wept (John 11:35, shortest verse in the Bible, it's in there!).  Perhaps worse, Jesus laughed!
  Jesus was prepared to challenge authorities: social, religious, civil, spiritual.  Jesus was prepared to speak and act on behalf of the hurting and hopeless, the voiceless and vulnerable, the lost, the last and the least.  In fact, these were his people, his brothers and sisters (that's in there too, for example, in Matthew 25:31-46).
  Jesus was prepared, for God's sake and ours, to put himself where he could get hurt, in real danger.  He risked everything.  Sacrificed everything.  For others.
  God's love and human suffering - rather than tradition or doctrine - dictated Jesus' actions.
  Lots of people who had been excluded, who didn't fit in, loved Jesus.  Lots of people who had issues - issues that were obvious and public, that they couldn't or wouldn't hide - loved Jesus.
  Lots of religious people hated Jesus.  They didn't like the way he challenged them.  They didn't like the way he tried to mix things up, to move boundaries that had been built up over a long time to protect decent people and the faith and God.  After all, isn't that what it's all about?  Looking after our own, and keeping God good, like Sunday best?
  It seems to me that not too much has actually changed.  There are still people today who like the church, but not Jesus.  They are fully paid up members of the church, but they don't recognise the Jesus you've just read about.  They wouldn't like him.  They'd find him too controversial, too difficult to handle, too outrageous to follow.  They'd probably want him out of the way, so they can get on with church business in peace.  Without fear of being challenged.  Challenged about how we do church - or where or when.  Challenged about who it's all for - who are we serving, who are we including?  Challenged about how we live our lives, on all kinds of levels.
  Trouble is, the Jesus you've been reading about is, to me, inescapably the Jesus of the Gospels.  He's Jesus.  Like it or lump it.  Like him or lump him.
  The good news is, Jesus includes everyone.  He welcomes everyone (even the kind of people who actually don't like him or find him inconvenient).  He might challenge us, but he welcomes us.  What we do about that is up to us.

Easy. Like Sunday morning?

A few weeks ago as we were driving to the Sunday morning service, listening to Steve Wright's Sunday Love Songs on Radio 2, the Lionel Richie (was that with or without the Commodores?) classic 'Easy like Sunday morning' came on. And I had a bit of an epiphany. I suddenly thought, there's something in this. Easy - like Sunday morning. It all started to crystalise when it came to the bridge:

I wanna be high, so high,
I wanna be free to know the things I do are right.
I wanna be free, just me...

This talks of a deep spiritual yearning. There's a desire to know that we're living right. We're doing the right thing. And yet, as people, we seem to miss out, mess up. We can't seem to do right for doing wrong. So doing wrong becomes habit. But wouldn't it be brilliant to 'be free to know the things I do are right'? Wouldn't it be great if it was possible to live that life of rightness, where we do the right thing without even thinking about it? If only it was that easy...

Wouldn't it be great to be free, to be 'just me' - just who we are, who we were made to be?

The Christian message of salvation and transformation by God's grace purports to deliver this. And yet, experience often teaches us otherwise. In most churches, when we turn up for our Sunday morning gatherings (or equivalent), we seem to still be trapped by this combination of fear and longing - fear that we have to live up to expectations, yet we can't, or know we won't; and longing, to do the right thing, to be good, to be better... Somehow in all of this, we lose that power that makes us free to know the things we do are right, and free to be 'just me'. We have to appear a certain way, maybe sit in a certain place, stand at the right time, act in a certain way. Easy? Sunday morning is not easy. And yet it should be. And life as a follower of Jesus should be - maybe not easy, but definitely simple.

After all, isn't this the very heart of Jesus' own call to discipleship - to a scholarship as his student, an apprenticeship to him:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
(Matthew 11:28-30)

Being a disciple of Jesus should not be so burdensome. It should be free and freeing. It's about the easy yoke. The yoke was, first of all, a harness used to control beasts of burden (and maybe slaves), to allow them more easily to move their burden. But yoke also came to be understood as a term for wisdom or teaching. For example, a text written between the times of our Old and New Testaments (found in the Apocrypha), says:

I opened my mouth and said, Acquire wisdom for yourselves without money.
Put your neck under her yoke, and let your sould be receive instruction; it is to be found close by.
(Sirach 51:25-26)

And so, Jesus' invitation to follow him and his wisdom, his teaching, is not an invitation to the kind of straitjacket that the world of 24/7 media, money-makes-the-world-go-round, 2 cars on the drive, infeasibly large TV, calls us to. It's easy.

Nor is it and invitation to the kind of 'performance', look right, act right lifestyle of organised religion.

Jesus calls us to 'be free to know the things [we] do are right', to 'be free, just me...'
By following Jesus in his way - not the world's way, our church's way, or our own way - we can know that freedom. As we are shaped by him, by his teaching and by his example, we will more and more behave habitually like him - without having to think about it. We can know that the things we do are right, because we will be right; and out of our character flows our behaviour. Easy.

Paul, a follower of Jesus, recognised that the change had to occur in our character first, and that trying to 'do the right thing' just doesn't cut it. He said that we shouldn't conform to the world around us - blending in without thinking, by habit - but must be transformed (changed from one form to another) by the renewing of our minds: to have the 'mind' or the character of Jesus Christ formed in us (Romans 12:2).

Paradigm Lost

The church (and in particular, The Salvation Army?) is at a crucial juncture in its existence.

Perhaps the problem is that the church (and in particular, The Salvation Army?) is operating in an old paradigm. It carries on - or tries to - as though the world has not changed in the past century. Trouble is, it has. The world is changing, and if it hasn't fully arrived in a new paradigm ('postmodernity'), it is certainly approaching it, on the cusp of it even. Thus far, the church has steeled itself against the onset of any such paradigm shift; it has denied it, preached against it, and finally battened down the hatches...

However, the emerging generation of leaders within The Salvation Army (and most probably elsewhere) have grown up immersed in this emerging paradigm. They are fluent in contemporary culture. They breathe change like air, and find themselves like fish out of water in a structure which tries to preserve and perpetuate a lost paradigm.

I dare to suggest that the Bible has an answer. Jesus once spoke (in Matthew 9:16-17) of repairing an old cloak with an unshrunk piece of cloth. His illustration makes the point that "the patch pulls away from the cloak and a worse tear is made." He goes on: "Neither is new wine put into old wineskins; otherwise, the skins burst, and the wine is spilled, and the skins are destroyed; but new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and so both are preserved."

The results of putting an unshrunk - new - patch on an old garment is a worse tear - and perhaps a lost patch. The patch won't fit. But before we can accuse the patch of 'just being awkward', Jesus follows up that illustration with the one about the wine.

It's almost as though Jesus acknowledges, even respectfully doffs his hat, to the old wineskins. They have clearly been well used and have done their bit - with distinction, perhaps - in the past. But Jesus is clear that to pour the new wine into old skins is not only pointless; it is destructive. But destructive of what? First of all, the skins burst; second, the wine is spilled; third, the skins are destroyed. So the wine is lost, ruined, useless; and so are the wineskins. The solution is to put the new wine into fresh wineskins, "so both are preserved." If our emerging leaders are being poured into an old paradigm, old structures, old wineskins - won't all be at risk of loss, of destruction?

Of course, in the original context, Jesus was most probably referring to Himself and to the 'new' availability of the Kingdom of God, and the 'old wineskins' of the Judaism and domination systems of his day, or the existing understandings of God and His way of doing things. This latter had to be reimagined, reshaped - reborn - to 'fit' Jesus and the Kingdom of God.

But today, new leaders are emerging who are passionate about Jesus and His Kingdom, who are committed to a radical life of discipleship and its expression in mission - in short, people soaked in the new wine of Jesus, people through whom the new wine of Jesus can flow into a world dying to taste Him - to taste the authentic, refreshing, invigorating, challenging, life-changing, society-transforming wine of Jesus. But if these people are put into old wineskins... oh dear.

So, does everything need to change? Yes and no. The Salvation Army, and the church, need to be reborn, or resurrected. This is not about getting rid of everything. It is a journey of transformation, a transfiguration - like the caterpillar, into the chrysalis, into the butterfly. All are made of the same 'stuff', but are quite distinct. It is the same creature, but radically different. The Salvation Army must change its form, its appearance, its shape, its self-concept - but keep its original DNA. It must recapture its original purpose, and reimagine its expression for today.

The UFO Model

Does your church follow the UFO model? That's right, UFO as in "Unidentified Flying Object". You may not have heard of it, but it's more common than you might think.

Is your church building a strange object which apparently landed in the middle of the community from another planet or time - perhaps from "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..."?

Is it filled with aliens? Christians are often perceived as weird, otherworldly creatures, with little or no grasp of the actual realities of planet earth here and now...
And, of course, many of the people in the church are aliens to the community in which the UFO finds itself, as they don't live anywhere near...

And perhaps most sinister of all, the mission of many churches appears to be "The Fourth Kind" of encounter: Abduction. They seek to pluck innocent bystanders from the surrounding community and bring them back to the mothership for experimentation and preparation for departure to the far off alien land known as "Heaven"...

Shouldn't we change this model? Church should be organic. It should grow from among the local community. Church should be about people planting paradise where they live, part of God's "invasion" of the here and now, working towards His perfect forever.