An Army To Be Saved

In a world that thinks of faith in terms of "crisis" and churches in terms of "embattled," the Salvation Army seems as foursquare and unchanging as the crisp Victorian bonnets still worn by its ladies. It is almost as if Norman Rockwell had painted the scenes on the mind. Bright-smiling women, their cheeks pinked only with the flush of zeal, ladling out free dinners in a Skid Row mission. Clear-eyed men in high military collars, tootling on fluegelhorns and euphoniums on chilly street corners. A brisk song, a quaint sermon. A bunk for the stumbling drunk. Even that perennial embarrassment, an outstretched tambourine and a copy of The War Cry thrust suddenly into the midst of the regulars at the bar. Courage. Honesty. Efficiency. Trouble in the Salvation Army? Humbug.

Yet the Army is on the defensive, and nowhere more seriously--or ironically--than in its home country of Great Britain. General William Booth, its founder, was a rebel--a onetime pawnbroker's apprentice and Methodist preacher who abandoned the class-conscious churches of his day to preach salvation in the desolate slums of Victorian England. His "church" was a revolutionary religious body--a consciously designed "army" complete with uniforms and "Articles of War," dedicated to feeding and caring for the poor, exposing social injustice and lobbying for reform legislation. Now, a century later, the organization itself is under fire for being both authoritarian and out of touch with the times.

The criticism came into focus last fall with the publication in Britain of a slim volume called Secular Evangelism. In a plea for soft-sell evangelism, the book argues that "by attempting to bulldoze adolescent minds into orthodoxy of belief we are . . . making it more difficult for earnest seekers after the truth to be real persons." It urges evangelists to seek "people before converts." That did not sit too well with the Salvation Army, for whom soul winning is still the basic objective. Worse yet, the author was Salvation Army Major Fred Brown of Regent Hall, one of the Army's oldest centers in London.

Dictatorial Ways. Before the book appeared, Brown had followed his own suggestions with considerable success, and presumably tacit Army approval --even to the extent of sponsoring an all-night club for young drug victims and dropouts. What apparently irked his commanders was the fact that he had put his ideas into writing--and, contrary to Army regulations, had not submitted the manuscript for approval. Headquarters' reaction was swift: a request for his resignation. When Brown refused, he was summarily dismissed.

Brown's firing provoked widespread criticism. An editorial in The British Weekly praised Salvationists but warned that the Army must change its "dictatorial" ways. Reports circulated of other dissatisfactions. One disgruntled officer leaked word of defections in the ranks of British Salvationists, estimating that one-sixth of the new officers commissioned in the last six years have already resigned. Brown himself suggested that the Army should not only tolerate outspokenness but encourage it. "Our publications are completely insipid," he charged. "No one reads them. We get excited about how much lipstick a girl Salvationist should be allowed to wear but never mention apartheid. Witness by silence condones, misleads and compromises. It is despicable."

Some Army leaders claim that a low profile on controversial issues is necessary to the Army's far-flung evangelism (2,000,000 members) and welfare activities, which include hundreds of rehabilitation centers, hospitals, clinics, camps, day schools, maternity homes and other institutions in 74 countries. Swedish-born General Erik Wickberg, the Army's eighth commander since General Booth, insists that "we cannot allow our officers to come out publicly with ideas that would create unrest among simple people in other lands.

The Army has always aimed for simplicity; even its theology is uncomplicated. There are no sacraments (baptism is an inner experience), and the only suggestion of ritual seems to be the military trappings: some prayer meetings, for instance, are "knee-drills." The unabashed Christian soldiering and fervent evangelism still attract earnest recruits in some countries. Yet in lands where the Army is an older phenomenon, difficulties are mounting.

Beyond Censorship. In Britain, for example, the benefits of the welfare state make the Army's traditional activities less necessary. Another problem is recruitment of officers in the face of a severe code of discipline that goes well beyond censorship. Both officers (ministers) and soldiers (regular members) are forbidden to take any alcoholic drinks. Officers, in addition, must not smoke or even wear jewelry other than a simple wedding ring or watch. An officer can marry only another officer. They live simply in houses provided by the Army, on spartan family allowances. One New York City major and his wife --who by Army practice is also a major --take home a combined salary of $87.50 a week to care for themselves and three children. An unintentionally modern aspect of the Army is its attitude toward female equality; a woman may hold any position of authority. But the Army is still losing female officers: since they outnumber male officers, some must resign in order to marry.

More than in Great Britain, the Army in the U.S. seems to be adapting its methods to changing times. Indeed, claim some British Salvationists, U.S. officers are so embroiled in social work that they have little time for elementary evangelizing. Brigadier Andrew Miller, commander of the Greater New York area, notes that a decade ago 80% of the people helped by the Salvation Army had alcohol problems. Now 70% have drug problems. Accordingly, the Army has started shifting priorities. A working girls' residence in Manhattan has become a halfway house for girl addicts just released from prison. The Army is running youth coffeehouses like The Answer in New York and The Old Hat in Chicago. Community centers are going up in black ghettos. The Army wants, and is getting, more black officers, but not as many as it would like.

The efforts are coming none too soon. Worship meetings for members are still crowded, but the old-style evangelistic meetings designed to bring in outsiders are showing a noticeable decline. At Christmastime, there are just not enough officers and members to assume all the bell-ringing tasks. In the face of such shortages, one high-ranking U.S. officer suggests that Fred Brown's recommendations--already partially in practice in the U.S.--may be just what the Salvation Army needs: the kind of healthy shove that General Booth gave to the overestablished churches of his own day.

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