OVER the past decade, in many parts of the world, there has been a revitalised interest in the mission of The Salvation Army. Many articles have been written, numerous books authored, and scores of seminars and conferences held to clarify, discuss, promote and pray about the mission of the Army. It has become de rigueur for writers and speakers, no matter what their topic, to pepper their thoughts with words like ‘missional’, ‘missiology’ and ‘missiological’.

Much of this renewed interest has been centred on the concept of radical change, getting back to the roots of what the Army is about, identifying the DNA of the Army (another term of reference which has become a cliché) and a push to return to the methods and passions of the Founder.
We have seen physical evidence of this in the creation of ‘new-style’ corps and programmes which aim to assist the most disadvantaged people in our communities, and this is fantastic. We should keep doing it. It is God’s work - the sort of work William Booth would have us do.

However, for some time now I’ve had a growing concern with this increasingly restricted interpretation of the mission of the Army. Expressed in the simplest of terms my concern is: what about rich people?

The Salvation Army was born partly out of Booth’s frustration with a Church that had become exclusivist, a Church that had no place for the poor and downtrodden, a Church that said the gospel was only for people who could fit into a certain socio-economic demographic.

But, increasingly, I now see parts of the Army which so aggressively aim to service the
disadvantaged that they are almost at risk of becoming exclusivist. I’ve heard young Salvationists talk disparagingly of people of wealth, concluding that the well-to-do will never heed the gospel message so it’s no use trying to reach them.

I attended an Army function which included considerable chest-beating about how we have a mission to the poor and downcast, and the friend I brought with me, the manager of a thriving business and a non-Christian, leant over and whispered to me, ‘So, which church should I go to?’

Part of my difficulty is this: until a recent change of appointment my wife and I were corps officers in the leafy outer suburb of a capital city where the majority of people were decidedly middle-class, living in nice houses with neatly clipped lawns. We didn’t have people sleeping in gutters, drug-dealing in the streets, prostitutes on the corners, graffiti-covered squats or high unemployment. We didn’t even have a bar anywhere on our district!

Now, if you’re saying, ‘So why is the Army there?’ the answer is, quite simply, because there are many, many people there who don’t know Jesus.

The task that faced my wife and I and our corps was to bring anyone and everyone in that community into a relationship with Jesus - not just the down-and-out but also the wealthy home-owner, the chief executive officer, the academic and the entrepreneur. When William Booth said our mission was to the ‘whosoever’ he didn’t say ‘the whosoever below the poverty line’ or ‘the homeless whosoever’. He meant everyone.

I’m reminded of the scene in Edward H. Joy’s book, The Old Corps, when the aristocratic Lady B kneels at the mercy seat and is joined by the ‘stinking, unwashed, ragged and verminous’ Dirty Jimmy. The corps officer attempts to move Dirty Jimmy along to protect the sensitivities of Lady B, but she stops him. ‘Leave him alone,’ she says. ‘We are both seeking the same Lord.’

That story of Lady B with her carriage and fine clothing and jewels and maids and Dirty Jimmy with his ragged clothes and unkempt hair and dishevelled appearance has inspired many an officer to dwell on the importance of helping Dirty Jimmy in his search for salvation, but it was exactly the same search - based on exactly the same needs - which brought Lady B to her knees at a Salvation Army mercy seat.

In 1889 General William Booth launched a campaign to convert 100,000 people in six months. In The War Cry of 16 November 1889 he is quoted as saying: ‘Go straight for souls and go for the worst.’

This eventually became the slogan which appeared alongside the title of The Officer magazine between 1898 and 1906, and which became a catchcry for the Army generally, as it seemed to encapsulate the essence of Army mission.

But who of Dirty Jimmy and Lady B had the ‘worst’ soul? I’m not convinced we can equate someone who is materially poor with someone who is spiritually poor. Who says the ‘worst’ souls belong to those in the worst financial and social state?

At this point I should give some context to my position. I’m a fifth-generation Salvationist and third-generation officer. Before becoming an officer I worked for the Army for 15 years in programmes for the homeless, people in crisis situations and people battling long-term unemployment. I’ve seen people burdened with drug addiction, I’ve been with people as they’ve self-mutilated, I’ve cleaned up vomit from semi-conscious alcoholics, I’ve stood with people in court as they’ve been sentenced to jail.

I think the Army’s work with people such as these is necessary, biblically mandated, divinely approved and exemplified in the life, character and teaching of Jesus. The Salvation Army should be doing all it can for the most disadvantaged people in society and I pray encouragement, protection and blessings on those charged with doing this work.

However, we must not become so blinkered to completing this work that we turn our backs on those not in material need. We must not become exclusivist. We must not ignore the spiritual need of those who have little material need.

It is also far from appropriate to suggest that those of a wealthier status can go to church elsewhere because the Army only takes in the down-and-out.

If the Army were to establish a corps in the richest, most well-heeled suburb in the city in which I now live I would be happy to serve there, because the truth is that rich people need Jesus as much as the person sleeping in the gutter.

Just as Jesus cried over lost Jerusalem and spoke of how hard it is for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God, I would cry over the lost souls around me and work with a passion and - yes - a mission to bring them into his Kingdom.

And I believe William Booth would smile upon the work and say, ‘Whosoever will may come.’

by Captain Mal Davies

Mal Davies is Editor, The War Cry,
Australia Southern Territory

Reprinted with permission by The Officer, September/October 2006