Of the many sights and sounds that accompany the holidays, none warms my heart more the loyal soldiers of the salvation army. They are as much a part of the season as a Christmas tree.
In 1865 William Booth, a Methodist minister, preached his first sermon in front of the Blind Beggar, a pub in London’s seedy East End. He was an evangelical preacher who founded the Salvation Army as a mission to care for the needy. Interestingly, the organization is shaped by a military infrastructure, with officers directing their missions with troops called ‘salvationists’. Their mission is the practice of service to the needy, not the exercise of power.
I think of them as God’s grunts, the foot soldiers, bearing not the heat and burden of the day, but the freezing cold of wintertime. Growing up we’d take the ferry to Manhattan to shop at Christmas. It seemed I would see salvationists everywhere, but especially in front of retail stores. They would stand in the cold, ring a hand bell and say something I can’t recall . . . was it Merry Christmas? Then, next to the soldier, a small tripod stood with a chain supporting a kettle; in those days cast iron as I recall, the kind our colonial ancestors might cook in. Some people stopped, rummaging through purses and wallets and pulled out money to place in the kettle. The salvation army soldier seemed tireless, but always congenial and I’ve often wondered what it must be like to be one of those faithful souls. They are the real plodders of the spiritual world of good works. I wouldn’t say they do the dirty work, but perhaps perform the least glamorous and even thankless task of this army’s mission.
As a boy, I always felt sorry for them, not really understanding what they were about. I assumed they were poor and needy standing in the cold hoping for some small token of care from passing strangers. I hadn’t quite grasped that what they were doing was for others and not themselves.
On the city streets of Manhattan, I remember salvationists vividly. They would be standing by a fire burning in a small drum to keep warm. The wind really whips up along the city streets of New York. Since so many streets are long and straight, the wind accelerates rather than being impeded in places where the road are more winding.
It’s a tough job.
In those days, I’d see salvationists standing in front of Macy’s or Sachs Fifth Avenue. Shoppers laden with packages containing expensive and exotic gifts would be constantly coming and going. They would pass by the salvationist dutifully attending to their mission and few stopped. I understand from friends who have served in the military that waiting is something every soldier understands. ‘Hurry up and wait’ describes the military way of life.
All this came to mind last week when I was shopping at Walmart. A salvationist stood just by the exit. This person was not in any uniform the with exception of Santa’s signature hat, bright red with white trim. She wore glasses and was wrapped in a heavy wool sweater ringing the hand bell and wishing passersby’s a Merry Christmas. I was moved to give (in the interests of full disclosure I need to say I didn’t always give), but my impulse to give something to her then was powerful. I wondered why.
Maybe it was the contrasts. On the one hand, busy shoppers like me spending money freely and this faithful person symbolically standing there for no other reason than to witness and aid the needs of the poor and disenfranchised of our community.
Was I feeling guilty for having plenty? That may have been a part of it. When I was a teen, my mother took us up to the city to see The Nutcracker Suite. It was a few weeks before Christmas. It was windy and cold. We stood on the waiting line that went well outside the concert hall. I was cold. A man stood in front of the hall, shabbily dressed and playing the violin. It seemed strange to me that he should be there cold and looking so soulful while the rest of us would soon be inside and warm and eager to see the performance. I remember thinking that he too wished to be a part of that orchestra that would soon be performing inside. Was his lot such that he didn’t have the skill? Was he down on his luck? It bothered me. The image has remained fast in my mind for sixty-five years. It hovers there in the midair of my mind’s eye. I think now that was my first feeling sense of what the lot of the outsider must be like. I felt the loneliness, vicariously.
In my experience, the Salvation Army enjoys its greatest visibility during the Christmas season when it’s salvationists can be seen standing on city streets and rural communities like Easton as well. Need is not peculiar to just cities.
That day I did stop in front of Walmart and took money from my wallet and dropped it in the receptacle. The salvationist smiled wished me a Merry Christmas and I went off with my packages to get in the car. The car was still warm. It felt good.
As I drove away I had this thought: this lovely enterprise serving humanity was conceived by an evangelical preacher who once preached in front of a bar. Unfortunately, today we are aware of evangelicals mostly for their political loyalties, but not the charitable mission which many practice.
The last line of John Milton’s epic poem when writing about the loss of his sight concluded this way: “They do serve who only stand and wait.”
I think that describes our friends of the Salvation Army very well. The movement was founded, after all, by an evangelist who preached his first sermon in front of a pub called The Blind Beggar.
Merry Christmas.
Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal Church priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality: Reflections: Psychological and Spiritual Images of the Heart and The Bay of the Mother of God: A Yankee Discovers the Chesapeake Bay. He is a native New Yorker, previously directing counseling services in Hartford, Connecticut, and in Baltimore. George’s essays, some award winning, have appeared in regional magazines and are broadcast twice monthly on Delmarva Public Radio.
JAN BOHN says
A colleague of ny husband’s is an award winning Salvantian Army ringer collecter. I attribute his success to his winning smile, genuine cheerfulness and, when asked, explanation of where the money is going. These collectors toil in brutal temperatures as well as balmy and should be rewarded for their perseverance. George – I’m sure this was a type but it’s Saks Fifth Ave, not Sachs! Happy New Year to all.