I am an idolater

So, Theresa has signed the blasted letter. And I’d better write something too. I have been practically inactive on here since the US presidential election, and I need to have a stern word. With myself, mainly. 

The last years have seen a resurgence of nationalism across the world – or across the “West” – that has been pretty disturbing in its manifestations and consequences. From the rise of more or less overtly racist parties across Europe, to the outpouring of frustration at a complacent Westminster in the Brexit vote and its accompanying hate incidents, and on to "America first! America first!" and the petty, self-obsessed tweets from the Trump, we have seen a descent towards tribalism and barbarism that comes as a shock. 

What has been a particular source of grief, though sadly not of surprise, is the degree to which members of the Church have attached themselves to this movement. Christians I know personally and respect highly became vocal supporters of the Orange One, explicitly in the hope that he would “Make America great again.” Such thoughts are not the exclusive preserve of Unitedstatesian Christians. That slogan is merely the American outcropping of the same stratum seen in Brexit, Le Pen, AfD, the Dutch Freedom Party and the rest. Here too Christians are on board with the nationalism; in the U.K. “taking our sovereignty back” was espoused not merely as a necessary political re-balancing, but as a theologically-driven crusade. 

Now, it may possibly be faintly discernible in what I have written that I did not vote in favour of Brexit, that I find the Washington Tweetmeister utterly detestable, and all support for him perverse. If you have picked that up, you are with me so far. Which is good, because this piece is not actually a rant against Hilary-hating, Obama-bashing, Breitbart-swallowing “Christian” America, nor against Brexiteer-believers in the U.K.  

No. It’s a rant against me and my kind. Not for being “sore losers”, because actually, in a democracy, you are allowed to go on arguing for what you believe even after a decisive vote – as an 11 year old Farage started doing in 1975. No, this rant is an attempt to deal with the utter, appalled misery into which 23 June and 8 November plunged me. It is wrung out of me as a confession that our misery and fear are merely the other side of the Trump and Brexit coin. They are manifestations of the same unbelief and idolatry.

For this wave of nationalism is a wave of idolatry. I say that as a patriotic Briton, an Englishman. I love my country, and do not have any special desire that it slide into oblivion. However, the UK will pass – and much of its glory has already gone. Nebuchadnezzar's dream of a statue is as relevant today as it was in the days of the Babylonian empire. Babylon – passed away. Persia – came and went. Greece – faded. Rome – disintegrated. And the British Empire is now just the skeleton of a shadow. I would recommend to North Americans, especially to Christians, that every time they look themselves in the eye in the shaving mirror, they tell themselves, “My country will disappear”. Before the recent election, a Trump supporter stateside urged me not to look at the candidate, but to read the GOP platform. I duly did so – but the first line of the preamble was enough for me. “We believe in American exceptionalism”: that’s idolatry, right there. Whether or not any country was great, is great or will be great, all nations are merely the dust on the scales of the One who really rules, and all will be utterly eclipsed by his coming kingdom. America is no exception: it will go – is going – the way of all the others. 

And that is where those of us who oppose Brexit may fall into exactly the same sin as those with whom we disagree. For Europe too will pass. Absolutising the need to get out of it and absolutising the need to stay in it are BOTH idolatrous. The greatest issues that we face as human beings CANNOT be dealt with by either being in OR out of the EU, they cannot be solved by either a Donald or a Hilary. And to the degree to which our anguish at Brexit or our dismay at the current POTUS is the mirror image of the triumphalism and hope of those who rejoice at last year's results, we are guilty. We are not to put our trust in princes, and nor are we to fear them – rather we are to fear the One who has power over body and soul for eternity. 

When we buy into the extreme, all-eclipsing passion which has characterised the Brexit and presidential debates, we not only run the risk of seriously damaging our unity as Christians (and much damage has been done that way), but we also reveal the degree to which we have ceased to really believe the gospel. I mean, really believe it, in a way that relativises every political issue, every ideological difference, every contemporary cultural chasm. And you may say, “Ah, but the gospel has political, ideological and cultural ramifications!” And of course it does. But not in such a way that I can bemoan our exit from the EU as if the EU were in and of itself the Kingdom of God, or rejoice in Trump's election as if he were the Messiah. 

That may appear to leave a loophole. “Oh, but we didn't mourn/rejoice like THAT!” Well, you could have fooled me! I have had to preach at myself for months in order to write this, so I know how deep the rot has gone. The drip feed of this-worldly thought has taken its toll, as has the desire, in the age of aggressive “toleration”, to avoid sticking our heads above the parapet with the actual gospel. That fear is certainly killing the Salvation Army in the U.K., and I don’t think we are alone in that. Christians in other churches, even in more consistently evangelical ones, are falling into the same trap.

We have become simply more passionate, more committed, more brave, more evangelistic about our particular political hopes and fears than we are about Jesus. Christians who love the EU and Christians who hate the EU are together being diverted from the real mission. Trump-lovers and Trump-haters are together losing the plot. And, dare I say it, theological liberals and theological conservatives are identical in practice if they are not actually talking about God’s work in Christ. You may believe in the authority of scripture as a unified, God-breathed book, you may cling to the centrality of the atonement achieved at the cross, you may sign up to the awful, eternal, populated nature of hell, but you might as well be Rob Bell if you only ever talk about Brexit, and share recipes or pictures of kittens.

For all the heat and aggression generated by recent events, feeling and speaking passionately about politics is simply less scary than talking about God’s message. In a ‘church’ where believing the gospel makes you the target for derision, it is hard enough making the basic affirmations of your faith INSIDE your community, let alone outside. But for myself I know I have to do this. I have to move on from recent events, move up to the higher issues that face us all, move back to what the gospel has always really been about. We have to lay aside idolatry and fear, and live as citizens of the eternal kingdom.

So here’s my head above the parapet. Here’s my creed. Here’s what I really have to stand for:

I believe in God the Father, Creator of the heavens and of the earth. I believe that the nations are the dust in the Almighty's scales and will all pass away. I believe that the leaders of nations are set in place and pulled down by his authority. I believe that talk which absolutises the greatness or destiny of any earthly country or union of nations is intrinsically idolatrous. 

I believe in Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son, conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered and died under the authorities of earthly kingdoms, was buried, and the third day rose from the dead. He ascended to heaven and is seated on the eternal throne at the right hand of God the Father almighty. From there he will come to judge the kingdoms and peoples of the earth, those who have lived and died in every era. Jesus Christ will give the verdict and pass the eternal sentence on every one of us. 

I believe in the Holy Spirit, whose transforming power in the lives of sinners is the only hope for this broken, fragmented and rebellious world.

I believe in the holy catholic church, which is the present manifestation of the eternal kingdom, the only community on earth whose continuity is assured for ever.

I believe in the forgiveness of sins, which is the best possible news, given that sin and guilt and judgement to come are the most pressing issues facing any human being. 

I believe in the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting, these eternal realities so relativising all earthly goals and political concerns that my anxiety to talk about them should all but drown out any comment I may make regarding laws, treaties, unions and presidents. 

Amen.

I so need God’s help!

Four ways to run a denominationally structured church

1 Decisions taken at grassroots level. The people own what is happening. Can be wonderful, but can be very fraught when there is disagreement. 

2 Decisions imposed from above. Effective in stopping local divisions, but can leave people disenfranchised and, as a result, less involved and committed. 

3 A hybrid of the above, where localised decision-making and even the development of distinct decision-making structures is encouraged, but where big decisions come from above. This can be seriously horrid, especially when there is much made of local/individual consultation which then appears to be ignored/ridden over in subsequent HQ decisions. 

4 The hybrid as mentioned, but with leaks and gossiping from people who, through working at the HQ, are aware in advance of top-down decisions. The gossipers/leakers are typically far less personally affected by the decisions than are those who are kept in the dark, who then hear (sometimes unwelcome) news in the least pastorally sensitive and nuanced way possible.

 

If you want a serious and miserable stink, I recommend 4. 

How to write a worship song

1) Take a classic and well-loved hymn of which people are unaware. (This isn't too hard because your punters are aware of very few classic and well-loved hymns. It helps, though, if it comes from a slightly different tradition from your own.)

2) The hymn should be out of copyright. This means it can be chopped and changed at will; no one (apart from you) will need paying. It will generally be projected onto church screens with no mention of the original author at all. 

3) You will be adding a chorus, so it is important that the hymn is not too long. Look through it and cut out the verse or verses that seem least singable today; heavy theological terminology especially needs to be pruned. Don't worry if the verses cut were intrinsic to the logic of the hymn; that is going to be different and less clear now anyway. 

4) Feel free to alter other words to suit. You may have to do this again after you have written the tune so as to make them fit. Some changes may be to modernise, others will be random, and still others may be simply because someone goofed the lyrics in a key recording, and that became THE version that went out on YouTube. 

5) Write a decent, post-Coldplay tune. It must have a new and rousing chorus. 

6) The soul-stirring qualities of the song and especially of the chorus must come mainly from the tune, as the words you are adding to the classic hymn will not really say anything. Always remember, when fitting random evangelical cliché phrases into your new chorus, that main verbs generate meaning, and meaning generates controversy. Some song writers even believe that verbs are actually of the devil. 

7) Find a single word title for your "new song". It needs to be snappy, contemporary, and possibly related to building practices of which most users of the song will be intensely ignorant. 

Purlin? Nah. Bulwark? Better. Foundation? Better still. In fact, I'll stick with Foundation.

Cornerstone's already been taken. 

The Selfie Pout and the Worship Meeting

I was alerted to the following quote by its use in a recent blog by Kevin de Young. I am not always a fan of the perpetually curmudgeonly "Theodore Dalrymple" in the Spectator, but on this occasion he speaks pure and necessary truth:

No doubt the decline of religion accounts for the rise in self-obsession and self-importance that is everywhere observable. One of the great advantages of the Christian philosophy was that it managed to reconcile the unique importance of each man with humility. Every man was important in the eyes of God, and in that sense was at home in the universe because the universe was expressly created for beings such as he. His every action was known to God, and was therefore not without significance, however ordinary in other respects it might be; moreover, death itself was not without meaning, nor was it the end of his existence.

Yet, by comparison with the author of his being, he was infinitely small, as indeed was every other human being. However scholarly a man might be, God, being omniscient, was infinitely more knowledgeable; howsoever powerful a man might believe himself, it was finally God who disposed, so that all human power was both illusory and transitory. In the midst of life we are in death, the funeral service of the Church of England puts it; and it might have added, in the midst of importance we are insignificant.

I am not here concerned with whether this outlook is philosophically justified: with whether God exists, and if He does, with whether he is more interested in our doings and more solicitous of our welfare than He is with those of an ant, for example. All I am concerned to point out is that the religious outlook referred to above manages the difficult feat of assuring a man of his supreme importance without giving him a swollen head. (The New Vichy Syndrome, 63)

I think that is an extremely helpful thought from a professed atheist, and I have been mulling it over through the last few weeks, especially as it reflects on our meetings as Christians.  

In the non-conformist tradition, just as in the Anglican, it is as much the liturgy as the sermon which constantly reinforces our awareness of the tension between "humbling" and "exaltation". The fixed points of our meetings place us weekly in this glorious, near paradoxical space between "how like an angel" and "quintessence of dust." 

We are called to praise and adoration through readings and hymns which set before us the greatness and holiness of God in objective terms. That leads us to see ourselves objectively in our littleness and impurity, and we move naturally to confession of sin and prayerful declaration of our dependence. And then comes the sermon - a proclamation of good news to sinners, that leads us back to praise and fresh personal commitment, a subjective response.  

That cycle of objective and subjective, of seeing God and the glory of his Christ, seeing ourselves, seeing the gracious provision in Jesus, giving of ourselves, is wholesome and healthy and normal. You can see the same patterns in OT worship. And different Christian traditions have been strikingly similar, under the skin. 

Until now. As an observer of and a participant in Christian praise in many contexts over 40 years, it is possible to say that those "norms" of Christian praise are becoming increasingly rare, right across the world. It is not uncommon to attend a "Christian meeting" where the name of Jesus is not mentioned and where the main focus of the songs is not on God himself. Instead, we sing about how great we feel just for being present, with a kind of self-congratulatory narcissism. It's all about us. You feel at times that anything that might point to our smallness and poverty, be it by virtue of our creatureliness or our sinfulness, has been deliberately excised from the meeting. On no account must anyone be made to feel small, let alone bad. 

In all of this, the church is reflecting society. Ever since the triumph of existentialism at the popular level, and its going to seed in the current breakdown of objective truth (let alone a True Word from a Creator 'out there') the measure of man is man, and every individual carves out identity and meaning for themselves, with only their own lives as their raw material. It's all about me. We are gods. We have only ourselves to admire, and so we pout at our cell-phones. 

Of course, we aren't islands. When it's all about me, we can't help but keep more than half an eye on all the other 'Me's out there; self-obsessed, we actually measure ourselves by the lives of others. Or rather, the projected, apparently perfect lives of others. Every day we are surrounded by thousands of selfies. Via social media, we know that everyone else is having a great time. They sure look like gods! Amazing!

No wonder that we all of a sudden have such a rise in issues of confused self-image, appalling lack of confidence, crises of anxiety and depression. Having placed ourselves on the pedestal as gods, we immediately knock ourselves off and into misery when we are honest, even for a split second. We cannot live up to any of our expectations of ourselves. Our culture is heading into the deepest of existential crises. 

But if someone goes to a church in this context, what will they find? What will the selfie generation find in the Christian community? 

Effectively, they will find many congregations indulging in mass selfie making. Our "worship" amounts to holding up a giant phone and gawping at ourselves. We come with our varied lives, from our varied weeks, with our varied pains and needs, but together we apparently must immediately lift up heads and voices and sing of how great we feel for being there and how much we are pouring out our very selves. Our meetings are about us and our feelings from the off.

Gone is the great, levelling, objective declaration of the reality of God, that brings a perspective to our lives, to moments of triumph and misery alike.  If the first place I have to look on coming to the meeting is me, what is going to wean me from my pride? What is going to lift me up and deliver me from my despair? 

By echoing the self-absorption of our culture, the church has abandoned its essential and distinctive contribution as highlighted by Dalrymple. We are seeing more and more people lost in sadness and a sense of deep inadequacy, because they have looked within for their meaning and have found themselves wanting. We see a general moral chaos and lack of direction, for everyone is encouraged to do no more and no less than what is right in their own eyes. Instead of sliding down into the same self-worship and relativism, the church needs to be offering the radical alternative: Behold your God! Look to him! 

Very often the difference will come down to simply reordering the elements in our meetings. Some particularly stupid songs may need to be abandoned, but others just need to be sung in the right place. Hymns of response need to be a response to something. A hymn of personal commitment may be entirely appropriate after we have heard of God's love in Jesus, but it may be a cruel or ludicrous mockery at the outset of the meeting. 

However the change comes, the church will only survive the present cultural landslide if we hold our nerve and recover our message. There are people out there who seem more lost in their lostness than our society has seen in centuries. Rudderless ships, sheep without a shepherd. In compassion, we have to show them something better than a sleeked and preened church selfie. They need more than statements of how great it is (or we are) to praise God, or songs that communicate massive commitment without expressing much about who we are committing to or why. 

The church in its meetings needs to recover the heart of Christianity. Our meetings need to beat with a gospel rhythm. We need to say to ourselves and say to each other what we should be saying to the world: You lost and wandering ones, look not at yourself; look outside, to your Maker, Judge and Redeemer! Hear about him: his greatness and kindness and justice and love. It is great to worship him, but because he is wonderful, not because we are! Look to him, and you will find him to be a Friend, and he will put you on your feet and make you stand, in present storms and at the last day. 

Dear American Evangelicals...

Dear American Evangelicals,

We are following the run up to your presidential election with concern and, at times, amazement. As Donald Trump has gone on his way, turning being a rank outsider into political currency, we have been stunned by the numbers of evangelicals who are openly and even enthusiastically supporting him. I include dear personal friends in this. As matters seem to have come to a head (or yet another head?!) I thought I would put in my two pennyworth. You ought to know that our pennies are not worth very much at the moment...

It was not surprising to read a very swift piece from Rachel Held Evans regarding the latest Trumperies. Her reaction was strong, articulate, and very predictable, given her stable. I find it more interesting when conservatives speak out. This piece from Louis Kinsey, Church of Scotland Minister, a strong evangelical voice, is just one insight into how the rest of the Christian world views the tendency for evangelicals in the USA to support Mr Trump. I find it particularly powerful precisely because I have found myself on the opposite side to Louis in some of our recent important domestic political questions! (Please note, therefore, that I am not presuming or de facto coopting his agreement to what follows...)

Most of us, long before this latest revelation - which - let's face it - comes as no surprise at all, does it? be honest now! - were already utterly appalled by the man, for his attitude to women and his attitude to... people. Just the way he speaks about his damned wall ought to be enough in and of itself. 
 

We have no right to speak, of course. Let alone vote, or try to interfere. But, as you guys are quite fond of saying, the USA is the most powerful country in the world; that is true, and the whole world will have to live with the consequences of your vote. Some of you even regard the USA's place in the world as God-given - which at one level, it is. But once you start to use the langauge of "God's man for the job" and the like, you elevate the question beyond the bounds of normal democracy. Once you use that kind of language, you make the question global and ecclesiastical - anyone who truly knows God and loves his word is just as entitled to an opinion about what He is doing in the world today as the United Statesian voters who will decide your election.

We may be able to understand some of your antipathy to Clinton. We are not blind to the issues that trouble you about the Democratic party, or your "Washington elite". We have similar feelings of deep division and discontent here. But when some of you move from (at most) grudging support for the "least worst" candidate in Trump, to embracing him enthusiastically as God's choice, the right man for the hour etc, we are absolutely gobsmacked. We are really left wondering if we are on the same page spiritually at all. I guess we all have blindspots, and the cultural gulf between British and American conservative evangelicals has been a mighty chasm for years, but this time the sense of unity and fellowship is getting very strained indeed.

We love you and are grateful for you. Personally, when I think of US evangelicals I think first of world evangelisation: if the 19th century was the great age of British missions, the 20th was the time of the American missionary, and your commitment, giving, vision and zeal have been amazing. I know many of you through friendships forged in Brazil. But at so many other levels we share so much; preaching and publishing, thinking and interacting - we owe you a great deal. We are family.

And as family, as brothers and sisters, we ask you: please think very hard before you vote for this man. You are concerned about the future of your country, and rightly so. Our nations would appear to be under the judgement of God, and for so many reasons. Our concern is that a President Trump would only add fuel to that particular fire - that he is cause for judgement, not a Saviour from it. Or even that he IS an aspect of the judgement.

We know you have a most unenviable choice of candidates, we know it isn't easy. It is just that many, many of us on the outside think that seeing Mrs Clinton as "least worst" is not rocket science. It is unfortunate that the choice appears to be binary - either Hillary or Donald, either unborn babies or Mexicans. But as someone has put it, if Trump hates so many who are alive, why would anyone think he really loves those who are unborn? He is appealing to the politics of hate, and that cannot have good fruit.

As you approach the election, please be assured of our prayers and love. I hope we can at least hold the family together, even when the world is going to hell in a handcart.

Our Father will, anyway! He knows those who are his. There I can rest!

God bless,

Andrew

Messengers of the Gospel - A Postscript

I had broadly planned my last blog post before the welcome weekend for new cadets. As it turned out, on the Sunday at WBC London, the UK Territorial Commander himself spoke of exactly what it means to be a Messenger of the Gospel. He too made clear that that should include all of us. Much of what he said stole any thunder from my forthcoming piece, which left me running the risk of looking like I was trying to steal his! Such is life. 

TC Clive Adams was as direct and to the point as I have ever heard him. Perhaps as direct and to the point as I have ever heard anyone in a major SA gathering. He summarised the gospel message, highlighting the gravity of the problem of sin (however much we don’t like using the word), the crippling, universal inability that sin means for us, the awful reality of hell, and the centrality and uniqueness of the cross-work of Jesus in atoning for our sin and opening the path to life. He was serious and he was sober and he was visibly moved. When he had finished there was a strong response in the hall, with extra chairs being needed to enlarge the mercy seat. 

My own reaction throughout his sermon was tears of relief and happiness to just hear the gospel. Here was the truth, presented with care and passion. It was thematic rather than expository, the themes unfolded with deliberate precision, firmness and love. The night before, I had actually said to Sarah that I was considering leaving the Army for lack of gospel clarity and hope; here was the very message to steady and encourage me. I wept with joy that anyone in a big SA gathering would publicly and strongly affirm the points he made. 

And it is that sense of surprise and relief that makes me write this postscript. With one arguable exception, at no point did he go a single doctrinal step beyond what every soldier and officer says they believe when they make their commitment and covenant. He proclaimed to cadets of the Salvation Army doctrines that they themselves will publicly affirm at their commissioning in two years, truths to which every soldier and officer in attendance has subscribed. And yet, what was striking was how out of the ordinary it was. And the fact that, alongside the widespread reactions of glad receptivity and personal commitment following from what he said, there was also a palpable undercurrent of shock and some negativity.

In the Salvation Army we have multiple belief streams. We have diverse approaches to truth coexisting, sometimes happily, sometimes with tensions, occasionally clashing severely. That diversity is perhaps more visible on Facebook than it usually is in major formal gatherings, but it is there nonetheless, and can surface. I’ve written before about the need to recognise that diversity, and to work out how to talk to one another within it. But for me, Saturday’s meeting highlighted two paradigm shifts with regard to doctrine that need to occur if the Salvation Army in the UK is to recover its role as an evangelistic, growing church. 

The first has to do with the nature of “Doctrine” in itself – or “The Doctrines” in themselves. I know that sometimes they are honoured as much in being ignored as being looked at; I've lost count of the number of Salvationists who have told me that there was a cursory or even dismissive discussion of the doctrines when they became soldiers. Or no discussion at all. 

And one gets the impression that when we do look seriously at doctrine, it tends to be primarily with a view to just such moments of transition. Doctrinal study occurs in preparation for our key steps of commitment – be it preparation of recruits for soldiership or cadets for commissioning. Approached like that, it is all too easy to see the doctrines as a static test, a one-off exam, a hurdle to be jumped. But doctrine is actually doctrine. It is the stuff we teach. It is a summary of our message. Doctrine is what we say, what we proclaim. It is an active, dynamic, exciting concept. “We who are being commissioned today are looking forward to getting these truths out into the communities which we serve.”

The trouble with the word “doctrine” is that for some reason it gives the impression of stuffy dustiness, of staticness. It is not only in TSA that “The Doctrines” are those old statements which are signed ‘at the beginning’ and never more referred to. But that isn't and can't be and mustn't be the case for any church. We should be saying, “Here is the centre of our message!” This is what we talk about, what we proclaim: God in his glory, his Word in its authority, his Son in his wonderful person and atoning work, his Spirit and his holy-making transformation, the eternal urgency of it all. When a senior officer proclaims the doctrines of the Salvation Army at a welcome service for new cadets, and that is cause for remark or even complaint, it does leave you wondering what he is supposed to be preaching!  We need to recover the Doctrines as Message, as Teaching and Preaching synopsis.

The other paradigm shift that is needed is to accept that the Salvation Army doctrines are a statement of specifically evangelical doctrine. Actually, they are a statement of a subset of evangelical doctrine; the eleven sections are a description of specifically Wesleyan belief and exclude evangelicals of other streams. They are more restrictive than the breadth of Evangelicalism, and deliberately so. 

Now, one of the oddities in Salvation Army theological circles is the frequent affirmation that the opposite is the case.  It is said that the doctrines were always very flexible, very broad, very accepting. The implication is that our statement is actually wider than evangelical doctrine. Indeed, despite the Army’s own self-description as an “Evangelical part of the Christian Church” (see, e.g. here), it seems fairly common to show disdain even towards the word evangelical. Given the awful mess the term finds itself in through association with Trumpery and the like in the USA, I can empathise, but historically there is no doubt that our doctrines position us squarely in one specific part of the movement called evangelicalism. 

The view we need to recover can be shown diagrammatically like this: against the backdrop of all the “non-evangelical” options out there, evangelicalism classically defines itself in terms of its beliefs. Salvationism, with its roots in the Methodist New Connexion, is a narrower subset within the evangelical family. Anyone coming to the SA doctrines with previous experience of the great, detailed, 17th century confessions (Westminster, Savoy, London), and then of the short 19th and 20th century doctrinal bases of the evangelical movement (EA, IVF, WEC, OMF etc) would immediately recognise the SA statement as falling into the pattern of the latter group. They would also quickly spot that we have a distinct Wesleyan slant that has deliberately excluded Calvinists, who would be welcome alongside Arminians in the other evangelical bodies. 

In contrast to this, a common view at present is shown in the second diagram. What is frequently implied, or even explicitly stated, is that the Doctrines are somehow wider and more flexible than evangelicalism, taking in views that would certainly be regarded as non-evangelical historically and at present. 

That the first diagram corresponds accurately to our historic and present identity is borne out by the excellent introduction to our Handbook of Doctrine:

Our doctrinal statement, then, derives from the teaching of John Wesley and the evangelical awakening of the 18th and 19th centuries. While there was significant correspondence between evangelicals in the mid-19th century, indicated especially in the nine-point statement of the Evangelical Alliance of 1846, the distinctives of Salvation Army doctrine came from Methodism. The Salvation Army Handbook Of Doctrine Page xviii

The tendency to emphasise the breadth and liberty implicit in the doctrines often leads to discussing them with an emphasis on flexibility and diversity of interpretation rather than from the standpoint of definite and clear shared truth. Sometimes one feels that the driving motive for this claimed flexibility is precisely the accommodation of non-evangelical views while “affirming” the doctrines. Beliefs that the SA founders were deliberately and explicitly excluding are now accepted as falling within the range permitted by a new, elastic reading of the founders' words. It is that reading which is an innovation, and insofar as it seems to permit people to say they believe the doctrines while actually believing something else, it is a danger to the movement. 

This may have been one motive for any angst at the TC’s sermon; by appearing to foreclose the question of “flexibility” through affirming the doctrines, he seemed to make that elasticity and the whole business of “exploring interpretations” look redundant, or worse.  Certainly, what he had to say entered into sharp confrontation with simple unbelief. I cannot forget being told “No one believes those crazy doctrines!” by an SA employee some years ago; however much that statement came out of immaturity and the desire to shock, I think it was a manifestation of a mindset with which the TC came into conflict at the welcome weekend.

I know I am an oddity in TSA. I can’t even sign the doctrines myself! But I am honest about that, and I don’t sign them. And I am trying to honour them. And I don’t think I am alone in longing for one thing, and one thing alone, to dominate again in our church – we want Jesus and his gospel. We long to hear about God and his creation and our fall into sin, and new hope through his Kingdom coming in Jesus. We long to hear about Jesus’ life and kindness and wisdom and death and resurrection and the coming of his Spirit. We long to hear about repentance and faith and assurance and growth and holiness and hope and homecoming. We long to hear about heaven and hell. We long for the old, old story. We long for a message which is recognisably the message of our Founders. We long for Blood and Fire – the atoning work of Christ, preached in the power of the Spirit.

That is what God gave us through the TC last Saturday night. We don’t yet know whether the hardest task for the Messengers of the Gospel is going to be to go on preaching the authentic message when they are ridiculed by the world... or ridiculed by the church. But until the headline “Territorial Commander Affirms the Doctrines at Cadetsʼ Welcome; All Present Agree Fully” sounds a bit less Babylon Bee, I fear that it may be the latter.