We Wish You A JOYVILLE Christmas!

We had the opportunity of visiting Joyville soon after it was opened. We met a little boy there, the staff had nicknamed, "The Preacher." We were told that the authorities had found him hiding under the backseat of a bus in Manila. Part of one finger and several teeth we're missing. He told them that his name was Toi Toi, and that his mother had done this to him.

The authorities took him to Joyville. The matron, a Salvation Army Officer, nursed him back to health and taught him how to pray. His nickname, The Preacher, came because, whenever the opportunity arose, he wanted to pray. We were told that he prayed without ceasing.

At the end of our visit, the officer called all the children together and asked Toi Toi to pray for us. He prayed for the staff, for all the other children, and he prayed for Doris and me by name. It was an experience we shall never forget. 

It's been 22 years and Toi Toi would be about 27 years of age now. He might even be the boy mentioned in the video linked below, I don't know. But what I do know is, that he is but one of many whose lives have been changed through the miracle of Joyville.

Order your custom handed made Christmas cards today and help Joyville continue creating miracles one child at a time. We've a ordered ours and are sending them to a select list, suggesting they do the same. 

And in each card, we’re placing the below links to these videos. Let's multiply our efforts together through another miracle, the miracle of social media, with a gift that just keeps on giving and giving.

http://savn.tv/video/Joyville-Orphanage

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dtby21EPZwc&feature=youtu.be

https://www.tradewest.com/Home/Product?id=4a29ac77-97ad-47d7-a641-c455acad9a71

Merry Christmas!

Applauding Thanksgiving Halftime Show!

W/Charlotte Jones
Dallas Cowboys

For what it’s worth, here’s my take on the Dallas Cowboys Thanksgiving Day Halftime Show with Selena Gomez. I’ll refrain from responding to all the negativity, judgmental attitudes, and hypocrisy, as it would fall mostly on deaf ears anyway.

What I will do is write something positive, as this will ‘Do The Most Good” in my opinion, as opposed to negatives that reflect badly upon the naysayers, right or wrong, while poisoning those who may be influenced otherwise by contrary spirits.

First, I want to salute the Jone’s family for what they do day in and day out for The Salvation Army. It’s not just 6 minutes during a halftime show that may or may not resonate with the cultural values of every viewer. I’ve sat on the Commissioner’s Conference, been involved intimately with the National Advisory Board, and I’ve seen their Christian spirit up close and personal. It is real and genuine. Let’s celebrate, not denigrate it.

There are charitable organizations, religious and otherwise, who would give anything for this kind of opportunity. The financial contribution in prime media airtime and national exposure is mind boggling. I watched the show and recognized immediately that this was geared to the right genre, the charitable giving audience of tomorrow. My personal response was to applaud the producers for their creative vision and willingness to cross those cultural boundaries.

The Founder got hammered by the religious elite for taking on the cultural taboo’s of his day, but I’ll not delve into that as it would only provide more fodder for the negativity furnace (There is a parallel here, however). I’ve been hammered relentlessly at times for crossing cultural boundaries, so I write from a wealth of experience, scars and all. Success involves risk taking, and risk taking is fraught with danger. The larger the stage, the greater the risk. The greater the risk, the larger the reward, and sometimes, consequently, the steeper the fall. And every successful venture is preceded by many falls.

Selena Gomez, and those of her ilk, do not resonate with this aging septuagenarian. In fact, I had no idea who she was until this Thanksgiving weekend. But the GEN Y multitudes do, and they view things differently through a filtered cultural lens. I remember, clearly, when Elvis hit the world stage. “The world is going to hell in a hand basket,” the religious elite cried. And the beat goes on.

And The Salvation Army is losing this generation, simply because we are turning a blind eye to their cultural realities. Whilst not the purpose of this writing, I do have the research and data to back it up, perhaps the subject of another Blog soon.

My main message here is directed to those who have chosen social media as the medium for airing their grievances. May I suggest that there is a better and more productive way, as we all have every right to express our opinions. And I do respect every POV, although it may differ from mine. Let’s remember when expressing ourselves, that those on both sides of the issue care deeply about The Salvation Army’s mission. Let’s celebrate it, virtually, online, and everywhere else.

JN

Tattoos and Beards!

OTHERS!

The tattoo culture, taking hold of this emerging generation captures the imagination. I’m imagining how William Booth might have reacted, had it been part of 18th Century London East end culture? In my fertile mind’s eye, I see him sporting the word, “Others,” creatively designed and displayed on his shoulder. After all, wasn’t it Bill Booth who wrote...

“If I thought I could win one more soul to the Lord by walking on my head and playing the tambourine with my toes, I'd learn how!”

That’s pretty dramatic isn’t it? And what about the Army mother, would she have condoned it? Didn’t she write something to the effect...

“Here is the principle - adapt your measures to the necessity of the people to whom you minister. You are to take the Gospel to them in such modes and circumstances as will gain for it from them a hearing.”

Sporting a tattoo wasn’t part of the culture I grew up in, nor were beards. Wearing a beard in the 50’s/60’s was considered a Beatnik/Hippy thing. I grew my first beard in the late 50’s, walking down the street, I overheard an elderly lady (she had to be in her 40’s) say to her companion, “Another one of those weird Beatniks!” 

I grew it again, as a young Captain in my second appointment. A staff person on DHQ pulled me aside with a little career advice: “Keep that beard and you’ll go nowhere in The Salvation Army,”  he counseled me. I’m still wearing it, a perennial Beatnik at heart.

A tattoo, one with a creative Gospel message? Tempting. Now, if I can only find a wrinkle free patch of skin on this aging body.

JN

God Is Not A White Man!

I kind of like this, combining the old and the new: Flannel Board and Video to illustrate a message. And a haunting message it is, albeit a bit irreverent for some.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WybvhRu9KU&

JN

Officership is Sexy!

This photo along with accompanying text was featured in “The Pacific Northwest Inlander Magazine,” and titled, “The Inland Northwest’s Sexiest People.”

Capt. Kyle Smith

AGE: 44

OCCUPATION: Salvation Army officer, pastor, father of two children

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Married, 15 years

Why he makes us hot: To help make up for a slump in donations during the holiday season, Kyle Smith rang a bell for the Salvation Army for 36 hours straight. That’s hardly the most extreme task he’s taken on: Smith also spent time in Rwanda providing relief after the Civil War there. He’s traveled the world. He loves his wife. We think his heart is hot. And the five o’clock shadow. Oh, and the blue eyes. Did we mention the New Zealand accent? Damn, Mrs. Smith: You’re one lucky lady.

Turn-ons? “My wife. There is no other answer.”

Turn-offs? Bad body odor. Bad breath. “The prettiest woman can become not-so-pretty if she stinks.”

So, why are you so sexy? “I’ll tell you what: location, location, location. If I was back home, no one would notice me. Oh — and the uniform.”

Here’s what I want to say about this “Sexiest People” list, with Kyle right at the very top. Slightly irreverent, perhaps, but great publicity for a 21st Century Salvation Army. If I were still Candidate’s Secretary, this photo would set the theme for a candidate recruitment campaign: “Officership Is Sexy!”

The “informal” definition of “sexy” is: “EXCITING; APPEALING!” And that’s exactly the image we want to portray, isn’t it? Commitment, dedication, giving, serving, sacrificing and saving: Exciting and appealing. “Oh — and the uniform.”

Reminds me of a controversial, risky campaign we launched back in the 1970’s, the School for Officer training filled to overflowing, mind you.

O.K. Candidate Secretary’s out there, I dare you!

JN

God’s Sense of Humor | Look at us!

Homer, Alaska is the halibut fishing capital of the world, some of those caught weighing up to 730 lbs, 8’ long. They are one of God’s strange creations, at birth having an eye on each side of the head and swimming like a salmon. After about 6 months, one eye migrates to the other side and the color changes on the stationary-eyed side to disguise it from predators. God does have a sense of humor, doesn’t he? Look at some of us!

Now docked out on Homer Spit, there are “some of us” strange looking creatures disembarking to have a look-see – each of us “created in His image,” mind you. All rushing to have our pictures taken along side one of these bottom-feeding behemoths as they hang there on the weighing hooks (above). It’s really quite a funny sight if you stop and think about it, almost laughable. Which one has the Toni? Remember that commercial?

Makes me wonder, did God have these images in mind when creating us? Or did we screw it up somewhere along the way? For example, were “comb overs” included in His creation plan (See sample above)? What about makeup, liposuction and BOTOX? Or did He have a balanced diet, exercise and aging gracefully in mind? “Smile, Honey!” Get the picture? Standing next to this strange looking fish: Shorts, skinny white legs, pot belly hanging over, hair sprouting out the ears and extreme comb over – “Created in God’s image?”

The name, halibut, is derived from haly (holy) butt (flat fish) because of its popularity as a delicacy on Catholic Holy Days. I’ll leave the exegesis on this bit of knowledge to someone cleverer than I am. Go ahead, let your imagination run wild. There must be a sermon illustration in there somewhere.

Next port is Kodiak, where “there are more than 2,000 resident Kodiak bears on the island. North America’s largest carnivores and the world’s largest bear species, Kodiaks can be more than 10 feet tall, can weigh more than 1,200 pounds and are part of the Grizzly family; another of God’s strange creations. God does have a sense of humor, doesn’t he? Again, look at some of us.

Back on board, the Lakers are playing the Phoenix Suns again for the Western Conference Championship, watching it in the Sports Bar, Lorna Luft and entourage there whooping it up. Basketball is a strange game, isn’t it, grown, seemingly intelligent men running up and down this 94’ by 50’ court for 60 minutes (which takes 3 hours) trying to put a ball through a rim 10’ high and 18” in diameter? And they are paid millions for doing so! Can you believe this LeBron James thing? King James, Chosen One, really?

Ever look closely at these revered, athlete behemoths? Talk about strange creations. Take Shaquille O’Neal for example: 7-foot, one-inch tall, 360 pounds, size 23 shoe, shaved head and fully inked torso. Stand him up next to one of those Halibut fish or Kodiak bears. Get the picture?

Even stranger, stand my 5-foot, six-inch, 150 pound frame, receding hairline (no comb over yet), size 7 shoe and lily white, flabby torso next to his. Get the picture? I’ll bet I could take him in a game of Horse, though (ever watch Shaq shoot free throws?). David against Goliath!

Compare myself to David? Maybe not! He must have been the exception. There aren’t many of us who could sing, as he did, “ I will praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made, marvelous are your works… (Ps 134:14). The word ‘wonderfully” means: unique, set apart, uniquely marvelous, each and every one of us a very individual creation. Ah, maybe so!

Still, anyway you look at it God does have a great sense of humor. Take an honest peak in the mirror if you don’t believe me.

Among Goliaths | Standing Out!

Anchorage, Alaska, not a cloud in the sky, Denali (“high place”), also known as Mt. McKinley, towering majestically in the distance, the Goliath of North American summits (20,320 feet). We’re told that temperatures at the top can dip below 100°F.

Ours is the first ship sailing into Anchorage after dredging of the harbor, coming in and leaving with the high tide very critical. Cameras and politicians everywhere, and I didn’t even bring my uniform. Commissioner Who? As a once high-placed Commissioner liked to say, “Upon retirement, I went from “Who’s Who!” to “Who’s He?” In hindsight, with all the uniforms on board (lots of gold braid), wearing mine, oozing velvet, might have brought preferential treatment (“high place”). Next time.

Speaking of uniform, there’s a Catholic priest aboard, conducting daily mass, high collar and all. He stands about 6’ 3’, very conspicuous, towering majestically above me. After a few days, high collar or naught, he is recognizable and very approachable, always a kind word (“Who’s Who”). Interestingly, I’m magnetically drawn toward attending his mass, conflicted about my Protestantism for the moment.

There’s also a Protestant service, but only on Sunday’s, the minister with no identifiable costume, invisible, blending in with the rest of us. They all pretty much look alike don’t they? – Dignified, severe expression, high forehead, thick glasses, pudgy around the middle and a long sleeved white shirt buttoned to the collar. I think I’ve spotted him, kind of looks like a Salvation Army Officer in civvies. The uniform does wonders for some, doesn’t it? Transforming, majestic, regal and imposing.

The Divisional Leaders in Alaska, Majors Doug and Sherry Tollerud, give us a grand tour, which includes a look-see at their magnificent camp, 700 some acres surrounding a gorgeous lake in Wasilla, they in uniform and we in civvies (Pictured above). I’ll let your imagination take over from there – what’s the plural of moose? Anyway can't see them, standing just out of the frame. By the way, Sarah Palin is one of their neighbors – “You betcha!”

Had to get back on board for the Los Angeles Lakers Playoff Game against the Phoenix Suns, a few 7’ plus Goliaths among them. Forget the Alaskan grandeur for a moment, got to be there in spirit with my buddy, Jack Nicholson, the Goliath of Academy Award winning actors.

Forget Jack, sitting in the lounge physically with us watching the game is Lorna Luft (daughter of Judy Garland), bedecked in Lakers uniform regalia (Pictured above, a little out of focus, forgive me). No question where she stands, vocally, ceremonially or otherwise. Lifting her hands high, she proclaims, “He (Kobe) is Lord (of basketball)! And here I sit, unceremoniously, in civvies. You get the picture. The game ended dramatically with the Lakers scoring in the last second to win, high fives all around. Lorna, upon leaving, places her hand on Doris’ shoulder and says, “I’ve got to go back to my room and take a Valium after that!”

Lorna performed the next evening, reminiscing about her two-year run on Broadway in Guys and Dolls, playing the lead female role, uniform, bonnet and all. In her remarks, she referenced this show as the Goliath of all Broadway Musicals. The lights dim, the orchestra strikes an opening credenza and she sings a medley of songs from the show. At its conclusion, I want to jump up and shout, “We’re Salvation Army Officers; that musical was about us!”

Alas! We sit there diminutively, quietly subdued in our civvies (Let your imagination run). Were we dressed in Salvation Army WARdrobe regalia, we would undoubtedly tower majestically above the crowd (“high place”), conspicuously, recognizable and approachable – buttons popping, high fives flailing.

Hmmm? Isn’t there a Biblical story somewhere about a light and a bushel? Exegetically, is TSA uniform a light or a bushel? Or maybe both depending? Standing out like a sore thumb. Or standing out, above the crowd.

“Once you're watching every move that I make
You gotta believe that I got what it takes
To stand out, above the crowd…” (Disney: “Stand Out)

There goes that love/hate relationship again.

PS Read the previous posts on this Alaskan Cruise travelogue, if you haven't already.

Day of Rest | Rest Room Missionaries?

It’s day seven of the cruise and we’ve lost all sense of time. We know what day it is because the elevator carpets are changed daily with the day of the week embroidered thereupon. Today they read SUNDAY, a day of rest, or so prescribed in the Good Book. I wonder if God had cruises in mind when he originated this command? Maybe that’s what heavens going to be like – one eternal cruise, one everlasting Sunday.

Speaking of elevators, just got off one crammed with eleven other capacious bodies squeezed around my 5’ 6” 150 lb frame. The weight limit notice on the wall reading 2640 lbs. Do the math. I look around nervously (my eyes, the only body parts able to move); panic building until we reach the 9th level (Sports Deck) where all 2640 lbs (I’m guessing) unload for our forced, guilt-laden wobble around the track – canes, walkers, oxygen tanks and all.

The days are long, continuous daylight plaguing our every waking hour, throwing our body clocks wonky. Not sure if we’re coming or going. When God separated night from day, he obviously ignored the upper Northern part of this planet. With food served 24/7, our stomachs tell us when it is time to eat and drooping eyes tells us when it is time to snooze, whenever, whatever, seemingly forever.

Blurred in there somewhere were stops in Skagway and Sitka with a few glacier viewings thrown in between. At the historical museum in Skagway there is a small pump organ with this inscription: “Donated by Commander Evangeline Booth of The Salvation Army, Daughter of Founder, William Booth, who used the organ during her ministry in Skagway during the Klondike Gold Rush” (See photos above).

Also posted is this newspaper article: “Arriving on the SS Tees from Vancouver in April 1898, The Salvation Army’s Klondike party created a sensation in Skagway as the officers marched from their ship to Sixth and Broadway led by Commander Evangeline Booth. They conducted their first open-air meeting near Jeff Smiths parlors (of ill repute) and played their small portable pump organ during the lively meeting. Jeff Soapy Smith, notorious leader of Skagway’s underworld, observed the service from the edge of the crowd and added gold coins to the collection” (Much more detail on their encounter in Henry Gariepy’s book, “A Century of Service in Alaska).

“Eight Salvation Army officers, including two women, climbed over the Chilkoot Pass, and continued on to Dawson City. Said Ensign McGill, “We had two detachable canoes and our packs and we carried the lot over the pass on our backs. That was the heaviest job I ever had in my life.”

Oh my, how times have changed, state of the art everything in our cloistered, comfortable citadels and (KROC) centers, all 40 of us spread out comfortably on a Sunday, day of rest morning, heavy lifting replaced by modern conveniences, not even song books or Bibles to lift, everything projected magically on the screens surrounding us, don’t have to lift a thing except our bodies when asked to stand, grumbling as we do, singing “I’ll stand for Christ.” One or two zealots among us doing some heavy lifting raising their hands, signifying visibly that “He is Lord!” God is good. “ALL THE TIME!”

In Sitka town now, marching off the ship, looking for a rest stop when we spot a sign “Sitka Lutheran Church – Inside, restrooms available for your comfort and convenience.” Phew! What a relief. Entering, we are welcomed by a couple, pointing us in the right direction, men one way, ladies the other. On the sink is a container suggesting, “Donations Welcome.”

On the bulletin board in the foyer are photos of half dozen people, including our welcoming duo, with a little biographical sketch on each. Seems as if they are Lutheran restroom missionaries hailing from various parts of the USA, sacrificially giving of their time and talent in this small isolated village in Southeast Alaska. Brochures with a simple Gospel message are pressed into our hands as we prepare to leave. Restroom evangelism – a modern-day outreach twist – why didn’t we think of that?

Back on board, dinner, show, restful night, what day is it? Step inside the elevator and the floor mat now reads “MONDAY.” Where did Sunday go? No matter. Just another day of rest! On the heavenly cruise, there’s going to be no weekdays, only one floor mat reading, “SUNDAY.” Lift your hands and say it with me: “God is good. ALL THE TIME!”

REST ROOM MISSIONARIES!!!???
(See below for Post 1,2, in this continuing series)

Satisfaction Guaranteed! | What are the Odds?

Morning comes quickly and breakfast is awaiting us in The Lido Restaurant: Eggs Benedict (or any style for that matter), custom-made omelets, breakfast burritos, steak, ham, bacon, sausage, cereal, juices, pastries, take your pick. For some the “pick” is too difficult so why not sample a little of everything? While children go starving… No, life isn’t fair is it? Does this mean that the Creator of life isn’t fair, that satisfaction isn’t always guaranteed? Is it by happenstance or design? What are the odds?

Outside our dining room window is a breathtaking view of Ketchikan, Alaska. I say this because the sun is actually shining in a village that averages 152 inches of rain (plus 37’ snow) per year. We’ve been here half a dozen times without ever seeing the sunshine. In fact, on one occasion we were socked in for three drizzling, miserable days, couldn’t fly out, stranded and bored silly. Curio shops can hold your interest for only so long, speaking for myself, of course, not Doris. So with the sun shining, it feels like we have won the lottery. What are the odds?

Off the ship we go, me clad in shorts, slippers and Hawaiian themed t-shirt, believe it or not, to make that exciting, stimulating round of Alaskan-themed curio shops. We linger at one such shop, a showcase of non-Alaskan Lladro figurines magically conjuring up out of nowhere, what are the odds? Doris fawns over one in particular: two Hawaiian brown- skinned, identical twin boys taking a bath, one scrubbing the other’s back. Meanwhile, I stand fidgeting over in the corner. “Only $230,” she pines. I grumble. She fusses. I grouse. She pleads. I acquiesce, a Visa card conjuring up out of nowhere, believe it or not!

Stepping out the door, new non-Alaskan-made acquisition in hand, I spot this slogan painted on the side of a Ketchikan garbage truck rumbling by: “Satisfaction guaranteed or double your garbage back” (See photo above). The thought immediately leapt out at me: One man’s garbage is another’s treasure, or something to that effect. For me that Lladro is junk; for Doris it’s treasure. In her eyes, she’d won the lottery.

In that instant, it also occurred to me that the truck might have been carting away a portion of the leftover’s from the ship, a wealthy man’s waste: lobster, shrimp, prime rib, perfectly good portions left on plates overflowing. Children scavenging for food in garbage dumps… Satisfaction guaranteed? What are the odds?

Speaking of food…again, someone recommended we try the fresh halibut fish and chips at “Alaskan Surf Fish & Chips,” only $9.95. They were delicious, like butter melting in your mouth. As we sat there feasting on this gastronomical delight, I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice behind me exclaim, “Commissioner Noland, is that you?” Looking around, I spotted a couple vaguely familiar. “We’re Major’s Richard and Linda Lopez from the USA Eastern Territory, remember us?” “Yes!” I exclaimed confidently, without a clue. “My father was the one who took the photo of you riding on back of that Harley Davidson in Puerto Rico,” she proudly proclaimed. “We were stationed in Philadelphia at the time, Richard now the DYS in Puerto Rico.” Ah yes! At that moment everything clicked, as we enthusiastically embraced one another warmly.

They were on another cruise ship in port at the same time. Think about it, they seemingly conjuring up out of nowhere, now the four of us together in this small isolated village at this unlikely moment in time? What are the odds? (See photo above)

Back on the ship reflecting over dinner in La Fontaine Dining Room: The sun shining in Ketchikan, Doris finding that Lladro, halibut fish and chips and a chance encounter with the Lopez’s, kind of like winning the lottery four-fold, beating the odds big time. Doesn’t get any better than this.

Yes it does!

Dinner Menu this evening:
Appetizer: Papaya with a rainbow of fruit, splashed with banana liqueur and sprinkled with coconut shavings.

Soup: Chilled apple vichyssoise with a kick of apple brandy, sprinkled with diced granny apples.

Main Course: Tender Lobster Tail broiled with garlic butter, served with scalloped potatoes, baby carrots and grilled asparagus.

Dessert: The Gold Rush Baked Alaska, Praline ice cream, surrounded by double chocolate chip cookie and coated in meringue, dusted in gold, served with your choice of topping: Alaskan huckleberries, strawberries in cointreau, creamy caramel fudge.

I chose the creamy caramel fudge, yummy! 1400 dinners served, passengers and crew. Leaving the dining room, there were noticeable leftovers on most plates, delicious, but too much for even the most gluttonous among us to absorb. We’d won the lottery five-fold this day.

The Ketchikan garbage trucks are going to be busy tonight: “Satisfaction Guaranteed or…” Children starving everywhere… ‘Double your (this) Garbage Back’ would be a lottery winner for the majority eking out a living on this planet. One person’s garbage is…

It is written, “But now here is the bread that truly comes down out of heaven. Anyone eating this bread will not die, ever. I am the Bread—living Bread!—who came down out of heaven. Anyone who eats this Bread will live—and forever!”

“Satisfaction Guaranteed!” What are the odds?

PS This follows the post below if you haven't read it already.

North to Alaska | Shush!

It was an offer too good to refuse, a 14-day cruise at an unbelievably low price: Seattle, Ketchikan, Juneau, Sitka, Glacier Bay, Skagway, Anchorage, Homer, Kodiak, Victoria and Seattle, this being the first chapter in a slightly irreverent travelogue to follow.

It was a clear, 90 degree, picture-perfect day as we left our comfortable, comparatively upscale California home in La Quinta, heading west past Palm Springs via Banning, Beaumont, Yucaipa, Redlands, San Bernardino, dipping down into Riverside where we would spend the night courtesy of The Salvation Army. No! It wasn’t a transient shelter for vagabonds, although beggars can’t be choosers, admittedly. It was a nicely appointed guest apartment offered to us by gracious hosts. Thank you, Lord!

What does the Lord have to do with any of this? I hear you thinking. Well, the Lord giveth and taketh, so it saith in an ancient translation of the good Book. In this particular instance, He giveth. Thank you, Lord!

A freebie apartment? For one night? Aren’t there more important things He should be concentrating on, like the starving and homeless orphans in earthquake ravaged Haiti or the garbage heap dwellers in Manila or the abused and neglected right here in affluent America? My God!

I know what you’re doing, trying to place a guilt trip on me, huh? Leave me alone, goin’ on a cruise. Shush! Get thee behind me, conscience. Hey, I’m not the one responsible for all of this evil and poverty in the world anyway. God help us!

As I was saying, the following morning a Super Shuttle picks us up for transport to Ontario Airport, $50 roundtrip fare each plus tip, what? Checking in, Alaska Airlines rousted us for another $15 per checked bag, can you believe it? Upon arrival in Seattle, La Quinta Inn’s shuttle picked us up, another $5 tip expected by the driver, huh? The following morning, another shuttle to the ship, $12 each, can you believe it? The young driver, helpful, friendly, talkative (also a driver for Pizza Hut – 2500 deliveries without a mishap), angling for that $5 tip, what? Do your math, greed and malice everywhere, God help us!

Starving, homeless, jobless, foreclosures, recession everywhere! Shush. Get thee behind me, conscience! Let me enjoy this cruise guilt free please. Hurry up and wait. Lines and more lines, passports and pat downs, finally on board only to discover that our stateroom is at the very bottom of the ship, port side at the very tip of the bow, no porthole, claustrophobics beware!

Comfortable though: king-sized bed, television, DVD player, remote control, his/her robes, hairdryer, ice bucket and CNN. Whew! Two weeks without depressing news and the stock market report, unthinkable. But most importantly, the Room Service Menu available 24/7 FREEEEEE! (Technically speaking, paid for in the price of the cruise, and I’m going to get my money’s worth, arterial plaque buildup be damned!)

Speaking of eating, we hotfoot it up to the Pinnacle Restaurant for dinner: Quail, crab legs, Filet Mignon, lobster, escargot, shrimp, take your pick, or take it all as some obviously do, plates piled high. Looking around, it occurs to me that cruises particularly attract the aged, infirmed and obese, walkers, canes, oxygen tanks and suspenders galore (no corsets, obviously, though). Rarely have I seen this amount of tonnage isolated in one place at the same time. My silent prayer is that we don’t all decide to move to one side of the ship simultaneously. God forbid!

Silent prayer? God forbid? Aren’t there more important things you should be concentrating on and praying for?

Shush!

The rest of the evening is filled with a Broadway style musical extravaganza in the theater, followed by chocolate chip cookies, ice cream and tea. Belly’s fully gorged; contentedly we snuggle into our king-sized bed oblivious to the goings on in the wider world around us, ship rocking gently, sugar-plums dancing in our heads.

What’s the statistic? 3 billion people on this planet living on under $1 a day! Didn’t someone say something about a rich man, heaven, camel and eye of a needle?

Shush!

Trial Run

In the past I have written about my love/hate relationship with the uniform. The wearing of it opens doors, no question about it. But it also smacks of exclusiveness, rendering the non-wearer as an outsider, not part of “the special club.” I love the concept that “WARrobe: Army Apparel,” (found on FaceBook) is promoting – the idea of uniform wearing as spontaneous, contemporary and culturally relevant – non-threatening to the “outsider.”

I took the photos above, my contribution to their promotional campaign because I think they’re on to something here. Now, I know this is not going down well with some for all the obvious reasons, but for me it is quintessential Salvationism in motion.

Salvationism is a two part word: Salvation + ism. The salvation part is never changing – the same, yesterday, today, forever (The conservative part). Ism, by its proper definition is “a movement” – always changing: “Mobile, fluid, robust, pulsating, progressive, maturing – Genesis in motion.” In other words, our methodology needs to stay relevant, inclusive and flexible in order to reach the last, the lost and least (The liberal part).

Commissioner Harry Reid defines it this way: "Salvationism is an engine-room kind of word, for within its robust, energy-exuding frame pulsates the heart of the Army. Here, the essential beliefs of the Movement, its active, maturing and progressive concepts, its love and service-centred ministries, all reside in a living, quick-to-respond balance for the benefit of mankind."

Several liberal “movement”-type phrases jump out at me: “…within its robust, energy-exuding frame pulsates…active, maturing and progressive concepts…living, quick to respond…”

For me, personally, Primitive Salvationism is an oxymoron because Salvationism is never primitive; it is always relevant, contemporary and spontaneous, spewing forth autonomy and individuality. That’s what makes it scary i.e., forcing one to look over the edge once in awhile.

Also risk is relative. One person’s risk is another person’s opportunity. One may see risk as opportunity, whilst another sees it as uncertainty. Risk-taking is entirely individualistic by definition. “Conforming risk-taker” is also an oxymoron. Doing it the way its always been done is not risky business; it’s called, safety, status quo.

I have assumed, perhaps wrongly, that the risk I speak about will be interpreted as good risk. Risks must always be taken for the right reasons, not the wrong ones. Also, you will find that good, calculated, risk-taking begins to dissipate as mission metamorphosis into institutionalism. Early day Salvationists were risk-takers for the right reasons. Let’s take this primitive concept and make it contemporary, sans the traditional, institutional regulations and regalia. For many that’s too scary (risky) to even think about.

JN

God Knows Where!

What short memories we have. I was the Divisional Commander in the Hawaiian and Pacific Islands Division when Hurricane Iniki hit the island of Kauai on 9/11 in the year 1992. Coincidently, nine years to the day later, 9/11 in the year 2001, I was the Territorial Commander, headquartered in New York when the World Trade Center buildings came tumbling down. In both instances, I was responsible for all of the disaster relief services administered by The Salvation Army.

I could recount the horror stories chapter and verse, regarding the arrogance and misuse of donated monies, but I won’t because what I write now will be forgotten when the next disaster strikes. Thus, I will keep this brief and channel my creative energy into something more productive. What I have to say is already written in a blog posted over at www.therubicon.org, titled “Show Us The Mission!”

Simply to say, what short memories we have. For some relief agencies, mission is paramount; for others it’s “Show Us The Money!” What the heck! “THE RED CROSS!” There, I’ve said it out loud. But hey, don’t just listen to me even though I was there first hand and saw it all myself up close and personal. Google “Red Cross Scandal” and your memories will be jogged big time. Here’s one post to get you started titled, “The Red Cross Coming Home to Roost: Remember 9/11 Anyone?” If you’re not into Googling, here are a couple of excerpts:

“Americans have a short and forgiving historical memory. Most can remember last year's Super Bowl champs and World Series winners, but few seem able to remember a $1 billion scandal involving the American Red Cross following 9/11, America's most disastrous terrorist or military attack on its homeland.”

“Jogging your memory a bit -- Red Cross was the flavor of the month following 9/11. Celebrities, corporations and foundations wrote million-dollar checks and performed or sponsored TV and live events ad infinitum; ad campaigns were rewritten as Red Cross appeals; media outlets pushed their name across the airwaves and online.”

“…served coffee and donuts to rescue workers at the World Trade Center site only to be accused of charging for them. (It later paid Daniel Bouley, New York's star chef, to cook for them after the news about charging for coffee was made public.)”

“Flash forward to Hurricane Katrina and you find the same unthinking, reflexive, robotic response from Diddy to Spielberg and hundreds of other celebrities, businesses and the unknowing public. Primal fear may be what motivates them but their trust is misplaced.”

“Read the New York Times of September 20th and this week's Time Magazine for just the opening salvos of what will become yet another American Red Cross "cause celebre."

As infinitum.

On second thought, I wouldn’t bother Googling all this stuff; you’ll have forgotten it when the next disaster strikes anyway. My apologies for enticing you to read this post, when there are so many more productive things worth doing.

By the way, Michelle Obama (whom I like and respect) has an ad running with a text message number for The Red Cross, as do a host of celebrities and events, including at “The Grammies” last evening. If you’ve forgotten the text message, let me jog your memory: “Haiti” 90999, and another $10 will go to, God knows where?

Hey! What's another Billion dollars, anyway!

Recasting the Bible in Our Own Image!

Barry Gittins has a great two-part post on, “I was a teenage fundamentalist,” over at therubicon.com, well written and insightful. Likewise, a must companion read to this post is found over at www.journal-new.com titled, “Putting the right spin on the Bible” (emphasis on the word, “right”).

Its essence is the human tendency to “Recast the Bible in our own image.” I love Pitts opening statement:

“So we may soon have ourselves a conservative Bible. Besides Fox News, I mean.”

Likewise his ending statement:

“Conservapedia’s effort to remake Jesus of Nazareth in the image of Dick Cheney suggests a future filled with more of the same. A conservative Bible? Lord, have mercy.”

This post is a must read, necessary to fill in all of the irreverent, but very relevant stuff in between.

Note: For some of you reading this, the right links can be found over at www.slightlyirreverent.blogspot.com.

JN

Tattoo Evangelism!

What an interesting phenomenon. I’ve thought about one, but at my age a tattoo and sagging, wrinkling skin don’t go very well together. The above are a few examples of those that can be found on the Facebook site: Salvation Army Tattoo’s.

This was created by Rob and seems to be drawing a lot of interest. Who knows, one day we may have a Territorial Tattoo Evangelism Secretary (TTES). Tattoos have always been important in the Hawaiian culture. For Rob’s Master’s thesis in Art at the University of Hawaii, he used tattoo art very creatively in his prints, each with a subtle spiritual theme. Subsequently, they were displayed in an art show and viewed by Hawaiian members of his beach ministry corps. Since they did the tattoos on each other, Rob was approached and asked if he would create a Jesus tattoo and use their skin as the canvas (I’m writing this from memory, so may not have the facts exactly right. If not, Rob will set me straight, but its close enough). Anyway, now I can proudly exclaim, “My son, the tattoo artist!” …For Jesus, that is.

I wonder, is there a Commissioner, active or retired, with a tattoo? Would I be the first? If so, I’m sorely tempted; that is if a wrinkle free patch of skin can be found. Maybe ArmyBarmy could run a competition in cyberspace to determine the design, followed by a podcast featuring the actual rendering? Wouldn’t that be a hoot? So long as God is glorified in it all, of course!

JN

The Naked Truth!

Interestingly enough, I copied a picture of The Naked Cowboy and the Clothes less Fringle (does have an apron on, both standing the July Kettle in Times Square, NYC) off Facebook yesterday, to accompany what was going to be a fun post today (including the YouTube link, which unfortunately no longer exists). The subject matter, however, has taken a significant turn making this post a little more serious than it was meant and/or ought to be.

It appears that DHQ has ordered the Corps Officer, Billy Francis, to remove the photos and the link because there were a few complaints. Oh my! How the Army culture has changed over the past Century in New York City. Diane Winston, in her book, Red Hot and Righteous, details a bit of that early Army cultural flair; a panache highly objectionable to a plethora of puritans during that day. Had HQ listened and the antics of those early pioneers quieted, the Army would not be the powerhouse that it is in America today.

Winston quotes an 1896 editorial in the War Cry “…we have commonly preferred to engage a secular place for our meetings…our greatest triumphs have been witnessed in theatres, music halls, rinks, breweries, saloons, stores and similar places.” Oh my! Theaters, breweries, saloons, wonder what the purists had to say about that? Had those in authority listened, where would we be today?

She further writes, “Similarly, its evangelical street workers invented ever more dramatic ploys…staged ‘trials’ of the devil…preached from coffins…and appeared as ‘specialty’ acts with names such as the Golden Minstrel, the Saved Cowboy, and the Converted Pugilist.”

Saved Cowboy, Converted Pugilist! And the cowboy’s not naked; he’s wearing SpongeBob Squarepants briefs and cowboy boots for goodness sake. Is that a tattoo of Christ I detect on his left shoulder? The truth is, if we continue to listen to the objectors, where will we be tomorrow? Where are we today? Not to worry, the objectors are far and few between because we’re playing it a little bit safer today. Now that’s the naked truth!

Stay tuned for a continuation of this theme in the next post.

JN

Round and Round!

It’s interesting how life keeps coming back round again. Think about it. We’re back in Hawaii now after a three hour delayed flight, not fun, screaming babies, hacking, coughing seatmates, late hour, 2:30 a.m. California time. Wake up this morning, 4:30 a.m. Hawaii time (7:30 West Coast), do the math, 5 hours sleep.

Off to Homelani Camp on the North Shore for the final Music Camp Concert, where nineteen years ago we were welcomed as Divisional Leaders, but held under a tent then: Same camp, new pavilion (house that Joe built), different campers, most not born then, and a rugged beach, probably the same sand and recirculated sea water pounding its shore.

What possesses us to be there? Two of our granddaughters are in the program, playing in the band, singing in the chorus, et al, just like their grandparents did at that age (different camps, mind you). Awards are given: Riley wins the Soloist competition, McKenna receives the Drama Award, Theory Medal and during the finale is crowned the camps “Honor Musician,” making the buttons pop, or in this case, T-shirt expand.

This is where the round stops, however, neither grandparent ever winning even a single award during those hither music camp years. For decades now, I’ve been outspoken against these kinds of awards, believing that every camper is a winner, and should be adjudged so… AND NOT BECAUSE I DIDN’T WIN, EITHER!

Thus it is I sit and write with mixed emotions this afternoon. Proud, yes, but also sad for those who tried so hard and came up lacking. What will that do to their little psyches? I know what it did to mine. In that sense, I guess the round hasn’t stopped… “round and round we go, and where it stops nobody knows.”

Still can’t get my head ‘round’ this award thing, or our rank thing for that matter. Why?

JN

Propinquity!

Married 43 years today. WOW! What an adventure! I’ve got to be one of the luckiest guys in the world. To understand that statement you have to know us, personality and disposition-wise. Everyone loves Doris; they tolerate me. No delusions on this front. Without her strength and balance, I’d probably ended up a client rather than a Commissioner.

It all began in San Francisco, at The Salvation Army School for Officer’s Training, of all places. We didn’t like each other at first for dispositional reasons: sweet and sour being the two opposing extremes. To this day she leans right and I lean left, canceling out each other’s vote in every election. Had I been nominated for General at the High Council, she would have voted against me, that’s how different we are: night and day.

But the staff and some cadets thought we would make the perfect couple, for some inexplicable reason. Thus they conspired to bring us together, led by the Education Officer, then Captain Bob Stillwell. When I walked into a classroom, the only vacant seat was always next to her. We found ourselves assigned to the same Field Training Brigade always. Everywhere I turned, there she was! Stillwell later confided to me that this was a clandestine, carefully executed, purpose-driven plan with the code name, “Propinquity” assigned to it.

Propinquity: Closeness, proximity, nearness in space, time, or relationship (Mirriam-Webster).

So it has been ever since, working (in propinquity) together as a team, mostly her assets balancing my liabilities. Whatever works!

Someone forgot to clue in the Personnel Secretary (then called the Field Secretary), however. I was commissioned to open a corps in Flagstaff, Arizona, she to assist in Farmington, New Mexico, with nothing but a wide expanse of Indian Reservation in between. Expedience took precedence over propinquity in this instance and thus it has ever been.

Adding insult to injury, we petitioned the Field Secretary for a June 4 wedding date because our good friends and session-mates had already claimed the weekend following, which would have been one year to the day following our Official Engagement (The rule being one year of engagement before you could marry). The response came back, “Permission Denied!” because it was one week premature. Regulation took precedence over propinquity and thus it has ever been.

Thankfully, Doris had friends in high places, the Chief Secretary, then Colonel Billy Parkins; he liked her. She wrote the appeal instead of me and voila! The decision was reversed. In this kind of instance, propinquity took precedence over regulation and thus it has ever been (nearness in relationship being one of the definitions). Her likableness has been my salvation many times over, no denying it here.

We still cancel out each other’s vote. She didn’t even nominate me for General. She loves band and songsters whilst I tolerate them. When I’m listening to Country/Western up full blast, base thumping on the stereo, she puts her “classically filled” ipod headset on. She still leans to the right, and I a little further to the left. In spite of our differences, we’ve grown closer together over these 43 years. Fortunately, in that time, God’s will took precedence over all of the intervening Field and Personnel Secretary’s tendencies toward expediency (which included a number of other silly appointments separating us needlessly).

It’s called Spirit-filled propinquity!

Say What?

What? “We do not consider ourselves a Christian nation.” C’mon, the President didn’t really say that did he? If he did, who’s his speechwriter, Bill O’Reilly? Or maybe the right-wing media pounced upon one of Letterman’s Late Show, dumb, doctored videos, spinning it as the Gospel truth. Obama wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake; he’s a Harvard graduate for God’s sake! Whoops, slip of the pen there.

Anyone with an ounce of brains knows that we are a Christian nation. I mean, look around you.

“A man who rammed his SUV into the Planned Parenthood clinic in St. Paul on Thursday told police that Jesus told him to do it, the Star Tribune reports.”

Miss California, Carrie Prejean (Miss USA Competition): “We live in a land that you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite marriage…(According to her Christian values) I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman.” Perez Hilton (Judge who asked question) responding on his Celebrity Gossip Blog: “You dumb b**ch,” going on to describe her as having “half a brain.”

The Jewish Americans, film series by David Grubin: “What does it mean to be Jewish in America today? As Letty Pogrebin says in the film, ‘it’s a matter of context.’ For many Jews issues of identity are not relevant to their everyday lives. However for some, balancing their Jewish American identity can be challenging. Are we American Jews, Americans without a hyphenated identity or simply Jewish?”

Feature Film: “Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter” – “An army of vampires have come into the town and are reeking havoc on those in the religious community. After one victim falls pray (How they spelled it – prey?) to the lesbian group of the vampire leader, Maxine, the church decides to call in Jesus Christ.”

“Expressions of Islam in America,” Gisele Web: “The 1990s may be the last decade in which Islam is viewed as a "non-mainstream" religious tradition in America. At its current rate of growth, by the year 2015 Islam will be the second largest religion in the United States, following Christianity.”

Website: “Welcome to the Jesus-made-me-do-it: The club that makes a complete mockery of Jesus/God/The Virgin Mary.” Wicked refuse?

A Fox News/Opinion Dynamics poll indicated the American people favor a proposal to build a 2,000-mile security fence (Mexican border) by a 51-to-37 percent margin.

Recent research by Mark A. Chaves, a sociologist at the University of Arizona, concluded that more than 90 percent of all congregations in the United States are at least 80 percent one race.

Ad infinitum.

Of course, we’re a Christian nation, ever obedient to Christ’s command, “Love one another as I have loved you.” It is this brand of compassionate inclusiveness that makes America great, her Statue of Liberty beckoning:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
 Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
 The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
 Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.
 I lift my lamp beside the golden door."

Say what?

war•ri•or

1. One who is engaged in or experienced in battle.
2. One who is engaged aggressively or energetically in an activity, cause, or conflict.

Prayer warriors have always been held in high esteem where I come from. As a boy growing up in the church, I stood in awe of their power, authority and ability to include every person, place and thing, many times over, in a long winded prayer without missing a beat. In those days, during a public meeting, we went down on our knees to pray, it was called a “knee-drill,” appropriately defined: Drill: “repetition of a set pattern.”

And my church didn’t have those plushy padded kneeling benches, just a bare linoleum floor over hard, cold unforgiving concrete, quite the opposite of “forgive those who trespass against us.” You could count upon the same three prayer warriors repetitiously dominating a 45 minute prayer meeting. I must confess that my aching knees, some six decades later, are not as forgiving as they used to be. Nonetheless, my esteem for those warriors hasn’t lessened. In some ways, I long for their return but with one minor condition – knee pads mandatory.

I’ve watched our prayer posture mature over the years, becoming much more dignified, respectable and institutionalized. It’s now called “prayer posturing,” whereby clergy vie for an elevated place at prestigious gatherings, the invocation desirous, with the benediction coming in a distant second. Now there is political maneuvering for those plum spots, closet prayers no longer highly revered. Today these prayers are well structured and carefully worded, spontaneity no longer tolerated, impression everything.

Presently there is a big brouhaha over the Invocator selected for a major inaugural event, where prayer and political posturing have commingled together on the international stage. The secular left and the religious right each have their noses (or is it their knees?) uncompromisingly bent out of joint, both driven by a self-righteous gay agenda.

Ah, how I long for those old prayer warrior, knee-drill days. WAIT A MINUTE! The repetitive theme of those prayers is coming back to me slowly…”Oh, God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, crooks, adulterers, or, heaven forbid, like this tax man. I fast twice a week and tithe on all my income” (Luke 18:11-12).
.
21st Century interpretation: “…or, heaven forbid, like this gay man.”