Wow! If ever a statement packed a wallop, it had to be that one! Since my friend taught preaching and theology for 10 years at a well–known West Coast seminary, I figured he must know what he was talking about. To a non–scholar like me, this simple pre–Wesleyan Hebrew definition of holy living caught me off guard and quite frankly threw me for a loop.
Growing up in the Arminian–Wesleyan Christian tradition, I recall that most sermons and discussions on holiness were centered solely on talk about eradicating inbred sin and other heavy theological concepts. So it’s easy to see how this very simple idea of “doing justice” as an integral part of holy living might have sometimes gotten lost in the maze. Yet it shouldn’t have because doing justice has always been right at the heart of Wesleyan theology and Christian faith.
The holiness God requires of his people is not just academic or personal. It needs to always be expressed in a frequent and radical concern for justice—especially toward the poor and those deemed social outcasts.
I’m reminded of an incident a long time ago that brought this point home to me—though admittedly it took a few years and some maturity before it did so! It was the mid–1960s and I was a corps cadet (student of Salvation Army doctrine and history in a five–year course of study for teens) at the Lawn Corps (church) in Chicago. Our brigade had become known for our theatrical portrayal of Vachel Lindsay’s “General William Booth Enters Into Heaven.” We had performed it at two divisional events and were soon getting gigs at various corps in the area.
One night we were guests at a revival service for the Joliet, Ill., Corps. A retired, widowed officer in the corps named Brigadier Margaret Norris had made herself the unofficial “mercy seat” (altar) sergeant at Joliet. Whenever an invitation was given to come to the altar and pray, she was always there—standing guard, walking up and down passing out Kleenex to all the seekers.
Showing true mercy
This particular evening when the invitation was given, the mercy seat was lined with people, and Brigadier Norris was doing her thing. Our brigade was sitting in the back of the hall watching all the activity.
A very heavy–set woman who had entered the building for the first time went forward with tears in her eyes. She had huge rolls of fat on her legs. At that time, obesity wasn’t as prevalent or as talked about as it is today, and nobody really understood it as anything other than a moral failing.
It was obvious the woman couldn’t bend down and was too heavy to kneel. But somehow the Brigadier sensed that she needed something more than to just stand there and pray. Without flinching, Brigadier Norris turned the woman around, sat her on the mercy seat, and prayed with her.
To a group of teenagers in the back pews, this scene was very humorous, and the smirks on our faces must have revealed our inner laughter. On our way back to Chicago there were all the obvious jokes about new meaning to “My All Is on the Altar,” etc.
But some four decades on, I now see what Brigadier Norris did as one of the pivotal moments in my development as a Christian. As a young man, I experienced many mass meetings where droves of people would stream down to the mercy seat. However, those scenes remain little more than a blur on my consciousness. Yet there is one sight indelibly etched on my brain forever, leaving the deepest of impressions. It is that of Brigadier Norris exemplifying holiness as she did justice by gently helping a rotund woman unable to kneel to sit on the mercy seat so she could meet Jesus. It’s what the Kingdom of God is all about.
by Daryl Lach
Copyright © by The Salvation Army.
Article reprinted with permission.
PRIORITY Fall 2010
TSA USA East
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