NO LONGER I? Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION to ‘Bolt From The Blue.’

Sometimes God is speaking to us, and though we are seeking to do his will, we can be so deaf to his voice and blind to what he is showing us that he needs to afflict us in some way to stop us in our tracks and have us review ourselves, what we are doing and the motives and spirit behind what we are and what we do. That is what happened when Paul was blinded on his road to Damascus, (Acts 9:3-9). It’s also what happened to me three years into officership. ‘Bolt From The Blue,’ is the first chapter from my new book, (awaiting publication), ‘No Longer I?  in which I share my struggle to find answers to what happened to me and the eventual discovery that, with Christ, the only problem I ever have is ME!

PS The scales are still falling from my eyes. 

God bless you

Howard

  

CHAPTER 1

A BOLT OUT OF THE BLUE

‘I have something I need to say before you go,’ Miss Barrett called out as I closed the lounge door, so I opened it again and stepped back into the room. Following a brief preamble she got to the point of why she had called me back, ‘I need to tell you that you are the worst officer (minister) this corps (church) has ever had!’

I felt as though I had been hit by a brick and stood there stunned, not knowing how to react to what I had heard. What she said came as such a shock, totally unexpectedly. After a moment’s hesitation, I meekly thanked her, (don’t ask me why?), and stepped back into the hallway and closed the door. Letting myself out and shutting the door behind me I walked down the garden path to my car in a daze. ‘Had I heard right? Not one of the worst amongst lesser mortals, but the worst, the very least of the least, lowest of the low. How could she have come to that conclusion?’ I got into my car, closed the door and put my key into the ignition, but I found myself unable to turn it, start the engine and drive away, for I could not restrain the tears that were welling up inside me. The dam burst and I broke down and wept like a baby, inconsolably, like I hadn’t wept for many a long year.

Dear Miss Barrett was well into her eighties. She had very poor sight and this, together with her walking difficulties and the distance from her home to our (Salvation Army meeting) hall, prevented her from venturing out to worship. She had outlived her peer group and gradually, over many years, her name had ascended to the top of our soldiers’ (members’) roll; she was our number 1!

When first my wife and I arrived in this North Wales village, to take charge of what was our first corps following (seminary) training, we commenced visiting and getting to know everyone recorded on our rolls. When we called on her she was delighted to see us and welcomed us into the area. Subsequently, often on my travels when I was passing by, I called in to see her, knowing this dear old soul rarely got out of the house and did not have any close family. It was no big effort on my part as she lived just off the main road between our village and the nearest town 10 miles away. She was always kind and courteous, insisting on making me tea served from a silver teapot into a bone china cup accompanied by a plate of chocolate biscuits. Concerned at her poor sight and frailty, I would offer to make the tea for her or at least carry the tray from the kitchen to the lounge, but she was emphatic, insistent, that she was quite capable of doing it herself. So I would watch attentively, ready to jump to her aid as she came though the door and slowly, gingerly and shakily made her way across the lounge towards me, before bending down and placing her load on the coffee table between our chairs.

This became the regular pattern whenever I visited her on my own or with my wife during those first two years. Then she changed. The first thing I noticed was no cheery, ‘Shall I put the kettle on Lieutenant[1]?’ when I entered her home. What had once been a warmth towards me was replaced by a cold indifference. Gone too was the natural flow of conversation. Something of a scowl seemed to permanently replace what had been her smile. At first I thought she had had bad news or something had happened to her that I had not been told about. When I asked her if she was all right her reply was, ‘Yes, why shouldn’t I be?’

There was a decisive moment when her mood changed, and I knew that something had happened to upset her, but she would not open up and tell me what it was. At first it never occurred to me that it had anything to do with me as I only saw her when I visited her. The only other contact I had with her was by phone when I would ring her to check that she was keeping well. Initially, I thought it was a temporary thing and that things would be back to normal the next time I visited. They weren’t. In fact they were never the same again. Obviously there grew a definite feeling within me that I had said something or done something to have upset her, though I had no idea what on earth it could be.

Whilst the visits were no longer pleasant and I no longer looked forward to them, I continued to call there every few weeks just the same. Often I would ask her, ‘Have I said anything to upset you? Have I done anything?’ to which her reply was always the same, ‘No, what could you have said or done to upset me?’ I tried apologising for whatever it was that I may have been responsible for, but this was just met with silence. Though I now dreaded these visits, I still felt sorry for this lonely old soul. Having said that I also wondered what good my visits were for her? They were definitely not doing me any good! Sitting in her lounge with her looking out of the window refusing to say much did make it all so uncomfortable.

A year had passed since this awkwardness began, and was making my final visit before being moved to a new appointment[2]. I told her what was happening and where we were going, but she showed no interest. I asked her questions about herself and got minimal replies. Having, at the end of the ordeal prayed with her and for her, I stretched out my hand to shake hers, thanking her for her kindness to me, (for she had been kind during those first two years). She responded by flopping her limp hand into mine like a piece of mackerel, without holding or gripping my hand in response to my grasp of hers.

‘Obviously, I won’t be seeing you again, but I do wish you well and God’s blessing upon you. I’ll see myself out.’ It was as I was closing the lounge door behind me that she suddenly called me back into the room.

‘Lieutenant, I have something I need to say before you go.’

In my naivety I thought to myself, ‘Thank goodness for that,’ as I stepped back into the room, ‘this is no way for two Christians to part,’ and I then just stood and waited for her to gather her thoughts before she continued.

‘As you know, my parents were among the group of pioneers who walked all the way from Wrexham to the village to start The Salvation Army there.’ She had told me this several times since first I met her. In fact I learnt much from her about the corps' history. ‘And so between my parents and I,’ she continued, ‘we have known every officer that has ever been stationed here.’ That was true, and in the early years officers never stayed more than one year. Many only stayed a few months. In fact, the previous year had been the corps’ centenary year and I had researched the corps’ history and found that there had been an unbelievable 92 officers or officer couples before my wife and I were appointed. I had no idea where all this was leading or the brick of a statement that she was about to unleash on my unprepared ears, something that would career around the inside of my head just like an unstoppable squash ball bouncing between the walls of a squash court. ‘I need to tell you that you are the worst officer this corps has ever had!’

It was quite some time before I was able to compose myself and was able to drive away and make my way home. I was relieved that no-one came near my car to observe the state I was in while I sat there booing. Several times during that journey home I stopped to check in my mirror to see if the redness of my eyes and all signs of my tears were gone. My wife had enough on her plate without having to be concerned about me. As I opened the front door the children greeted me and much noise and chatter followed, but other than Judy commenting on the fact that I was a little subdued, nothing else was said.

We were without a corps secretary so each week I assisted the treasurer in completing the corps accounts and preparing the banking. We did this in the front room of our home. The hall was some distance away and would have needed heating before we got there so it was convenient for us both. That evening, as we sat opposite one another with the cash and cheques and books between us, the treasurer asked me, ‘Is everything all right Leff?’ Initially I assured him that everything was all right, but I was quieter than normal and he persisted in his concern for me.

He was a reliable leader and much respected, just a few years older than myself. I knew that I could confide in him. Other than bringing it to the Lord, I had not wanted to share what had been said with anyone else, but I conceded to his persistence. When I finished conveying the story of my relationship over the past twelve months and its culmination, he smiled, ‘Leff, ignore her. What does she know about you and what you have done? I know it’s not her fault, but she never ever gets to the hall. She’s unable to come near the corps. All she ever knows is what she picks up from the phone calls she gets, and we all know who it is that rings round and upsets folks with their distorted view of things. Forget it.’

I wanted to forget it. The treasurer was right. What did she know about me or the corps? But I couldn’t get it out of my mind. In the days, and indeed weeks and months, that followed I found myself going over and over the last three years of our stay there with a fine tooth comb, analysing, comparing, justifying, and putting together a defence of myself as though I was going to court. ‘How could anyone think, let alone say, that I am the worst officer that corps had ever had?’ 

Howard Webber

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[1]    Lieutenant is a probationary title/rank given to newly commissioned Salvation Army Officers, which they have for their first five years.

[2]    In The Salvation Army officers do not choose where they go or apply for posts or positions, but are appointed to what is considered by senior leaders to be where God would have them be. These days, in addition to prayer, such decisions are not made without consulting the officer and considering their personal circumstances as well their particular gifting.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES

I gave my life to Jesus when I was just 7 years old and, from an early age, had a longing to share what I had found. Sadly though, in my teenage years, I observed things that disappointed and discouraged me and instead of keeping my eyes on Jesus, I stepped back from my calling. We moved to another part of the country, and though I continued to attend the local corps, I was no longer living in obedience to God which resulted in a loss of joy and an eventual departure from the army.

When I was 30 years old I recommitted my life to Jesus as did my wife Judy. Two years later I left my work in chemical pathology in the NHS and we sold our home and entered the Salvation Army Training College (Seminary) London.

I've been married 45 years with 5 grown up children.

My 30 years of active officership included corps (church and community responsibility), county evangelist for Lincolnshire, planting a corps (Market Rasen), and writing.

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Howard is a regular contributor to the FSAOF blog each week: 

Christianity Magazine's Book of the Year 2010, Meeting Jesus, is now available for your Kindle!

Extraordinary moving stories of evangelism on the hard side of life. 

By A UK Reviewer

Fred is high on drugs and doesn't want Howard Webber, the then Salvation Army captain, to come round to his flat because it is in chaos, rather like Fred himself. They meet, instead, in the cafe at a supermarket in a nearby town. But the road isn't straight and we follow the twists and turns of Howard and Fred's relationship - through missed promises, desperate heartache and self-destruction and final redemption.

This book is perhaps the most extraordinary one I've reviewed since writing for Christianity. It is a series of stories of evangelism on the hard side of life. It is painfully honest and lists as many failures as successes, as many deaths as new lives. Documenting Webber's spiritual battles too, it is possibly the most moving set of accounts I've ever read, and the most hopeful. It is all too easy to see the role of being God's ambassadors as reduced to preaching, or set among those who we love and are safe. But this book challenges us to be where Jesus would be, with the down-and-outs, with the hopeless and the broken. It looks the cost of such ministry square in the eye and carries on just the same. Please buy this book.

Steve Morris

Christianity magazine (UK), October 2010

This is an inspiration! 
By Fairlee E. Winfield VINE VOICE


I grew up as a Salvationist and this modest, small book makes me proud of that heritage. I am reading and rereading a chapter daily. Major Howard Webber is honest. His sincerity shines through in each chapter. He relates not only the trophies of grace won for Jesus, but the painful failures. There is a real sense of warmth that the reader can touch.

TO ORDER: AMAZON