A Faith Worth Emulating

Many years ago, I became acquainted with the writings of Samuel Logan Brengle, a commissioner in the Salvation Army. I found his pattern of faith in Jesus Christ attractive because of its joyfulness, toughness, and genuineness.

Brengle was born in the Midwest and, in his growing-up years, dedicated himself to Christian ministry as a Methodist preacher. In his youth, he dreamed of occupying a prestigious pulpit and becoming an influential voice in American religion.

An unlikely path

Because of his natural gift as a speaker, Brengle might have realized his ambition. But when a big church opportunity came, a Methodist bishop scotched the appointment. Years later—with greater insight—Brengle reflected on that moment.

Losing that city church was the best thing that could have happened to me. If I had gone to that appointment to work among those cultured and refined people, I should have swelled with pride, tried to show off my spread-eagled oratory and doubtless would have accomplished little. But out among the comparatively illiterate and uncultured farmers of my circuit, I learned the foundations of true preaching: humility and simplicity.

One morning, while a divinity student in Boston, Brengle experienced, in addition to his sense of conversion, a “second blessing,” as my holiness friends describe it. Of that moment, Brengle wrote:

On January 9, 1885, at about nine o’clock in the morning, God sanctified my soul. He gave me such a blessing as I never had dreamed a person could have this side of Heaven. It was a heaven of love that came in into my heart. I walked out over Boston Common before breakfast, weeping for joy and praising God. Oh, how I loved! In that hour I knew Jesus, and I loved Him till it seemed my heart would break with love. I was filled with love for all His creatures. I heard the little sparrows chattering; I loved them. I saw a little worm wriggling across my path; I stepped over it; I didn’t want to hurt any living thing. I loved the dogs, I loved the horses, I loved the little urchins on the street, I loved the strangers who hurried past me, I loved the heathen, I loved the whole world.

Brengle’s biography, Portrait of a Prophet, has been a valued part of my library, and I have read it several times. When I reflect on the life of this man, I gain refreshment for my soul. In the biography’s early pages comes the fascinating story of Brengle’s journey to England for training as an officer in the Salvation Army. It is said that the General and founder of the Army, William Booth, was disdainful of Brengle because he sensed in the young trainee’s demeanor a conceit which he felt would make the young man incompatible with the unique culture of the Salvation Army. William Booth was hard to please.

But Brengle persevered. Booth finally accepted him conditionally and sent him to an Army “outpost” where his first task was to polish the boots and shoes of Salvation Army officers. This Brengle did obediently, even gladly, as a service to Jesus.

When the General and other superiors were convinced that he was ready, Brengle returned to the United States where he spent most of his life, first as a corps officer (pastor), then as an evangelist and spiritual life teacher for other Corps officers in every Salvation Army territory. Wherever he preached, people committed themselves to Jesus or experienced powerful rededications of their lives. Several of his books remain in print and are read by many Salvation Army officers today. At the age of 76, Samuel Logan Brengle was, as the officers like say, promoted to glory.

Heart of humility

If Brengle lived today, I wonder how he would have coped with the celebrity status that often adorns gifted communicators and clever authors who are packaged by marketing, development and publicity strategies. Toward the end of his ministry, Brengle wrote:

If I appear great in their eyes, the Lord is most graciously helping me to see how absolutely nothing I am without Him, and helping me to keep little in my own eyes. He does use me. But I am so concerned that He uses me that it is not of me the work is done. The axe cannot boast of the trees it has cut down. It could no nothing but for the woodman. He made it; he sharpened it; and he used it. The moment he throws it aside, it becomes only old iron. O that I may never lose sight of this.

Brengle’s view of himself (humility comes to mind) as God’s servant might not make it in the celebrity-driven venues today. But I believe that we could use a dose of his humble spirituality in our contemporary Christian world.

One night in Boston Brengle was attacked by a street person who hit him on the head with a brick. The injury side-lined Brengle for almost two years. For the rest of his life, he struggled with periodic depressions and vicious headaches. But Brengle never lost his sense of calling and fervor for proclaiming the powerful gospel of Christ. He never complained or whined about his misfortune. And he never lost his power to persuade people.

When a Salvation Army officer wrote to him admitting that he was in such despair that he wanted to quit the ministry, Brengle responded:

You say in your note to me: “I was born to fight” and now that you are in a real fight you feel that you are absolutely “useless.” No, no, you have often been on dress parade when you thought you were fighting. When you were at the head of a lot of shouting men and women, cheered by thousands, the Devil may have sat down, crossed his legs and watched it all as a pretty performance. But he is on the job now. I imagine that I hear him hiss; “Now I’ll crush him! Now I’ll smash his helmet of hope! Now I’ll rob him of his shield of faith. Now I’ll break his sword of the Spirit! Now I’ll quench his spirit of prayer;”—and what a Devil he is. Don’t imagine that you are out of the fight. You are in it, and you must fight the good fight of faith now, in loneliness and weakness. But you will triumph … you were indeed born to fight.

I have always liked this man, Brengle. When I grow up, I wouldn’t mind being like him.

Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership Journal and lives in New Hampshire.