It was pointed out to me recently that there are fewer and fewer musicians in The Salvation Army than 15 - 20 years ago. It's a complicated scenario, but I would like to suggest one contributing factor to this. I suggest that this is the collateral damage of the Worship Wars. I don't need to describe to you what happened during the 90s in particular when whatever was "old" was considered "bad" and so abandoned for the "new and relevant" worship and mission tools. Part of what has been lost, or is being lost in the vast majority of corps is brass bands. Now, I don't want to open up old wounds, nor "take sides" in a dead debate from last century. That's not my agenda here. I just want to highlight what we lost when we abandoned banding on a large scale in The Army.
It's been 10 years since the disastrous events of my honeymoon and in that time I've told this story plenty of times, but have never actually sat down to write it out. I thought that since it's now 10 years since my diagnosis I would take the time to write out what happened to my wife and I on what was supposed to be a celebration of our new marriage...
So here goes...
Megan and I were married on the 18th March, 2000 having been together since 1994. Megan was 15 when we started going out at The Salvation Army's Music Camp and I was 17. We've been together ever since. The weather on that mid-March Saturday was a scorching 35 degrees. The men in the bridal party had been out playing golf the day before and we all got sunburnt. So I was feeling a little tired as a result, and so the night before the wedding I had gone to bed early. I remember my sister-in-law, Kate, had made the boys lunch - lasagne... yum! But strangely, I didn't eat it all. Anyone who knows me…
On Monday 7 August, 2017, I had the privilege of leading the Thanksgiving Service for my wife's Nana's funeral; Joyce Estelle Smyth. This was an immense privelege for me. I thought I would share here the sermon that I had prepared for that occasion. I hope you find it helpful. _______________________
I was 17 and Megan was 15 when
we started going out at Music Camp in September of 1994. A week into our
relationship Megan rang me to say she was going shopping for her Year 10 formal
dress with her mother, Pam and Nana; would I like to come? Being young and in
love I immediately said yes. Now, there are some here today who knew me at the
time and you may recall that these were the days, being 17, when I had long
hair, was tough and knew everything. Oh, the things that time robs us of.