IF JESUS LIVED IN MY HOUSE... Part One

A few years ago Major Joy Webb came for a week-long visit to our home in New York.  It was the NY Central Citadel Corps’ centenary weekend.  In addition to many public meetings we also spent many hours in private conversation. Joy Webb is known as one of the Army’s most prolific song writers and she had written a song called:  ‘If Jesus lived in my house’ and the song included the words:  ‘What a happy place it would be’.

I have only heard the song sung once and that was by Jacqui Proctor former soprano soloist of the ISS who had also spent a week with us in New York in the late 1980’s.  Somehow she had become aware of the song and it had apparently touched her heart as it did mine.  It is a song that can be described as one that is the foundation of many a Salvation Army Corps. Joy tells the story how she had heard about a family whose children were coming to a corps she visited in the Yorkshire area. She learned that the YP soldier’s home lacked every comfort including beds and mattresses.  She asked the corps' YPSM if she could visit the family and on doing so found that the children lived in the most squalid of conditions and their only joy in life was attending youth meetings and being part of the youth music sections at the Corps. The sad conditions prompted Joy to express her thoughts in the song, "If Jesus Lived in My House"...

As I reflect back on my own Salvation Army genesis the beginnings were identical except that my mother came from a rather well-to-do family.  But the traditional Lutheran home could not be described as one where Jesus lived. It was in the early 1930’s when she and her siblings were introduced to the Girl Scout movement at the Salvation Army in one of the four Corps in the small town of Orebro, Sweden.  From there their interest moved them into the YP sections and Junior Soldiership.  Next was joining the string band, Corps Cadets, but what was key in their formulating such a keen interest in the Army was the interest shown in them by the Corps locals. The Scout leader, YPSM, Singing Company Leader, and Corps Officer all made regular visits to my grandparent’s home some 20 minutes by bicycle from the corps.  This was an era when the average Swede didn’t own an automobile so in order to insure the children’s safety it was common practice that a senior from the corps would walk the children home the three or four times a week they were at the corps for some practice or other.  Perhaps you, a parent or grandparent came to the Army under very similar circumstances.

I know of a Corps, not a very large one and one that should have as its priority, recruiting soldiers, young and old, not so much for corps growth purposes but because there are people who are needing to experience ‘Jesus in their home’ in their town

In that town there is a home just a mile away from the Corps where two young girls crying out for attention found their way to the Army.  A short time later one found fellowship in a youth organization in town but her sister kept coming to the corps.  Her sisters and parents showed little interest themselves but were pleased that their daughter made friends with the officer’s family and through whom her Army activities were encouraged.

The young girl attended youth activities, singing company practice and attended Sunday meetings.  With the change of appointments came a childless couple who opened their home to the young people Sunday afternoons in an attempt to maintain the bond that had been established.  They also visited the family which resulted in the sister coming to the Corps albeit for a brief period of time as she was mistreated by one of the uniformed corps teenagers.  


A short time later the Corps was without Officers and the young lady was allowed by the corps to drift away.  


Yesterday, Sunday, when the telephone rang we thought it'd be our young friend ringing to ask if she could stop in. But instead, she was ringing from 200 miles away, in England, having been expelled from her home...


(to be continued)

Dr. Sven Ljungholm