Every Land Is My Fatherland…

 

So, here’s the thing—you might not know this, but I actually grew up in The Salvation Army. It wasn’t just some organization we were a part of; it was our world, our way of life. You know, Sunday mornings in uniform, brass bands playing those grand old hymns, and, of course, standing outside in the cold ringing that little bell next to a red kettle while trying to look cheerful. My parents? Officers. Several others in the family, too. It’s fair to say I didn’t just learn about The Salvation Army—I lived it. And so, Bramwell Booth? Well, in some respects, he’s not just some historical figure to me. He’s part of a story I know deep down in my bones.

Bramwell was born right into the thick of it. I mean, imagine growing up in a home where your dad isn’t just passionate about something—he’s absolutely, completely obsessed with it. His father, William Booth, wasn’t just a preacher; he was a full-blown force of nature, the kind of guy who didn’t take no for an answer. And his mother? Catherine Booth was, if anything, just as fierce. Together, they took a small, rough-around-the-edges Christian mission and turned it into what would eventually become The Salvation Army, complete with uniforms, military-style ranks, and a mission that left no room for half-measures.

Now, Bramwell wasn’t exactly what you’d call a natural-born leader. He had a bit of a hard time speaking in public and, honestly, wasn’t the healthiest kid around. He had a slight hearing issue and, in general, didn’t have the same kind of booming, take-charge energy his father had. But, you know, in a way, that didn’t really matter because he was there from the start. This was his life. By the time he was a teenager, he was already knee-deep in the work, helping run food programs, organizing things behind the scenes, and making sure his father’s vision didn’t just stay a vision—it became reality.

At first, he thought maybe he’d go into law, but, well, his father had other ideas. And if there was one thing Bramwell had learned, it was that when William Booth had an idea, you didn’t argue—you got on board. So, by 1874, Bramwell was all in, working full-time for the cause. By 1881, he was officially given the title of Chief of the Staff, which, in other words, basically meant he was running the show right alongside his father. He wasn’t flashy about it, but he got things done. He was the guy making sure everything was organized, that the movement had some kind of structure instead of just being a wild, chaotic mess of good intentions.

But let’s not pretend it was all paperwork and meetings. Bramwell cared—really cared—about the people The Salvation Army was trying to help. Case in point? 1885. He teamed up with journalist William Thomas Stead to expose child prostitution in England. The result? A massive scandal, arrests, and, ultimately, the passage of the Criminal Law Amendment Act, which raised the age of consent from thirteen to sixteen. It wasn’t exactly the smoothest operation—Stead and others actually ended up in jail over it—but it worked. Change happened, and Bramwell was right there in the middle of it.

So, fast-forward to 1912. William Booth passed away, and just like that, Bramwell found himself as the General of The Salvation Army. That’s when things started getting… well, complicated. See, his father had ruled with absolute authority, and, for a while, that worked. But when Bramwell tried to do the same thing, people weren’t having it. Officers started grumbling about the way he ran things, whispering about nepotism, complaining that maybe—just maybe—he was putting too many of his own family members in important positions. And honestly? They had a point. The movement had grown so much by then that it wasn’t just a tight-knit family-run thing anymore. It was global. And Bramwell, for all his strengths, didn’t quite see the writing on the wall.

World War I hit, and The Salvation Army found itself in the awkward position of having members on both sides of the war. Bramwell, to his credit, managed to navigate that without completely alienating anyone, famously saying, “Every land is my fatherland, for all lands are my Father’s.” But back home, trouble was brewing. By 1929, his leadership was being challenged outright. A High Council—the first of its kind—was called, and they made a decision that no one ever thought would happen: they forced him into retirement. Just like that, he was out. He protested, sure, but it didn’t matter. Edward Higgins was brought in as the next General, and Bramwell? Well, that was the end of his time at the top.

Just a few months later, he passed away. The Salvation Army, as you’d expect, gave him a grand farewell, the kind of sendoff that reminded people of the decades he had given to the cause. But, you know, there was still this lingering question about how it had all ended. Had he held on too tightly? Had he been too much of a “my way or the highway” kind of leader? It’s the kind of thing people would debate for years.

At the end of the day, though, Bramwell Booth wasn’t just some leader who got caught up in power struggles. He was a guy who spent his entire life making sure people who had been cast aside by society had a shot at something better. His name might not be as well-known as his father’s, but the work he did? That stuff stuck. The Salvation Army is still out there, doing what it does best—helping, serving, standing in the gap for people who need it. And Bramwell? Well, his fingerprints are still all over it, in every hot meal served, every bed offered to someone with nowhere else to go, and every hand extended to pull someone back onto their feet.