Captain Erin Wikle gives her first-person account of The Salvation Army’s ministry at the Pride festival.
Every June, San Francisco Pride draws nearly 1 million people into the heart of the city.
The Salvation Army found its place among the crowd to share a singular message: Love is kind… because it is. Three simple words highlight the whole of 1 Corinthians 13, a letter written to the church in Corinth centuries ago; its message still needed and relevant today.
Our team engaged with hundreds of people throughout the weekend, passing out candy, stickers, buttons, tote bags and even temporary tattoos bearing this message. We shared about The Salvation Army’s work in San Francisco, surprising most when they discovered we’ve been at work in the city for 140 years.
One man came to us, honest about his drug addiction, eager to be helped. A young girl, with tears in her eyes, told us her father was an alcoholic and needed help. We told them about The Way Out and assured them treatment on demand was available. Another woman wept in prayer, her face freshly bruised after having been beaten.
Our prayer board quickly filled with written requests, a safe place for people to voice their needs and concerns with the assurance they would be prayed for. If ever you want to see straight into the heart of your city—do this. There is no more vulnerable action than publicly expressing the condition of one’s heart to a God who sees and hears.
![Salvation Army shares the power of prayer at San Francisco Pride](https://caringmagazine.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/449341062_18317653879148538_1819327887601583330_n.jpg)
Whenever prompted to pray for someone on the spot, Captain Arwyn Rodriguera, San Francisco Kroc Center Corps Officer, let people know she prayed in the name of Jesus before continuing. There is power in the name of Jesus.
“Most of the people I prayed with requested physical healing,” she said. “They believed and knew Jesus would heal them. I have been in ministry awhile now—the faith I encountered is rare.”
It cost something to be at Pride. I mean this literally. Like every other vendor, we pay to have a place on the inside to share our message and engage conversation. Our Christian counterparts camped out at the entrance of Pride didn’t pay a thing to be there. With bullhorns and massive signs marketing impending doom and hell, they found a workaround to speak loudly, but not lovingly.
Rodriguera noted the difference: “People feel welcomed into community because we were willing to have a conversation with them.”
It cost something to be at Pride. Each year we show up, run the risk of not knowing how we will be received, and encounter curiosity as to why we are there. We aim neither to waver nor confuse. The Salvation Army is uniquely positioned to do more in the way of helping people in and through crisis while offering them real, life-changing relationship with Jesus Christ than any other organization on the planet. What we do with such power, such position, such authority and such a gift is critical to our mission and witness to the world.
It costs something to be faithful to Jesus in the most controversial spaces and during the most tenuous of times. As one Army united in belief and practice, we must stay intentional, missional, truthful and not lose ourselves in the noise of secular culture. I’m convinced buttons are better than bullhorns. But the message always matters. And at the end of the day—the goal is always that others will walk away knowing Jesus’ love is kind and that there’s no greater love than his.
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