last thing on the altar.

"While my friend was conversing with her, preparing her to be prayed with that she might be healed, I sat in a deep chair on the opposite side of a large room. My soul was crying out to God in a yearning too deep for words, when suddenly, it seemed to me that I had passed under a shower of warm tropical rain, which was not falling upon me but through me. My spirit and soul and body under this influence soothed into such a deep still calm as I had never known. My brain, which had always been so active, [emphasis added] became perfectly sill. An awe of the presence of God settled over me. I knew it was God. Some moments passed; I do not know how many. The Spirit said, 'I have heard your prayers, I have seen your tears. You are now baptized in the Holy Spirit.'"

These are the words of John G. Lake, a seminal figure in early Pentecostalism, describing his spirit baptism. They are, obviously, beautiful.

I'm reading this book (see last post) about Pentecostal leaders who came out of Zion, my hometown, and in particular, out of the movement centered around the church that is in fact the church in which I learned of Christ.

These people--their stories are so tremendous. In most cases, they were invited to a strange house where they stood in crowded rooms, overflowing out onto porches, for hours and for days, listening to men and women preach of Christ's imminent return, and of the very ancient, yet entirely new, way of communing with God with which they were unfamiliar. They waited on their knees, they prayed by one and by many, for years, to receive His blessing. They gave up every comfort, a lot of them before even receiving spirit baptism(!), to go out to preach to others. They were steadfast, and seeking. Truly incredible individuals.

And they were real. As real as I am. Their experiences were real. As real as mine.

This book is full of stories, one after another, of people who sought after God, and then went to work for Him. And the stories are truly beautiful.

Listen to the story of this young woman, Jean Campbell, "The seekers were taught that they should be sanctified before they could receive the baptism. This seemed beyond Jean, and so she became discouraged. But in one prayer meeting, she recalled, 'The bandmaster of our city came in and said, 'I put the last thing on the altar coming up the hill!'' This is what Jean needed to hear, and what she did, with the result that the Spirit of God descended on her."

I'll admit, I didn't understand what this meant when I first read it (I'm not incredibly fluent in a lot of the phrases and images used in the old-timey pentecostal voice of the author). I imagined the bandmaster having dropped off some meat or grain or something on his way out to the tent. That notwithstanding-- what a beautiful passage, right? Reminds me of Parham's line about putting everything at the feet of Christ, that He might burn off what is unTruth.

It's all so beautiful. The way they waited on Him. The way they followed Him. How different the world is as a result of their obedience 100 years ago.

Gorgeous.