Some of my earliest memories surround the little white church on the hill a couple miles from the farm. We only had a handful of people come every Sunday. We had a circuit preacher who came every six weeks or so. You dressed for church back then. And you dressed extra special on preaching Sunday. We got a stick of Beeman’s gum, or maybe Juicy Fruit, to keep our little mouths fresh…and busy. Grandma tied a shiny dime in the corner of a hanky and gave it to us for the collection plate. We were threatened within an inch of our lives to be good. You never, ever wanted to cross Grandma.

We were never made to go to a Revival. Maybe Grandma knew that was too much to ask from a little girl as fidgety as me, I don’t know. But that was one experience I never had. Since the hellfire and brimstone style of Preacher Simon scared me away from church at the ripe old age of seven, it was pretty much a moot point. I remember feeling intrigued by those tent revivals I saw popping up in rural areas, though. The big tents had no sides and bare light bulbs were strung above rows of white folding chairs. Earnest people crowded into standing-room-only tents and churches to do…something. Sing? Shout? Handle snakes and drink poison? What did I know? I heard stories. I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Till last night. I’m using the word “want” loosely. I was certainly curious.

I got the call yesterday from my cousin/friend asking me to come to the Revival with the added caveat that Johnnie Staats was playing. I’d walk ten miles to see Johnny Staats play so since I had no other plans and I can always use a good dose of Jesus, I agreed to go. I arrived at 6:30 and visited with some old familiar faces till the music started at 7:00. Johnny didn’t disappoint and it’s true…good Gospel music brings on the familiar goosebumps I attribute to faith experiences. The young pastor and the lead singer encouraged anyone who wanted to say something to speak up. After “Go Rest High on That Mountain”, I could not hold back the tears. I could literally feel the spirits of my ancestry joining in and rose to say so. I spoke of being born into that little church sixty-four years ago, how my Grandpa and his brother, Red, were the lay ministers when it wasn’t preaching Sunday, how my Uncle Bob rang the church bell without fail. Mine were not the only tears as others remembered those who have gone on before.

Finally, the young pastor got down to delivering a right sprightly sermon on the many names of God that was really quite interesting. It was fascinating to see the same jumping up and down, yelling style of that pastor of old through sixty-four year old eyes instead of that frightened little girl who peed her pants out of fear. I could look past some of the dogma differences in our particular denominations to enjoy the fellowship of kith and kin. At the end of three hours…yes, three hours…the altar call came. I’m a Christian. I have no problem with a good alter call. But I knew before the first notes of the song began that I was going to be called forward by the pastor. And that’s when things got really interesting.

I have never, ever been anointed. The pastor looked at me and smiled and said, “You knew you were coming up here the minute you walked in this door didn’t you? Girl, you got God all over you!” I looked in his kind eyes and felt my shoulders relax. I smiled wanly and nodded. The pastor took out a vial of oil and anointed the sign of the cross on my forehead. He got serious and said, “You’ve gone through some pretty rough stuff…hard stuff…stuff that you didn’t think you would live through, haven’t you? As a matter of fact, you almost died, didn’t you?” I swallowed hard and nodded again. “And you’re going through something really hard now…something that has a weight on you and your smile doesn’t always meet your eyes. You have a mission and sometimes you’re not feeling worthy. Well, let me tell you…you are! You are going to walk out of here renewed and refreshed with a smile the likes of which you haven’t felt for a long, long time. Are you ready to receive that?” At this point I was smiling through my tears with my hands raised and a dozen or more people were standing around me with their hands on me…all praying fervent prayers individually as the pastor grasped my head in both his hands and beseeched God to shower blessings on me and the ministry I have been placed here to do and that I be anointed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I am not lying…it was an exhilarating experience and I indeed felt refreshed and renewed in spirit. I felt twenty pounds lighter.

I can see how people can be whipped to a frenzy in churches of that style. Enough to handle snakes and drink strychnine? Perhaps. I am not passing judgement in any way. What I felt was love and light. The world needs more love and light. This isn’t my style…I love the contemporary church I attend. But, last night let me see my grandparents’ church through a new lens and let me release some of the bad memories I have always associated with it. Healing is a beautiful thing. ❤️

“Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you?”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭85:6‬ ‭NIV