Wednesday night testimony meetings in church may no longer exist, but that was the case when I was a child.
Maybe those Wednesday nights were designed to keep folks coming, while giving the preacher (back then mostly "hims", pun intended) a midweek break before his/her most demanding preparations, with the more academic prep for Sunday morning, and the evangelical bent for Sunday night.
The former was often softened for visitors, except for the "altar call". The latter designed to prepare folk for Monday's obligation, which was to "win souls" providing there was sufficient "annoiting" by way of prolonged moments of intercession around those same altars. These moments most made impact upon me!
Those so touched by the testimonies offered, would then carry their zeal to work, with souls won, hopefully following them to church the next Sunday, which occasionally occurred.
When that did occur, at least as I was raised to experience, it had more to do with the visitor's life changing experience, often by way of deliverance and on-the-job prayer results. Mostly mill workers paid by "piece-work," breaktime provided brief ministry moments. Time was short, but results were expected...that "faith, hope and love" thing!
Congregational growth was always a goal, then offerings, for if growth should occur, brick and mortar expansions always followed. Not to say that foreign missions and the occasional community outreach weren't important, but operating costs were the majority expense.
How do I know this, not only was my great grandpa a minister, but my dad was a lifelong elder/deacon type. Mom, raised by her Appalachian mountain-born grandpa and church planter was the piano player, along with the accordion, should a better piano player show up!
Not only were my parents always church goers, myself as well up, until I turned 16. They were Pentecostals, which meant few people understood when the cottage prayer meetings in our neighborhood got "out of hand"!
We didn't have air conditioning until I was in college, so windows were wide open. I was usually orchestrating a bike ride out of the neighborhood, or a distant camping trip if on a Friday night!
Why am I writing all this? These last few months have been quite thought provoking having now finished my 6th book, "Come Let Us Reason Together" with each book revealing the need to further process my life experiences.
These 76 years provide evidence of deep contrast between my "upbringing" and relative (pun again intended) life success. As well, sending cold chills down my spine when I think of the full potential always present for more horrific outcomes.
One more piece in the puzzle of my life, which always adds flavor, the timely books that seem to find me, stories of those who lived quite similar lives, but with extremely different outcomes.
The book I just finished, "Keeper of the Moon", by Tim McLaurin was a more colorful genre than my typical read. It was recommended by a well respected writer friend. Stirring afresh the near fatal early years of this first generation graduate student, small town mayor and three time ordained minister.
Maybe you are beginning to get the picture of why I write?
As a child, I was surrounded on my mother's side with deeply spiritual relatives, all working class, many living off the land, hunters mostly, yet with some, exhibiting significant alcohol problems.
The thought of college was never there, except for the mention of a church college startup, which Dad had referred to as "Beans & Tater School (BTS)". Actually it was a Bible Training School, Beans and Taters was his own sarcastic slang as church treasurer.
It seems that the church's denominational leadership had involuntarily assessed each small church across the nation .75 (seventy-five cents) per month for the school's support. Apparently that was taxing for the small corner church founded by my grandpa. He was the first of the "called out ones" among the family.
If I understand correctly, the college was founded in the late 40's, when the denomination purchased the old Bob Jones Campus for Two million dollars, but only after a lawsuit that followed an offer withdrawn.
Funny how things happen, though it is now a respected Liberal Arts College.
In those early days before the age of 16, and the years that followed a most dramatic conversion at age 25, I have witnessed some amazing "outpourings of the Holy Spirit"!
Physical miracles and life transformations unimaginable, while serving different roles, from layman to executive pastor, in both small churches, under one-hundred as well as a stint once boasting of near 5000 attenders, before the growth, debt and pastoral misfires reversed the trend.
As to those years between age 16 & 25, the stories I read of Tim McLaurin's mix of fiction and fact were no stretch for stories of my own.
Maybe I'll one day have the courage to fully testify.
Comments