In 1971 there was a Christian revival in Saskatchewan. I was caught in it, swept up in it like a broken straw in a prairie gust. My uncle, his two sons and I drove the 200 miles to Saskatoon to hear the “Sutera twins,” Ralph and Lou. My uncle had heard there was something going on at the crusade in Saskatoon and in a move to “save” his sons–one, a responsible son who I thought didn’t need saving, and a wild one, the one I hung out with, who probably did.
In Saskatoon the wild one and I slipped out of the auditorium after the first hymn. This was the big city. We wandered the nearby streets and checked out the neon lights and tall buildings. We became curious about the diagonal crosswalks the city had at the time and we crossed back and forth, controlling the traffic on all four sides.
I was hoping that the revival meeting would be wrapping up when we returned, but the place was just getting electric, the twins were on the rheostat turning up the voltage. Or, as either Ralph or Lou said, “The Holy Spirit’s finger was pointing at people.” We made our way back, close to where we’d been. Soon one of the preacher twins, came to the precipice of his soul searing message: “Choose now or it may be too late.” Then came the “call.” Then the full-on piano and the rising tide of “Just as I am…without one plea…” Then the streaming eyes and the tributaries of people in pews moving to the aisles and forming rivers of penitent souls flowing to the front for prayer. My uncle and cousins were swept up in the current with me hanging on to some exposed root. I scrambled out of the heavy doors into the street. I waited and paced under a gas light. Shivering some.
In a few minutes my cousin, the wild one, now wilder, came to get me, said I needed to come back inside. He was not so much pleading but pulling me back through the high doors down a carpeted hall into a room torrid and moist by sweat and tears. No resolve left, I was on my knees from the weight of hands on my head and shoulders, upon which came a crescendo of intoned supplication. And with that I was up with an inexplicable smile, invaded by a brightness and a lightness. I was in fact quite high and vertiginous. Full, I supposed, of the Holy Ghost.
On the giddy ride back, we cousins planned the conversion of the rest of the “gang.” Which, naturally enough, didn’t quite work out.
ah sweet memories
how they linger
how they ever fill my soul
I think it was Alyosha’s sage and mentor Father Zosima who said that
we are saved by our memories
let’s enjoy ’em while we still have ’em
nice story
well told
Thanks Len, I figured you’d understand and know the rest of the words.
God is moving again @ Faith Alive in Saskatoon, only this time the power is coming through the people not the pulpit. Come see if you respond or resist.
Yes it is Tim
At the age of 11, I was too young, and too caught up in the moment, to realize the potential dangers that came along with this movement. There was always something inside that I hadn’t fully surrendered, so I thought, so I kept going forward, but it was never enough. The sentiment this movement engendered was “Let go, and let God.” What people often let go of, in the process, is common sense, logic, and emotional balance. Was it the spirit, or was it emotional manipulation? There is often a fine line that we should all consider, should another “movement of the holy spirit” come around.
Thanks for this Bruce, wise words.
I was there…. walked into University Dr Alliance church.. people were singing, but never came to the sermon, as people streamed to the alter, crying and praying and getting right with God… then it hi me, so overwhelming! The after glows – it was God.. Cab driver was called to take one lady to the afterglow at the church, but the driver was mad. “the church is dark, it is closed..” “Oh no it is!!! People are there praying and sure enough; it went into the cab driver office and God used these incidents to stir the city!