I was born into a military family. My mother was reared Pentecostal Holiness and my dad was reared Roman Catholic. I was born in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Mom and dad obviously quit going to church after being married in a Catholic ceremony. When I was young they moved to Michigan.
One Sunday, while riding my bike in the early AM a church bus stopped and the driver yelled at me that I needed to be in church. The man's name was Rod Moxely and the church was called the Fellowship Baptist (GARBC Northern Baptist) church in Whitmore Lake, Michigan. The whole family ended up getting saved, the church expands, and attendance skyrockets from 80 to over 400. During this time as a teenager I would go on youth trips where the Holy Spirit would touch my heart. I went up for salvation many times as it always produced a spiritual sensation joyful and clean. We did have a revival at that time in which an evangelist really convicted the hearts and people would pray earnestly in the prayer rooms after church. I must say the Baptist had a whole lot going on for the children, lots of fun events that left me with a spiritually clean feeling every time and very challenged. All of the events were decent and well organized. And I have a video of a revival from the 1970's in that Baptist church that I have posted below. In researching the evangelist he declares himself a graduate from Asbury College so I would imagine he is familiar with the Wesleyan movement, but he mentioned nothing about dogma so I didn't know.
All I knew growing up was the Baptist church. I was convinced very young that the Baptist doctrine was the most superior. I am afraid I was rude to fellow Catholics and honestly believed that speaking of tongues was of the devil which had its origins in witchcraft and African Voodoo. The only thing I knew of Methodism was that they did not believe in drinking or playing cards, so I was not interested.
It came to pass that Rod Moxely passed away, the church experienced political trouble and the deacons would end up getting a guy nobody liked. So, the attendance plummeted, the congregation fell into natural things, and I would spend the rest of my teenage years working at a restaurant.
After graduating high school I decided to stay the summer with my Grandmother here in Virginia. I would get a job washing dishes in the morning and would put up hay in the evening/afternoon. There I began to get a taste of a totally different lifestyle. The people would work hard Monday-Friday, go to town on Saturday morning, some kind of constructive activity Saturday afternoon, and we had Saturday night prayer time at the church during the nights. Sundays were a day that the people would go to church, they would not work on Sundays, and return to church Sunday night There were also blue laws keeping places of businesses closed on Sunday. You could set your watch on their righteous routines, which I would later discover were Methodist ways handed down from the mid-1700's. The area seemed to fit the old Tina Turner song Nutbush City Limits.
That summer I would put up hay with a QC analyst who kept the joy of the Lord alive in his heart all his years. He would shout in church, shout at home, and shout out in the hay field. I have never seen such joy in all my life. Not only was there a joy, but there was a richness in love as well. The people would really let you know that they loved you. In the old TV show the Waltons the family would talk to one another before going to bed. I have since learned that this was because the houses were so small. But despite the houses being small the people lived decently and in great love, joy, and peace.
So I fell in with them. I would go to the revivals and prayer meetings and live among the people. The services at the Pentecostal Holiness church were at this time very lively. People would shout, run the aisles, fall out in the Spirit, speak in tongues, and then wait for an interpretation. They would have prolonged altar services and would crowd the petitioners and encourage them to tarry and wait upon the Lord. There were times that the old guys would sit back in the pews weeping, and if they made eye contact they would declare, as souls around the altar fell out in the Spirit, "The Holy Ghost! The Holy Ghost!" There were souls who would fall out in the Spirit and would have to be carried out of church.
At the end of that summer we had a good revival in which the Lord seemed there in a mighty way. On reading the book, "Run Baby Run,"; by Nikki Cruise, I felt a voice telling me to put the book down. I paused, and then continued again to read. The voice said again, "Put the book down." I slept in my Grandmothers living room on an old fold away cot by the open living room door. The Katydids seemed to be singing very loud that night. There in my Grandmothers clean linens I heard the Spirit speak again, "Where is all the stress, worry and hatred?" In which, upon examining my heart, there was nothing there but pure beauty. I thought to myself. "Oh my! I got exactly what those people got!"
In the Pentecostal Holiness church most ministers I know these days are getting their degrees from Liberty University, a ministry of the Thomas Road Baptist Church. The Baptist and Pentecostal Holiness church are not that far apart as being Christians. They will draw the line on issues of speaking in tongues, but do not war over it. I myself will occasionally visit Baptist churches but do not talk issues with them. Saint Ambrose once said, "When in Rome do as the Romans!" I visit denominational churches and behave myself accordingly. Which I imagine Charles Stanley did as well.
