Way back in the mid 1960s I was introduced to Pentecostal churches and Christians. I was still in my teens and had not long come back to the Lord, having forsaken the Baptist church where I had grown up.
In my childhood I had developed faith within an evangelical and evangelistic Sunday School attached to a traditional and rather dead church. But God had turned my life upside down and my Christian life was in overdrive, leading me to join an evangelistic organisation serving various churches in the rural areas of Sussex and Kent. It was through this organisation, led by three Pentecostals, that I experienced worship in Pentacostal churches. I appreciated how Christ-centred they were, and their love and knowledge of scripture set them apart from many other traditions. I wanted to know more.
In the pre-charismatic days it was quite common for there to be 'tarrying meetings' where those seeking the baptism in the Holy Spirit would prayerfully wait on God. I attended several at which I saw my friends transformed by the Holy Spirit, sometimes speaking in tongues, but always caught up by God in a glorious experience. But again and again I went home feeling more empty than I had felt at the stat of the meetings. Why was God not honouring his promise?
The director and principal evangelist prided himself on being a perfectionist. As with many other perfectionists he was a pain to work with, both demanding and highly critical of the performances of subordinates. His harshness was dreadful to experience or to observe. My first Sunday out with the team ended with me in floods of tears because of how he spoke to others. But he was a great and effective preacher and gospel singer. The two other senior team members seemed to accept his behaviour so I did too.
We were still a part-time ministry when we were booked to take a service for the Assemblies of God church in the village of Ash in Kent. I was still a trainee so only had minor parts to play in the services. The morning meeting went well as we shared in communion, and a few spoke in togues, or interpreted, or prophesied. Best of all, the elderly men and women were lovely and loving. It was great to be there.
Before the evening meeting the director gave me a note with the Bible reading. It was Acts 20:21 to 31 and I was already very familiar with the sermon he preached on this passage. It would be based on verse 27 which reads (in the King James Version which we used in those days) "I have not shunned to declare unto you the whole counsel of God". There would be four points to his sermon: Jesus the Saviour, Jesus the healer, Jesus the baptiser in the Holy Spirit, and Jesus the coming King. I soon discovered that my expectations were correct.
As I sat in the pew, listening to the start of this sermon, I already had a problem. All the nice Pentecostal people were clearly baptised in the Holy Spirit. So were all the team members except me! Often, these dear Pentecostals would take my hand and ask, "Have you received the Holy Spirit?". It was always embarrassing. After all it was not for want of asking to be filled.
As the preacher reached the third part of his message I knew that he could only be preaching at me. My frustation and anger bubbled over and I bowed my head and prayed in retaliation. I told God what a hypocrite the director was. How unforgiving and unloving he was. How he cruelly treated his colleagues. But then, as I rehearsed his shortcomings, something unimaginable and unexpected took place. I felt God's presence in my heart suddenly depart. It was as definite as if someone had thrown a swich and I had been plunged into darkness.
But I knew why I had grieved the Lord. I was doing the very thing that I was accusing the director of doing. I was being judgmental, criticising and unloving. At once I silently cried out to God. "Please take away this bitterness and baptise me in our love". I had not stopped to think through any theology behind my prayer. All I wanted was for God to fill me with his wonderful love. Nobody but God and I knew the moment of terror that had led to that prayer.
But suddenly, as the sermon went on, my prayer was answered. A foutain of love and the power of the Holy Spirit errupted within me, seemingly to burst out of my stomach. I felt his love being poured into me. "Praise the Lord!" I uttered, whether aloud or silently, I know not. But, immediately, a sond fountain joined the first. My heart was bursting with the joy and sense of the Holy Spirit's presence within me. "Hallelujah!" was all I could say, but that released a third fountain of love.
I coul not stand to sing the final hymn that evening. I was drunk in the Holy Spirit.
On the way home in the minibus that evening I listened to the mission director criticising the senior colleague who had led the service. I laughed. It was not what was being done that was funny, it was the extraordinary sense of brotherly love I was feeling for my rather unloveable director. As it flowed out I knew that it was not natural. It was God's love that was being poured out into my heart by the Holy Spirit (Romans 5:5).
I had always thought of myself as being loving, but my love was nothing compred with God's love for me... and the director. Underserved and unreserved love. God had kept me waiting so that I could learn why I need the Holy Spirit. That love - His love - has fuelled my Christian life since that day. I now rejoice in knowing my shortcomings because I know that his grace abounds more.
6th June 2025