Every summer when I was growing up in Northern California, we went to Family Camp in the mountains near Santa Cruz. This was a much anticipated event. Since it was the era of Big Hair, our packing meant lots of hairspray, as well. It was hot and dusty during the day, cool at night. We loved the fellowship, the activities, the latest news, and (let’s be honest here) all the gossipy intrigues.
But, the evening services were the highlight. Our Pentecostal heritage is one with roots firmly planted in Black Gospel/Southern Gospel music and, when the choir began to sing, the place came alive.
One particular service at one particular Camp remains vivid in my memory. I was a young teenager sitting in the balcony with a view of the entire floor of the auditorium. The choir had finished a song, the congregation was on its feet worshipping, then slowly sat down to prepare for the preaching. Suddenly, from the rear of the auditorium, people began to stand, with hands raised and a great shout, a wave moving forward row by row across the sanctuary. The people in the front were not responding to something they had seen, but to the power of the Holy Spirit as it swept by.
In one of those wonderful coincidences that happen in the OYB, the New Testament reading now is the early chapters of the Book of the Acts of the Apostles. As I read those words so vividly describing the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, the wind moving across those men and women in the Upper Room, my mind goes back to that evening at Beulah Park. True, the worship, the music, the atmosphere were all familiar. But the sight of that supernatural wave was yet another pylon driven deep into my young spiritual life, anchoring me to the truth of the power of God’s Spirit.
It remains true, a gift of God empowering His people for every age, every country, every culture.