My Pentecostal Days!

As a fully entrenched but young teenager I liked girls very much but didn’t have a car and was fairly new at the attraction game. There was a young lady in our school who I thought was really cute but I never saw any other guys talking to her. I think she was one or two grades ahead of me. She did dress differently than the other girls. She always wore very long skirts and bobby socks. Her hair was very shiny but also very long. She had a beautiful smile with milk white teeth that looked like they had been painted or something.

I somehow got up the courage to talk to her and found her to be very nice and she actually seemed to want to talk to me. I discovered she was a preacher’s daughter and that her dad was the pastor of the First United Pentecostal Church. They lived in the parsonage behind the Church building which was less than a quarter mile from where I lived. The talks turned into walks where I would carry her books and walk her home from school. Sometimes we would sit on their front porch and talk.

She took to me and I was really glad but I was still puzzled why other guys never tried to date her. After all, she was older. She had an older sister and she was nice also. There’s no doubt this young lady that I was seeing was attractive and she smiled a lot but at times it just all seemed to be too sweet. I can’t remember her mom smiling so much especially when she looked directly at me as I sat on their front porch. I saw her dad a couple of times in passing and noticed he was a very large man and he carried somewhat of a stern look on his face.

One day I was in our local grocery store messing around and I walked towards the back of the store and there he was, it was her dad, he was the butcher. I looked at him and he looked directly at me and then he hoisted a huge cleaver over his head and smashed it down into the carcass he was working on without ever taking his eyes off of me. I could have sworn the place shook a little but it may have just been the shock waves created by his cleaver. Now I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but at that moment I began to realize why no one had bothered to make contact with his daughter. I didn’t tarry but I left with some new information to ponder.

To make things worse the young lady was getting more serious while I was getting more nervous. These folks were very holy people. They would never, ever, under any circumstances, consider drinking, smoking, or any of the other evils around. However, on the rare occasion when we were alone, I soon found out that to my surprise kissing was not on her prohibited list. I don’t know if she had waited a long time to find someone to help develop her skill or if it just seemed that way to me. I had been to parties and played spin the bottle and all that stuff but nothing prepared me for this kissing attack. I’m not saying I was reluctant in any way but it sure was hard to enjoy when all I could think about was that cleaver coming down on that carcass. The butcher shop episode brought a whole new meaning to the doctrine of the “laying on of hands”.

This was a classic good news bad news situation. The good news was I had stumbled into this little romance and had no competition. My buddies had kidded me about going Pentecostal and I had joked that while I had never spoken in tongues it surely was a possibility when I was with her. They all laughed but I was still nervous. The bad news was she was getting serious and her dad might be training to play the part of an ax murderer. As for the kissing thing, all I could figure was she must have spent a whole lot of time on teddy bears or something and now she had me instead. This situation reminded me of what my granddad had told me about snapping turtles. He said if one ever bites you it would not turn loose until it thundered. This was how I felt about this young Pentecostal ‘kissing’ girl.

Now I was raised up Baptist. Fundamental, Bible believing, narrow minded Baptists, that’s what we were. Because of this, other Churches were not held in high esteem. I think the word of dad must have come down that I was required to attend their services because the girlfriend and her sister became more and more insistent. I finally agreed and showed up for one of their Saturday night services.

The older sister played piano and my friend sat next to me with that heavenly smile beaming from her face. The services themselves were quite different from anything I had seen before. There was a lot of whooping and hollering and this was very strange to me. The only excitement remotely like this at our Church was when my granddad, who could not hear very well, would stand up in the middle of the service because he thought he heard the pastor say it was time to go. This also happened at times when he would wake up after a short snooze and wasn’t exactly sure where he was.

On one song they all got up and began to move around doing something like a dance but I guess it was more like a trance. I think they were supposed to be under the influence of the Spirit. One of our neighbors, an elderly lady, was really into that dance. She was quite heavy and I remember the loose skin that hung down from her arms was kind of flapping as she swayed forth and back. I had mowed her yard. You could not please her. When it came time to be paid she always pointed out every blade of grass she thought I had missed.

A good friend of mine’s dad happened to be there that night. He was more or less a local outcast. Some called him the town drunk. I knew this man pretty well. There were times when I would spend the night with my friend and his dad always rolled each of us a cigarette. I was glad he was willing to help me learn to smoke but to tell the truth when he handed that thing to me with it still dripping after he had licked it, it was very hard to take. That night two men escorted him down to a bench just in front of the pulpit and he kneeled down and they commenced to beat him on the back while they prayed and hollered. People lined up and took turns working on this poor man. I guessed they were trying to beat out the demons or something. Scary.

Finally, he was either healed or worn out, so the preacher got up to speak. He was loud, very loud, and his face turned purple with blotches that reminded me of potted meat. He went on for quite a long time until he began to get hoarse. He then stepped down in front of the pulpit and started giving an invitation. The older sister had left for the piano and my girlfriend still had that smile plastered on her face. Her dad said something about some were there that night but were not really among the true Church. I felt forty sets of eyes bearing down on me as people began humming and singing the tune being played. I quickly glanced at my young Pentecostal. Same smile, no change.

There comes a moment in everyone’s life when you know it’s time to make a move. I’m not sure they were coming to get me but I did know they believed in being baptized on the spot. I had no idea what was coming next but I did not want to stay to find out. The congregation was heating up again as I moved to the aisle and headed for the back door. I had seen the preacher go up and splash the water in the baptismal tank but I had no intention of getting wet that night. While I wouldn’t dare look I knew everyone was watching me.

When I reached the foyer and grabbed the doorknob and twisted it and pushed against the door, it did not open. Locked in. The preacher had locked me in. My life flashed before my eyes. Cleavers and kisses and back beatings and trance dancing were all closing in on me and I had nowhere to go. I backed up a few steps and ran and hit the door. When I did it flew open and I missed the stairs entirely landing out on the gravel drive. I was up in a flash.

There are a number of ways I could have chosen to make my way home that night. There were two or three different roads to choose from or a shortcut through a dense briar infested thicket. I chose the thicket. Out of breath, scratched up, shirt and blue jeans torn, but I finally made it home. Now you may be thinking that surely this story has been embellished but as I sit here today it’s all very real to me. It was quite an experience and perhaps a most fitting way to end my Pentecostal days. More later........