Revival

I served my full time mission outside of the US in a non-English speaking country. As anyone who has served a mission knows,  there is a lot to learn and a very steep learning curve. When serving in an unfamiliar culture, and language, the difficulty is multiplied.

My Senior Companion felt that he should help me get up to speed in my new culture and environment. One way he did that was by giving me a quick introduction to some of the local religions. Either that, or he was just trying to freak out the new guy.

My second, jet-lagged night in the field, he decided it would be a great idea to check out a religious revival being held in a large tent smack dab in the middle of our area.  One of the main targets of this particular preacher was to let everyone in the area know that the Mormon missionaries were of the devil, and should be avoided at all costs.

So, into the belly of the beast we went.

My familiarity with other religious services was limited to what I had seen portrayed on TV and in movies. I had never attended a religious revival, and didn’t know exactly what to expect.

We slipped in the back of the large canvas tent – and stood in the back to observe. It was lit with white Christmas lights dangling from wires overhead. I expected to see a congregation sitting in rows of chairs.  I was mistaken. While there were chairs, few people sat. Most were standing, or dancing.

It was loud. There was live, amplified music, complete with guitars, drums and singing. The preacher was speaking/shouting over the music with very poor fidelity. It was a bit different than a typical Sacrament meeting where reverence was the ideal.

Different forms of worship for different people, I suppose. Where it got really different for me was when people started to be “carried away by the Spirit.”  Some of the worshippers would reach to the sky, begin to shake uncontrollably, and then fall to the ground. There some would begin to writhe, and moan in the dirt, while other worshippers would watch them, cheer for them and praise Jesus.

Again, not my idea of a typical worship service. Everybody’s different.

Mind you, this was my second day in the mission field. Like most new missionaries, I thought I had learned everything there possibly is to know at the MTC – but I had no ear for the language yet.  I had no idea what was being spoken by anyone except my gringo companion. I could not understand what the preacher was ranting about.

But I did notice when he pointed at us.

My companion took that as our cue to leave the tent. As we walked away, he asked me what I thought. I told him I was a little freaked out. If I recall, he just laughed.

Fast forward a few days…

My first Sunday, I was sitting by myself on the back row of our chapel as Sacrament Meeting began.  I had been greeting people at the door as my companion sat up front, preparing to speak. It felt comfortable, like a normal church service – it felt more like home – even though I still understood precious little.

Then the Sacrament hymn began. Suddenly, the young man sitting next to me lurched to his feet, let out a cry, and fell to the ground writing and shaking right there at my feet. 

Great, I thought. Here we go again. Either it’s ‘one of them,’ or he is possessed.

I wondered why he would even bother to be at a Mormon church meeting. I had no idea as to how I should react to this display. I tried to avert my eyes and fight the desire to stare – hoping to minimize the disruption as much as possible. But he did disrupt. Especially when his eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to foam at the mouth. I’ll admit, I was scared.

The chorister stopped, the music stopped and the congregation stopped singing. A concerned young lady came running over to the young man and began to attend to him.

While I just sat there.

The young woman began speaking to me – and she was not happy. She was talking far too fast for me to understand.  But I did catch a couple of words.

1) Epileptic.
2) Idiot.

Apparently the young man was actually experiencing a grand mal epileptic seizure. And I’m pretty sure “idiot” was directed at me.

As the lights came on in my tiny brain, I dropped to my knees and tried to help. The best I could do was to try and remember my First Aid Merit Badge training, and I came up mostly empty. My companion was told by someone that all we could do was wait.  We watched and waited for the seizure to recede. At that point, my companion took his keys out of his pocket and handed me a small vial.

Now I knew what I was doing. I anointed the young man’s head with consecrated olive oil, in preparation for a blessing. My companion reached in and sealed the anointing and offered a short blessing of comfort and healing.

When he had recovered enough to stand, we helped him to his feet. Some of the members of the congregation took him away to be treated. I don’t know where.

The music began to play, and the congregation returned to singing the Sacrament hymn – just like a normal Sunday. I just sat there. Very, very humbly.

With so much to think about.