On days like these, I’m a little less embarrassed by my Spirit-filled heritage.
by Matt Green
from The Ministry Report, March 15, 2007
I guess I'm a typical 30-something Pentecostal, both irreversibly shaped my Spirit-filled heritage and chagrined by the embarrassing behavior of some of my "family" members. Like many, I find myself tempted to define my Pentecostalism by what I don't do and who I'm not like. But when I read an article in the March 19 issue of Newsweek about an autistic Jewish man's experience in a Pentecostal congregation in Milwaukee, I was reminded of why this wild and wooly movement still has a heart of gold.
The story is told by the man's younger sister, Liz, who watched her brother grow to adulthood avoiding physical and social contact, rarely smiling and seemingly trapped in his own world:
" ... At 40, Tim was college-educated with a job, a car and a small apartment I never saw, but imagined looking like his old room at home: immaculately stacked piles of old newspapers, brown lunch bags filled with broken glass from kitchen mishaps, 14 of the same style of polo shirt hanging in perfect alignment. ... "
Then, a work friend invited Tim to attend a Bible study at his church, which soon became a service he looked forward to every Sunday.
"... I had no idea what Tim did on those Sunday afternoons, but I knew that it filled him with a kind of peace no medication or doctor ever had. After church, he'd come over to our parents' house for family dinners with a sense of calm, his eyes settled, his body slightly less rigid. He even began making a habit, one of his thousands, of giving our mom a quick hug before he'd head home. ... "
Intrigued by her brother's metamorphosis, Liz joined Tim one Sunday morning and observed him and his fellow Pentecostal church members in worship, where, she says, "In the first 10 minutes, my brother introduced me to more people than I'd known him to befriend in his whole life."
True, the swaying, praying, weeping, hugging and hand-holding were a bit of culture shock for Liz, but she could see that her autistic brother had found a place of unconditional acceptance. While she doesn't identify it as such in the article, it is clear that Tim had experienced the subtle and gentle touch of the Holy Spirit, who was drawing him out of his world of isolation and connecting him to Christ and His body in a way that no support group or psychotropic drug could.
Tim may have been considered an oddity or even rejected in congregations where one is expected to "have it together" before stepping through the doors. But like many other Pentecostal churches around the world for the past 101 years, this Milwaukee congregation reflected the ethos of the upper room in Jerusalem where it all started. Broken people from diverse ethnic groups, economic backgrounds and generations, brought together by the Spirit who blows where He wishes, when He wishes and on whom He wishes.
And when He does, anything is possible.
copyright 2007, Strang Communications
15 March 2007
Pentecostals at Our Best
On days like these, I’m a little less embarrassed by my Spirit-filled heritage.
by Matt Green
from The Ministry Report, March 15, 2007
I guess I'm a typical 30-something Pentecostal, both irreversibly shaped my Spirit-filled heritage and chagrined by the embarrassing behavior of some of my "family" members. Like many, I find myself tempted to define my Pentecostalism by what I don't do and who I'm not like. But when I read an article in the March 19 issue of Newsweek about an autistic Jewish man's experience in a Pentecostal congregation in Milwaukee, I was reminded of why this wild and wooly movement still has a heart of gold.
The story is told by the man's younger sister, Liz, who watched her brother grow to adulthood avoiding physical and social contact, rarely smiling and seemingly trapped in his own world:
" ... At 40, Tim was college-educated with a job, a car and a small apartment I never saw, but imagined looking like his old room at home: immaculately stacked piles of old newspapers, brown lunch bags filled with broken glass from kitchen mishaps, 14 of the same style of polo shirt hanging in perfect alignment. ... "
Then, a work friend invited Tim to attend a Bible study at his church, which soon became a service he looked forward to every Sunday.
"... I had no idea what Tim did on those Sunday afternoons, but I knew that it filled him with a kind of peace no medication or doctor ever had. After church, he'd come over to our parents' house for family dinners with a sense of calm, his eyes settled, his body slightly less rigid. He even began making a habit, one of his thousands, of giving our mom a quick hug before he'd head home. ... "
Intrigued by her brother's metamorphosis, Liz joined Tim one Sunday morning and observed him and his fellow Pentecostal church members in worship, where, she says, "In the first 10 minutes, my brother introduced me to more people than I'd known him to befriend in his whole life."
True, the swaying, praying, weeping, hugging and hand-holding were a bit of culture shock for Liz, but she could see that her autistic brother had found a place of unconditional acceptance. While she doesn't identify it as such in the article, it is clear that Tim had experienced the subtle and gentle touch of the Holy Spirit, who was drawing him out of his world of isolation and connecting him to Christ and His body in a way that no support group or psychotropic drug could.
Tim may have been considered an oddity or even rejected in congregations where one is expected to "have it together" before stepping through the doors. But like many other Pentecostal churches around the world for the past 101 years, this Milwaukee congregation reflected the ethos of the upper room in Jerusalem where it all started. Broken people from diverse ethnic groups, economic backgrounds and generations, brought together by the Spirit who blows where He wishes, when He wishes and on whom He wishes.
And when He does, anything is possible.
copyright 2007, Strang Communications
by Matt Green
from The Ministry Report, March 15, 2007
I guess I'm a typical 30-something Pentecostal, both irreversibly shaped my Spirit-filled heritage and chagrined by the embarrassing behavior of some of my "family" members. Like many, I find myself tempted to define my Pentecostalism by what I don't do and who I'm not like. But when I read an article in the March 19 issue of Newsweek about an autistic Jewish man's experience in a Pentecostal congregation in Milwaukee, I was reminded of why this wild and wooly movement still has a heart of gold.
The story is told by the man's younger sister, Liz, who watched her brother grow to adulthood avoiding physical and social contact, rarely smiling and seemingly trapped in his own world:
" ... At 40, Tim was college-educated with a job, a car and a small apartment I never saw, but imagined looking like his old room at home: immaculately stacked piles of old newspapers, brown lunch bags filled with broken glass from kitchen mishaps, 14 of the same style of polo shirt hanging in perfect alignment. ... "
Then, a work friend invited Tim to attend a Bible study at his church, which soon became a service he looked forward to every Sunday.
"... I had no idea what Tim did on those Sunday afternoons, but I knew that it filled him with a kind of peace no medication or doctor ever had. After church, he'd come over to our parents' house for family dinners with a sense of calm, his eyes settled, his body slightly less rigid. He even began making a habit, one of his thousands, of giving our mom a quick hug before he'd head home. ... "
Intrigued by her brother's metamorphosis, Liz joined Tim one Sunday morning and observed him and his fellow Pentecostal church members in worship, where, she says, "In the first 10 minutes, my brother introduced me to more people than I'd known him to befriend in his whole life."
True, the swaying, praying, weeping, hugging and hand-holding were a bit of culture shock for Liz, but she could see that her autistic brother had found a place of unconditional acceptance. While she doesn't identify it as such in the article, it is clear that Tim had experienced the subtle and gentle touch of the Holy Spirit, who was drawing him out of his world of isolation and connecting him to Christ and His body in a way that no support group or psychotropic drug could.
Tim may have been considered an oddity or even rejected in congregations where one is expected to "have it together" before stepping through the doors. But like many other Pentecostal churches around the world for the past 101 years, this Milwaukee congregation reflected the ethos of the upper room in Jerusalem where it all started. Broken people from diverse ethnic groups, economic backgrounds and generations, brought together by the Spirit who blows where He wishes, when He wishes and on whom He wishes.
And when He does, anything is possible.
copyright 2007, Strang Communications
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