My Pentecost

I remember Pentecost Sunday in 1953. We called it Whit Sunday in
those days, the commemoration of the Holy Spirit coming upon the
early church.
It was a hot day at the end of May, and I was taken along with my
sisters to Crusaders, a sort of Bible club for children. I remember
sitting on a bench in a small hall crammed with a bunch of kids.
Probably the leader, Mrs Tilsley-Green , a lovely Irish lady, talked
about the Day of Pentecost. I don’t remember. But I do remember
that she ended her talk by reading a poem. It was about a boy who
was confronted with a decision: to follow Jesus or not? He chose not.

A few years later, another opportunity presented itself, and again he
declined. Then as a young man, and at intervals all through his life ,
he had further opportunities to become a Christian, but kept
hardening his heart, until eventually, the last time came. Now he was
on his deathbed. Even there, he knew he had the possibility of
surrendering to Jesus. The poem finished: “Again the Spirit called:
but turning on his pillow, he died.” Having hardened his heart for the
last time.
Wow! Drama! Tragedy! A collective gasp from the listening children!
Today it might be called manipulation of tender children’s
sensitivities; or at least rather bizarre evangelistic methods. But as
Mrs Green explained that we didn’t have to wait all our lives to
become Christians, we could be saved NOW, something was
happening in my seven year old heart. It was pounding as she led us
in a simple prayer. I knew he was calling my name, and without
hesitation, I gladly responded. “Yes! I want to follow Jesus! Please
forgive my sin. Thank you for dying for me! Please come into my
heart!”
He came. He stayed. He has never left. He has loved me, led me,
provided for me, forgiven me countless times, equipped me,
challenged me, always there, always faithful. I remember suddenly
being engulfed in happiness, and after the prayer running forward
and flinging my arms around Mrs Green’s waist and shouting, “Jesus
has come into my heart!”
My father came to collect us, and I told him too, and my mother
when we got home. The next day at school, I told my friends, and
insisted on singing a hymn to the class when it was time to go home!
I was probably a pain in the neck!

My walk with God fluctuated through my teens, but I never doubted
that I belonged to Jesus. I was born again: I could not be un-born
again! My joy and excitement that day was equalled some thirteen
years later when I experienced not only new birth but Pentecost. It
took that long for me to hear, understand and receive the baptism in
the Holy Spirit. This was a controversial subject in the sixties, with
rumours flying around about heresy and tongues being from the
Devil. Yet I could not get away from the feeling that my Christian
experience was lacking and there must be something else.

By now, I was at Bible College in London, and the baptism in the
Spirit was the subject of some lively discussions. A student called
Terry Virgo arrived at the start of my second year who seemed to be
happy, at rest, a fervent Bible lover and an effective Gospel preacher.
Eventually I noted that he would pray with people and they would
testify that he had laid hands on them to be filled with the Holy
Spirit.

That summer he led an evangelistic team to three towns on the
Sussex coast. I was on that team, and one wet Sunday, I had an
opportunity at last to clear up my questions.It was important to me
to get a coherent answer from Scripture that was satisfying
theologically, as well as leading into an experience.
Terry took me through the Acts of the Apostles, patiently showing
me how the early church received the Spirit. Then to John ch 7, and
ending with Luke ch11. “If you then, being evil know how to give
good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Heavenly
Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask?”
The penny dropped. The Father wanted me to receive the Holy Spirit,
an authentic gift from Him! “Faith comes by hearing the word of
God”.That day, I asked and received.

This brought an explosion of joy, greater intimacy with the Father,
and gifts of the Spirit. We went on to discover others who were
entering this (to us) new dynamic, and the ever-increasing
excitement of being part of a community of spirit filled believers,
who loved to worship with joyful abandon, walk in love with one
another, and reach out with loving hands to a broken world: all
triggered by being born again, and filled with the Spirit.

I am more grateful than I can say that I heard him call my name that
Whit Sunday sixty-seven years ago. “Except you become as a little
child you cannot see the kingdom of Heaven.” Salvation can be
received by little children, or at any age. So can the baptism in the
Spirit. Jesus is the doorway into a new life, eternal life, that grows
more and more until perfect day.

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