History of the Azuza Street Revival - 100 years ago this week
On Wednesday evening, April 12, 2006, we continued to look at the The New Century Awakening of 1904 - 1912. Together in this Bible Study we traveled to Topeka, Kansas; Houston, Texas; and then Los Angeles.
You may remember that in the New Century Awakening God was moving mightily in many places around the world. It was as if a new fire started in almost every country at the same time. Reports poured in from many corners of the earth. One of those places was Wales - where the great Welsh Revival took place.
Around the turn of the Century in Topeka, Kansas a man by the name of Rev. Parham launched an unusual Bible College. In the college there was no books except the Bible itself. Students that came to study here would take up a question of some sort and then with only the Bible they would search the scripture for an answer - taking days and weeks to pour over the one thought.
Rev. Parham was known to be against the other kind of structured Bible College study.
Each student was encouraged to "live by faith" - in very humble circumstances.
Parham also moved to the Houston, Texas area to expand the Bible College teaching.
One of his students in Topeka was an African American man named William J. Seymour from Centerville, Louisiana. Seymour was encouraged to go to study with Parham's Bible College in Houston. He moved there to find out that the segregation laws were very strict - he was not an African American then - he was a black man/a coloured man - and they were not allowed to sit in a classroom with the whites. So Seymour sat in the hallway outside the class room and took notes from there.
Seymour moved from Houston to Los Angeles upon and invitation from a black lady pastor of a Holiness church that was struggling. She felt that the 36 year old Seymour would be a possible pastor/preacher for the church.
One major problem was to be encountered as he moved to this city. Parham's teaching were part of his life. He preached, as did Parham, that the initial evidence of being filled with the Holy Spirit was that you "spoke in other tongues". Seymour had not yet had that happen to himself but he preached it with conviction.
The lady minister that had allowed him to preach in her church with the idea of him working there.... locked the doors of the church to keep him out. He was fired before he began.
Not to be deterred he continued to preach and pray in the home where he was staying on a street called Bonnie Brae. Here God moved in on them in a mighty way and the greatest movement in church history began - called the Pentecostal Movement.
Read about the whole story here. The History of the Azuza Street Revival.
Last Sunday was the 100th anniversary since the first outpouring of God's Spirit in Los Angeles on April 9 1906. Seymour was personally filled with the Holy Spirit after he preached about it on April 12, 1906 - 100 years ago yesterday.
Now fast forward a few years and this great blessing of God came to the southern part of Saskatchewan - where his Holy Spirit worked in powerful ways.
The following account will help you get one small glimpse into the power of this Pentecostal Movement in a local community thousands of miles from Los Angeles - but right in the heart of God.
The lady that wrote this story, one of many, is a woman that I knew. Her son Bobby is a friend of mine. He is a wee bit older than I am.
Read and be overwhelmed by the power of God. May you know your own Pentecost today - 100 years later.
DEAR GOD!
A real life short story of the Power of God by Lucy Ellen Eaton
I stiffened in fright as my baby's anguished scream momentarily immobilized me. Then dropping the dish I held, I sped into the living room, afraid at what I would see, yet now knowing.
Four year old David had been pestering me all morning to let him have the scissors to cut pictures out of an old catalogue; but it was not until I had put the baby to sleep on the couch, with chairs and cushions placed to keep him from rolling off, that I had given David the scissors he'd been asking for.
While at work in the kitchen I hadn't heard the baby awaken. It still wasn't time for his nap to be ended but he was screaming!
"What is the matter?" I cried, as I ran into the living room.
David was sitting on the floor near the couch, an open pair of sharp pointed barber scissors in his hand. His eyes and mouth were opened in wide alarm at what he'd done. In front of him sat our year old baby, Bobby. At the sound of my voice he turned toward me, still screaming, and I saw his eye. Indelibly imprinted on my memory is that one quick glimpse of a gaping, horizontal gash that cut right across the iris, and from which was gushing, in angry red spurts, my darling's life blood.
In the moment it took to scoop him into my arms I realized our hopeless predicament.
It was the "Dirty Thirties", and we were in Saskatchewan's south eastern dust bowl, now covered in knee deep snow drifts, as it was the middle of January. We were nearly twelve miles from the nearest town and doctor, and we had no phone. My husband had taken the team and rack early that morning to get a load of straw from Alameda, and wouldn't be back until late that night. He had gone to get a load of the Manitoba straw that had been shipped in for the farmers in our area to feed to our gaunt stock. I was all alone, except for the two children, with no one to turn to.
That an artery had been pierced in my baby's eye, I knew by the color of the blood, the way it spurted. I knew too, that there was no point of pressure whereby I could staunch the flow that was draining the life from my baby.
Instinctively my thoughts turned to God. Unless God undertook, my baby would die in this awful agony he was enduring. His screams cut me like knives, and I wished desperately that I could bear the pain for him.
Then my knees gave way, and I sank to the floor. Fortunately, the couch from which the baby had slipped was before me, and I rested my arms with their precious burden upon it, all my energies taxed with the effort to hold his violently thrashing body to me.
"Oh, God!" I cried in utter desperation, "Heal my baby!" To myself, I added the words for which I had no more breath . . . "Or I'll die, too!"
As I did so, Bobby stopped screaming. He stopped kicking, and lay perfectly still and quiet in my arms. He was so very motionless that I was suddenly afraid to open my eyes. I had called upon God, not in assurance of answer, but rather, in desperation. I wondered, "Is he ... No! He CAN'T be dead!"
I opened my eyes, and at what I saw, I felt my eyes distend. My adorable baby was gazing wide-eyed and wondering, an angelic look upon his rapt baby face, at a point above and beyond my left shoulder . . . Transfixed, I stared at him. His eyes were clear, unmarked. The horrible gash in his left eye that had been spurting forth so much blood was gone!
In wondering amazement I watched the rapt look disappear from his face. His eyes seemed to search for a vision that had disappeared. Then his glance turned to me. With the most loving little gesture in the world, he patted my cheek, then nestled his face on my shoulder.
Incredulously, I hugged and kissed him, crying all the time from pure joy. Then I noticed David, still sitting holding the scissors — still open mouthed and open eyed. He now put them down on the floor, got to his feet, and came running to me with a happy smile on his face.
"God DID .heal our baby, didn't He?" he affirmed triumphantly. "God made Bobby's eye all better, didn't He, Mommie?"
As I gave him a reassuring hug, I felt as though I'd just awakened from a nightmare to find myself in Heaven. But, Thomas-like, I began searching for possible scratches, or cuts, removing every stitch of the blood stained clothes from his plump little body. There wasn't a mark on him anywhere. Only the terrible blood stains on his clothes and mine, the couch and the floor, remained as mute testimony to the miracle we'd beheld.
As I write this today, Bobby is in his thirties, and has never worn glasses. He had his eyes tested a few times, but was always told that he had 20-20 vision. There isn't even a trace of scar tissue. It was simply an instantaneous miracle. I had called upon his ability, and He had answered, for with God all things are possible
Blog Note: Lucy Ellen Eaton wrote this almost 40 years ago. I know Bobby personally. Bobby retired from the Police force in Regina Saskatchewan a number of years ago – he is a personal friend of mine.
The Scripture that makes sense with all of this....
Joel 2:28-29
28 'And afterward, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.29 Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days.(NIV)
You may remember that in the New Century Awakening God was moving mightily in many places around the world. It was as if a new fire started in almost every country at the same time. Reports poured in from many corners of the earth. One of those places was Wales - where the great Welsh Revival took place.
Around the turn of the Century in Topeka, Kansas a man by the name of Rev. Parham launched an unusual Bible College. In the college there was no books except the Bible itself. Students that came to study here would take up a question of some sort and then with only the Bible they would search the scripture for an answer - taking days and weeks to pour over the one thought.
Rev. Parham was known to be against the other kind of structured Bible College study.
Each student was encouraged to "live by faith" - in very humble circumstances.
Parham also moved to the Houston, Texas area to expand the Bible College teaching.
One of his students in Topeka was an African American man named William J. Seymour from Centerville, Louisiana. Seymour was encouraged to go to study with Parham's Bible College in Houston. He moved there to find out that the segregation laws were very strict - he was not an African American then - he was a black man/a coloured man - and they were not allowed to sit in a classroom with the whites. So Seymour sat in the hallway outside the class room and took notes from there.
Seymour moved from Houston to Los Angeles upon and invitation from a black lady pastor of a Holiness church that was struggling. She felt that the 36 year old Seymour would be a possible pastor/preacher for the church.
One major problem was to be encountered as he moved to this city. Parham's teaching were part of his life. He preached, as did Parham, that the initial evidence of being filled with the Holy Spirit was that you "spoke in other tongues". Seymour had not yet had that happen to himself but he preached it with conviction.
The lady minister that had allowed him to preach in her church with the idea of him working there.... locked the doors of the church to keep him out. He was fired before he began.
Not to be deterred he continued to preach and pray in the home where he was staying on a street called Bonnie Brae. Here God moved in on them in a mighty way and the greatest movement in church history began - called the Pentecostal Movement.
Read about the whole story here. The History of the Azuza Street Revival.
Last Sunday was the 100th anniversary since the first outpouring of God's Spirit in Los Angeles on April 9 1906. Seymour was personally filled with the Holy Spirit after he preached about it on April 12, 1906 - 100 years ago yesterday.
Now fast forward a few years and this great blessing of God came to the southern part of Saskatchewan - where his Holy Spirit worked in powerful ways.
The following account will help you get one small glimpse into the power of this Pentecostal Movement in a local community thousands of miles from Los Angeles - but right in the heart of God.
The lady that wrote this story, one of many, is a woman that I knew. Her son Bobby is a friend of mine. He is a wee bit older than I am.
Read and be overwhelmed by the power of God. May you know your own Pentecost today - 100 years later.
DEAR GOD!
A real life short story of the Power of God by Lucy Ellen Eaton
I stiffened in fright as my baby's anguished scream momentarily immobilized me. Then dropping the dish I held, I sped into the living room, afraid at what I would see, yet now knowing.
Four year old David had been pestering me all morning to let him have the scissors to cut pictures out of an old catalogue; but it was not until I had put the baby to sleep on the couch, with chairs and cushions placed to keep him from rolling off, that I had given David the scissors he'd been asking for.
While at work in the kitchen I hadn't heard the baby awaken. It still wasn't time for his nap to be ended but he was screaming!
"What is the matter?" I cried, as I ran into the living room.
David was sitting on the floor near the couch, an open pair of sharp pointed barber scissors in his hand. His eyes and mouth were opened in wide alarm at what he'd done. In front of him sat our year old baby, Bobby. At the sound of my voice he turned toward me, still screaming, and I saw his eye. Indelibly imprinted on my memory is that one quick glimpse of a gaping, horizontal gash that cut right across the iris, and from which was gushing, in angry red spurts, my darling's life blood.
In the moment it took to scoop him into my arms I realized our hopeless predicament.
It was the "Dirty Thirties", and we were in Saskatchewan's south eastern dust bowl, now covered in knee deep snow drifts, as it was the middle of January. We were nearly twelve miles from the nearest town and doctor, and we had no phone. My husband had taken the team and rack early that morning to get a load of straw from Alameda, and wouldn't be back until late that night. He had gone to get a load of the Manitoba straw that had been shipped in for the farmers in our area to feed to our gaunt stock. I was all alone, except for the two children, with no one to turn to.
That an artery had been pierced in my baby's eye, I knew by the color of the blood, the way it spurted. I knew too, that there was no point of pressure whereby I could staunch the flow that was draining the life from my baby.
Instinctively my thoughts turned to God. Unless God undertook, my baby would die in this awful agony he was enduring. His screams cut me like knives, and I wished desperately that I could bear the pain for him.
Then my knees gave way, and I sank to the floor. Fortunately, the couch from which the baby had slipped was before me, and I rested my arms with their precious burden upon it, all my energies taxed with the effort to hold his violently thrashing body to me.
"Oh, God!" I cried in utter desperation, "Heal my baby!" To myself, I added the words for which I had no more breath . . . "Or I'll die, too!"
As I did so, Bobby stopped screaming. He stopped kicking, and lay perfectly still and quiet in my arms. He was so very motionless that I was suddenly afraid to open my eyes. I had called upon God, not in assurance of answer, but rather, in desperation. I wondered, "Is he ... No! He CAN'T be dead!"
I opened my eyes, and at what I saw, I felt my eyes distend. My adorable baby was gazing wide-eyed and wondering, an angelic look upon his rapt baby face, at a point above and beyond my left shoulder . . . Transfixed, I stared at him. His eyes were clear, unmarked. The horrible gash in his left eye that had been spurting forth so much blood was gone!
In wondering amazement I watched the rapt look disappear from his face. His eyes seemed to search for a vision that had disappeared. Then his glance turned to me. With the most loving little gesture in the world, he patted my cheek, then nestled his face on my shoulder.
Incredulously, I hugged and kissed him, crying all the time from pure joy. Then I noticed David, still sitting holding the scissors — still open mouthed and open eyed. He now put them down on the floor, got to his feet, and came running to me with a happy smile on his face.
"God DID .heal our baby, didn't He?" he affirmed triumphantly. "God made Bobby's eye all better, didn't He, Mommie?"
As I gave him a reassuring hug, I felt as though I'd just awakened from a nightmare to find myself in Heaven. But, Thomas-like, I began searching for possible scratches, or cuts, removing every stitch of the blood stained clothes from his plump little body. There wasn't a mark on him anywhere. Only the terrible blood stains on his clothes and mine, the couch and the floor, remained as mute testimony to the miracle we'd beheld.
As I write this today, Bobby is in his thirties, and has never worn glasses. He had his eyes tested a few times, but was always told that he had 20-20 vision. There isn't even a trace of scar tissue. It was simply an instantaneous miracle. I had called upon his ability, and He had answered, for with God all things are possible
Blog Note: Lucy Ellen Eaton wrote this almost 40 years ago. I know Bobby personally. Bobby retired from the Police force in Regina Saskatchewan a number of years ago – he is a personal friend of mine.
The Scripture that makes sense with all of this....
Joel 2:28-29
28 'And afterward, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.29 Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days.(NIV)
posted by Murray Lincoln at
Thursday, April 13, 2006
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