How much church can one family fit in a week? My dad, who didnāt ever want us to waste our time, always felt the need to fill our days with something. That something was usually church.
As a result, my church upbringing is composed of an interesting mix of Pentecostal, Baptist, Missionary Alliance, and Presbyterian. My experience of this unlikely mix of denominations has made a profound impact on my Christianity and especially on my understanding of the Holy Spirit. It seemed as if the Holy Spirit had a special personality for each denomination. Certainly, the Presbyterians and the Pentecostals have different experiences of the Holy Spirit, and Calvin didnāt have much appreciation for aesthetics in life.
I grew up attending services in so many different denominations because my dad felt that it was necessary to expose my sister and me to as many non-Korean churches as possible, as church was the ideal place to learn English. Even though I spoke Korean at home and English at school, my English still didnāt meet my dadās expectations. So while our frequent church attendance filled our time, it also gave us free English lessons. Furthermore, as an immigrant, my dad wanted to make sure that we grew up understanding Western culture and society. Not only did church help us become more adept in English, it also served as a means to acculturate us to the Western world. Besides our Korean Presbyterian churchās Sunday service, my father took us to a Sunday-night Baptist service, a Wednesday-night Baptist service, and a Friday-night Missionary Alliance Bible study. It was a busy week, completely full of church events.
We lived in London, Ontario, but my parents loved to go into Toronto and Detroit to attend Pentecostal revival services. These were not the static and robotic Presbyterian services I attended on Sundays, nor the always-friendly Baptist services I attended on Wednesday and Sunday nights. These revivals were quite literally out-of-this-world experiences. At times, they frightened me. I saw things I never saw in any of my other church visits. It was during these services that I first experienced the powerful effects of the Holy Spirit.
Shocked, horrified, and confused is how I felt at eight years old when I attended the Pentecostal church revival services. It was a baptism-by-fire encounter. These early and intense experiences of the Holy Spirit were frightening because all the adults were gathered together in one room for hours while all the other kids and I were outside the sanctuary in the huge fellowship hall, and I could only hear the sounds of what was happening in the sanctuary: yelling, laughing, shouting, screaming, and crying. As the adults were making those sounds, we kids were playing tag, playing hide-and-go-seek, and just having fun. We were a loud and rambunctious group of kids. But even amidst our own blaring noise, I could hear the adults worshipping in the other room.
One day, my curiosity got the better of me. I quietly shuffled out of the childrenās room and walked to the worshiping room in anticipation. The familiar sounds became clearer, and I came face to face with the door that separated me and my parents. Without hesitation, I eased my face into the crack of the doorway and saw the answer to my intrigue. Inside the room, I saw people with their hands in the air, singing, praying, and crying out to God. I saw some of them lying on the floor, crying and shaking uncontrollably. A few were dancing around with no reservations, moving wildly. Some people were shaking so violently that they fell over. Many people were speaking in strange languages, which I now recognize as āspeaking in tongues.ā
At the front of the sanctuary stood a man hovering over a microphone. I was not sure if he was preaching or praying, but whatever he was doing, it felt like he was mad at something, as he screamed every word he spoke. The things I saw that day terrified me, and I didnāt know if I was actually seeing it or dreaming it. It was as if I had entered the twilight zone, where the definition of normal and reality were completely skewed. I didnāt know whether I should close the door and run away or keep watching. As I was being tormented by what I was seeing, I heard the ministerās yelling getting louder than anyone elseās voice in the room. In the midst of all this, piano music was playing in the background. With all the yelling, Iām not sure what exactly the intent of the music was.
What I saw and heard was not like my other worship experiences. I was both frightened and curiousācurious as to why they were acting wild and possessed when they entered the sanctuary, where they quit acting as functioning normal adults. What happened in that room that made those people act like that? Were they disturbed or even possessed? I could not understand. I tried to go back to playing with the other children, but I could not stop looking. And then, in the distant part of the room, I saw my mom with her hands held up high, eyes closed, with tears rolling down her face as she spoke in tongues.
On the ride home, I could not summon the courage to ask my parents about what I had seen. Questions were not welcomed in our household, as I had learned after I asked too many ābut whys?ā Rather, I was glad that whatever had happened in that sanctuary made them feel much better, as they were calmer and seemed to be more at peace. After those revival services, we always drove home in better spirits than when we had arrived. Often I thought to myself, āIf my parents are involved with this, whatever it is, it must be okay.ā
Still, in the back of my mind, I wondered if this was what Christianity was all about and what it would take to understand it. Like Shakespeareās Hamlet approaching the vision of his father, I asked myself whether this was the work of the Holy Spirit or some evil spirit that made the people speak in tongues and move around as though possessed.
From this early exposure to Korean Pentecostal Christianity, I ...
