I’ve got lots on my plate this month, but I’m thinking of getting to a couple of the events associated with the Azusa Street Centennial celebration later this month here in Los Angeles. Tens of thousands of folks associated with various branches of the Pentecostal movement will be coming here to L.A. to mark the hundredth anniversary of the Azusa Street Revival, described in quick detail here.
In a very real sense, Los Angeles is the birthplace of both modern Pentecostalism and modern Fundamentalism. The latter term goes back to the first decades of the 20th century, when the Bible Institute of Los Angeles (now Biola University, from the acronym) issued a series of pamphlets called "The Fundamentals" — a rallying cry for Christians worried by encroaching modernism and liberalism in the church. (In case you were wondering, the five fundamentals are absolute inerrancy of Scripture; the divinity of Christ, substitutionary atonement; Christ’s bodily resurrection from the dead; and His return at the Second Coming. Depending on the day, I can sign on to two, three,or even four of these.)
When I think of my calling as a progressive pro-feminist, I remember that one of the things for which I have a real heart is reaching out to my more conservative Christian brothers and sisters. And while my true fundamentalist friends are often hostile to the notion of women in leadership, I’m happy to say that most Pentecostals have a much more open-minded understanding of the issue. The Assemblies of God and the Foursquare Church, two of the largest Pentecostal churches in the world, both believe women are called to teach and preach, just as they were in the early days of the Azusa Street Revival.
Of course, I’m also interested in reaching out with the Gospel to feminists. One of the things that bugs me about my secular feminist friends is that they can’t make basic distinctions among conservative Christians. They use terms like "evangelical" and "fundamentalist" as if they are interchangeable (they are anything but); they aren’t aware of the huge divisions between the strict Reformers in the Calvinist tradition and the exuberant Revivalists in the Azusa Street tradition. I spend a lot of time explaining these sorts of nuances to folks who are mystified as to why John Ashcroft (a Pentecostal) embraces the idea of women in the pulpit while Jerry Falwell (a Southern Baptist) rejects the same notion.
Of course, I get equally piqued when my conservative Christian friends make sweeping generalizations about feminism. There are as many feminisms as there are Protestant denominations in this country, with as many significant doctrinal differences as there are among contemporary American Christians. My conservative Christian friends look at me with bewilderment when I talk about liberal feminism, radical feminism, and Marxist feminism — they like using the terms interchangeably. To most of my conservative mates, liberals are radicals are Marxists, and the differences don’t count.
I spend a lot of time with two different groups, trying to explain the subtleties of one to another! And man, the more I run back and forth between and betwixt, the more the fundies on both sides start to resemble each other.
As I think about going to the big Azusa Street celebration (to be held at the Coliseum on April 29th), I’m filled with a huge outpouring of warmth for my Pentecostal friends. Strict, dour Reform churches have held little appeal for me in my life. But I love hanging with the charismatics! I love worshipping with folks who believe that Jesus is right here, right now, in this space, and in the next few minutes if we all pray real hard, we’re going to have a miracle! The politics of liberal Episcopalianism match my own — but the raw emotionalism and the passionate certainties of my spirit-filled friends in Pentecostalism touches my heart like nothing else.
As I wrote a few weeks ago, if I’m not careful I fall prey to a kind of paralyzing ambivalence about almost everything. Too often, as the old saying goes, I worship the Either, the Or, and the Holy Both! My mind runs so fast; my interests are so disparate; my friends so diverse. I can’t stay with the Pentecostals for too long — their certainties enchant at first, and then terrify. But for an afternoon a few Saturdays from now, I think I’ll worship with a hundred thousand or so of them.
Sometimes, I need to lay down my pride, my breeding, my intellectual suspicions, my fears, and my doubts. Sometimes, I need to raise my hands in the air and lose myself again in the kind of ecstatic worship that leaves me breathless and amazed and electrified. I need to feel the Spirit again, the way I did in the early days after my conversion. I live so often in the midst of delicately balanced contradictions, and those contradictions will be there for me when the worship and praise are done. But for a few hours, I need to go home to the place where the eithers and the ors and the ambiguities all disappear into the great big all-encompassing YES of Jesus and His sweet touch on my skin.
Come on out and join me at the Coliseum, April 29, 1-5PM.
Gee, that got pretty homoerotic towards the end :)
You bet, anonymous! There’s a lot of intense eroticism in some kinds of worship. The Catholics get it, the Pentecostals get it, not sure my Episcopalian friends get it.
When I’m not worried about being misunderstood, I often describe Jesus as my lover.
Hi Hugo,
Just FYI I just heard Cake frontman John McCrae use a feminist-type speech to goad his male audience members into a singalong.
Post here:
http://metanoid.lifewithchrist.org/permalink/22727
In so many ways christians are about 100 different flavors of the same ice cream. I’ll take my first scoop of presbyterians, add a little pentacostal on the side, a evangelical free when I’m tired of the presbyterians for a day or two…and then I’ll take an Anglican service when I need to quiet my soul. It’s all so good…I love pieces of all of the passion.
We’re so into accomodating everyone’s needs, beliefs, and preferences that it has made us into a bunch of different sub-groups. I bet Jesus is a little frustrated with us, but totally aware that it’s the state we’re in and we’re doing the best we can…our effort to worship Him hopefully supercedes any division we’ve made out of the church.
Funny note/story: I had a woman call the office yesterday who had been attending the church I work at. I said “gosh, I’ve missed you!” She said “yeah, well…we’re not going to come anymore. The pastor talks too much about Jesus and I’m looking for a church that will accomodate my atheist husband…so that he feels comfortable. I think we’re gonna head back to the Episcopal church.” ;) Thought you’d get a kick out of that Hugo. “People!” (add in a sigh and roll of my eyes). As my mom always says “takes all kinds to make the world”.
Should we start defining flavors to denominations? That might be fun…and an easier identification that all the big church names. :)
I meant “assigning” not “defining”.
Hugo, I like your point about the nuanced differences between types of feminists or types of evangelicals (and how neither group quite sees those nuances when looking at the other).
Given what you say about Episcopalian politics and evangelical fervor, you might enjoy the story of Bishop Carlton Pearson. I blogged about him here; I recommend listening to the one-hour broadcast of “This American Life” which featured his story (linked in my post.)
Well, the Episcopalians are definitely lime sorbet. The Mennonites are some sort of soy product (Tofutti?), and my Pentecostal friends are Chunky Monkey. Rachel, thanks for the link — fascinating guy; Kristie, thanks for the story!
Hugo: “I love worshipping with folks who believe that Jesus is right here, right now, in this space, and in the next few minutes if we all pray real hard, we’re going to have a miracle!”
I’m curious about how you resolve this feeling with your sense of rationality.
Do you participate in this kind of worship because it feels good and re-energises you, without really believing in the prospect of miracles? (I see this approach as being similar to tourists in Japan participating in Shinto ceremonies, or people studying Yoga or meditation for health reasons or stress relief, without necessarily committing to Hindu/Buddhist beliefs or ideology).
Or do you truly believe that you could in fact change the universe if you prayed hard enough? That mystic visions do come from external sources, not internal? When you pray for a sick person (to choose a topical example) do you expect your prayers to materially affect their condition, or are they more for your own benefit?
Do you think that the universe is answerable to human thought? Or is your religion a tool for self-improvement and source of good feelings, as much as your fervour for running, pilates and feminism?
(Apologies in advance if this is an old or irrelevant topic for this blog).
AC, I don’t think Hugo literally meant that they could force a miracle, but was referring to the fervency and faith of that kind of prayer.
Oh, I do believe very much in the power of prayer. Though I cannot prove it, I am convinced that the prayers of others have healed me and protected me time and again.
Hugo: “Though I cannot prove it, I am convinced that the prayers of others have healed me and protected me time and again.”
You may not be able to prove it, but is it something that you believe could ultimately be proved, by someone, somewhere, at least in theory? Do you believe that prayer has an observable effect on the universe? (Besides any obvious effect on the person praying, or any other people who observe them doing so).
Or is this conviction something that you hold but admit to be irrational? (Certainly many of us have beliefs about causality and our place in the universe that we know don’t stand up to scrutiny, but we stick with them anyway because we like them, they make us feel better or they help life run more smoothly).
Because it seems to me that this is a fundamental question: either your religion is internal, much like your views on exercise, feminism, social justice, etc. or your religion is external, much like your views on gravity, biology, or the heliocentric universe.
The way you switch from sect to sect would seem to imply that your religion is internal, much as your taste in movies, and you’re looking for something that works for you and improves your life. (This also matches the way you recommend different sects to students who come to you for guidance, if I recall correctly, attempting to match them with a group that will be compatible with their temperament and/or upbringing).
And yet you believe in the power of prayer having an effect on the universe: where did this belief come from? Not all Christians share this belief, many see prayer as something more akin to meditation and contemplation, with internal relevance but no external effect.
In asking this I believe I can see that your response will be that the question is not relevant, and we should feel more and think less. And yet, in your day job you are teaching analytical skills to students and pushing them to question their assumptions, prejudices and conventional wisdom as relating to gender roles, body image, the history of feminism and so on.
Do you keep your faith because it would hurt too much to give it up?