Acts of the Green Apples

It wasn't the way he said it. It was what he said. That was the element that made this retreat so unusual. I later learned that he had studied the doctrine of the Holy Spirit for twenty years. This was his "thing," and yet he really didn't know anything compared to what we discovered later. But that's where it started. An Anglo-Catholic monk spoke at a retreat for lay women at the House of Sisters of the Holy Nativity in Santa Barbara and I, for one, have never been the same since.

He shocked us. He stunned us. He wasn't a Malcolm Boyd or a Daniel Berrigan. He was a conservative Episcopal priest, and he said what to us was shattering. He said, "Christians should be down on their knees praying for forgiveness for their neglect of the Holy Spirit. They don't have any idea what He is supposed to be doing."

Usually one goes home from retreat with various pleasant feelings: relaxation, increased sense of commitment, and perhaps a measure of self-righteousness thrown in. This retreat was different. Some people went back with a feeling of frustration -- a feeling of not knowing all the answers. Everything in our lives had been so pat up until then. The Holy Spirit is the Third Person of the Trinity, the Purifier, the Santifier, the One Who makes us holy. But who felt holy? And where was the punch the early Church had? And who among us could honestly say, as the apostles could, "It seemed good to the Holy Ghost and us"?

So secretly some of the women began to pray. No, they didn't pray for anything dramatic. How could they? They didn't know about anything dramatic. They prayed that the Holy Spirit would come to St Mark's Episcopal Church in Van Nuys, California, USA, with power. They didn't know exactly what they meant, and they certainly didn't intend it to be spectacular; but He did come and spectacular it was, for He came with power. But when He came we didn't recognize Him. You understand. We hadn't expected Him to come like that.

I first heard about it at a dinner party. A member of the vestry casually remarked that a priest from Monterey Park had confided at the weekly men's group that a couple in his church claimed they spoke in the unknown tongues that are mentioned in the Bible. No one said anything. What was there to say? No one who was there had ever heard of such a thing, so how could they comment? How could it have anything to do with normal twentieth-century suburbanites? But it did.

The next time the subject was broached in my hearing was when, as president of St Mary's Guild, I had an appointment with the rector to discuss a guild matter. He didn't seem interested in what I was saying and finally said, "Jean, I have something to share with you that I think you will be interested in." I said, "Yes, Father?" He continued, "The other day I drove to Monterey Park --" I interrupted him. After all, no one just goes to Monterey Park -- it's about forty miles away. I said, "You mean those people who claim to speak in the unknown tongue that St Paul wrote about--"

"Yes."

I didn't know anything about it and can't imagine what made me say anything since I normally keep quiet if I don't know about a subject. But I found myself saying, "Well, Father, it's completely scriptural. I don't know if it's valid or not." He said, "Jean, I speak in tongues," and I was absolutely horrified. All I could think was, "I never did really trust him; he used to be a Congregationalist."

And that was my introduction to an experience, to a movement, that many religious leaders claim outranks the Reformation in its impact.

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