My name is Jared. I'm a youth minister at a Southern Baptist church in Picacho, AZ.
I was raised in the Nazarene church till my teen years. My parents were regular church goers, and very reverent in service. They did little to attract attention, preferring to sit in the back row, or close to it, and remain unnoticed. This was my Sunday church experience.
Mondays through Fridays however were anything but normal. In order to save me from the secular world, my parents enrolled my sister and I in my pentecostal grandfather's Christian school, Kenilworth. I don't have much time for a detailed introduction to the school so instead I'll just give you a small taste of what it was like.
Mrs. B was a large woman. She didn't have a job at the school but her son was a student and she liked to attend chapel and listen to my grandfather. He attracted a group of devout followers who considered him a direct prophet of God. She thought he was the shiznit.
One day following the sermon, or rapture expository, or exhaustive admonishment of music listeners, etc...etc... Mrs. B made her way to the pulpit. She whispered something into my grandfathers ear, and he grabbed his bottle of anointing oil and placed his hand on her head. He started to pray in tongues, and suddenly Mrs. B, both tall and very wide fell back and hit the ground with tremendous force. I could feel the hardwood floor move.
I was 10 years old and terrified. Just when I thought she was done both her arms and legs shot up straight, facing the ceiling at a 90 degree angle. This is when the shaking and mumbling started. I nearly pissed myself.
Was Mrs. B slain in the spirit? To this day, I'm not sure what she whispered to my grandpa. Maybe, "I'm about to do some crazy stuff. Play along," or, "I'm having a stroke." Either way, I never looked at Mrs. B the same way again, and I never stood behind her.
NEXT TIME: The Chorus Line of 6th Grade Tongue Speakers
