Who knew? Not I.

April 2nd is an important date in my story, my personal history. I didn’t have any idea until browsing through my email inbox this morning.

In 1914, three hundred people, Christian Pentecostals, met in Hot Springs, Arkansas, for ten days. Though unintended, by the end of the meetings, the group had organized into a new church denomination called the Assemblies of God.

My parents became Pentecostalists after moving to Oregon from South Dakota. My father’s family through his mother had been Methodist, and Grandpa Hill was probably either an agnostic or an atheist. My mother grew up as a Lutheran, descended from German immigrants, though her maternal grandmother was Wesleyan and a strict Calvinist.

So into this world of Pentecostalism I was introduced as a toddler. It was the charisma of one man, an Assemblies of God pastor named Denny Davis, that attracted my dad. He led a large church in Salem, Oregon for many years.

That’s the short version of how I became a Pentecostalist myself. I grew up with it. I grew up in it. I am not an adherent now per se. But I am still a Christian.


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