Holiness Camp Meetings

As may be imagined, we eagerly seized every opportunity to learn more about the truths we had discovered. And though the Friends did indeed teach them, it was among the Methodists that we found the clearest light. The Methodists spoke with great certainty: they taught that the Christian life involved two distinct experiences — the first, justification; the second, sanctification. They urged believers not to rest content with justification (that is, forgiveness), but to press on to sanctification, the “second blessing,” as they called it. I would not now express the truth in quite that way, but at the time it was profoundly helpful.

Not all Methodists embraced this teaching; many considered it too extreme. Those who did were known as “Holiness Methodists,” and it was from them that we received the greatest help. They held special “Holiness Meetings” devoted to the subject, and we delighted in attending whenever possible. Most of all, we cherished their “Holiness Camp Meetings,” held in summer in secluded forests or by the sea. These gatherings —“Meetings for the Promotion of Holiness”— were in fact great open-air conferences, drawing Christians of many denominations from across the country, all intent on seeking deeper communion with God. Living in tents beneath the trees, we spent a week or more waiting upon God and sharing together the profound things of the Kingdom.

No words can capture the extraordinary power, solemnity, and yet overwhelming joy of those meetings. We were cut off from our ordinary occupations and cares, with nothing to do but yield ourselves to the spiritual influences around us and open our hearts to what we believed to be the teaching of the Holy Spirit. Such a company of earnest Christians, all intent on drawing nearer to God, created an atmosphere of spiritual intensity that was unforgettable. Testimonies of joy resounded in every meeting, songs of praise echoed through the forest, and the radiant faces of those we met made it seem as though we stood on the very threshold of Heaven. I cannot help but pity any Christian who has never known such seasons of pure delight. For me, they were the culmination of the grand spiritual romance that religion has always been, and I count them among the most entrancing experiences of my life. Even now, the sight of a camp chair or a tent beneath the trees brings back something of that supreme happiness that filled every hour of those blessed gatherings.

On one occasion, a friend of ours — unaware of the true purpose of the meetings — came to see what they were like. Arriving early in the morning, he met worshippers returning from prayer.

Struck by their radiant expressions, he asked us, “What is the matter with all these people, that their faces shine so? Nearly everyone I have seen here has a shining face; but I met a few whose faces did not shine, and I want to know the difference.” We explained that the shining faces reflected hearts at rest in the Lord, while those without such radiance had not yet discovered the blessed secret. He listened intently, then declared , “I am determined that I too will get a shining face, and I will stay here until I do.” And indeed, within days his face shone with the joy of God’s salvation.

I shall never forget my first Camp Meeting, nor the first prayer gathering I attended there. It was an early morning meeting in a tent. Having known only the small Methodist meetings at Millville, I had no conception of the emotional atmosphere into which I had stepped. I realized, too late, that I had forgotten my handkerchief — but having never shed tears in a meeting before, I thought little of it. Yet in that gathering the fountains of my being were broken open, and floods of sweet tears poured from my eyes. In desperation I lifted my dress and used the white underskirt to dry them. Ever since, I have carried at least two handkerchiefs to every meeting, though I have never again been so overwhelmed with emotion as I was then.

That morning was my first taste of the entrancing joys of spiritual emotion, and I reveled in it. As I left the tent, a Metho dist “Holiness Sister,” seeing my tears, put her arm around me, shared her own experience of sanctification, and began to guide me. Under her care, I soon learned how to receive the full benefit of the meetings. Much was said about the “blessing of sanctification,” and at every gathering we were urged to come forward to the “altar”— a simple bench set apart — to seek it. I did not fully understand what this “blessing” was, but it seemed something tangible, born of complete consecration and simple faith, and it filled people with rapturous joy. My Holiness Sister soon had me going forward to the altar myself, determined to receive whatever God had to give. The thrilling testimonies I heard continually fired my enthusiasm, and I embraced every opportunity to seek the blessing. I enjoyed it immensely, for it seemed to bring me to the very edge of unknown spiritual possibilities ready at any moment to unfold.

Apart from those moments of standing, as it were, on the threshold, no special “blessing” ever came to me from my visits to the altar. I am not naturally emotional, and the overpowering feelings others described as the essence of the blessing never fell to my share. What I did receive was the grand truth taught at those meetings — that the Lord Jesus Christ is a Savior not only from the guilt of sin but also from its power. That truth became increasingly real and effective to me. But as for any blessing apart from the truth itself, I experienced nothing. In time, I came to see that the knowledge of the truth was al l the blessing I needed. Much of what was called “the blessing” seemed to me simply the emotional response of emotional natures to the discovery of a magnificent truth. For me, it came with intellectual conviction and delight; for others, with emotional conviction and delight. But in both cases the truth was the same, and it was the truth — not the emotion — that set the soul free.

My husband, however, being of a more emotional nature, did at one of these Camp Meetings receive the blessing in true Methodist fashion. He returned home radiant, filled with a divine glow that touched everyone he met. He could not speak of the meeting without moving us to tears, and it was clear he had undergone a remarkable spiritual experience. He told us of a special gathering devoted to prayer for the Baptism of the Spirit. Afterwards, he withdrew alone into the woods to continue in prayer. Suddenly, from head to foot, he was shaken by what felt like a magnetic thrill of heavenly delight. Floods of glory poured through him, body and soul, with the inward assurance that this was indeed the longed-for Baptism of the Holy Spirit. The whole world seemed transformed: every leaf and blade of grass shimmered with exquisite color, heaven opened before him as a present possession, and everyone he saw appeared beautiful, for he seemed to perceive the Divine Spirit within them. This ecstasy lasted for weeks and marked the beginning of a life of extraordinary spiritual power and blessing.

I confess I was jealous that I did not receive a similar blessing, for I felt I needed it as much as he did. I renewed my efforts to obtain it, but all in vain. I never passed from the realm of conviction into the realm of emotion. My experiences remained intellectual rather than emotional. At last I became con vinced that the difference lay not in God’s favor but in the differing natures of the recipients. Emotional natures received the truth with floods of delight; I received it calmly, with intellectual joy. The truth was the same, only the manner of reception differed.

Over time I observed that emotional experiences were often less solid and permanent than intellectual ones. Emotions, by their nature, fluctuate, while true convictions remain. Once a person is convinced that two and two make four, no amount of ill health or adverse weather can shake that conviction. Feelings, however, are at the mercy of countless influences. I learned, therefore, not to seek emotions but convictions. To my surprise and delight, convictions brought me a more stable and lasting joy than many of my emotional friends seemed to know. In times of stress, their emotions flagged or vanished, and they struggled to avoid despair. Some were grateful at last to return to the stable ground of conviction, which in their emotional days had seemed barren.

This lesson took me years to learn. Meanwhile, the joy and power of the glorious secret we had discovered grew ever more practical. My soul learned to rest in absolute confidence in the keeping and saving power of the Lord. Temptations did not cease, nor d id we attain “sinless perfection.” Temptations arose, failures occurred. But we had discovered a way of escape— the way of faith. We learned that Christ is a Deliverer not only from the future punishment of sin but from its present power. We realized we need no longer be slaves to sin. As far as we laid hold of this deliverance by faith, so far we were delivered. We had not pocketed holiness as a permanent possession, but we had discovered the highway of holiness and learned the secret of walking in it. When we walked there, we had victory; when we strayed, we met failure. After years of wilderness wandering, we had entered the promised land, and found it true, as God said to Israel of old: “Every place the sole of your foot shall tread upon, that have I given you.” The whole land was ours; we need only go up and possess it.

We discovered that the Bible’s words were fact: “God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that you, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.” And we proved in experience that God truly was able — if only we were willing. Christ was revealed to us not merely as our future Savior, but as our present and complete Savior, able to keep us from falling and to deliver us from all our enemies.

For me, this was the beginning of a romance before which all others paled. It was like exploring the courts of heaven itself. Each day brought fresh revelation. Words fail me. I often called it the “bird life,” for I felt like a bird set free, soaring upward into the bl ue of an unfathomable sky.

Once I had been a caged bird, content because I knew nothing of the freedom beyond. Now all barriers were gone, and my soul was free to comprehend with all saints the breadth, length, depth, and height of the love of Christ, which surpasses knowledge. What once seemed unfathomable now opened into an abyss of delight.

I found that God Himself was enough. Even His promises paled beside the comfort of His presence. What did it matter if I could not find a promise to fit my case? I had found the Promiser, and He was infinitely more than all His promises. As a child, when in trouble, the mere presence of my father or mother brought instant relief. They did not need to explain or promise; their presence was assurance enough. How much more true is this of our Heavenly Father, whose very name is Love. His presence is all we need. Over and over in Scripture He settles His people’s fears with the simple words, “I will be with thee.” That means all His wisdom, love, and power are engaged on our behalf.

I learned that God’s character is our resting place. His ways or promises we may misunderstand, but His goodness cannot be mistaken. If He is good, loving, wise, just, omnipotent, and omnipresent, then all must be ordered rightly for us. Appearances may deceive, but the deeper reality is secure. As George MacDonald said, we need “eyes that can see below surfaces.” Once we discover God’s utter unselfishness, those eyes are opened, and all mysteries of His dealings are answered forever.

No wonder th e Psalmist rejoiced again and again in God’s goodness: “Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good.” “Oh, trust in the Lord, for He is good.” “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good.” Surrounded by nations whose gods were cruel, selfish, and indifferent, Israel’s triumph was to declare without fear that their God was good. And I feel it is no less a triumph today, in a world that misunderstands and maligns Him, to be able to say with absolute conviction: “Come, taste and see that the Lord is good!”