- Dec 31, 2010
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The Pentecostal Holiness church that I belong to is an offspring of the Methodist church. We carried that revival on for about a century. The only author that I know of to have covered that revival in great detail is George Clark Rankin, who would earn a doctorates degree and become the publisher of a Christian Texas Newspaper. In which I have also posted material...
http://www.christianityboard.com/topic/18564-the-life-of-george-clark-rankin/
And some excerpts...
The Wytheville Station and Circuit was a large one, comprising seventeen appointments. They were practically scattered all over the county. I preached every other day, and never less than twice and generally three times on Sunday.
I had associated with me that year a young collegemate, Rev. W. B. Stradley. He was a bright, popular fellow, and we managed to give Wytheville regular Sunday preaching. Stradley became a great preacher and died a few years ago while pastor of Trinity Church, Atlanta, Georgia. We were true yokefellows and did a great work on that charge, held fine revivals and had large ingatherings.
The famous Cripple Creek Campground was on that work. They have kept up campmeetings there for more than a hundred years. It is still the great rallying point for the Methodists of all that section. I have never heard such singing and preaching and shouting anywhere else in my life. I met the Rev. John Boring there and heard him preach. He was a well-known preacher in the conference; original, peculiar, strikingly odd, but a great revival preacher.
One morning in the beginning of the service he was to preach and he called the people to prayer. He prayed loud and long and told the Lord just what sort of a meeting we were expecting and really exhorted the people as to their conduct on the grounds. Among other things, he said we wanted no horse- trading and then related that just before kneeling he had seen a man just outside the encampment looking into the mouth of a horse and he made such a peculiar sound as he described the incident that I lifted up my head to look at him, and he was holding his mouth open with his hands just as the man had done in looking into the horse's mouth! But he was a man of power and wrought well for the Church and for humanity.
The rarest character I ever met in my life I met at that campmeeting in the person of Rev. Robert Sheffy, known as "Bob" Sheffy. He was recognized all over Southwest Virginia as the most eccentric preacher of that country. He was a local preacher; crude, illiterate, queer and the oddest specimen known among preachers. But he was saintly in his life, devout in his experience and a man of unbounded faith. He wandered hither and thither over that section attending meetings, holding revivals and living among the people. He was great in prayer, and Cripple Creek campground was not complete without "Bob" Sheffy. They wanted him there to pray and work in the altar.
He was wonderful with penitents. And he was great in following up the sermon with his exhortations and appeals. He would sometimes spend nearly the whole night in the straw with mourners; and now and then if the meeting lagged he would go out on the mountain and spend the entire night in prayer, and the next morning he would come rushing into the service with his face all aglow shouting at the top of his voice. And then the meeting always broke loose with a floodtide.
He could say the oddest things, hold the most unique interviews with God, break forth in the most unexpected spasms of praise, use the homeliest illustrations, do the funniest things and go through with the most grotesque performances of any man born of woman.
It was just "Bob" Sheffy, and nobody thought anything of what he did and said, except to let him have his own way and do exactly as he pleased. In anybody else it would not have been tolerated for a moment. In fact, he acted more like a crazy man than otherwise, but he was wonderful in a meeting. He would stir the people, crowd the mourner's bench with crying penitents and have genuine conversions by the score. I doubt if any man in all that conference has as many souls to his credit in the Lamb's Book of Life as old "Bob" Sheffy.
At the close of that year in casting up my accounts I found that I had received three hundred and ninety dollars for my year's work, and the most of this had been contributed in everything except money. It required about the amount of cash contributed to pay my associate and the Presiding Elder. I got the chickens, the eggs, the butter, the ribs and backbones, the corn, the meat, and the Presiding Elder and Brother Stradley had helped us to eat our part of the quarterage. Well, we kept open house and had a royal time, even if we did not get much ready cash. We lived and had money enough to get a good suit of clothes and to pay our way to conference. What more does a young Methodist preacher need or want? We were satisfied and happy, and these experiences are not to be counted as unimportant assets in the life and work of a Methodist circuit rider.
----------------------------
My Pentecostal Holiness church was one of much power.The summer after high school I would put up hay with a QC analyst who kept the joy of the Lord alive in his heart all his years. He would shout in church, shout at home, and shout out in the hay field. I have never seen such joy in all my life. Not only was there a joy, but there was a richness in love as well. The people would really let you know that they loved you. In the old TV show the Waltons the family would talk to one another before going to bed. I have since learned that this was because the houses were so small. But despite the houses being small the people lived decently and in great love, joy, and peace.
So I fell in with them. I would go to the revivals and prayer meetings and live among the people. The services at the Pentecostal Holiness church were at this time very lively. People would shout, run the aisles, fall out in the Spirit, speak in tongues, and then wait for an interpretation. They would have prolonged alter services and would crowd the petitioners and encourage them to tarry and wait upon the Lord. There were times that the old guys would sit back in the pews weeping, and if they made eye contact with you they would declare, as souls around the alter fell out in the Spirit… “The Holy Ghost! The Holy Ghost!” There were souls who would fall out in the Spirit and would have to be carried out of church.
The people would shout and make the rafters ring with shouting, running the aisles, and the like. The Holy Spirit would speak through a person, there would be a holy hush, and then someone would interpret. It was an amazing thing for me to hear the voice of God in the sanctuary and I really looked forward to going to church. The church was the Merrimac Pentecostal Holiness church and it dwelt in coal mining country. The coal miners were very hearty people who were very mechanically inclined and lived the Methodist lifestyle of working hard Monday - Friday, go to town on Saturday, and go to church every Sunday.
At the end of that summer we had a good revival in which the Lord seemed there in a mighty way. On reading the book, “Run Baby Run,” by Nikki Cruise, I felt a voice telling me to put the book down. I paused, and then continued again to read. The voice said again… “Put the book down.” I slept in my Grandmothers living room on an old fold away cot by the open living room door. The Katydids seemed to be singing very loud that night. There in my Grandmothers clean linens I heard the Spirit speak again, “Where is all the stress, worry and hatred?” In which, upon examining my heart, there was nothing there but pure beauty. I thought to myself. “Oh my! I got exactly what those people got!” I would spend the rest of the summer rejoicing with the people and in revival until I went back to Michigan later that September.
The Merrimac Pentecostal Holiness Church... Where I experienced God in a mighty way! You could feel the anointing and the power as you walked through the doors!
http://www.christianityboard.com/topic/18564-the-life-of-george-clark-rankin/
And some excerpts...
The Wytheville Station and Circuit was a large one, comprising seventeen appointments. They were practically scattered all over the county. I preached every other day, and never less than twice and generally three times on Sunday.
I had associated with me that year a young collegemate, Rev. W. B. Stradley. He was a bright, popular fellow, and we managed to give Wytheville regular Sunday preaching. Stradley became a great preacher and died a few years ago while pastor of Trinity Church, Atlanta, Georgia. We were true yokefellows and did a great work on that charge, held fine revivals and had large ingatherings.
The famous Cripple Creek Campground was on that work. They have kept up campmeetings there for more than a hundred years. It is still the great rallying point for the Methodists of all that section. I have never heard such singing and preaching and shouting anywhere else in my life. I met the Rev. John Boring there and heard him preach. He was a well-known preacher in the conference; original, peculiar, strikingly odd, but a great revival preacher.
One morning in the beginning of the service he was to preach and he called the people to prayer. He prayed loud and long and told the Lord just what sort of a meeting we were expecting and really exhorted the people as to their conduct on the grounds. Among other things, he said we wanted no horse- trading and then related that just before kneeling he had seen a man just outside the encampment looking into the mouth of a horse and he made such a peculiar sound as he described the incident that I lifted up my head to look at him, and he was holding his mouth open with his hands just as the man had done in looking into the horse's mouth! But he was a man of power and wrought well for the Church and for humanity.
The rarest character I ever met in my life I met at that campmeeting in the person of Rev. Robert Sheffy, known as "Bob" Sheffy. He was recognized all over Southwest Virginia as the most eccentric preacher of that country. He was a local preacher; crude, illiterate, queer and the oddest specimen known among preachers. But he was saintly in his life, devout in his experience and a man of unbounded faith. He wandered hither and thither over that section attending meetings, holding revivals and living among the people. He was great in prayer, and Cripple Creek campground was not complete without "Bob" Sheffy. They wanted him there to pray and work in the altar.
He was wonderful with penitents. And he was great in following up the sermon with his exhortations and appeals. He would sometimes spend nearly the whole night in the straw with mourners; and now and then if the meeting lagged he would go out on the mountain and spend the entire night in prayer, and the next morning he would come rushing into the service with his face all aglow shouting at the top of his voice. And then the meeting always broke loose with a floodtide.
He could say the oddest things, hold the most unique interviews with God, break forth in the most unexpected spasms of praise, use the homeliest illustrations, do the funniest things and go through with the most grotesque performances of any man born of woman.
It was just "Bob" Sheffy, and nobody thought anything of what he did and said, except to let him have his own way and do exactly as he pleased. In anybody else it would not have been tolerated for a moment. In fact, he acted more like a crazy man than otherwise, but he was wonderful in a meeting. He would stir the people, crowd the mourner's bench with crying penitents and have genuine conversions by the score. I doubt if any man in all that conference has as many souls to his credit in the Lamb's Book of Life as old "Bob" Sheffy.
At the close of that year in casting up my accounts I found that I had received three hundred and ninety dollars for my year's work, and the most of this had been contributed in everything except money. It required about the amount of cash contributed to pay my associate and the Presiding Elder. I got the chickens, the eggs, the butter, the ribs and backbones, the corn, the meat, and the Presiding Elder and Brother Stradley had helped us to eat our part of the quarterage. Well, we kept open house and had a royal time, even if we did not get much ready cash. We lived and had money enough to get a good suit of clothes and to pay our way to conference. What more does a young Methodist preacher need or want? We were satisfied and happy, and these experiences are not to be counted as unimportant assets in the life and work of a Methodist circuit rider.
----------------------------
My Pentecostal Holiness church was one of much power.The summer after high school I would put up hay with a QC analyst who kept the joy of the Lord alive in his heart all his years. He would shout in church, shout at home, and shout out in the hay field. I have never seen such joy in all my life. Not only was there a joy, but there was a richness in love as well. The people would really let you know that they loved you. In the old TV show the Waltons the family would talk to one another before going to bed. I have since learned that this was because the houses were so small. But despite the houses being small the people lived decently and in great love, joy, and peace.
So I fell in with them. I would go to the revivals and prayer meetings and live among the people. The services at the Pentecostal Holiness church were at this time very lively. People would shout, run the aisles, fall out in the Spirit, speak in tongues, and then wait for an interpretation. They would have prolonged alter services and would crowd the petitioners and encourage them to tarry and wait upon the Lord. There were times that the old guys would sit back in the pews weeping, and if they made eye contact with you they would declare, as souls around the alter fell out in the Spirit… “The Holy Ghost! The Holy Ghost!” There were souls who would fall out in the Spirit and would have to be carried out of church.
The people would shout and make the rafters ring with shouting, running the aisles, and the like. The Holy Spirit would speak through a person, there would be a holy hush, and then someone would interpret. It was an amazing thing for me to hear the voice of God in the sanctuary and I really looked forward to going to church. The church was the Merrimac Pentecostal Holiness church and it dwelt in coal mining country. The coal miners were very hearty people who were very mechanically inclined and lived the Methodist lifestyle of working hard Monday - Friday, go to town on Saturday, and go to church every Sunday.
At the end of that summer we had a good revival in which the Lord seemed there in a mighty way. On reading the book, “Run Baby Run,” by Nikki Cruise, I felt a voice telling me to put the book down. I paused, and then continued again to read. The voice said again… “Put the book down.” I slept in my Grandmothers living room on an old fold away cot by the open living room door. The Katydids seemed to be singing very loud that night. There in my Grandmothers clean linens I heard the Spirit speak again, “Where is all the stress, worry and hatred?” In which, upon examining my heart, there was nothing there but pure beauty. I thought to myself. “Oh my! I got exactly what those people got!” I would spend the rest of the summer rejoicing with the people and in revival until I went back to Michigan later that September.
The Merrimac Pentecostal Holiness Church... Where I experienced God in a mighty way! You could feel the anointing and the power as you walked through the doors!
