The
year was 1906. Holiness evangelist Frank Bartleman was
saturating the City of Los Angeles with Gospel tracts. The
man of God even wrote Evan Roberts in Wales for advice on
how to spark a move of God in the “City of Angels” that
would echo the Great Welsh Revival of 1904-1905. As the
story goes, Roberts wrote back, “Congregate the people who
are willing to make a total surrender. Pray and wait.
Believe God’s promises. Hold daily meetings. May God bless
you is my earnest prayer.”
God did bless Bartleman, and many others. The following is
Bartleman’s testimony from June 15, 1906 at 312 Azusa
Street, when the Spirit of God dropped what he described as
a “heavenly chorus” into his soul. He suddenly found himself
joining the rest who had received the supernatural gift. On
this 100th anniversary of the Azusa Street Revival,
Bartleman tells us in his own words:
It was a spontaneous manifestation and rapture no earthly
tongue can describe. In the beginning this manifestation was
wonderfully pure and powerful. We feared to try to reproduce
it, as with the “tongues” also. Now many seemingly have no
hesitation in imitating all the “gifts.” No one could
understand this “gift of song” but those who had it. It was
indeed a “new song” in the Spirit. When I first heard it in
the meeting a great hunger entered my soul to receive it. I
felt it would exactly express my pent up feelings. I had not
yet spoken in “tongues.” But the “new song” captured me. It
was a gift from God of high order, and appeared among us
soon after the “Azusa” work began.
No one had preached it. The Lord had sovereignly bestowed
it, with the outpouring of the “residue of oil,” the “Latter
Rain” baptism of the Spirit. It was exercised, as the Spirit
moved the possessors, either in solo fashion, or by the
company. It was sometimes without words, other times in
“tongues.” The effect was wonderful on the people. It
brought a heavenly atmosphere, as though the angels
themselves were present and joining with us. And possibly
they were. It seemed to still criticism and opposition, and
was hard for even wicked men to gainsay or ridicule.
Some have condemned this “new song,” without words. But was
not sound given before language? And is there not
intelligence without language also? Who composed the first
song? Must we necessarily follow some man’s composition,
before us, always? We are too much worshippers of tradition.
The speaking in “tongues” is not according to man’s wisdom
or understanding. Then why not a “gift of song?” It is
certainly a rebuke to the “jazzy” religious songs of our
day. And possibly it was given for that purpose. Yet some of
the old hymns are very good to sing, also. We need not
desire or treat lightly of them. Some one has said that
every fresh revival brings in its own hymnology. And this
one surely did.
In the beginning in “312 Azusa Street” we had no musical instruments.
In fact we felt no need of them. There was no place for them
in our worship. All was spontaneous. We did not even sing
from hymnbooks. All the old well-known hymns were sung from
memory, quickened by the Spirit of God. “The Comforter Has
Come,” was possibly the one most sung. We sang it from
fresh, powerful heart experience. Oh, how the power of God
filled and thrilled us. Then the “blood” songs were very
popular. “The life is in the blood.” Sinai, Calvary, and
Pentecost all had their rightful place in the “312 Azusa
Street” work.
But the “new song” was altogether different, not of human
composition. It cannot be successfully counterfeited. The
crow cannot imitate the dove. But they finally began to
despise this “gift,” when the human spirit asserted itself
again.
They drove it out by hymn books, and selected songs by
leaders. It was like murdering the Spirit, and most painful
to some of us, but the tide was too strong against us.
Hymn books today are largely a commercial proposition, and we
would not lose much without most of them. The old tunes,
even, are violated by change, and new styles must be gotten
out of every season, for added profit. There is very little
real spirit of worship in them. They move the toes, but not
the hearts of men. The spirit of song given from God in the
beginning was like the Aeolian harp, in its spontaneity and
sweetness.
In fact it was the very breath of God, playing on human
heartstrings, or human vocal cords. The notes were wonderful
in sweetness, volume and duration. In fact, they were of
times humanly impossible. It was “singing in the Spirit.”
Brother William Joseph Seymour was recognized as the nominal
leader in charge. But we had no pope or hierarchy. We were
“brethren.” We had no human program. The Lord Himself was
leading. We had no priest class, nor priest craft. These
things have come in later, with the apostatizing of the
movement. We did not even have a platform or pulpit in the
beginning. All were on a level. The ministers were servants,
according to the true meaning of the word. We did not honor
men for their advantage, in means or education, but rather
for their God-given “gifts.” He set the members in the
“Body.” Now “a wonderful and horrible thing is come to pass
in the land. The prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests
bear rule by their means; and My people love to have it so:
and what will ye do in the end thereof” (Jeremiah 5:30-31).
Also “As for my people, children are their oppressors
(sometimes grown up ones) and women rule over them” (Isaiah
3:12).
Brother Joseph Seymour generally sat behind two empty shoeboxes,
one on top of the other. He usually kept his head inside the
top one during the meeting, in prayer. There was no pride
there. The services ran almost continuously. Seeking souls
could be found under the power almost any hour, night and
day. The place was never closed nor empty. The people came
to meet God. He was always there. Hence a continuous
meeting. The meeting did not depend on the human leader.
God's presence became more and more wonderful. In that old
building, with its low rafters and bare floors, God took
strong men and women to pieces, and put them together again,
for His glory. It was a tremendous overhauling process.
Pride and self-assertion, self-importance and self-esteem,
could not survive there. The religious ego preaches its own
funeral sermon quickly.
No subjects or sermons were announced ahead of time, and no
special speakers for such an hour. No one knew what might be
coming, what God would do. All was spontaneous, ordered of
the Spirit. We wanted to hear from God, through whoever He
might speak. We had no "respect of persons." The rich and
educated were the same as the poor and ignorant, and found a
much harder death to die. We only recognized God. All were
equal. No flesh might glory in His presence. He could not
use the self-only recognized and opinionated. Those were
Holy Ghost meetings, led of the Lord. It had to start in the
poor surroundings, God. All were equal. No flesh might glory
in His presence. He could not use the self-only to keep out
the selfish, human element. All came down in humility
together, at His feet. They all looked alike, and had all
things in common in that sense at least. The rafters were
low, the tall must come down. By the time they got to
312 Azusa Street they were humbled, ready for the blessing. The food
was thus placed for the lambs, not for giraffes. All could
reach it.
We were delivered right there from ecclesiastical
hierarchism and abuse. We wanted God. When we first reached
the meeting we avoided as much as possible human contact and
greeting. We wanted to meet God first. We got our head under
some bench in the corner in prayer, and met men only in the
Spirit, knowing them "after the flesh" no more. The meetings
started themselves, spontaneously, in testimony, praise and
worship. The testimonies were never hurried by a call for
"popcorn." We had no prearranged programmed to be jammed
through the time. Our time was the Lord's. We had real
testimonies from fresh heart-experience. Otherwise, the
shorter the testimonies, the better.
A dozen might be on their feet at one time, trembling under
the mighty power of God. We did not have to get our cure
from some leader. And we were free from lawlessness. We were
shut up to God in prayer in the meetings, our minds on Him.
All obeyed God, in meekness and humility. In honor we
"preferred one another." The Lord was liable to burst
through any one. We prayed for this continually. Someone
would finally get up anointed for the message. All seemed to
recognize this and gave way. It might be a child, a woman,
or a man. It might be from the back seat, or from the front.
It made no difference. We rejoiced that God was working. No
one wished to show himself. We thought only of obeying God.
In fact, there was an atmosphere of God there that forbade
any one but a fool attempting to put himself forward without
the real anointing. And such did not last long. The Spirit,
from the throne, controlled the meetings. Those were truly
wonderful days. I often said that I would rather live six
months at that time than 50 years of ordinary life. But God
is just the same today. Only we have changed.
Some one might be speaking. Suddenly the Spirit would fall
upon the congregation. God Himself would give the altar
call. Men would fall all over the house, like the slain in
battle, or rush for the altar en masse, to seek God. The
scene often resembled a forest of fallen trees. Such a scene
cannot be imitated. I never saw an altar call given in those
early days. God Himself would call them. And the preacher
knew when to quit. When He spoke we all obeyed. It seemed a
fearful thing to hinder or grieve the Spirit. The whole
place was steeped in prayer, God was in His holy temple. It
was for man to keep silent. The shekinah glory rested there.
In fact, some claim to have seen the glory by night over the
building. I do not doubt it. I have stopped more than once
within two blocks of the place and prayed for strength
before I dared to go on. The presence of the Lord was so
real.
Presumptuous men would sometimes come among us. Especially
preachers who would try to spread themselves, in
self-opinionating. But their effort was short-lived. The
breath would be taken from them. Their minds would wander,
their brains reel. Things would turn black before their
eyes. They could not go on. I never saw one get by with it
in those days. They were up against God. No one cut them
off. We simply prayed. The Holy Spirit did the rest. We
wanted the Spirit to control. He wound them up in short
order. They were carried out dead, spiritually speaking.
They generally bit the dust in humility, going through the
process we had all gone through. In other words they died
out, came to see themselves in all their weakness, then in
childlike humility and confession were taken up of God,
transformed through the mighty "baptism" in the Spirit. The
"old man" died with all his pride, arrogance and good works.
In my own case I came to abhor myself. I begged the Lord to
drop a curtain so close behind me on my past that it would
hit my heels. He told me to forget every good deed as though
it had never occurred, as soon as it was accomplished
anything for Him, lest my good works become a snare to me.
We saw some wonderful things in those days. Even very good
men came to abhor themselves in the clearer light of God.
The preachers died the hardest. But when God got through
with them they gladly turned a new page and chapter. That
was one reason they fought so hard. Death is not at all a
pleasant experience. And strong men die hard.
Frank Bartleman's personal and eye-witness accounts of the
events at the Azusa Revival is excerpted from his book How
Pentecost Came to Los Angeles, now reprinted as Azusa
Street, available online at
www.thevoicebooks.com.
Hungry for more?
Get
The Voice magazine.
Click here to subscribe or call
954 456-6032.
Read more articles from our online collections by selecting from the
categories in the left column.
