I gave my life to the Lord at the age of seven. I remember it as if it were yesterday.My parents took me to a meeting at the Johannesburg Bible Institute. It was fully multiracial – quite a rare thing in South Africa at that time. We sat about three rows from the back on the right-hand side.
A middle-aged student with a brown complexion by the name of Charlie Cain sang The Holy City better than I’ve ever heard it sung. A quartet of young black students sang I’m Lookin’ for the Stone in beautiful four-part harmony. As they sang they came down the aisle and searched among the chairs until they found the ‘stone’ which was a big black Bible.I was that relieved it hadn’t been under my chair. I can still sing that song, even though I’ve never heard it before or since that night . The preacher was another man with a brown face. I can’t remember anything he said, but at the end he asked everyone to close their eyes,
My experience
Holy Spirit
with the
and invited people who wanted to receive Jesus into their hearts to put up their hands. I didn’t close my eyes, nor did I put up my hand, but in my heart I asked Jesus to come in. Afterwards, I noticed a woman about three rows in front of us who had put up her hand, handing out Wilson’s toffees to people from a little white handbag. My little seven-year-old mind said “Now that she’s asked Jesus into her heart she is generous.”
​ I didn’t experience any dramatic change in my life after this, but when I told my father about it a few days later, he gave me a great big bear-hug. I wasn’t sure why he was so excited, but now that I’m a father and a grandfather I understand.
Then, at the age of 12, I watched my sister getting baptised. I was very moved by the event and asked her about it the next day. She then helped me to “recommit my life to Jesus.” In the days immediately after that, I was turned on fire: I became passionate for God; the Scriptures came alive to me; and for weeks I even led family devotions every night. I desperately wanted to get baptised too, but my parents said I should wait until I was thirteen. I did as they asked, but by the time I did get baptised, my Grandma had died, and I was sad, because I had really wanted her to be there.
​
My parents gave me a brand-new Bible for my baptism. It was black with thin silk pages, and had a beautiful “A” on the front. And it zipped up. My Mom inscribed it in the front in beautiful calligraphy. It was my most prized possession, and I still have it. The zip is broken, and the front cover is burned from the day I left it on the stove by mistake. All that is left of the ”A” is a sticky patch. It is marked and underlined on every page – so inspired was I in reading it. Even though it was the old King James Version, it read for me as easily as the morning newspaper.
By this time I could pray fluently in public – in Elizabethan English: “Thee … thou … would’st not … could’st not” and all! I did embarrass myself in a prayer meeting after school one day when I called God “Sir” instead of “Thee.”
All-in-all I was really turned on for God.
Then at the age of 16, I was lying on my bed reading “The Cross and the Switchblade,” and for the first time encountered teaching about the Baptism in the Spirit and about speaking in tongues. This began a very long journey of doubt and searching for me. Through the 1960s and 70s, charismatic churches mushroomed, and many people were talking about the baptism in the Holy Spirit. There was a strong feeling – even explicit teaching – that if you hadn’t spoken in tongues, you had not been filled with the Spirit.
​I finished school and trained as a teacher, all the time serving the Lord in my church and in Scripture Union. During my three years in teaching, I led SCA groups and leadership camps. I then joined Scripture Union full-time to work with SCA groups in schools throughout the Transvaal. In this work we mixed with people – especially teachers – from all kinds of churches, many of whom were charismatic and talked about being “filled with the Spirit.”
I knew it would be awful to be full-time in the Lord’s work without knowing if I were filled with the Spirit. So one night my wife and I knelt down in front of the fire and specifically asked for the filling of the Spirit. We particularly wanted to speak in tongues. I imagined that speaking in tongues would be (pardon the expression) rather like vomiting – something that happens to you without your having control over it. We did not speak in tongues at that time, but certainly experienced a new joy and power in our ministry. In fact, some time later, one of the charismatic school teachers asked if I had been “zapped!”
After five years in Scripture Union I went back to teaching for another five years, and then was invited by Rosebank Union Church to join the ministry as a pastor, which I did.
I was able to study by correspondence while I was in the ministry, and was ordained three years later.The church during this time, under the leadership of Rev Terry Rae, experienced tremendous growth. But at the same time, quite outspoken people of charismatic persuasion criticised us and said things like, “Rosebank Union is dead from the neck up.” One Monday morning (how pastors love to receive letters on a Monday morning!) we received a letter that said, “The reason that you and Terry Rae have no power in your ministry is that you have not been filled with the Spirit, and have not spoken in tongues.” That does wonders for your confidence!
Time went by, and in my forties I hit a quite serious depression, partly caused by lack of confidence about whether I was filled with the Holy Spirit. I had recently read a book by David Pawson which had helped me as an Evangelical to accept that there was such a thing in Scripture as a filling with the Holy Spirit separate from conversion. So I now found myself more open to seeking a new experience.
Eventually, in desperation, we invited friends whom we trusted, and who had clearly had a charismatic experience, to come and pray for us to be filled. They came one Friday night. We specifically wanted the filling of the Holy Spirit and would like to have received the gift of tongues. While they were praying for us, they asked us if they were any sounds in our heads that we could speak out. There simply weren’t, and nothing happened. When they had finished praying for us, I asked that they leave rather than engage in small talk. By now it was nine at night, and I had to go up to the church to fetch the children from youth groups. In the car on the way, I remember being very angry with God, hitting the steering wheel with my fists and saying things like, “Am I too hard a nut for you to crack? Or do you just not care enough about me?”
My anger continued during the night and into the next day. That Saturday morning, I was working out in the sun building a shelter for my caravan. I was still angry with God and was hammering in nails harder than was strictly necessary. About mid-morning, I became a bit calmer. Then I felt that I heard a voice within me. It could have been just my own thoughts, but I don’t think it was. The voice said: “Andrew, are you willing to accept that the experience you had when you were twelve years old after your sister’s baptism was in fact your filling with the Holy Spirit? Will you accept that even if I never give you the gift of tongues?” I grappled with the question for quite a while and then, up on top of the carport, I told God that I would.
It was hot out in the sun and by lunchtime I was very tired. After lunch I went and lay on my bed. After a time, I heard the same voice within. This time it said, “Are you willing to make a fool of yourself for my sake?” If the voice was indeed from the Lord, I could hardly say no! I knew what the voice was hinting at. Many times I had heard people encouraging others to start making sounds with their mouth – even gibberish – which the Holy Spirit could then take and turn into tongues. I had always regarded this as stupid and had not been willing to do it. Now I felt the Lord was asking me indeed to do it. So, in embarrassment, I closed the bedroom door so that no one would hear what I was doing. Instead of starting with gibberish, I started with the phrase “Kyrie eleison” which I knew was Greek, but did not know what it meant. (I have since discovered it means “Lord have mercy.”) And so I began saying that phrase quietly over and over again and then introducing other phrases and syllables that had no meaning. Within a fairly short time I was finding it quite easy, and very relaxing. But I couldn’t tell if it was me or the Holy Spirit doing it.
Over the next few days I tried it a number of times, most effectively in front of the fire after everyone had gone to bed. It grew into a very fluent flow. With great embarrassment I told my wife what I had done, and was delighted that she was so pleased for me.
I never did fully get past the question of whether it was me or the Holy Spirit doing it. After all it was me doing the talking. But what convinced me of the genuineness of the gift, was the peace and assurance it brought, as well as a new ability to weep for joy in the things of the Lord. (I have never been able to weep easily.) There were also some tears of relief that all my years in the ministry had not been wasted. But what convinced me most of all, was that I have never doubted again that I have been filled with the Spirit.
​That experience, like the one when I was 12, lasted for about a year, and then I settled – I suspect like everyone else – into a much more “normal” Christian life.
What my experience has particularly taught me is that “The wind blows where it wishes; you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it is coming or where it is going. Even so is everyone born of the Spirit.” (John 3:8.) One of the great characteristics of the Holy Spirit is that he delights to work differently with every person. He will not be put in a box, nor can we be dogmatic about how people should receive him, and what the evidence of it should be. I believe that I was actually filled with the Spirit when I was twelve, but there was no-one who could explain it to me at the time. The gift of tongues which I received 35 years later was just that – a gracious gift of God. It was not the sign that I was filled with the Spirit, but it did serve to give me confidence that I had been, as it has done for many others.
​
​