Saints and Sinners

Or how I learned the rules and regulations of Pentecostalism, and then broke every one.


Well, not all of them. I didn't smoke tobacco. But let me rewind.


Yesterday, was my big day of research in Springfield, MO. And why was I coming to Springfield, MO when they have no real circus history here? Because I needed information on the Pentecostal faith, since my main character's father is a Pentecostal preacher. As I have revealed in a previous post, I am not exactly what you'd call a religious person. I am fascinated by religion, but I didn't grow up in a religious house, and aside from taking a Philosophy of Religion course in college and being tricked into going to church (and even a religious retreat once under the guise of a camping trip) by a particularly zealous Christian friend of mine growing up who was always praying for me to become a Christian, I am pretty oblivious to faith. I appreciate that some people have it, I think it's wonderful that they do, and love discussing it with people, but it's not something that I experience or practice in my own life. I will admit too, that very conservative religions make me a little uneasy. I've never understood the need to tell other people how they should live their life, and while I know that there is much more to some of these religious sects, that's the part that I have a hard time grappling with. Plus my few run-ins with conversion attempts at an early age were pretty terrifying. So, deciding to go the Assemblies of God National Office was a bit of an intimidating venture. 

After talking with Vesta in West Baden, Indiana, who grew up in a very strict Pentecostal house, I was worried that I would do something,or say something,or dress in a way that would be offensive or would ostracize me. She had mentioned that the women who went to her mother's church didn't wear makeup or paint their nails, didn't cut their hair, and wore dresses or skirts down to their ankles. So, I tried to dress as conservatively as my travel wardrobe would allow, which meant a long skirt and the only shirt I had that wasn't a tank top. Of course, I realized that this shirt had a huge cut out in the back, so at the last minute, I put my denim shirt over it all. When I arrived at the Assemblies of God, I definitely received a warm welcome. What I figured out by the end of my trip there was that THEY all assumed I was the conservative Pentecost, since they were all wearing make up and pants and tank tops. I was the one that looked like a sister wife extra(I know, I know, I'm mixing my faiths. I don't mean to be disrespectful...just figured this reference would be a little more widely known). So, lesson number 1: don't assume that the more traditional and extreme factions are representative of the whole.


The Assemblies of God National Office is HUGE. Like national government building huge. Like Pentagon huge (Ok, maybe not that huge, but it had that feel). They even have their own security vehicles that have "Assemblies of God Security" printed in Old English script on the sides (sadly, I didn't get a picture of them). 

Part of the Assemblies of God Complex. This picture doesn't even begin to capture its magnitude.

At the door, my name was taken down and I was give badge. Then I wandered around until I found the Pentecostal Heritage Center. There were no other visitors and no employees in the museum, so I wandered around freely by myself for over two hours, taking copious notes. I learned a great deal about the history of Pentecostalism, including some of the main tenets, and particularly the language people within the faith use to talk about it. For example, Pentecosts refer to speaking in tongues as being "baptized in the Holy Spirit." It is a crucial part of the faith, almost the defining character of the belief system. When someone falls to the ground in a service, that behavior is called being "slain by God." 

My security/welcome badge

The religion is very experiential, and as a result, evangelism and missionary work are very important. In fact, almost anyone can become a preacher. Since the earliest days of the religion's foundation, women and children were permitted to become preachers. Pretty impressive. Gay preachers are prohibited though (not impressive). Sadly, I'm not surprised, but hopefully someday they'll change that so that truly EVERYONE can be a preacher if they want to. 


As I went through the history of Pentecostalism, I started to notice some interesting parallels between circus and the religion. Traveling evangelism is a huge part of the history. Many preachers traveled all around the country, alone or with their family, preaching their beliefs. Their travel schedules seemed very close to the circus route schedules. Also, the spectacle of worship seemed to draw a lot of followers, similar to the draw of the circus. Often times, revivals and services involved music and dance and general celebration, in addition to the drama of tongue-speaking and healings. I'm still ruminating on this and not sure exactly how it'll factor into my novel, but it feels pretty key.

Traveling evangelists and their gospel car

Mediocre picture of tent revival photo. Reminded me of circus camps.

Before leaving, I was fortunate enough to meet the Assemblies of God archivist, who gave me a free copy of a book written by a Pentecostal preacher during the time period in which my novel is set. He also gave some more reading material. This is where I ran into my second bit of trouble. I told him that I was originally from San Diego and he immediately responded, "Oh, you must be part of so-and-so's church." To which I responded, "No." Then he asked me what my background was. Not wanting to say "I was raised without religion," or "I'm a non-believer, an atheist, a heathen," I chose to say, "Well, I was raised Unitarian," thinking that the very, very brief period I spent in the Unitarian Universalist Cooperative Pre-School and church would somehow sound better, and more relatable. He gave me a funny look  and nodded apprehensively. It was only later, after talking to some other Pentecostals, that I realized my faux-pas. "Oh gosh," they said to me later, "it would've been better to say that you didn't believe in anything than to say you're Unitarian." Apparently there's quite a hippie-dippy stigma assigned to Unitarianism. Why it is considered worse is still a mystery to me.

Odds and Ends From the Museum

Terrifying Evangelizing Ventriloquist Dummy

Young evangelist with oil drums full of conversion materials

This book tells the tale of a dedicated young evangelist fighting crime, sin, and general unholiness on the "mean streets" of the inner city. It was also made into a movie. I am not making this up.

Hop on board the S.S. Evangelism 

After my dose of Pentecostalism, I figured it was time for some play time. So, I drove over to Fantastic Caverns, one of Missouri's many underground cave networks. Not only did this hold appeal as a first for me (never been in a cavern before), but for the very crucial attraction of being a cool spot (literally cool, as in temperature). Missouri was hot (the temperature gauge in my car hadn't crept lower than a 102 all day), so a cold, dark place sounded perfect.


Fantastic Caverns is pretty commercialized, with a huge gift shop filled with random and unrelated geodes and gems, but the caverns themselves were very impressive. They have it illuminated for maximum drama too, with spotlights casting warm, orange glows and long shadows over stalagmites and stalagtites. Along the way, our 
guide/tram driver told us the history of the cave. Like many caves, it was discovered in the mid-1800s by accident when a man was out hunting with his dog. Later, the same man put an ad in the paper looking for people who would be willing to explore it, and a women's exploration league answered. These intrepid women were the first to see the cave's interior, and they wrote their names on a wall inside (which still remains).

The rock where the first explorers signed their names, still so clear after so many years.

After its discovery, Fantastic Caverns was used for all manner of things. It was a speakeasy and casino in the 1920s (possible location for interesting new scene in my book?) and a concert hall in the 1960s, hosting the likes of Tom T. Hall and Buck Owens. Now, it is a very popular tourist site.

The stage where Buck Owens and Tom T. Hall performed in the 1960s. This was also the site of the speakeasy's bar (the dance floor was out where our tram was parked). Our guide didn't perform a ditty for us or pour us a drink, but he did do a demonstration on how to make salt peter (a crucial ingredient and gun powder made from particular minerals often found in caves...though not in Fantastic Caverns)

While I was in the cave, I kept thinking of the film "Cave of Forgotten Dreams" by Werner Herzog, which I had the opportunity to see before I left for my trip. The Chauvet cave is so carefully maintained and protected (it was a great privilege for Herzog and his team to be allowed inside and their activity and duration of filming was strictly controlled). It made me wonder about this cave, that is trafficked by so many people. I wonder how it is faring. It looked like it was in good condition, but I'm certainly no cave expert. I wonder what the damage of our presence is. They made mention of the endangered cavefish that makes its home in the lower depths of the cave. Is it impacted by us and our activity far above its head? The cave does serve as a pretty significant educational tool, and it gets so many visitors, that it is certainly doing a service. It also has a long history of human use so perhaps better it than a previously untouched cave. Still, this is a question that always plagues me with historic landmarks or artifacts: should they be hidden away to protect them from the impact of human contact, or should they be shown to everyone always, with the knowledge that that this mere showing will result in its demise over time?

Anyway, after all that caving and soul saving it seemed to be time for a drink, so I made my way over to Mothers Brewing Company, an up and coming local brewery. It's in a former industrial bakery and is a beautiful space, with a modest but open tasting room with a good collection of tables and a window looking into the brew center. Sadly, they weren't doing any tours, but I did get to take my own tasting tour through their collection of beers. Their beers are excellent and very unique (they even have a seasonal called Holy Mole which takes the chocolate and cinnamon flavors of a traditional Mexican mole and mixes them with a darker almost stout or porter base). If you like beer and are in Missouri, try them. They've only been around for a year, so their distribution is low (none in Cali unfortunately), but they are a brewery to watch for.

Ahhh...Mother's milk

As I was hoping would happen, the brewery turned out to be the best place to meet new people. People who like beer tend to be pretty friendly and enthusiastic to talk to fellow beer lovers, and especially with more and more beer consumption comes more and more conversation. I was adopted by a group of locals who themselves had just met at the brewery, and when they found out why I was in town, they all were eager and willing to contribute to my knowledge base. In fact, several of them had grown up Pentecostal, and were still practicing. After some time at Mothers, one of my new friends invited me and another couple to join him, his wife, and his friends for dinner at Farmer's Gastropub down the street. We continued our merrymaking and conversation over there, where I met another Pentecostal man who gave me even more insight into the contemporary practice of the religion. They were so open and friendly, and so willing to talk to me about their beliefs without trying to proselytize or convert, it was wonderful. We talked about all manner of things, but my discussions with them about religion really stick out. Paul and I had very long philosophical conversations about faith and both agreed that it is a shame that dialogue isn't encouraged and engaged in between believers and non-believers in a respectful and productive manner. It leads to so much tension, miscommunication, and stereotype. 


After a long and boisterous dinner, we went our separate ways, and I returned to Mothers Brewery in time to get a call from Nancy Rose, my couchsurfing host. "Where are you?" she asked, and she and her friends came and scooped me up in their car for more merriment. They whisked me off to a slightly divey but welcoming bar to hear some blues. Her friend Amy, back for a visit from Shanghai where she teaches, also grew up Pentecostal and has since left the faith, and gave me some more insight and perspective. Apparently, you can't swing a pint glass around Springfield without hitting a Pentecostal. Lucky me. :) We danced and drank and laughed together until the early hours, when they dropped me off at my car and I made my way back to Nancy's. It was an epic day for sure, and the most welcomed I have felt on my whole trip.


It was also the night that I broke two of the three no-no's of Pentecostalism:


-Don't drink (check)
-Don't dance (check)
-Don't smoke tobacco...safe!


I wonder if the fact that I was doing these sacriligious acts with Pentecostals lessens the sinning impact?

That's what they keep telling me. Only this time, it's in neon.