The Pentecostal World 9781000871227, 1000871223

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
List of Contributors
Introduction: Remaking the Pentecostal World1
PART I: Complicating “Roots” – The Global/Local Nexus in Pentecostal History
1. The Glocalization of Pentecostal Religion: The Case of Chile
2. No Eye has Seen: The Local and Global in Writing Australasian Pneumatic Christianity
3. One God, Many Movements: The Historical Narratives of Oneness Pentecostals
4. On the Footsteps of the Faith: The Nineteenth Century Transnational Foundations of Latin American Pentecostalism
5. Arrows Flying to the Five Continents: Hong Kong and the Pillars of Early Pentecostal Print Culture
6. Student Movements and Spiritual Identity in the Growth of Pentecostalism in Kenya
PART II: Abandoning “Waves” – Localizing Pentecostal Historiography
7. Adversities and Peculiarities of Pentecostalism in Greece
8. Russian Pentecostals: From the USSR to Post-Soviet Russia
9. The Nigeria-Biafra Civil War and the Birth of Indigenous Neo-Pentecostalism in Igboland, 1967–1980
10. A Revival Within a Revival: The 1940s–1950s Canadian Latter Rain Movement and Its Influence in Global Charismatic Christianity
11. The Glocalization of the Assemblies of God During the Warlord Period in China
12. A Brief Account of the Revival Movements among the Nagas in North East India
PART III: Contextualizing Spirituality – Pentecostal Demonology and Inter-Religious Encounters
13. Toward a Globally Contextual Model of U.S. Demonology and Deliverance
14. The Historical Implications of Wimber’s Theology of Healing and Deliverance
15. The Contextuality of a Pentecostal Witchcraft Theology in Nigeria
16. It Takes Two to Tangle? A Comparative Approach to Pentecostal Mission(s) in Muslim Zanzibar
17. Conversion and (Dis)Continuity among the Bhil Pentecostals of Rajasthan, India
18. The Catholic Charismatic Renewal in Latin America: Between Church Institution and Popular Religion
PART IV: Problematizing Ethics: Gender, Sexuality, and Race in Pentecostal Fragmentation
19. You Preach Like a Man: Beyond the Typical Gender Roles of Canadian Pentecostalism
20. Queering Black Pentecostalism in the United States
21. Early Black-Led Pentecostal Interraciality as a Site for Theorizing Race
22. Pentecostal Plurality and Sexual Politics in Africana Worlds
23. Female Pastoral Leadership, Ambivalent Femininities, and African Pentecostalism in Belgium
24. Ideological Coloniality and Decolonizing Worship Practice at Hillsong
PART V: Mapping Power: Pentecostal Flows of Politics and Prosperity
25. Prayer Warriors in Global Entanglements
26. Grounding the Prosperity Gospel: Sites of Wealth and Power in Ghana
27. Pentecostalism and Global Development: Assessing Pentecostal Engagement with Social Development in Theory and Practice
28. Zambian (Unruly) Pentecostalism
29. The Many Faces of Pentecostal Politics: Socio-Anthropological Approaches from the Southern Cone
30. The Pentecostal Complex in Poland: Missionaries, Migrants, and Social Imaginaries
PART VI: Tracing Homogeneities – Media, Knowledge, and Institutions in the Making of Pentecostal Identity
31. The Catholic Charismatic Renewal and Pope Francis Between Pastoral Openness and Ecclesiastical Centralization
32. What Role Does Ecumenism Play for Pentecostals?
33. Consuming is Believing: Pentecostal Material Culture in Argentina
34. Of Clouds and Cathedrals: Metaphor and Ambivalence in Charismatic Media Ideologies
35. Problematizing the Statistical Study of Global Pentecostalism: An Evaluation of David B. Barrett’s Research Methodology
36. Constructing Global Pentecostalism: The Role of the Academy
Index

Citation preview

THE PENTECOSTAL WORLD

The Pentecostal World provides a comprehensive and critical introduction to one of the most vibrant and diverse expressions of contemporary Christianity. Unlike many books on Pentecostalism, this collection of essays from all continents does not attempt to synthesize and simplify the movement’s inherent diversity and fragmented dispersion. Instead, the global flows of Pentecostalism are firmly grounded in local histories and expressions, as well as the various modes of their worldwide reproduction. The book thus argues for a new understanding of Pentecostal and Charismatic movements that accounts for the simultaneous processes of pluralization and homogenization in contemporary World Christianity. Written by a distinguished team of international contributors across various disciplines, the volume is comprised of six parts, with each offering a critical perspective on classical themes in the study of Pentecostalism. Led by a programmatic introduction, the thirty-six chapters within these parts explore a variety of themes: history and historiography, conversion, spirit beliefs and exorcism, prosperity, politics, gender relations, sexual identities, racism, development, migration, pilgrimage, interreligious relations, media, ecumenism, and academic research. The Pentecostal World is essential reading for students and researchers in anthropology, history, political science, religious studies, sociology, and theology. The book will also be very useful for those in related fields, such as culture studies, black studies, ethnic studies, and gender studies. Michael Wilkinson is Professor of Sociology at Trinity Western University, Canada. Jörg Haustein is Associate Professor of World Christianity at the University of Cambridge and a Fellow of Selwyn College, Cambridge.

Routledge Worlds Series

The Routledge Worlds are magisterial surveys of key historical epochs, edited and written by world-renowned experts. Giving unprecedented breadth and depth of coverage, they are the works against which all future books on their subjects will be judged and are essential reading for anyone with a serious interest in the subject. The Hindu World Sushil Mittal, Gene Thursby The Islamic World Andrew Rippin The Occult World Christopher Partridge The Gnostic World Garry Trompf, Jay Johnston, and Gunner Mikkelsen The World of the Bahá’í Faith Robert H. Stockman The Biblical World, second edition John Barton The Early Christian World, second edition Philip F. Esler https://www.routledge.com/Routledge-Worlds/book-series/WORLDS

THE PENTECOSTAL WORLD

Edited by Michael Wilkinson and Jörg Haustein

Designed Cover Credit: Created by Jörg Haustein, adapted from image produced with AI service Dream by Wombo First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 selection and editorial matter, Michael Wilkinson and Jörg Haustein; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Michael Wilkinson and Jörg Haustein to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Wilkinson, Michael, 1965- editor. | Haustein, Jörg, editor. Title: The Pentecostal world / edited by Michael Wilkinson and Jörg Haustein. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, [2023] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2022053868 | ISBN 9780367621803 (hbk) | ISBN 9780367621834 (pbk) | ISBN 9781003108269 (ebk) Subjects: LCSH: Pentecostalism. Classification: LCC BR1644 .P4623 2023 | DDC 269/.4--dc23/eng/20230130 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022053868 ISBN: 978-0-367-62180-3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-62183-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-10826-9 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269 Typeset in Bembo by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

CONTENTS

List of Contributors

ix

Introduction: Remaking the Pentecostal World Michael Wilkinson and Jörg Haustein

1

PART I

Complicating “Roots” – The Global/Local Nexus in Pentecostal History 17 1 The Glocalization of Pentecostal Religion: The Case of Chile Martin Lindhardt

19

2 No Eye has Seen: The Local and Global in Writing Australasian Pneumatic Christianity Mark P. Hutchinson

32

3 One God, Many Movements: The Historical Narratives of Oneness Pentecostals Andrea Shan Johnson

44

4 On the Footsteps of the Faith: The Nineteenth Century Transnational Foundations of Latin American Pentecostalism Leonardo Marcondes Alves

55

5 Arrows Flying to the Five Continents: Hong Kong and the Pillars of Early Pentecostal Print Culture Alex Mayfield

67

v

Contents

6 Student Movements and Spiritual Identity in the Growth of Pentecostalism in Kenya Kyama Mugambi

82

PART II

Abandoning “Waves” – Localizing Pentecostal Historiography

95

7 Adversities and Peculiarities of Pentecostalism in Greece Evangelos Karagiannis

97

8 Russian Pentecostals: From the USSR to Post-Soviet Russia Vera Kliueva and Roman Poplavsky 9 The Nigeria-Biafra Civil War and the Birth of Indigenous Neo-Pentecostalism in Igboland, 1967–1980 Richard Burgess

107

122

10 A Revival Within a Revival: The 1940s–1950s Canadian Latter Rain Movement and Its Influence in Global Charismatic Christianity 135 Michael McClymond 11 The Glocalization of the Assemblies of God During the Warlord Period in China 146 Connie Au 12 A Brief Account of the Revival Movements among the Nagas in North East India 157 Elungkiebe Zeliang PART III

Contextualizing Spirituality – Pentecostal Demonology and Inter-Religious Encounters

171

13 Toward a Globally Contextual Model of U.S. Demonology and Deliverance 173 Candy Gunther Brown 14 The Historical Implications of Wimber’s Theology of Healing and Deliverance 186 Peter Althouse 15 The Contextuality of a Pentecostal Witchcraft Theology in Nigeria 199 Judith Bachmann vi

Contents

16 It Takes Two to Tangle? A Comparative Approach to Pentecostal Mission(s) in Muslim Zanzibar 211 Hans Olsson 17 Conversion and (Dis)Continuity among the Bhil Pentecostals of Rajasthan, India 223 Sarbeswar Sahoo 18 The Catholic Charismatic Renewal in Latin America: Between Church Institution and Popular Religion 237 Jakob Egeris Thorsen PART IV

Problematizing Ethics: Gender, Sexuality, and Race in Pentecostal Fragmentation

251

19 You Preach Like a Man: Beyond the Typical Gender Roles of Canadian Pentecostalism 253 Linda M. Ambrose 20 Queering Black Pentecostalism in the United States 264 Keri Day 21 Early Black-Led Pentecostal Interraciality as a Site for Theorizing Race 275 David D. Daniels, III 22 Pentecostal Plurality and Sexual Politics in Africana Worlds 288 Adriaan van Klinken 23 Female Pastoral Leadership, Ambivalent Femininities, and African Pentecostalism in Belgium 299 Joseph Bosco Bangura 24 Ideological Coloniality and Decolonizing Worship Practice at Hillsong 316 Ntandoyenkosi Mlambo and Tanya Riches PART V

Mapping Power: Pentecostal Flows of Politics and Prosperity

329

25 Prayer Warriors in Global Entanglements 331 Giovanni Maltese

vii

Contents

26 Grounding the Prosperity Gospel: Sites of Wealth and Power in Ghana 343 Karen Lauterbach and George M. Bob-Milliar 27 Pentecostalism and Global Development: Assessing Pentecostal Engagement with Social Development in Theory and Practice 354 Christopher Wadibia 28 Zambian (Unruly) Pentecostalism 366 Chammah J. Kaunda 29 The Many Faces of Pentecostal Politics: Socio-Anthropological Approaches from the Southern Cone 378 Nicolás Panotto 30 The Pentecostal Complex in Poland: Missionaries, Migrants, and Social Imaginaries 390 Natalia Zawiejska PART VI

Tracing Homogeneities – Media, Knowledge, and Institutions in the Making of Pentecostal Identity

405

31 The Catholic Charismatic Renewal and Pope Francis Between Pastoral Openness and Ecclesiastical Centralization 407 Valentina Ciciliot 32 What Role Does Ecumenism Play for Pentecostals? 417 Cecil M. Robeck, Jr. 33 Consuming is Believing: Pentecostal Material Culture in Argentina 431 Joaquín Algranti 34 Of Clouds and Cathedrals: Metaphor and Ambivalence in Charismatic Media Ideologies 442 Travis Warren Cooper 35 Problematizing the Statistical Study of Global Pentecostalism: An Evaluation of David B. Barrett’s Research Methodology 457 Adam Stewart 36 Constructing Global Pentecostalism: The Role of the Academy 472 Allan Heaton Anderson Index 484 viii

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Joaquín Algranti, PhD, is a sociologist who received his doctoral degree in social sciences from the University of Buenos Aires and the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales. He is a researcher of the National Council of Scientific and Technical Research (CONICET) and Professor of Social Theory at the University of Buenos Aires. His research focuses on the comparative study of religious adherence through the analysis of consumption, therapies, and institutional dynamics of evangelical and Catholic groups. He has published four books and papers in various social science journals in America and Europe. His last work, written with Damián Setton, is titled Imperfect Classifications: Sociology of Religious Worlds. Peter Althouse, PhD, is Professor of Theology and PhD Director of Global Contextual Theology at Oral Roberts University. His research interests include constructive theology, contextual theology, and the theology and practice of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christianity. His publications include Spirit of the Last Days: Pentecostal Eschatology in Conversation with Jürgen Moltmann (T & T Clark), as well as co-authored books Catch the Fire: Soaking Prayer and Charismatic Renewal (Northern Illinois University Press) and Pentecostals and the Body (Brill) with Michael Wilkinson. His current research explores the charismatic culture and embodiment of inner healing rituals. Leonardo Marcondes Alves is a Migration and Religion Research Fellow at VID Specialized University, Stavanger, Norway, where he is currently a doctoral candidate. His research focuses on migration, Pentecostalism, and biblical hermeneutics through anthropological approaches on Latin America and the diasporas of Latin peoples. Linda M. Ambrose, PhD (Waterloo), is Professor of History at Laurentian University in Sudbury, Canada, where she teaches Gender Studies and Canadian Social History. Her publications on women and gender in Canadian Pentecostalism have appeared in edited collections and journals including  Pneuma, PentecoStudies, Canadian Journal of PentcostalCharismatic Christianity, Historical Papers of the Canadian Society of Church History,  and  Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism. Ambrose is co-author (with Michael Wilkinson) of After the Revival: Pentecostalism and the Making of a Canadian Church  (McGill-Queen’s University Press 2020). Her current projects include a biography, Bernice Gerard: A Complicated Pentecostal ix

List of Contributors

Woman (under contract with University of British Columbia Press), and an edited collection (with Michael Wilkinson) entitled The Canadian Pentecostal Experience (Brill). Allan Heaton Anderson, DTh, is Emeritus Professor of Mission and Pentecostal Studies at the University of Birmingham, where he worked for twenty-four years and supervised fifty completed doctorates from four continents. His research is on the history and theology of global Pentecostalism and the relationship between Pentecostalism and African religions. He has authored and edited many books and articles, and his  Introduction to Pentecostalism (Cambridge 2004) has been translated into five languages. His latest book is Spirit-Filled World: Religious Dis/Continuity in African Pentecostalism (Palgrave Macmillan 2018). Connie Au, PhD (University of Birmingham, UK), is an adjunct lecturer of the Ecclesia Theological Seminary, an Assemblies of God seminary in Hong Kong. She teaches  pneumatologies and liturgies of different Christian traditions and  does research on Asian Pentecostalism and the history of Chinese Pentecostalism. She also translates theological books on church history and spirituality from English into Chinese. Judith Bachmann, PhD, is currently a research fellow at the Cluster of Excellency “Africa Multiple” at the University of Bayreuth, Germany. Dr. Bachmann has earned her doctorate from the University of Heidelberg in Religious Studies. Her research foci are Nigerian religious history, witchcraft beliefs among the Yoruba, interactions of Christianity, Islam and traditional practices, Pentecostalism, and African religions within global entanglements. She has published articles on Pentecostalism, global religious history, and witchcraft. Joseph Bosco Bangura, PhD, teaches  Missiology,  Intercultural Theology  and African Pentecostal Christianity at the Evangelische Theologische Faculteit, Leuven, Belgium and at the Protestant Theological University, Groningen, the Netherlands.  He is  assistant anglophone editor of the African Theology Worldwide. Previously, he was guest lecturer at the Institute of Catholic Theology, RWTH Aachen University, Aachen, Germany and scholar in residence at the Academy of Mission, University of Hamburg, Germany. Besides several peer-reviewed articles on the emerging field of Europe’s African Pentecostal Christianity, Bosco is author most recently of Pentecostalism in Sierra Leone (Verlag 2020) and co-editor of Is African Incurably Religious (Regnum 2020). George M. Bob-Milliar, PhD, is Associate Professor of African Studies in the Department of History and Political Studies, Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, Ghana. He published in the top-ranked journals in his field of specialization, and he has been supported by numerous grants and fellowships, including a British Academy grant, KNUST Research Fund (KRef ), A.G. Leventis Foundation fellowship, Africa Oxford Initiative (AfOx) fellowship, American Political Science Association (APSA) professional development grant, Andrew Mellon Foundation fellowship and Centre for International Governance Innovation (CIGI) grant, among others. He edits African Affairs, African Economic History, and Contemporary Journal of African Studies and sits on the editorial boards of several other scholarly journals. Candy Gunther Brown, PhD (Harvard University), is Professor of Religious Studies at Indiana University. Dr. Brown is author of The Word in the World: Evangelical Writing, Publishing, and Reading in America, 1789-1880 (University of North Carolina Press 2004); Testing Prayer:

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Science and Healing  (Harvard University Press 2012);  The Healing Gods: Complementary and Alternative Medicine in Christian America (Oxford University Press 2013); and Debating Yoga and Mindfulness in Public Schools: Reforming Secular Education or Reestablishing Religion? (University of North Carolina Press 2019). She is editor of Global Pentecostal and Charismatic Healing (Oxford University Press 2011), and co-editor (with Mark Silk) of  The Future of Evangelicalism in America (Columbia University Press 2016). Richard Burgess, PhD, is Senior Lecturer, School of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Roehampton. He earned a PhD in Theology at the University of Birmingham (2004). Previously, he worked as a research fellow in the Department of Theology and Religion, University of Birmingham. He has also taught theology in several higher education institutions in Nigeria. His research focuses on African Christianity and the interface between religion, migration, and development. He has published on Christianity in Africa and the African diaspora. Valentina Ciciliot, PhD, is Research Assistant at Ca’ Foscari University of Venice (Italy), in the  Department of Humanities. Her  research focuses on the history of contemporary Christianity, particularly Catholicism. She has worked on sanctity and canonizations during John Paul II’s pontificate, publishing the book  Donne sugli altari. Le canonizzazioni femminili di Giovanni Paolo II, Roma, Viella. Her publications also include research on the Catholic  Charismatic  Movement, which has been  supported by the European program Marie Skłodowska Curie action, on evangelicalism, and lately Christianity and ecology.  Travis Warren Cooper, PhD, is Associate Adjunct Professor of Philosophy and Religion at the University of Indianapolis. An anthropologist of religion, his research focuses on media and society. He is the author of  The Digital Evangelicals: Contesting Authority and Authenticity After the New Media Turn  (Indiana University Press). His current book project, The Metaforest, explores the role of film and memory in everyday life. He was recently a research fellow with St. Louis University’s Lived Religion in the Digital Age initiative and an inaugural participant in American Examples, a collaborative religious studies workshop at the University of Alabama. David D. Daniels III, PhD, is the Henry Winters Luce Professor of World Christianity at McCormick Theological Seminary where he joined the faculty in 1987 and the  Professor Extraordinarius at the Institute for Gender Studies, University of South Africa. He publishes on topics related to the history of the black church, Global Pentecostalism, and African Christians in sixteenth century Europe. He has participated on funded-research projects in the United States, Germany, Norway, and the Netherlands. He serves on the various boards, including the editorial board of the Journal of World Christianity. Keri Day, PhD, is Associate Professor of Constructive Theology and African American Religion at Princeton Theological Seminary in Princeton, NJ.  Her academic research focuses on constructive and political theology at the intersection of black feminist, womanist, and Afro-Pentecostal studies. She has authored four academic books; her most recent book being Azusa Reimagined: A Radical Vision of Religious and Democratic Belonging (2022). She was also recognized by NBC News as one of six black women at the center of theological education in America.

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List of Contributors

Dr Jörg Haustein is Associate Professor of World Christianity at the University of Cambridge and a Fellow of Selwyn College, Cambridge. His work sits at the intersection of anthropology, historiography, and theology, with primary research located in three fields: Pentecostalism, Islam and colonialism, and the intersection of religion and development. Alongside various articles on Pentecostalism, he has published a monograph on Ethiopian Pentecostal history (Harassowitz 2011) and was an Associate Editor for Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism (2021). He is a co-founder and coordinator of the European Research Network on Global Pentecostalism (GloPent.net) and serves as editor of its peer-reviewed journal PentecoStudies. Mark P. Hutchinson, PhD, is Professor of History and VP (Development) at Alphacrucis University College, Australia and associated with Western Sydney University.  He is an intellectual historian writing on global themes and new religious movements, in particular Pentecostalism, evangelicalism, and Italian Protestantism. His many books and articles include (with John Wolffe) The Cambridge Short History of Global Evangelicalism (2012) and The Twentieth Century: Themes in a Global Context  (2018). He is currently working with Paolo Zanini et al. on a large, two-volume Global History of Italian Protestantism (Brill 2024) aimed at connecting the German/anglophone story to its larger context. Andrea Shan Johnson holds a PhD in history from the University of Missouri. She serves as Associate Professor in the Department of History at California State University, Dominguez Hills, and bears responsibility for teaching classes on the histories of California, American immigration, civil rights, and recent U.S. history topics. Her research fields include the history of religion and social activism in the twentieth century United States. She is co-chair of the Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements unit in the American Academy of Religion, and history interest group leader for the Society for Pentecostal Studies. Evangelos Karagiannis, PhD, is a social and cultural anthropologist. He held positions at the University of Vienna, the University of Zurich, the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, and the University of Osnabrück. He currently works at the Institute for Human Sciences (Institut für die Wissenschaften vom Menschen) in Vienna. His research interests lie in the intersection of political anthropology, anthropology of religion, and anthropology of globalization with special focus on the tension between nation and religion/ confession. He has done extensive fieldwork among the Pomaks in Bulgaria, migrants in Germany, and Pentecostals in Greece. Adriaan van Klinken, PhD, is Professor of Religion and African Studies at the University of Leeds, and Extraordinary Professor in the Desmond Tutu Centre for Religion and Social Justice at the University of the Western Cape. His research focuses on contemporary Christianity and its social, cultural, and public roles in African societies, especially in relation to issues of gender and sexuality. His publications include Kenyan, Christian, Queer: Religion, LGBT Activism, and Arts of Resistance in Africa (Penn State University Press, 2019), and he was co-producer of the related documentary film Kenyan, Christian, Queer (2020). Vera Kliueva PhD in History, MA in Religious Studies, works at the Tyumen Scientific Center, the Siberian Branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences. She is an historian and anthropologist who studies Russian Evangelical Christianity. She is a visiting professor at the Tyumen Bible Seminary of Christians of the Evangelical Faith (Pentecostals). Her research interests include the oral history of Soviet and Russian Pentecostals, everyday life in xii

List of Contributors

Pentecostal churches, missionary work among indigenous peoples in the Russian Arctic, and methods for field research in “closed” (hard to reach) communities. She has (co-)authored and edited five monographs on Soviet and Post-Soviet Pentecostals and Baptists. Karen Lauterbach, PhD is Associate Professor at the Centre of African Studies, University of Copenhagen. Her research focuses on Christianity and histories of social change in Africa. She has written about charismatic Christianity, wealth, and power in Ghana, as well as Christianity, displacement, and moral practices of helping and hosting in Uganda. She has published the monograph Christianity, Wealth and Spiritual Power in Ghana (Palgrave Macmillan 2017) and co-edited Faith in African Lived Christianity: Bridging Anthropological and Theological Perspectives (Brill 2019), as well as numerous journal articles and book chapters. Martin Lindhardt, PhD in social anthropology, is Associate Professor at the University of Southern Denmark. His research focuses on Pentecostalism in Chile and Pentecostal/charismatic Christianity and witchcraft in Tanzania. He is the author of Power in Powerlessness: A Study of Pentecostal Life-Worlds in Urban Chile (Brill 2012) and the editor of several anthologies on Pentecostalism. Giovanni Maltese, PhD, is Assistant Professor of Religious Studies and Global Christianity and director of the homonymous Institute at the University of Hamburg. Maltese’s research focuses on religion, politics, and gender as well as on problems of method and theory in the study of religion. Maltese has authored two books and more than twenty articles and book chapters on Pentecostalism, Evangelicalism, populism, and rightwing authoritarianism, as well as on conceptualizations of Islam, religion(s), and masculinity among early twentiethcentury South- and Southeast Asian Muslim intellectuals. Alex Mayfield, PhD, is Assistant Professor of History at Asbury University. His research focuses on the intersection of Pentecostalism, globalization, and mission history within East Asia. He is the author of numerous articles and chapters on Pentecostalism and his work in the digital humanities has garnered several awards and grants. Most recently, his work on the China Historical Christian Database was supported by the U.S. National Endowment for the Humanities. In addition, he has served as the managing editor of Pneuma: The Journal of the Society for Pentecostal Studies since 2020. Michael McClymond, PhD, is Professor of Modern Christianity at Saint Louis University. He was educated at Northwestern, Yale, and the University of Chicago, and taught at Wheaton College, Westmont College, University of California, and University of Birmingham, UK. His books include: Familiar Stranger (on Jesus), Encyclopedia of Religious Revivals in America, 2 vols., The Theology of Jonathan Edwards, Wiley-Blackwell Companion to World Christianity, The Devil’s Redemption (on Christian universalism), 2 vols., and Martyrs, Monks, and Mystics. He won book awards from Christianity Today and The Gospel Coalition, advised fourteen PhD students,  and co-chaired the Evangelical Studies and Pentecostal-Charismatic Movements unit in the AAR. Ntandoyenkosi Mlambo is a lecturer at the University of South Africa with a keen interest in spatial justice in and through the church. She is currently writing her PhD in Church History, researching historical spatial actions in three congregations and the resultant formation of a theology of spatial justice. xiii

List of Contributors

Kyama Mugambi, PhD, is Assistant Professor of World Christianity at Yale Divinity School. He focuses on historical, social, cultural, theological, ecclesial, and epistemological themes within African urban Christianity. His book, A Spirit of Revitalization: Urban Pentecostalism in Kenya (Baylor University Press 2020), traces the history of Pentecostalism in Kenya outlining key figures and salient features. His recent research projects include an investigation of communality in Pentecostal communities, and a broader study of African Christian expressions in Kenya. Hans Olsson, PhD, is a Marie Curie Fellow at Centre of African Studies, University of Copenhagen. His research focuses on religion, politics, and culture in East and Southern Africa and has written on themes such as Pentecostal-Muslim encounters, religious belonging and migration and biblical farming. Olsson is the author of Jesus for Zanzibar: Narratives of Pentecostal (Non-)Belonging, Islam and Nation (Brill 2019) and several articles. His current research is funded by the European Union and deals with Evangelical-Charismatic articulations of farming and environmental stewardship in South Africa. Nicolás Panotto, PhD, is Associate Researcher at the Institute of International Studies, Arturo Prat University, Chile, and Director of Otros Cruces, an organization that facilitates dialogue on the formation of civil society and faith-based organizations. He has authored several books and research articles in the field of religion and politics, Pentecostalism, public theology, and post-colonial theory/theology. Roman Poplavsky is a junior researcher at Tyumen Scientific Center (Siberian Branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences). His research focuses on the history of Protestantism in Russia and he has written about conversion, religiosity, religious landscape, state-church relations, and Pentecostalism. He has co-authored one book and several articles on Soviet and Post-Soviet Pentecostals. Tanya Riches, PhD, is Senior Lecturer of Theology and MTh Course Coordinator at Hillsong College, Sydney (accredited through Alphacrucis University College). Her religious research has centered on ethnography in Pentecostal communities and includes co-authoring an insider/outsider dialogue between scholars and megachurch leaders in The Hillsong Movement Examined with Tom Wagner. Her PhD monograph entitled Worship and Social Engagement in Urban Aboriginal-led Australian Pentecostal Congregations  was based on research for which she won Fuller Theological Seminary’s Allan Hubbard School award. She has co-edited five special edition journals and published over fifteen articles and chapters. Cecil M. Robeck, Jr., PhD, is Senior Professor of Church History and Ecumenics and Special Assistant to the President for Ecumenical Relations at Fuller Theological Seminary. He is an ordained minister of the Assemblies of God and has engaged in ecumenical work since 1984, with the Commissions on Faith and Order of the National Council of Churches in the United States and the Vatican’s Dicastery for Promoting Christian Unity, the World Communion of Reformed Churches, the Lutheran World Federation, the Global Christian Forum, and the Lausanne Movement. His academic work has included Prophecy in Carthage, and The Azusa Street Mission and Revival, as well as some 300 articles on various biblical, theological, historical, and ecumenical themes. He is a former editor of Pneuma: The Journal of the Society for Pentecostal Studies, and he is the editor or co-editor of seven books including, The Cambridge Companion to Pentecostalism with Amos Yong, and a two-volume set, Towards a Global Vision of the Church: Explorations on Global Christianity and Ecclesiology with Sotiris Boukis and Ani xiv

List of Contributors

Ghazaryan Drissi. He continues to work on a three-volume study of Azusa Street and a book on Pentecostals and Christian Unity. Sarbeswar Sahoo, PhD, is Professor of Sociology at the Indian Institute of Technology Delhi, India. He was Charles Wallace Fellow at Queen’s University Belfast, UK, and Alexander von Humboldt Postdoctoral Fellow at Max Weber Kolleg, University of Erfurt, Germany. His research interests include, anthropology of (Pentecostal) Christianity, statecivil society theory, and neo-liberalism. He is the author of Civil Society and Democratization in India (Routledge 2013) and Pentecostalism and Politics of Conversion in India (Cambridge University Press 2018). He is also the co-editor of Godroads: Modalities of Conversion in India (with Peter Berger, Cambridge University Press 2020) and Civil Society and Citizenship in India and Bangladesh (with Paul Chaney, Bloomsbury 2021). Adam Stewart, PhD, is Associate Professor of Sociology at Crandall University, Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada. He has published articles and book chapters in the areas of Pentecostalism, religion in Canada, social theory, information science, and teaching and learning. He is also the author of The New Canadian Pentecostals (Wilfrid Laurier University Press) and editor of the Handbook of Pentecostal Christianity (Northern Illinois University Press). Jakob Egeris Thorsen, PhD, is Associate Professor of Theology at Aarhus University. His research focuses on global Christianity, Christian theology, and religious transformation. He combines ethnography and theology and has written about Charismatic Catholicism in Latin America, ecclesiology, inculturation theology, and Christian Social Practice (diaconia). In 2015, Brill published his monograph Charismatic Practice and Catholic Parish Life: The Incipient Pentecostalization of the Church in Guatemala and Latin America. His research has been supported by grants from the Independent Fund Denmark for projects on religious transformation in Latin America and ethnographic theology. Christopher Wadibia, PhD, is a Junior Research Fellow at Pembroke College, Oxford. His research interests include Black religious transnationalism, Christianity in Africa, political Pentecostalism, and religion and global development. He completed a PhD in Theology and Religious Studies at Selwyn College, Cambridge in 2022 and his doctoral thesis examined how competing concepts of charity and prosperity influence how the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG), one of Sub-Saharan Africa’s biggest, richest, and most politically powerful Pentecostal churches, engages with development in Nigeria. Michael Wilkinson, PhD, is Professor of Sociology at Trinity Western University. His research focuses on religion, culture, and globalization and he has written about immigration, congregations, evangelicalism, and Pentecostalism. He has (co-)authored and edited ten books on Pentecostalism including, most recently, Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism (2021) and After the Revival: Pentecostalism and the Making of a Canadian Church (McGillQueen’s University Press 2020) with Linda M. Ambrose. His research has been supported by numerous grants from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, Canada for projects on religious “nones” in the Pacific Northwest, evangelical congregations, immigrant youth, religious diversity, and Pentecostalism. Natalia Zawiejska, PhD, is Assistant Professor at the Institute for the Study of Religion at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków. Her main area of interest is critical religious studies, xv

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with a particular interest in postcolonial approaches. Her main research field is Pentecostalism in contemporary Africa with a focus on Angola and Cape Verde, Lusophone countries such as Brazil and Portugal, and African diasporas in Europe. Recently she has been developing a research interest in contemporary religion in Central East Europe. Her latest research projects concern the relationship between religion and urbanity in Poland; Pentecostalism in Poland (PentActors Project); Queer and gender in Angola; and Missionary museums in Poland. Elungkiebe Zeliang, PhD, is Associate Professor at the Academy of Integrated Christian Studies, Aizawl, Mizoram, India and teaches History of Christianity. He earned his doctorate in the History of Christianity and Missions at Heidelberg University, Germany. He has taught at Eastern Theological College, Jorhat, Assam and at Martin Luther Christian University, Shillong, Meghalaya. He has published a number of articles and eight books, including Charismatic Movements in the Baptist Churches in North East India.

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INTRODUCTION Remaking the Pentecostal World Michael Wilkinson and Jörg Haustein

The Pentecostal World and World Christianity There is a deceptive coherence in much of the current academic work on Pentecostalism. Statistics tell us that there are exactly 644.26 million Pentecostals and Charismatics in the world, up from 981,000 in 1900 ( Johnson and Zurlo 2020). There is a standard chronology of the movement in the three-wave model of Pentecostal history, which differentiates between classical Pentecostalism, Charismatics, and Neo-Pentecostals and has proliferated through countless introductory texts. When speaking to general audiences, one no longer needs to explain Pentecostal idiosyncrasies like Spirit baptism, glossolalia, or the “prosperity gospel.” They have all been made accessible through journalistic accounts, political commentary, or popular culture. What once was seen as a puzzling new form of Christianity is now presented in the analytical template of a Christian denomination: this is what Pentecostals believe, here is how they came into being, and this is how many there are in the world. Of course, the sheer diversity of Pentecostal and Charismatic movements and their lack of institutional or organizational coherence have not been lost to academic observers, and there has been much debate on how to define the movement, grapple with its global historical origins, and evaluate the accuracy of the worldwide numbers. Yet on the whole it seems that despite the acknowledgment of Pentecostal diversity, academic research tends to affirm and extend the simplistic impression of a coherent denominational form of Christianity through the bounded entities of encyclopedias (Wilkinson et al. 2021), introductory volumes (Anderson et al. 2010), and specialist journals like Pneuma or PentecoStudies. The editors of this volume have themselves been involved in such publication efforts for the past two decades and see the need for a critical intervention in the study of Pentecostalism that puts the heterogeneous flows of the movement at the heart of research. There are a number of reasons that make such an intervention pertinent and timely. First, much of the scholarship still fails to grapple with the diversity of Pentecostal movements and expressions that stand in the foreground of this book. Instead, there are definite, and historically contingent, concentrations of research on particular Pentecostal forms and research questions. The flamboyant and politically influential churches attract much attention, while the much larger underbelly of “ordinary” Pentecostals, which allows the fringes to resonate, remains underexamined by comparison. There are a number of excellent local studies of DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-1

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Pentecostal history, yet the broader historiography of the movement continues to be shaped by questions of origin and identity that eclipse local sources and heterogeneous developments. Anthropologists have highlighted the contextual diversity of Pentecostal meaning-making and practice, and yet certain Pentecostal theologies, like the “prosperity gospel,” are presented in comparative research like a “traveling script” that produces the same result everywhere (see Lauterbach and Bob-Milliar in this volume). Second, the book addresses the hiatus that still exists between the subject of World Christianity, which emerged from a combination of mission studies and ecumenism, and the field of Pentecostal Studies, which originated among Pentecostals themselves. In the past decades, both areas of study have been broadened and transformed considerably by the input of historians, anthropologists, and sociologists, which has created helpful synergies. Yet more work remains to be done to connect both. Globalization paradigms in Pentecostal Studies could benefit from the renewed emphasis in World Christianity on the heterogeneous flows of transnational networks and cross-cultural links (Cabrita and Maxwell 2017), while some of the more parochial tendencies of World Christianity and mission history might be challenged by a closer look at a movement that regularly infiltrates denominational and cultural boundaries. Finally, this volume comes out at a time where the self-identification as “Pentecostal” or “Charismatic” is beginning to lose whatever purchase it once had. In North America, the inter-denominational proliferation of “soft” Pentecostal forms of worship have eroded ritual distinctions within much of Protestant Christianity and are increasingly replaced by the sharp boundaries of culture wars and identity politics. Here, as in other parts of the world, Pentecostal and Charismatic identities are bleeding into the older and broader categories of “evangelicals” or “born-again Christians,” subject to diverse local naming politics (Maltese, Bachmann, and Rakow 2019). Global megachurches and their networks further complicate the picture, relying rather on their distinctive brands, iconic pastors, or theological particularities than on common identifier as “Pentecostal.” As the fragmentation and interdenominational proliferation of Pentecostal and Charismatic theologies and ritual forms continues, the category itself loses distinction and purpose. None of this is to argue that Pentecostal and Charismatic practices have become irrelevant for contemporary Christianity; quite the opposite is the case. The contention rather is that the denominational template is inadequate for understanding contemporary Pentecostalism and needs to be replaced by a model that takes seriously the fragmentation, diversity, and “fuzzy” boundaries of the movement, while interrogating the global flows and representations that make it appear as a cohesive unit nonetheless. If anything, this character of the Pentecostal movement underscores the need for a post-denominational paradigm in the study of World Christianity because it signals the end of the institutionally centered and theologically defined ecclesial body as the base unit of World Christianity, at least in the Protestant domain. (For the slightly different dynamics in the Catholic Church, see Ciciliot in this volume.) As such, the global flows of Pentecostalism challenge the ecumenical segmentation of World Christianity and require a better understanding of Christian identity in a Christendom no longer centered in the doctrinal demarcations of the global north.

Global Pentecostalism: Made in 1988? A critical deconstruction of the denominational category of “global Pentecostalism” must begin with statistics about the movement, given the role that numbers often play in justifying the significance of research into the movement. There is a fair amount of methodological 2

Introduction

critique of Barrett’s and Johnson’s numbers on World Christianity, in particular when it comes to counting Pentecostals (see Stewart in this volume; Haustein forthcoming 2023; in defense of method, Johnson 2020). The most salient underlying issue, however, is that of categorization, and here it emerges that “global Pentecostalism” is a fairly young creation. When the Anglican missionary David Barrett produced the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia in 1982, he used the term “Pentecostal” only in a very narrow sense. His reigning paradigm for Christians outside the Western mainline denominations instead was “Non-White Indigenous,” with Pentecostals appearing as a thin sub-category of this bloc and of Western Protestantism, totaling only 51 million adherents worldwide (Barrett 1982). Likewise, his annual statistics in the International Bulletin of Missionary Research from 1985 listed mainline Christian blocs without even giving a share of Pentecostals within each. The only notable exception was a small, cross-denominational category of “Charismatic Renewal,” totaling just under twenty million globally in 1987 (Barrett 1987). In 1988, however, all this changed, and from now on Pentecostals appeared as a huge global phenomenon in Barrett’s statistics. The small cross-denominational category of “Charismatics” was retitled to “Pentecostals/Charismatics” and swelled more than sixteenfold to 332 million members worldwide (Barrett 1988). Even retrospective numbers changed, as Pentecostals in 1900, 1970, and 1980 rose by similar margins in Barrett’s reckoning. Clearly, Barrett had changed his methods for categorizing global Christianity, but why this sudden shift in 1988 that made Pentecostals and Charismatics a huge global phenomenon? The answer lies in the Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, edited by the Assemblies of God theologians Stanley M. Burgess and Gary McGee (1988). Barrett had been invited to write the statistical introduction for this foundational Pentecostal encyclopedia, for which he not only espoused the movement’s triumphalism in crediting it with having ushered in “a new era in world mission” but also followed the leading Pentecostal historians of his time in espousing a broad and typological definition of the movement. This meant that it incorporated and redefined all major Christian revivals since the eighteenth century as Pentecostal antecedents. Barrett noted that his tables now viewed “the 20th-century Renewal in the Holy Spirit as one single cohesive movement into which a vast proliferation of all kinds of individuals and communities have been drawn in a whole range of different circumstances over a period of 250 years” (Barrett 1988, 124). He went on to assert that all these revivals “share a single basic experience” and contributed to global Christianity “a new awareness of the spiritual gifts as a ministry to the life of the church” (Barrett 1988, 124). Barrett stretched this typological and historically inclusivist paradigm around the globe and now categorized most African indigenous churches as “Pentecostal,” as well as a large number of Chinese house churches. New statistical categories like “isolated radio Pentecostals,” “Postpentecostals,” or “Crypto-charismatics” validated spurious numerical claims by various Pentecostal ministries, as well as the problematic notion that it was possible to count as Pentecostal people who might not themselves identify with this label. Significantly, Barrett also adopted Charles Peter Wagner’s “three wave” model of Pentecostal “renewal,” differentiating between Pentecostalism, the Charismatic Movement, and “Mainstream Church Renewal,” explicitly citing Wagner’s The Third Wave of the Holy Spirit, which popularized this concept and had only just come out (Wagner 1988). Wagner, a conservative Congregationalist, had met Pentecostals as a missionary in Peru and, according to his own memoir, rejected them at first (Wagner 1999). Yet his own lack of missionary success led him to research Pentecostal spirituality and its impact, with his impressions published shortly after his return to the United States under the rather sensationalist title Look Out! The Pentecostals Are Coming (Wagner 1973). A decisive influence on 3

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Wagner’s theological recalibration was Donald MacGavran, founder of the church-growth movement. MacGavran’s utilitarianism clearly guided Wagner’s analyses: the Pentecostal movement was validated by its missionary successes through mass conversions, faith healing, and exorcisms while doctrinal differences and cultural particularities were suffused (Bialecki 2015). When Wagner came to follow MacGavran at Fuller’s School of World Mission, he placed Pentecostal spirituality and practice at the center of his own church-growth dogma. The most vivid (and controversial) expression of this was the course “Signs, Wonders, and Church Growth,” which included practice sessions in healing prayer and deliverance, co-taught with John Wimber, a prominent California pastor and influential pastor of the Vineyard movement. The new paradigm of “power evangelism” also drew in Charles Kraft, former Nigeria missionary and Hausa expert. For Wagner, glossolalia, healing, and exorcism were no longer Pentecostal particularities but a pathway to restoring the entirety of Christendom to New Testament practice. It was this broadened sense of universal Christian renewal that Wagner sought to establish with his 1988 bestseller The Third Wave of the Holy Spirit. Reflecting on his own denominational position and the inherited notion of the “Charismatic movement,” Wagner noted: “I do not consider myself a Charismatic. I am simply an evangelical Congregationalist who is open to the Holy Spirit working through me and my church in any way he chooses” (Wagner 1988, 18f.). In Barrett’s statistics, this Californian missiological idea of a spiritual renewal that erodes denominational boundaries became the global denomination of Pentecostal and Charismatic movements. Notionally, Barrett conformed with Wagner’s intentions in his definition of “third wavers” as Christians who, “unrelated to Pentecostalism or the Charismatic Movement,” have spirit experiences, remain in their mainline denominations, and “do not identify themselves as either pentecostals or charismatics” (Barrett 1988, 125). Yet, by subsuming the “Third Wavers” under the “Pentecostal/Charismatic renewal” in the Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements as “Pentecostals,” he merely turned them into the latest phase of one Pentecostal movement rooted in the Azusa Street Revival – consonant with the term “Neo-Pentecostalism” that this category came to acquire. It was this category of a “third wave” or “Neo-Pentecostalism” that allowed an unchecked expansion of Pentecostal numbers in Barrett’s statistics and its successors. In the 2002 revision of the Dictionary, Burgess counted among this third group (now labeled “Neo-Charismatics”) all Christians of the modern era with “pentecostal-like experiences” that have “only very slender – if any – historical connections” to Pentecostalism (Burgess 2002). Most notably, this included large portions of the “prophetic African independent churches” and many of the house churches in China and Latin America. When Barrett edited his statistics to reflect this broadened definition, he “discovered that the neocharismatics actually outnumber all pentecostals and charismatics combined” (Burgess and van der Maas 2002, xviii). Accordingly, the “third wave” swelled from about 8 percent of all “Pentecostals/Charismatics” to about 55 percent, accounting for nearly all the recorded growth of the global Pentecostal movement from 332 million Christians in 1988 to 523 million in 2000, a number that would go on to be cited almost ubiquitously in academic literature. Yet, once again, this Pentecostal growth was primarily a function of conceptualization and recategorization (see Wilkinson 2021a). The World Christian Database, edited by Todd Johnson and Gina Zurlo, inherited and still embodies this expansionist, typological, and partially ahistorical concept of global Pentecostalism in its categorization of global Christianity. Even in the most recent version, the tripartite division of Pentecostals/Charismatics remains, with the “third type” now labeled “Independent Charismatics” ( Johnson and Zurlo 2020). Once again, this is a residual category to encompass a broad set of movements that would not necessarily identify with Pentecostalism 4

Introduction

themselves, and it still makes up nearly 40 percent of the Pentecostal/Charismatic population, dwarfed only by Charismatics, who are grossly overestimated in some contexts (see Haustein forthcoming 2023). This critical review of statistics does not mean that Barrett and the World Christian Database are the sole cause of the current denominational template of global Pentecostalism. Rather, Barrett’s statistical recategorization was itself symptomatic of a certain shift in Pentecostal identity politics and wider scholarship that began to envision Pentecostalism as a global, vaguely defined “Spirit-centered” movement, whose most archetypal expression nonetheless remained Azusa Street. Much of this was rooted in particular developments of the late 1970s and onward: Walter Hollenweger and his school wrote an Azusa-centric history of the global Pentecostal movement, while the Society for Pentecostal Studies and its journal Pneuma for the first time gave an expression to distinctively Pentecostal scholarship in academic theology and history (see Anderson in this volume). Black and white Pentecostal groups in the United States underwent a (largely symbolic) process of reconciliation and mutual recognition. Anthropological and sociological research manifestly increased material on Pentecostals all over the world, often citing manifest growth of these churches as proof of a rising movement, even where they did not agree with Barrett’s statistics. Erstwhile proponents of secularization theory began to pronounce an unexpected Pentecostal resurgence of Christianity, just as religion came back to the forefront of academic concern in other fields as well, such as fundamentalism and terrorism studies (Cox 1995; Berger 2010). In this sense, as Michael Bergunder (2010) has pointed out, the contemporary, all-encompassing understanding of Pentecostalism as a coherent (if fluid) denomination of global Christianity is much younger than the Azusa Street Revival because it diverges significantly from how Pentecostals of the first half of the twentieth century defined and delimited their movement. This, too, is not meant to say that Pentecostal scholars and analysts of Pentecostalism have “invented” the movement out of thin air. There were many new developments in which such observations could be anchored: the rise of global megachurches, the spread of new doctrines about faith and deliverance, the rising influence of Pentecostal doctrines and practices in the established churches, the global proliferation of new trends or pilgrimages to new places of “revival,” and the continuous emergence of famous “men of God” (and occasionally women). Yet the question remains whether all these phenomena are adequately understood as an expression of one particular (if diversified) movement as many definitions of Pentecostalism and the World Christian Database suggest. Are we perhaps looking at a much deeper, and accelerating fragmentation of global Christianity into niche identities, global brands, doctrinal idiosyncrasies, and regional politics that is inadequately comprehended by statistical and conceptual categories of “Pentecostalism” inasmuch as they suggest some kind of doctrinal coherence or common cause? This is the question that stands at the heart of this volume and its critical intervention in how we map, trace, and analyze Pentecostalism all over the world.

Globalization, Pluralization, and the Pentecostal World To develop further these questions about the numbers and definitions of Pentecostals, we can ask what exactly is “global” about global Pentecostalism (Wilkinson 2008)? Is it simply the expansion of a new form of Christianity that moves from America to the rest of the world? Or is global Pentecostalism about the presence of Pentecostals all over the world? Much of the scholarly literature sides with the former view and assumes that what is “global” is the expansion, growth, and practice of a characteristically similar type of Christianity with its origins in the United States, even if there are some local variations. Even when scholars 5

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favor the latter paradigm and write about “global” Pentecostalism in light of local variation, this is analyzed in such a way that it still is linked to a broader movement framed theologically and experientially as a single culture. Lost in the discussion is any sense of the myriad forms of Pentecostalism that exist throughout the world that have no links to the so-called “three waves.” Furthermore, very little attention is given to the ongoing transformation of Pentecostalism around the world as it continues to redefine and rethink its local histories and global links to different places around the world. In other words, the challenge is not to return to the “origin” question as if it is a puzzle to be sorted out, but to admit that there is no single origin from which all histories proceed in some uniform way throughout the world. The issue around the numbers of Pentecostals or “who is counting” is directly related to “what counts” or how Pentecostalism is explained (Wilkinson 2021a). To further this point, we can examine how sociologists of religion understood the assumptions of modernization and secularization and applied them to Pentecostalism. The primary assumption of modernization is that it is a general social process whereby the entire world has become a single entity through the spread of Western, namely European and American secular institutional forms throughout the world in a universalizing way (e.g., Berger 1967; Giddens 1990; Beckford 1992). Where Pentecostalism is discussed, it is offered as the key example of a vast worldwide modern form of Christianity that shares a common global culture that has moved from America to the rest of the world. Yet, with modernization, sociologists also assumed secularization, and this left them puzzled about how to explain global Pentecostalism. Was it simply a fundamentalist type of Christianity that refused to embrace the modern and secular world or was there something else happening here? If so, what was meant by saying Pentecostalism is global? Still, sociologists did not consider that the very construct of Pentecostalism itself was problematic as they embraced the assumptions about the origins, spectacular growth, and universal spread of Pentecostalism worldwide as an American export. Some sociologists, like Roland Robertson in the 1990s, offered a more nuanced analysis of religion, modernization, and globalization that made some sociologists of religion reconsider the limits of modernization and secularization as a paradigm within the discipline (Robertson 1992). This was not the first attempt to critique modernization and secularization and its eroding effects on religion. The debates among sociologists have a longer history and since the 1980s increased with sociologists arguing for the ongoing importance of secularization and modernization explanations, while some argued that these ideas should be abandoned altogether (Hammond 1985; Stark 1999; Stark and Finke 2000; Bruce 2002, 2011). Much of the literature by sociologists who studied Pentecostalism, however, were operating from a modernization perspective that tended to focus on particular narratives shaped by churchsect theory, charisma, rationalization, institutionalization, and the detrimental effects of these modern qualities on religion (e.g., Anderson 1979; Poloma 1989; Martin 2001; Poloma 2003; Poloma and Green 2010). In some cases, Pentecostalism was argued to be the exception to the rule of secularization and an example of de-secularization (e.g., Berger 1999) or resacralization (see Davie 2010). Sociologists of religion, like Penny Edgell (2012), argue that there are limits to the types of questions that modernization and secularization propose and answer. Drawing upon ideas from the sociology of culture, Edgell asks other questions about religion such as how religion is contextualized in particular localities and shaped by the institutional fields in which they are practiced, how practitioners “live” their religious lives daily, and how religious subcultures support or animate individuals and the social institutions they engage. Important questions are asked about how cultural interaction across the world created new spaces for 6

Introduction

religious practices that flow in ways that are uneven or are networked in a way that bypasses other religious forms other than the organizational including the political, spiritual, or social movement form (see Beyer 2006; Wilkinson 2016). Ongoing cultural interactions continue to transform religious beliefs, practices, and sentiments, and not just from one site to another in some universalizing process, but increasingly, in asymmetrical patterns of global flows in multiple directions that not only alter the local but also the global (Wilkinson 2007). The type of work being employed here also reflects a dissatisfaction with the types of explanations of religion rooted in rational choice/market model theories. Market model views (e.g., Stark and Finke 2000) assume that the demand for religion is always high but the providers change, depending on their ability to meet the demand. Pentecostalism, it is argued, is the latest example of a new religion that best meets that demand worldwide among religions, and the numbers showing their growth are evidence that Pentecostals are the “winners” and all others are the “losers” in a global religious economy (e.g., Chesnut 2013). However, these explanations with their focus on numbers and growth and decline, competition, and supply and demand, are less satisfying especially when they are understood in the context of an everexpanding religious economy rooted in modernity and its homogenizing impact. With a growing dissatisfaction about secularization/reenchantment, modernity, and market model theories of Pentecostalism, globalization theories offer another set of analytical debates that merit consideration. As theories about globalization have multiplied since the 1990s, so too have the various ways scholars think about social change from the economic to the political and the cultural (Axford 2013). The relationship of religion to globalization is also shaped by the theoretical assumptions of these differing theories (Wilkinson 2021b). For example, economic theories that focus on capitalism and the World Systems theory of Immanuel Wallerstein (1974, 1980, 1989) view the world as a complex system characterized by inequality, dependency, alienation, and conflict. Wallerstein’s theory focuses on the historical development of capitalism over the past 500 years and the relationship between countries in the core, the semi-peripheral, and the peripheral. Core countries are dependent on peripheral countries for such things like cheap labor and the peripheral countries too are dependent on the core for jobs. Still, the system is one that favors the core countries, who continue to advance economically while the gap with those countries in the peripheral grows wider. Wallerstein pays little attention to religion in his World Systems theory. However, there are those like Richard Robbins (2013) who see religions in the core countries as a type of antisystemic social movement that supports the interests of the marginalized. Religion is therefore assumed to be a mobilizing force for the economically deprived that allows them to protest against the global forces of inequality. As for the world of Pentecostalism, those movements that are described as having a liberating force among the poor in Latin America, for example, illustrate how the globalization of capitalism offers some explanation for the presence of Pentecostalism among the people from that region (Villafañe 1992; Medina and Alfaro 2015). When globalization and the expansion of a worldwide political system becomes the focus of sociologists, the assumptions about religion shift. For example, Anthony Giddens (1990) argues that it is modernity that is globalizing; the whole world is becoming modern and homogenized as it adopts the social systems of the Western world. Utilizing the concepts of disembedding and reembedding, Giddens discusses how there is the universalizing expansion of a capitalist economy, the structure of the nation-state, an international division of labor, and a world military order. Giddens argues clearly against any idea of living in a postmodern world and instead posits that currently we are experiencing late-modernity with its discontinuities, greater reflexivity, changes in perceptions of time and space, and questions about global security, risk, and trust. Still, for Giddens, the assumption that the whole world 7

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is becoming modern is also one that is secular. Hence for religion, any evidence of religions like Pentecostalism in Africa, Asia, or Latin America, simply represents the refusal of these religious people to embrace the new global world and its universalizing order (2003). There are numerous books and articles that assume the whole world is modernizing and secularizing, with religion portrayed as refusing to enter the modern world (e.g., Bruce 2002, 2011). Conversely, there are studies arguing that Pentecostalism is a catalyst for transforming its followers into thoroughly modern people with their megachurches, growing wealth, and political power (e.g., Martin 2001; Coleman 2009). Theories that primarily focus on the cultural dimensions of globalization revolve around a number of issues like cultural convergence, differentiation, and hybridization (see Axford 2013, 91–109). One of the most contentious issues is about whether there is a single global culture emerging worldwide or if we can only talk about global cultures (plural or singular in form). These types of questions are found in the work of Roland Robertson (e.g., 1992, 2007). Robertson makes it very clear that he disagrees with the assumptions of both Wallerstein and Giddens about a single worldwide culture of modernity or a neo-liberal economy. Instead, he focuses on how globalization brings locales closer together and how the local gets reproduced throughout the world as something global. From Robertson’s view, the interrelationship between the local and the global is one that is continuously being reimagined through social interactions in particular locales and throughout the world. To focus solely on the idea of a single global Pentecostal culture misses the local. To focus solely on the local and the many Pentcostalisms misses the global. Our point here, following Robertson, is that the study of worldwide Pentecostalism must pay attention to the local, not to simply show worldwide particularity, but also to demonstrate how the local is globalized and thus part of the many cultures of worldwide Pentecostalism. The effect of this framework for an analysis of Pentecostalism is not only the reproduction of many Pentecostalisms in the world, but the entanglement of these Pentecostalisms through various interactions, including migration, that reshapes Pentecostalism as it returns to those places where Pentecostalism already exists in a particular form. For example, when Pentecostalism returns to North America with migrants from the Global South, it is often not recognized as a particular local Pentecostalism expressed through a classical denomination like the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC) (Wilkinson 2006). When immigrant Pentecostals began arriving in larger numbers in Canada in the 1990s, many leaders in the PAOC assumed they were the same. However, what began to emerge were particular theological practices, organizational patterns, and social views that were contested. In the end, it was not only these differences that created some tension; it was also the recognition that what was global about Pentecostalism was not a single culture but many cultures worldwide. The interaction itself of Pentecostals in Canada along with Pentecostals from Latin America, Africa, and Asia reproduced the local and the global. Robertson’s definition of globalization conveys more than the structure of an integrated single global society. It also includes an awareness of the world as a single place that, in turn, shapes the way in which Pentecostals understand and give meaning to the local and the global. In this framework, no single version of Pentecostalism can be taken as representative for Pentecostalism as a whole, contrary to the numerous attempts to define or hegemonize the movement. Robertson’s view of globalization also contains an important element of power illustrating how Pentecostalism is contested among Pentecostals where the various beliefs, practices, and histories are contingent on the claims of Pentecostalism itself, including those that are embraced or rejected. What this means is that scholars of Pentecostalism must give attention to competing views of the Pentecostal world as articulated by not only scholars, but among Pentecostals themselves. 8

Introduction

Religions like Pentecostalism are not only globalizers that carry their religions with them to the corners of the world, but they also offer a range of views about the world, illustrating a tension between inclusion and exclusion and how over time and in different cultures they preach about how they are “in the world but not of it” or conversely, how they are to be “world shapers” who embrace the world through missionizing activities. Glocalization allows us to see the process whereby both the local and the global, the universal and the particular shapes the interactions and relationships of Pentecostals across cultures and social contexts, often in unsuspecting ways (Robertson 1992, 1995). The outcomes of these interactions are not always predictable. Glocalization allows us to see how religions like Pentecostalism are not simply disembedded from one part of the world, like America, and reembedded in another part, like South Africa. Glocalization pushes us to understand how cultures and religions mix and merge, are embraced and rejected, how they are contextualized, and develop their own unique histories always with an eye on the local and the global (Scholte 2005; Wilkinson 2021b). A cultural analysis of Pentecostalism pays attention to assumptions made by sociologists like Edgell and Robertson with a focus on questions about how Pentecostalism developed organizationally and culturally around the world in the context of the institutional fields in which it was located; how Pentecostals lived out the particularities of their religion in everyday practices like praying for prosperity, health, deliverance, and other activities that have a specific meaning in that context; and the symbolic boundaries and cultural tools that define what it means to be Pentecostal in a specific context, who is a Pentecostal, and how they will engage other spheres of society and culture including economics, politics, family, gender, race, and sexuality. Rather than focus on the universalizing spread of Pentecostalism as a modern twentieth century form that diffuses from America to the entire world, scholars need to give serious attention to globalization as a cultural factor and with that the pluralization of Pentecostalism throughout the world (Beyer 2006, 2013; Wilkinson 2016).

Remaking the Pentecostal World We have asked our authors to provide us with studies that rethink the link between the local and the global in Pentecostal historiography and contemporary culture, and their submissions challenged many of the received paradigms in Pentecostal studies. We have therefore grouped the chapters by “classical topics” in the study of Pentecostalism with the aim of challenging the very constructs these topics afford. We begin in the first section by complicating the notion of “roots” in Pentecostal historiography through a series of contributions on the interplay of global/local influences in the movement’s emergence. For many decades the history of global Pentecostalism has been dominated by arguments about whether the “true origins” of the movement lie in the Azusa Street Revival, the inherited “theological roots” of its evangelical predecessors, or the joining up of simultaneous outbreaks of revivalism around the globe (Bergunder 2021). Drawing on examples from five continents, the chapters in this section show that it is impossible to tell one global story of “Pentecostal roots,” because each particular context was marked by a different interplay of transnational dynamics. In Chile, Martin Lindhardt argues, a nexus of local and global factors not only determined the often-told story of Pentecostal beginnings but also marked its subsequent development throughout the twentieth century. Thereby, in positioning local Chilean Pentecostal history “within a global landscape of faith,” Lindhardt demonstrates that the attempt to determine a singular origin is not only futile but would fail to explain subsequent developments. Mark Hutchinson’s chapter on Oceania adds to these “glocalizing” observations the important point of geography. 9

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As a vast and extremely diversified region, Oceania not only confounds any unidirectional story of Pentecostal diffusion but also shows how history should not be constructed in simplistic flows between “global” and “local.” Rather, the “local” is in itself a complex result of inherited settlement and migration patterns as well as “mental missionary maps.” Such a deconstruction of centered, diffusionist models in favor of complex entanglements is not only necessary for the historiography of Pentecostalism in the “Global South” but for North America, too, as Andrea Johnson’s chapter demonstrates. Revisiting the “familiar narrative” of Oneness Pentecostalism originating from doctrinal disputes among White American Pentecostals, Johnson shows how the emergence of a separate movement was bound up with the “Eastern voice” of a Persian evangelist, Black Progressives, and border flows with Mexico and Canada. Once such a complex rhizome is established as the “root” of Oneness Pentecostalism, its continued fragmentation, despite a sharp theological distinctiveness, is no longer surprising nor needs to be framed in a story of decline. The remaining three chapters in this section provide further breadth to reconstructing transnational entanglements in the emergence of Pentecostalism. Leonardo Marcondes Alves documents how Pentecostalism inherited missionary patterns and churches from previous transnational Christian movements in Latin America. Alex Mayfield studies the first Chinese language Pentecostal periodical as an example for how print media incorporated the transnational flows of power, culture, and theological ideas in the making of Pentecostalism in Hong Kong. And Kyama Mugambi focuses on the cosmopolitan urban milieu of student fellowships in Kenya to show how their inculturation of Western influences, rather than earlier Pentecostal missions, determined what became of the movement in this country. Together, these chapters render obsolete the generalizing and all too often idealizing debates about “origin” in Pentecostal Studies and point the way for a truly transnational historiography of Pentecostalism that reflects the complexities of its sources. Discarding a single global story of Pentecostalism also entails the abandoning of Wagner’s standard model of “waves,” in which “classical” Pentecostalism expands into mainline “Charismatics” before a “third wave” of “Neo-Pentecostalism” takes hold. We have therefore asked the contributors for our second section to tell histories of Pentecostalism that are rooted in local developments rather than a teleology of revival. The chapters about Greece (Evangelos Karagiannis), Russia (Vera Kliueva and Roman Poplavsky), Nigeria (Richard Burgess), North America (Michael McClymond), China (Connie Au), and North East India (Elungkiebe Zeliang) all bring different genealogies to the fore. In Russia, Nigeria, China, and to some extent India, political developments had a strong influence on the shape of Pentecostal history whether it was in the form of setting legal parameters, rendering direct oppression, or forming catalysts of disarray that prompted new forms of religious practice. The cases of India and Nigeria also show how revivals were linked to local etiologies of spiritual power, healing, and success. In both instances, these parameters explain revivals much better than the idea of a “Charismatic” or “Neo-Pentecostal” extension of “classical” Pentecostal beliefs. A further parameter that comes out in the studies on Greece and Russia is the normative influence of the religious majority (Christian Orthodoxy in both accounts), which to a large extent shapes what kinds of groups are able to gain a foothold in the country and how the more successful ones presented themselves. This has profound effects on the development of what one might recognize as Charismatic movements, which in neither case followed a logic of “renewal.” In Greece, as Karagiannis’ chapter shows, it was one of the Pentecostal churches that embraced an Orthodox demeanor for evangelistic success. In Russia, political oppression fueled inner-Protestant alliances and renewal movements but foreclosed Charismatic Orthodoxy. In none of the presented countries do the three “waves” appear as a guiding paradigm in deciphering Pentecostal history, although they do of course participate 10

Introduction

in the global proliferation of movements and ideas that are read in other contexts as one of the three “waves.” Yet, as Michael McClymond’s chapter on the Latter Rain Movement shows, even in North America – the presumed standard case of the three-wave histories – decisive developments are missed when this model is applied. What the chapters in the second section of the book amount to, therefore, is a demand to forego a standard sequencing of Pentecostal historiography and instead show how and why particular churches and movements emerged and grew locally at certain times, often in uneven ways. This alone will go a long way to dismantle the unhelpful category of “Neo-Pentecostalism,” which encompasses a variety of very different ideas and practices, and demarcates a difference to “classical” Pentecostals that in many contexts is misleading. The disjuncture of global/local cultural interaction reveals what is often shown in these local histories: a non-coordinated flow of Pentecostalism throughout the world. From these two historiographical sections, the book proceeds to a set of contemporary chapters that seek to break up the sense of global Pentecostal homogeneity through locally rooted studies. The third section, Contextualizing Spirituality, highlights how Pentecostal theologies and expressions are shaped decisively by what surrounds them. This is, of course, no new insight in the study of Pentecostalism, but collectively the six chapters reverse the usual argument of cultural flow: the focus is not on how a putative, self-contained “religion made to travel” (Dempster, Byron, and Petersen 1999) globalizes by taking root in various settings, but how the diversity of local religious contexts shapes and forms what scholars ended up calling global Pentecostalism. This is what Robertson refers to when he discusses the mutual interaction between the local and the global that also reshapes the local and the global. Candy Gunther Brown opens this section by placing the development of U.S.-American Pentecostal demonology within a “global context of multi-staged, cross-cultural interactions,” driven by “reenchanted” Bible readings across the world, the cosmopolitan context of the traveling evangelist, and a selective drawing upon global Spirit etiologies by U.S. evangelicals, whose globally proclaimed theology and aesthetics of exorcism was made from a juxtaposition of spirituality in the United States with the Global South. Peter Althouse travels similar terrain in his chapter deconstructing Wimber’s theology of healing and deliverance, but he adds the important localizing observation that a broader American therapeutic culture gave shape to the diagnostic and thaumaturgic techniques of U.S. deliverance Pentecostals. Moreover, being rooted in the New Evangelicalism of Fuller Theological Seminar, Wimber’s popularization of healing and exorcism came with an erosion of the boundary between Pentecostal and Evangelical therapeutic practices, which in itself calls into the putative self-contained and original nature of American Pentecostal healing and deliverance. Judith Bachmann in her chapter on Nigeria revisits the bounded notion of “context” itself by tracing how witchcraft discourses are shaped by a multi-religious field in the city of Ibadan consisting of traditional healers, Muslims, Pentecostals, and mainline Christians. Bachmann argues that scholars should frame contextuality as a constant dynamic negotiation of what matters in a given space, but resist the urge to offer neat characterizations of cultural contexts that produce in their shadow the notion of a primary, disembodied global form of Pentecostalism. Hans Olsson, in his comparison of two Pentecostal pastors in Zanzibar, adds to this dynamic of contextual negotiation the element of intra-Pentecostal diversity. Placed in the context of Muslim hegemony and the long history of competition between Christianity and Islam in Tanzania, one pastor opts for a public, confrontational approach and the other for a more hidden culturally accommodating stance, while both criticize Western missionary paradigms as contextually insensitive. Sarbeswar Sahoo, in his study of conversion among Pentecostals in Rajasthan, India, picks up on a similar tension in relation to the politically vocal religious majority of Hinduism. He shows how, on the one hand, the conversion of the Bhil 11

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people follows the logic of spiritual rupture proclaimed by anthropologists of Christianity, but in light of political pressures converts refrain from officially changing their religion and hence cast their conversion as a transformation of received ethics rather than a change in religious allegiance. Jakob Egeris Thorsen’s chapter on the Catholic Charismatic Movement in Guatemala points out how a local religious context may already be shaped by Christianity, in this case folk Catholicism, and is thereby drawing upon a much longer history of Christian contextualization and the resulting tropes about acceptable spiritual beings and “magic.” Together, these chapters help to establish local dynamics as the primary generative ground for Pentecostal spirituality. The next section takes a similar pluralizing approach to the question of Pentecostal ethics. The chapters on race, gender, and sexuality in this section show that “difference” has always been a part of the Pentecostal negotiation of value systems. The point we wish to make with this collection of chapters is not the apologetic proclamation of “there are liberal Pentecostals, too!” but rather that Pentecostal ethics are inherently marked by both homogenizing and pluralizing dynamics that constantly enables heterodox forms to emerge and profile themselves against the status quo. We begin this section with three chapters that show that even for the presumed “archetypal” North American Pentecostal value system, strong divergences persist in a constant struggle with predominant norms. Linda Ambrose follows the Canadian Pentecostal pastor Bernice Gerard in her life-long engagement with the norms of male leadership in a mix of compliance and critique. Keri Day presents the case of queer black Pentecostals as a double challenge of the reigning perception of African-American Pentecostalism as a theologically and socially conservative block. And David Daniels shows how the Church of God in Christ was locked in a struggle against racism and racial segregation that came to define the formation of Pentecostal congregations in the early twentieth century. In each case, the predominant ethical order defined the struggle but never managed to contain divergence, leading each author to argue in their own way that, when properly considered in their full diversity, Pentecostal ethics form a key site for cultural shifts in North America. The remaining three contributions to this section map out a similar dynamic of diversity and debate, albeit complicated by additional contextual factors. Adriaan van Klinken presents the case of LGBTIQ Pentecostal activists in Kenya, fracturing, on the one hand, the sense of a stereotypical and uniform homophobia among African evangelicals. On the other hand, van Klinken’s case also complicates notions of a progressive versus conservative global culture war within Pentecostalism as he shows that this Kenyan activism is not defined by its transnational connections with the American Pentecostal activists that Keri Day studied. Instead, both instantiate “very different possibilities of Pentecostal sexual politics.” Joseph Bosco Bangura, in turn, researches the effect of transnational migration on Pentecostal gender regimes among African pastors in Belgium. Bangura detects an “ambivalence” toward female leadership among the very women leaders he interviewed marked by a reticence to engage theologically with the question of spiritual equality and a mistrust toward Belgian gender regimes. This is despite a clear unease about the inherited patriarchal models of leadership from the women’s country of origin. As such, Bangura’s case shows how the dichotomy between progressive and conservative ethics is too simplistic to understand how Pentecostals negotiate their ethics in complex cultural situations. Finally, Ntandoyenkosi Mlambo and Tanya Riches discuss reactions to the George Floyd murder within the Hillsong church in the United States, South Africa, and Australia. Although Hillsong is often seen as a prime example of a homogenizing white and middle-class Pentecostal culture, the chapter shows how in particular the reckoning with the Black Lives Matter movement has opened up a “de-colonial” moment within the church, leading to a contextualized reckoning with the inter-racial failings of Hillsong and wider society in all three locations. 12

Introduction

The chapters in the fifth section, Mapping Power, challenge the category of NeoPentecostalism by mapping the heterogeneous flows of Pentecostal politics and aspirations of prosperity. We begin with Giovanni Maltese’s analysis of recent Pentecostal politics in the Philippines and its connections with the American Christian Right through the doctrines of spiritual warfare and dominion theology. Adopting a Global Religious History approach (Maltese and Strube 2021), Maltese pays special attention to how spiritual warfare and dominion theology are names for an overdetermined global alliance that spans very different politics in North America and the Philippines. Lauterbach and Bob-Milliar pursue a similar argument about the “prosperity gospel” in Ghana, emphasizing that it should not be treated as a “traveling script” that originated in America and contextualized all over the world. Rooting their analysis in Ghanaian politics through the example of the new National Cathedral, they show how discourses, institutions, and practices that are usually framed as expressions of global “prosperity theology” form a vernacular for negotiating the relationship between individual wealth and national unity. This is followed by a closely related analysis for Nigeria by Christopher Wadibia, who studies how the prosperity theology of the Redeemed Christian Church of God translates into development projects. As these remain closely aligned with the political aspirations of the church and lock powerful politicians in its orbit, prosperity theology becomes a nation-building project that promises alternatives to the opaque flows of power and money while being rooted in the same. Our third Africa chapter in this section, penned by Chammah Kaunda, upsets the emergent analytical chorus of the preceding two chapters by reminding us via the example of Zambia that there is always more than one Pentecostal politics in any given context. Kaunda argues that this is what makes Pentecostalism an unruly power and the study of Pentecostalism an exercise in “pure madness” because the movement is marked by a “story of collisions, disruptions, and interruptions.” This is a point underscored by Nicolás Panotto’s socio-political history of Pentecostals in Argentina and Chile as well. Panotto shows how the varied and even antagonistic socio-political effects of Pentecostalism in both countries have vexed scholarship and argues that instead of taking a functionalist view one must recognize that the “political dimension of Pentecostalism refers to an active constitution on social phenomena.” Pentecostal politics, then, is about studying specific religiopolitical processes in any given context rather than determining the identity of the movement on any received political spectrum. The section ends with just such a study from Poland by Natalia Zawiejska who studies how African and Ukrainian migrants are performing in the register of Polish nationalism in Pentecostal and Catholic Charismatic gatherings. Although normally othered as “savage” and “Eastern” in nationalist discourse, their religious embrace of nationalistic symbols and their identification with special spiritual powers amount to a process of dis-othering, which subverts Polish nationalism without upsetting its hegemony. While all preceding sections of the book emphasize diversity and particularity, it is important not to lose sight of homogenizing forces that perpetually create and recreate images of global Pentecostalism. This is what stands at the center of the final section of the book, Tracing Homogeneities. Our chapters mainly deal with three of these homogenizing forces: global ecclesial institutions, Pentecostal media and material culture, and academic research. Two main global ecclesial institutions, the Catholic Church and organized ecumenical dialogue, are analyzed in the chapters by Valentina Ciciliot and Mel Robeck, respectively. Ciciliot studies the recent efforts by Pope Francis to channel the Catholic Charismatic movement into a more centralized organization, the Catholic Charismatic Renewal International Service (CHARIS). For the first time, this has endowed the Catholic Charismatic movement with a legal persona in Canon Law, which, as Ciciliot argues, is part of a larger pontifical strategy to “refashion the church on a global scale, charismatizing it, broadening its ecclesiological 13

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horizons, but without loosening its Vatican-centered ties.” This is a disputed move, and it is not yet clear if the Vatican will succeed in reigning in Charismatic diversity within the Catholic Church. In his history of Pentecostal ecumenical engagement, Robeck shows the limits of organized Pentecostal unity. As he maps Pentecostal divisions and distrust toward organized ecumenism, it becomes clear that the significant theological engagement of Pentecostals with inter-church dialogue was a highly self-selective process, driven by individual theologians who had little support or even encountered opposition in their own denominations. While these dialogues have reached remarkable results and ecumenical skepticism seems to be waning among North American Pentecostals, it also becomes clear that ecumenism via apex theological negotiations is hardly a homogenizing force in global Pentecostalism, not least for a lack of mechanisms for recognizing the resulting theological declarations within the very churches of those present at the table. Our two chapters on Pentecostal media focus on the way they counteract local fragmentation and produce a global imagination. Joaquín Algranti analyses the production and consumption of Pentecostal print media and audiovisual culture in Argentina, paying special attention to the difference between overt and subtle messaging. His argument is that global Pentecostal demands proliferate in the country through a double movement of de-categorization and recategorization: The former appeals to wider entertainment culture and drives a colonizing proliferation of Pentecostal symbology, whereas the latter shores up Pentecostal communities through instructional messaging. Warren Cooper’s evocative chapter studies how the media metaphors of American Pentecostals inform their practice. He notices how the metaphors of chaos (the sea) and dislocation (the cloud) are complemented by images of sacrality (the cathedral) and expansion (the frontier), and together they define a world of media opportunities for the spiritual entrepreneur. Of course, Cooper notices that Pentecostal media ideologies and strategies vary significantly, but he contends that they are nonetheless defined by a set of universalizing metaphors circulating in the global Pentecostal and Charismatic milieu. The final two chapters of the book shed a critical light on how academic research has produced homogenizing effects in a feedback loop with Pentecostal practice. Adam Stewart painstakingly dismantles the “Pentecostal growth paradigm” that has emanated from David Barrett’s World Christianity statistics since the early 1980s. Stewart exposes significant flaws in Barrett’s ecclesial categorization and statistical methodology and argues that the theological interests behind his counting project made his research “resemble more closely a mirror than a lens.” The final chapter in our deconstruction of the Pentecostal world was penned by none other than Allan Anderson, who provides us with a detailed historical review of the role the academy has played in defining the movement’s identity since its emergence. Anderson’s verdict is scathing: almost all of those who set the debate and its terms were white men, and even though prominent non-white and female authors have emerged in recent years, Western concepts continue to frame perceptions and debate. This, Anderson warns, has left academic studies of Pentecostalism in a “marginal circle often a world away from the objects of their research.” Given Anderson’s own lifelong and substantial contributions to this very field, it seemed fitting to end our book with his prompt to rethink the Pentecostal world.

References Anderson, Allan, Michael Bergunder, André Droogers, and Cornelis van der Laan, eds. 2010. Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Anderson, Robert M. 1979. The Vision of the Disinherited: The Making of American Pentecostalism. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

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Introduction Axford, Barrie. 2013. Theories of Globalization. Cambridge: Polity. Barrett, David B. 1982. World Christian Encyclopedia: A Comparative Study of Churches and Religions in the Modern World AD 1900–2000. Nairobi: Oxford University Press. Barrett, David B. 1987. “Annual Statistical Table on Global Mission: 1987.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 11: 24–25. Barrett, David B. 1988. “The 20th-Century Pentecostal/Charismatic Renewal in the Holy Spirit, with its Goal of World Evangelization.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 12: 119–29. Beckford, James A. 1992 [1989]. Religion and Advanced Industrial Society, reprint. London: Routledge. Berger, Peter, ed. 1999. The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Berger, Peter L. 2010. “Max Weber is Alive and Well, and Living in Guatemala: The Protestant Ethic Today.” The Review of Faith & International Affairs 8: 3–9. Bergunder, Michael. 2010. “The Cultural Turn.” In Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods, edited by Allan Anderson, Michael Bergunder, André Droogers, and Cornelis van der Laan, 51–73. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Bergunder, Michael. 2021. “History.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd Johnson, 297–99. Leiden: Brill. Beyer, Peter. 2006. Religions in Global Society. London: Routledge. Beyer, Peter. 2013. Religion in the Context of Globalization. London: Routledge. Bialecki, Jon. 2015. “The Third Wave and the Third World: C. Peter Wagner, John Wimber, and the Pedagogy of Global Renewal in the Late Twentieth Century.” Pneuma 37: 177–200. Bruce, Steve. 2002. God is Dead: Secularization in the West. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Bruce, Steve. 2011. Secularization: In Defense of an Unfashionable Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Burgess, Stanley M. 2002. “Neocharismatics.” In The New International Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, edited by Stanley M. Burgess, and Eduard M. van der Maas, 928. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Burgess, Stanley M., and Eduard M. van der Maas, eds. 2002. The New International Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Burgess, Stanley M., and Gary McGee, eds. 1988. Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements. Grand Rapids, MI: Regency Reference Library. Cabrita, Joel, and David Maxwell. 2017. “Introduction: Relocating World Christianity.” In Relocating World Christianity: Interdisciplinary Studies in Universal and Local Expressions of the Christian Faith, edited by Joel Cabrita, David Maxwell, and Emma Wild-Wood, 1–44. Leiden: Brill. Chesnut, R. Andrew. 2013. “Spirited Competition: Pentecostal Success in Latin America’s New Religious Marketplace.” In Spirit and Power: The Growth and Global Impact of Pentecostalism, edited by Donald E. Miller, Kimon H. Sargeant, and Richard Flory, 65–82. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Coleman, Simon. 2009. The Globalisation of Charismatic Christianity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cox, Harvey. 1995. Fire from Heaven: The Rise of Pentecostal Spirituality and the Reshaping of Religion in the Twenty-First Century. London: Cassell. Davie, Grace. 2010. “Resacralization.” In The New Blackwell Companion to the Sociology of Religion, edited by Bryan S. Turner, 160–77. Oxford: Blackwell. Dempster, Murray, Klaus D. Byron, and Douglas Petersen, eds. 1999. The Globalization of Pentecostalism: A Religion Made to Travel. Oxford: Regnum Books International. Edgell, Penny. 2012. “A Cultural Sociology of Religion: New Directions.” Annual Review of Sociology 38 (1): 247–265. Giddens, Anthony. 1990. The Consequences of Modernity. Stanford, CA: University of California Press. Giddens, Anthony. 2003. Runaway World: How Globalization is Reshaping Our Lives. New York, NY: Routledge. Hammond, Phillip E., ed. 1985. The Sacred in a Secular Age: Toward Revision in the Scientific Study of Religion. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Haustein, Jörg. Forthcoming 2023. “Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements: A Post-Denominational Challenge to World Christianity.” In Connecting Christianities, edited by Muthuraj Swamy, and Jennifer Leight. Leiden: Brill.

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Michael Wilkinson and Jörg Haustein Johnson, Todd. 2020. “Counting Pentecostals Worldwide.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia on Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Todd Johnson, and Jörg Haustein. Leiden: Brill. Johnson, Todd, and Gina Zurlo. 2020. “Christian Traditions.” In World Christian Encyclopedia Online, edited by Todd Johnson, and Gina Zurlo. Leiden: Brill. Maltese, Giovanni, Judith Bachmann, and Katja Rakow. 2019. “Negotiating Evangelicalism and Pentecostalism: Global Entanglements, Identity Politics and the Future of Pentecostal Studies.” PentecoStudies 18: 7–19. Maltese, Giovanni, and Julian Strube. 2021. “Global Religious History.” Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 33 (3): 229–57. Martin, David. 2001. Pentecostalism: The World Their Parish. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Medina, N., and S. Alfaro, eds. 2015. Pentecostals and Charismatics in Latin America and Latino Communities. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Poloma, Margaret M. 1989. The Assemblies of God at the Crossroads: Charisma and Institutional Dilemmas. Knoxville, TN: The University of Tennessee Press. Poloma, Margaret M. 2003. Main Street Mystics: The Toronto Blessing and Reviving Pentecostalism. Lanham, MD: Altamira Press. Poloma, Margaret M., and John C. Green. 2010. The Assemblies of God: Godly Love and the Revitalization of American Pentecostalism. New York, NY: New York University Press. Robbins, Richard. 2013. Global Problems and the Culture of Capitalism. Sixth Edition. New York, NY: Pearson. Robertson, Roland. 1992. Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London: Sage. Robertson, Roland. 1995. “Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity.” In Global Modernities, edited by M. Featherstone, S. Lash, and R. Robertson, 25–44. London: Sage. Robertson, Roland. 2007. “Global Millennialism: A Postmortem on Secularization.” In Religion, Globalization, and Culture, edited by Peter Beyer, and Lori Beaman, 9–34. Leiden: Brill. Scholte, Jan Aart. 2005. Globalization: A Critical Introduction. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Stark, Rodney. 1999. “Secularization, R.I.P.” Sociology of Religion 60 (3): 249–73. Stark, Rodney, and Roger Finke. 2000. Acts of Faith: Explaining the Human Side of Religion. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Villafañe, Eldin. 1992. The Liberating Spirit. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Wagner, Charles Peter. 1973. Look Out! The Pentecostals Are Coming. Carol Stream, IL: Creation House. Wagner, Charles Peter. 1988. The Third Wave of the Holy Spirit: Encountering the Power of Signs and Wonders Today. Ann Arbor, MI: Servant Publications. Wagner, Charles Peter. 1999. “My Pilgrimage in Mission.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 23: 164–67. Wallerstein, Immanuel. 1974. The Modern World System I: Capitalist Agriculture and the Origins of the European World-Economy in the Sixteenth Century. Cambridge, MA: Academic Press. Wallerstein, Immanuel. 1980. The Modern World System II: Mercantilism and the Consolidation of the European World-Economy, 1600–1750. Cambridge, MA: Academic Press. Wallerstein, Immanuel. 1989. The Modern World System III: The Second Era of Great Expansion of the Capitalist World-Economy, 1730s–1840s. Cambridge, MA: Academic Press. Wilkinson, Michael. 2006. The Spirit Said Go: Pentecostal Immigrants in Canada. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Wilkinson, Michael. 2007. “Religion and Global Flows.” In Religion, Globalization, and Culture, edited by Peter Beyer, and Lori Beaman, 375–89. Leiden: Brill. Wilkinson, Michael. 2008. “What’s ‘Global’ About Global Pentecostalism?” Journal of Pentecostal Theology 17 (1): 96–109. Wilkinson, Michael. 2016. “Pentecostals and the World: Theoretical and Methodological Issues for Studying Global Pentecostalism.” Pneuma 38 (4): 373–93. Wilkinson, Michael. 2021a. “Introduction.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd M. Johnson, vii–xii. Leiden: Brill. Wilkinson, Michael. 2021b. “Globalization.” In The Blackwell Companion to the Study of Religion, second edition, edited by Robert A. Segal, and Nickolas P. Roubekas, 277–88. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley Blackwell. Wilkinson, Michael, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd Johnson, eds. 2021. Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism. Leiden: Brill.

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PART I

Complicating “Roots” – The Global/ Local Nexus in Pentecostal History

1 THE GLOCALIZATION OF PENTECOSTAL RELIGION The Case of Chile Martin Lindhardt Introduction In a Latin American context, the history of Chilean Pentecostalism somehow stands out due to the indigenous roots and the relatively autonomous trajectories of the Pentecostal movement in the country. Although the Methodist Pentecostal Church, which was the first Pentecostal denomination in Chile and in Latin America, was founded shortly after the Azusa Street Revival in Los Angeles in 1906–1909, there was no direct relation between these events, and the church became the first financially and theologically Pentecostal denomination outside of Europe and Latin America (see Kessler 1967; Sepúlveda 1996, 1999; Lindhardt 2019). It was only decades later that foreign Pentecostal missionaries, first from the United States, and, sometime later, from Brazil started arriving and planting churches in Chile, but today a majority of the country’s Pentecostal population still belongs to indigenous churches, either the Methodist Pentecostal Church or some of its numerous offshoots (or offshoots of offshoots, or offshoots of offshoots of offshoots, etc.). In other words, the Chilean case provides little support for diffusionist explanations of the globalization of Pentecostalism or for theories that equate the global spread of the movement with processes of Americanization and cultural homogenization. Nevertheless, Chilean Pentecostalism has from its very beginnings been entangled in transnational networks and multicentric flows of religious ideas. In this chapter, I explore how Chilean Pentecostalism, despite being rightfully considered a somewhat autonomous national religious movement whose history is driven by local agency (Sepúlveda 1996, 1999) has also been shaped by being positioned within a global landscape of faith. I find inspiration in important scholarship on globalization, and specifically on Pentecostalism and globalization that has attempted to move beyond rather simplistic globalization/localization (or indigenization) or homogenization/heterogenization dichotomies and instead adopted a focus on how religion (and other cultural phenomena) can be held to be “both locally specific and globally interrelated simultaneously” (Howell 2003, 234). Understanding local/global religious dynamics is not just a question of measuring the extent to which global (or American) religious ideas and forms have dominated national/local expressions of Pentecostalism versus the extent to which people around the world have actively appropriated Pentecostalism on their own terms and subsumed it into pre-existing cultural frameworks. It is also a question of considering how religious agendas and identity struggles at a local level, as DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-3

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well as internal divisions and debates among religious groups may be shaped by being positioned within wider transnational flows of images, people, media, and ideas (cf. Wilkinson 2016). Roland Robertson’s concept of glocalization (1992) is useful in terms of grasping how global religious movements undergo processes of localization in different parts of the world, and more importantly how religious and other kinds of identity struggles at a local level play out within a global framework. Another important point to be taken from Robertson’s work is his understanding of globalization as a compression of the world as a whole and an intensified consciousness of the world as a whole (ibid, 8). In other words, Robertson insists that globalization is in part a mental phenomenon as he adds an element of awareness of being part of a wider world to more classical definitions of globalization. This point has been echoed by several scholars of Pentecostal religion (Coleman 2000; Howell 2003; Lindhardt 2012) who have shown how Pentecostals/Charismatics in different parts of the world, while practicing context-driven and adapted versions of their religion, also develop attitudes toward global circumstances and understand their own identities as rooted in a transnational and transcendental context. In what follows I make some considerable time jumps as I mainly zoom in on three important periods of Chilean Pentecostal history during which local expressions and negotiations of religious identities were deeply intertwined with transnational flows. First, I examine how the birth of the Pentecostal movement in Chile was rooted in theological and sociological instabilities that were in large part inherited from North American Methodism. Second, I look at Chilean Pentecostal history in the twentieth century, but mainly with a focus on the seventeen years of military rule (1973–1990), a period in which Pentecostals by moving closer to the world of politics positioned themselves within a global cold-war conflict. Finally, I pay some attention to Pentecostal diversification in post-dictatorial Chile and not least to how Pentecostals have become divided over the theme of prosperity. Drawing on the work of Michael Wilkinson (2016), who mainly relates globalization to pluralization and an increasing awareness of sameness and difference, I explore how contemporary Pentecostal diversification in Chile and a growing awareness of different ways of being Pentecostal is, in part, related to the position of Pentecostals within a global landscape of faith.

Early Pentecostalism in Chile: National Autonomy and Global Entanglements The Methodist Pentecostal Church was founded in 1910 after a schism within the Methodist Episcopal Church in Chile. The Methodist Episcopal Church had been planted in Chile in 1877 by the American missionary William Taylor. Taylor was something of an independent figure who initially tried to run a self-supporting church in Chile (Kessler 1967, 96), but the mission work was eventually taken over by the American Methodist Church (Lalive d’Epinay 1969, 5). A main character in the history of the birth of the Chilean Pentecostal movement was Willis Collins Hoover (1858–1936), an American who served as a pastor in the Methodist Episcopal Church in the coastal city of Valparaíso. The schism was preceded by a spiritual revival in the church in Valparaíso, which started around 1902 when Hoover and a group of Chilean congregants, inspired by readings of the Acts of the Apostles, started searching for sanctification and spiritual manifestations. Although Hoover was in charge, ordinary Chilean lay-members played an important role in the spiritual revival. Revivalist activities included the formation of daily prayer groups and occasional all night prayer meetings during which the congregation experienced spiritual manifestations, which Hoover himself described as: Laughing, weeping, shouting, singing, foreign tongues, visions, and ecstasies during which the individual fell to the ground and felt himself caught up into another 20

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place, to heaven, to paradise, in splendid fields, with various kinds of experience: conversations with God, the Angel or the Devil. Hoover (1977, 41); English translation taken from Lalive d’Epinay (1969, 116) The revival became a source of considerable tension and controversy within the Methodist Church. Other Methodists accused Hoover of practicing hypnotism and, in the official church magazine, the revival was criticized in harsh terms. The Mission Board in New York even authorized the bishop in Chile to remove Hoover from office if necessary. In many ways, the conflict exemplified a classical (Weberian) tension between charismatic revivalist impulses and institutionalized, routinized religiosity. Hoover and the revivalists considered emotional and effusive forms of worship to be genuinely biblical practices that served to revitalize the church. By contrast the church authorities saw such practices as sectarian, irrational, and as a threat to the order of the church. Hoover insisted that spiritual manifestations were a sign of profound changes that God brought about in people, and at church conference in February 1910 he defended himself against a disciplinary commission by quoting John Wesley and arguing that there was nothing anti-Methodist about the revival. But his views found little support and the commission eventually passed a resolution stating that the claim that the baptism of the Holy Spirit is accompanied by manifestations such as speaking in tongues and visions was both irrational, anti-biblical, and anti-Methodist (Hoover 1977, 214; Lindhardt 2019, 346–47). As the differences between the revivalists and the church authorities were irreconcilable, a division between the two became inevitable and a new church, the National Methodist Church, was founded by dissidents from Santiago and later joined by Hoover and about 400 church members, about two-thirds of his congregation, from Valparaíso. Hoover assumed the position of superintendent and insisted that the name of the church be changed to the Methodist Pentecostal Church. “National” was omitted from the name as Hoover wished to make it clear that the division was not caused by nationalism. “Methodist” was preserved as Hoover firmly believed he was being faithful to the doctrines of John Wesley, and finally Pentecostal was added to indicate that the church placed emphasis on the manifestations of the Holy Spirit (Hoover 1977, 66; Lindhardt 2019, 347). The Chilean Pentecostal theological scholar, Juan Sepulveda, has suggested that the schism that led to the foundation of the first Pentecostal church in Chile was caused by two closely intertwined conflicts: a doctrinal conflict between a formal, rational, and dogmatic religiosity and a religiosity that gives primacy to the subjective experience of God. And a cultural conflict between a religion mediated by the specialists of the cultural classes and, further, a religion in which simple and poor people could have direct access to God and in which they could communicate in a language of feeling and indigenous culture (Sepúlveda 1999, 120). Prior to the birth of Pentecostalism, Protestant religion only had a marginal presence in Chile, and most historical Protestant churches were largely focused on European migrants and non-Christian indigenous people. Besides, the Protestant presence in the nineteenth century was closely tied to a liberal political agenda. The Methodist Episcopal Church stood out among Protestant churches as it made some inroad among lower class urban Chilean Catholics, but according to Sepúlveda it was only with the rise of the Pentecostal movement that Protestantism became a popular religion, adapted to the everyday concerns, and enchanted world views of ordinary Chileans. For instance, Sepúlveda (1996, 306–308) points out how Pentecostalism, owing to its emphasis on healing and direct intervention of spiritual forces in human affairs, was much more in sync with popular Catholicism than historical Protestant churches had ever been. 21

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The Chilean case provides a counterargument to diffusionist versions of early global Pentecostal history in which Pentecostalism mainly spread from its birthplace in Azusa Street to different parts of the world (for elaborated critiques of this view, see Anderson 2014). Hoover, who is widely considered to be something of a founding figure in the history of Chilean Pentecostalism, was an American, but he had come to Chile as a Methodist missionary, not a Pentecostal missionary, in the late nineteenth century, more than a decade prior to the Azusa Street Revival. When in 1910 he left the Methodist Episcopal Church and assumed the position of superintendent of the Methodist Pentecostal Church, he cut all financial and institutional ties to the American Methodist church. Thus, Chilean Pentecostalism was, from the very beginning, institutionally and financially independent of American Pentecostal organizations. The Chilean case, and in particular the analysis of Sepúlveda, further provides a counterargument to the view that Pentecostalism is, at heart, an American religion that inserts American values into people’s lives in different parts of the world (a view that enjoys relatively little scholarly support, but see Brouwer et al. 1996). For Sepúlveda (1996, 1999), the history of Chilean Pentecostalism is mainly driven by Chilean agency and agendas, and it is foremost a history of enculturation that has allowed Chileans to construct their own version of Protestantism. The value and relevance of a scholarly focus on local agency and culturally specific appropriations of Pentecostalism/Protestantism is not disputed here. That said, it should also be noted (which Sepúlveda does) that Chilean Pentecostalism was from its very beginnings entangled in transnational evangelical revivalist flows. During a furlough in the United States in 1894 and 1895, Hoover had visited what he described as a “pre-Pentecostal” church in Chicago where revivalist impulses were strong, a visit that made a lasting impression on him (Hoover 1977, 125). Also, in the years prior to the foundation of the Methodist Pentecostal Church, Hoover and his wife read about a revival in India and they corresponded with Pentecostal leaders in different parts of the world to learn more about spiritual baptism (Kessler 1967, 112). Obviously, religious ideoscapes did not travel with the intensity and speed they do in the era of digitalization and social media, but Hoover was inspired by what went on elsewhere in the world and he and his congregation were very aware that the occurrences in Chile were part of a global revival. Furthermore, the very roots of the conflict that gave birth to Chilean Pentecostalism were to some degree imported even though the conflict played out in ways that were shaped by local circumstances. In a fascinating historical study, the American theologian Donald Dayton sheds light on what he refers to as “a constitutional theological instability” within North American Methodism in the nineteenth century. By this he means a mixture of both social and theological instabilities (Dayton 2007, 85). He traces the former back to a profound ambiguity in John Wesley’s own legacy. On the one hand, Dayton detects a preferential option for the poor in the model of Wesley, more specifically in field preaching and in the planting of churches among the poor and the lower middle classes. On the other hand, Dayton also notes that sociological and psychological forces had pulled Methodism “toward the more ‘respectable’ established church and toward the center of the culture” (ibid, 84). The theological instability had to do with a conflict between what Dayton calls low church and high church interpretations of the Methodist experience. The low church interpretation, or primitive Methodism, represented the camp meeting and revivalist side of Methodism, whereas the high church interpretation represented a push toward professionalism. According to Dayton, the two kinds of instabilities were intertwined because theological divisions were closely related to social class conflicts insofar as it was mainly the revivalist side of Methodism that preserved the preferential option for the poor and cultivated the active role of laity in congregational life (ibid, 91–92). 22

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These instabilities were significant in precipitating the rise of the North American Holiness movement, which is widely considered as a predecessor of Pentecostalism. The Holiness movement, which introduced many Methodists to Pentecostal imagery and themes, represented a low-church interpretation of Methodism and, according to Dayton, was also a reaction to an embourgeoisement of North American methodism, which in the second half of the nineteenth century was beginning to fragment along class lines and in the view of some pastors and adherents was neglecting the poor (ibid, 102). The double-edged nature of North American Methodism manifested itself in the mission field. Early Methodist missionaries in Chile were mainly drawn from the revivalist or Holiness fringe of the church, a fact that can take us some way in understanding Methodism’s appeal to lower class Chileans. Later generations of missionaries, who arrived at the end of the nineteenth century, were better educated than their older colleagues and represented an antirevivalist, rationalist side of the Methodist spectrum (Kessler 1967, 120). The birth of the Chilean Pentecostal movement was not directly related to the Azusa Street Revival, and no foreign Pentecostals missionaries were present in Chile for the first decades of the twentieth century. However, acknowledging the importance of autonomous local agency and possible points of congruence with popular culture in shaping the birth and subsequent spread of Pentecostalism in Chile should not blind us to the ways in which the movement was, from its very beginnings, deeply entangled in a transnational and transcontinental history of Protestant revivalism and of deep tensions between different interpretations of Protestantism. Hoover saw the birth of Chilean Pentecostalism as part of a global multi-centric revival, and he was by no means an advocate of indigenization. He was very firm in his insistence that the Methodist Pentecostal Church was not a nationalist congregation (Sepúlveda 1996, 304), and, in 1920, he unsuccessfully tried to persuade the headquarters of the Assemblies of God in Springfield to incorporate the Methodist Pentecostal Church under its wing. While he did this due to his lack of confidence in the leadership abilities of his Chilean brothers and sisters (Kessler 1967, 300), it also indicated that he saw the church in Chile foremost as a part of a global Pentecostal movement.

Chilean Pentecostalism in the Twentieth Century While Pentecostalism emerged as a player on Chile’s religious scene in the early twentieth century, it was only a couple of decades later that the movement started spreading and proliferating. Initial growth was slow, but between 1930 and 1960 the total number of Chilean evangelicals (a term that includes Pentecostals and other Protestants) rose from 1.4 to 5.58 percent (Sepúlveda 1996, 317). The diversification of contemporary Chilean Pentecostalism can also in part be traced back to the period where its growth took off. One important source of Pentecostal diversification is the numerous schisms that have occurred within indigenous churches. The first major schism occurred in 1934 when the Methodist Pentecostal Church split in two and the Evangelical Pentecostal Church was founded with Hoover as its superintendent. The split was caused, in part, by theological differences, including disagreements over the use of musical instruments in services, something which Hoover firmly opposed (Sepúlveda 1996, 307). Since then both these churches have experienced several schisms, but they remain two of the largest Pentecostal congregations in the country. Another source of Pentecostal diversification in the mid-twentieth century was the planting of foreign, mostly North American Pentecostal churches in Chile, including the Assemblies of God, the Foursquare Church, and the Church of God (ibid, 317). Some important theological differences between missionary and many missionary churches include the view of 23

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baptism, with most indigenous churches baptizing children according to the Methodist heritage, whereas adult baptism by immersion is the norm in churches planted by missionaries. The early diversification of Chilean Pentecostalism was not reflected in an expansion of its social base. For most of the twentieth century, Pentecostalism was the religious movement of the lower social classes in Chile. Studies have suggested that Pentecostalism appealed to people from these classes, most of whom were nominal Catholics before converting, in large part due to its non-conformist and dissenting character and the emphasis on lay-responsibility that the movement shared with low-church Methodism (see Kessler 1967; Lalive d’epinay 1969; Lindhardt 2019). Rather than trying to compete with the Catholic Church for public status and political influence, Pentecostal churches generally made a virtue out of keeping the “world” at arm’s length, a principle that implied not getting involved in politics and social movements and not participating in popular cultural activities. A partial break with such isolationist stances to the surrounding society and not least to the world of politics occurred after the violent military coup on September 11, 1973, when Agosto Pinochet seized power. To cut a long story short, the Catholic Church’s condemnation of the human rights abuses of the regime led Pinochet to search for religious legitimization elsewhere, and Pentecostal leaders from the Methodist Pentecostal Church and some other churches seized the opportunity. A declaration of support of the regime, signed by thirtytwo evangelical (mostly Pentecostal) leaders, was published in the newspaper El Mercurio, in December 1974. The declaration described the coup as the response to the prayers of believers who saw the Marxism of the previous socialist government as an expression of evil. The declaration also described the United Nations, which had previously criticized human right abuses in Chile, as an instrument of atheistic Marxism (Deiros 1991, 142). The evangelical declaration of support for the regime was met with considerable disapproval from the World Council of Churches and from Protestant churches in Europe and North America. At a meeting where the declaration was signed, a spokesman for the thirty-two leaders described the World Council of Churches as an agent of international Marxism (Lagos Schuffeneger 1988, 164). The declaration of support marked the beginning of an alliance between the regime and Pentecostal churches. In 1975, a Council of Pastors was formed by evangelical, mainly Pentecostal churches, that supported the regime. Throughout the military rule, which lasted until 1990, Pinochet and other representatives of the regime attended annual Te Deum services, organized by the Council, and held in the Jotabeche Cathedral of the Methodist Pentecostal Church in Santiago. Up until then, only the Catholic Church had organized Te Deums, which is an annual service of national independence (Lindhardt 2020, 678). The relation between the Council and the regime mainly consisted in an exchange of religious legitimization for official recognition and a few new legal privileges, such as the right to teach evangelical religion in schools. The regime was careful not to alienate the Catholic Church too much and several promises of economic support and changed legal status for evangelical churches were not fulfilled (Sepúlveda 1996, 113). There were also Pentecostal churches such as the Evangelical Pentecostal Church (the second largest denomination in the country at the time) that did not join the Council of Pastors but maintained an apolitical stance. And there were even a few minor Pentecostal churches that joined para-church organizations that were critical of the regime (Florez 2021). The military coup and the succeeding seventeen years of dictatorship in Chile were arguably “global” events in the same sense as the Vietnam war. The coup took place in an international cold-war context and the involvement of the United States in overthrowing the socialist government is well known. Soon after the coup, Chilean refugees arrived in Europe 24

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and North America and, similarly to what happened in Vietnam, the political left in the West was vocal in its expression of solidarity with Chile, which became an international symbol of a democratic socialist dream suppressed by American imperialism (Lindhardt and Kristensen 2012, 9). International organizations pressured the dictatorship, both directly and indirectly, for instance, by supporting grassroot groups in Chile. The Word Council of Churches both condemned the regime and praised Chilean church leaders who expressed opposition to the regime. The Pope, Paul Vl, also felt obliged to respond strongly to the events in Chile, which led to a collaboration between the Vatican, the Red Cross, and the World Council of Churches to put pressure on the regime and condemn its violation of human rights (Florez 2021, 106). By actively choosing a side, Chilean Pentecostal leaders, somehow unwittingly, involved themselves in a global conflict, as evidenced by their perceived need to address the criticisms by the United Nations and by the World Council of Churches in the declaration of support for the regime. This was also a period in which alliances between evangelical fundamentalism and the political right were gaining strength in North America. During the Reagan administration, prominent American evangelicals launched a “crusade” against Marxism in Latin America. The North American religious right was nowhere as involved in the southern cone as it was in Central America. But religious ideas did flow across borders and the military rule was a period in which Chilean Pentecostalism became connected to religious narratives about a Christian struggle against Satanic/atheist Marxism. With the approval of the regime, several North American revivalist preachers visited Chile in the 1980s and held revival meetings in football stadiums. In 1987, the prominent American right-wing preacher Jimmy Swaggart was personally received by Pinochet during a visit to Chile. Addressing Pinochet directly, Swaggart said: “History is going to treat the measures which you took years ago to stop Communism here in Chile as one of the great acts of this century.. . We will tell the world that Chile is a free country” (quoted from Stoll 1990, 153–54). Whether and to what extent ordinary Chilean lay-Pentecostals saw themselves as part of a global, and the United States-led, politico-religious crusade against global Communism is uncertain, given the lack of studies that address this question. Sepúlveda (1988, 312) argues that the classical dichotomy between the church and the “world” changed its character during the years of military rule and became a distinction between a Christian society and Marxism. He adds that the struggle between good and evil was now seen in terms of the struggle between the free Western world and the communist east (ibid). But while this may have been an official position of some churches, Sepúlveda provides no evidence that ordinary Pentecostals conceived of the struggle between good and evil in this way. During my first field work in Chile in the Evangelical Pentecostal Church in 1999, I found no traces of such a perception, even if people vividly recalled the inspiring sermons given by visiting foreign preachers during military rule and even if many were modestly supportive of the military regime and linked Marxism with atheism.1 Nevertheless, military rule was a period in which Chilean Pentecostalism, wittingly or unwittingly, became more entangled, and positioned, in a new political world order and in which the awareness of being part of larger global conflicts must have increased, not least among leaders.

Globalization and Pentecostal Diversity in Democratic Chile In the decades following the return to democracy, Pentecostalism continued to grow. The total number of evangelicals grew from 13.2 percent in 1992 to 15.1 percent in 2002 (Gooren 2016, 183) and, according to some recent estimates, evangelicals make up around a quarter 25

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of the population – with a majority (an estimated 85 percent) being Pentecostals (ibid, 166). However, studies also show that most contemporary Chilean evangelicals have grown up as evangelicals, which indicates that the pool of potential converts from Chile’s Catholic and non-religious population is shrinking (Fediakova and Parker 2009). Pentecostalism in Chile has not only grown but has also become increasingly diversified. This is due, in large part, to the social educational mobilization of the newer generations of Pentecostals who have a preference for more intellectual and less dissenting and isolationist versions of their religion (see Fediakova 2016; Lindhardt 2016a, 2020). Furthermore, with the growing accessibility of both national and international evangelical media and literature, specific churches have little monopoly on the religious socialization of adherents. Evguenia Fediakova’s important work has shown how especially younger Pentecostals supplement the teachings they receive in their own church with input from evangelical websites and participation in interdenominational movements (Fediakova 2016). Probably the most important theological renewal on Chile’s evangelical scene is the foundation of neo-Pentecostal ministries and, to very different degrees, a neo-Pentecostal influence on older churches. Churches leaning toward the neo-Pentecostal doctrinal spectrum generally show less concern with eschatology, the Second Coming of Christ, and the afterlife than more traditional Pentecostal churches, and further tend to place fewer restrictions on the conduct of church members. Instead, they place emphasis on victorious living in the here and now, and most neo-Pentecostal churches preach some version of the so-called prosperity gospel, which emphasizes blessings in the form of good health and material riches. The roots of the Prosperity Gospel can be traced back to spiritual revivals after World War II in the United States, and not least to preachers such as Oral Roberts and Kenneth Hagin (Coleman and Lindhardt 2020). Today, some of the world’s largest and most influential prosperity ministries include the Brazilian denomination, the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (UCKG), and the Nigerian denomination, the Redeemed Church of God. Chilean scholars such as Miguel Mansilla (2007) and David Oviedo (2009) have traced the emergence of neo-Pentecostalism in Chile back to the 1980s and 1990s. Some neoPentecostal ministries such as Cristo tu Unica Esperanza (Christ your only hope) are offshoots of traditional indigenous Pentecostal churches (see Lindhardt 2016b, 2020), whereas others such as La Casa del Senor (The House of the Lord) have been planted by American pastors but are now theologically and administratively independent (Bravo Vega 2016, 89). Finally, Brazilian neo-Pentecostal prosperity ministries, most notably the Universal Church of Kingdom of God (UCKG) were planted in Chile in the 1990s. There is much more to be said about Pentecostal diversification in contemporary Chile (see Bravo Vega 2016; Fediakova 2016; Lindhardt 2016a, 2016b, 2020), but here I will center my focus on the theme of prosperity, which has been a source of considerable theological disagreement among the Pentecostal population. Unlike some African countries where the prosperity theology has gained a semi-hegemonic status on the Pentecostal/Charismatic scene (see Lindhardt 2014), its position in Chile is less dominant as it has not been embraced by many of the larger indigenous Pentecostal denominations. The most aggressive proponent of the Prosperity Gospel in Chile is the UCKG from Brazil. This church promotes what Kate Bowler (2013, 7) refers to as hard prosperity teachings that make financial miracles an everyday prospect and involve assertions of strict causality between acts of faith, mainly tithing and extraordinary offerings of money to a church, and material blessings. During services in this church, a substantial amount of time is devoted to ritualized offerings and to teaching about the importance of giving in order to receive. The UCKG is also well known for a 26

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theology that differs markedly from classical Protestant iconoclasm insofar as the preachers, most of whom are Brazilian missionaries, often hand out anointed roses and anointed oil or water which will, allegedly, bring blessings and spiritual protection to the homes of believers. The church only has a weak numerical presence in Chile, but it is very visible in the religious landscape as church buildings are generally strategically and visibly located in city centers and its pastors do a good deal of outreach on the radio. Other neo-Pentecostal ministries such as Cristo tu Unica Esperanza have softer approaches to prosperity teachings and place a good deal of emphasis on how God may help believers to enhance their self-esteem, acquire a winner’s mentality, and fulfill their potential. Although teachings also heavily emphasize the importance of tithes and other donations, the direct causality between giving and receiving is less pronounced in this church. The theme of prosperity originates from outside Chile and its entrance, mostly from Brazil and the United States, on Chile’s Pentecostal scene has added fuel to internal debates about proper ways of being Pentecostal. Michael Wilkinson (2016) has provided a helpful framework for looking at how internal debates among Pentecostals in different parts of the world are entangled with processes of cultural globalization. Drawing on the work of Peter Beyer (1994), Wilkinson adopts an understanding of cultural globalization as being intrinsically related to processes of pluralization rather than to uniform processes of modernization and secularization. He notes that an important implication of increased contact in a globalized world is an awareness of sameness and difference (Wilkinson 2016, 381). In other words, the global flows of religious institutions, personnel, and, not least, media and ideas lead to an increased awareness among Pentecostals (and the argument applies to other religions as well) that they are part of global religious family and, at the same time, that there are different ways of practicing the same faith. Of course, internal debates and conflicts among Pentecostals are not new, but the social conditions of globality make questions of authenticity (what are authentic expressions of Pentecostalism?) and authority (who gets to say what?) more compelling. Wilkinson uses the term orthodoxy to refer to questions and debates about what Pentecostals believe and how beliefs are negotiated (ibid). Orthopraxy, relates to questions of correct practice (ibid, 386) and, finally, orthopathy is concerned with the affective or the right sentiments (ibid, 389). Internal debates among Chilean Pentecostals have for some time revolved around a long list of issues such as the baptism of children (as practiced in many indigenous churches) or adults (as practiced in many churches of foreign origin), the status of glossolalia and other spiritual gifts, behavioral requirements, dress codes, the use of musical instruments and of popular musical genres such as rock in services, the education of pastors, the weighing of effusive emotional expressions of religiosity versus thorough biblical teachings, and the involvement of pastors, churches and individual Pentecostals in the world of politics. Despite all kinds of disagreements, Pentecostal churches have been able to unite in para-church organizations as happened in the 1990s when church leaders pushed for a law of religious equality that was finally passed in 1999 (see Lindhardt 2020). Starting in 1999, I have myself conducted research in Chile on numerous occasions and visited a variety of Pentecostal churches, such as the Evangelical Pentecostal Church and the Methodist Pentecostal Church (both indigenous traditional churches), the Assemblies of God (of American origin but now run entirely by Chileans), Cristo tu Unica Esperanza (an indigenous neo-Pentecostal prosperity ministry), and many others. While members of these churches were well-aware of all kinds of differences, they nevertheless referred to members of most other Pentecostal and even non-Pentecostal evangelical churches as hermanos (brothers/sisters), and although they were often critical of other churches, my respondents generally acknowledged that their own way 27

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of being Evangelical-Pentecostal was not the only way that was tolerated by God. I have also noted a good deal of church shifting, mostly from indigenous traditional churches such as the Evangelical Pentecostal Church toward the Assemblies of God and Cristo tu Unica Esperanza. Respondents never described shifting from one Pentecostal church to another as a process that had changed their Pentecostal identity in any substantial way, or which was even remotely comparable to converting from Catholicism to Pentecostalism (see Lindhardt 2016b). To some extent (and to different extents), Pentecostals consider their wider community of hermanos to include non-Pentecostal Protestants such as Baptist, Presbyterians, Anglicans, Methodists, and Lutherans. In Chile, the term that is mostly used, both in national surveys and among ordinary people (including Pentecostals) to refer to a Protestant Christian (someone who is not Catholic, Jehovah Witness, or Mormon) is Evangélico. This term does not distinguish between Pentecostals and other Protestants. During the dictatorship, divisions among Chilean Protestants were sharply articulated as the vocal opposition against the regime mainly came from historical churches (and a few minor Pentecostal denominations). After the return to democracy, Chile’s Protestants found more common ground in their struggle for legal recognition. My impression from my own research is that Pentecostals feel much more closely aligned with historical Protestants than with Catholics. The fact that I am not a Catholic but have been raised as a Lutheran was a major advantage in terms of getting access when, in 1999, I started doing research in the Evangelical Pentecostal Church, where, at the time, all kinds of conspiracy theories about Catholic plots to dominate the world and persecute evangelicals were circulating (see Lindhardt 2012). Most evangelical private schools in Chile are run by historical Protestant churches. Those of my Pentecostal acquaintances who have the means to send their children to a private school generally prefer evangelical schools and express little doubt that chances of getting a proper Christian value-based education are much better in an evangelical than in a Catholic private school. As mentioned, the social and educational mobilization of newer generations of Pentecostals has led to a growing preference for a more intellectual and less dissenting form of Pentecostalism and this has also caused some Pentecostals to look toward historical Protestant churches. Some respondents that I have followed for more than two decades have left Pentecostal churches to become Anglicans or Baptists (a trend that has also been observed by Gooren 2011), a change of affiliation that they did not describe as related to any kind of profound transformation of their evangelical identity. Pentecostals in contemporary Chile do, to a large extent, consider themselves to be part of a large community of evangelical hermanos. However, the theme of prosperity and especially the presence of the UCKG in Chile tends to test the limits of the tolerance of different possible ways of being Pentecostal or Evangelical. Pentecostals believe that God can and often does bless his children in all kinds of ways, but many also consider a too exorbitant and unashamed emphasis on donations and the prospect of material blessings in churches to be highly inappropriate and, not least, unbiblical and distracting from a focus on spiritual growth. Pentecostals from a variety of denominations express the view that the UCKG is a perverted distortion of Pentecostalism and a denomination of “false prophets” (as mentioned in Matthew 7:15) that is trying to turn religion into a business. The fact that the UCKG has proven to be a very lucrative business for its Brazilian founder Edir Marcedo, and that the church has been involved in scandals in Brazil has not gone unnoticed by Pentecostals in Chile. Pentecostals from other churches are also highly critical of the use of anointed roses and anointed water, which they consider unbiblical and as evidence that the UCKG is engaged in fakery and is basically trying to fool people out of their money by offering all kinds of false protection. The negative attention that an unashamed and very unsubtle emphasis on material prosperity tends to generate means that other Pentecostal prosperity churches need to tread 28

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carefully and distance themselves from the UCKG in order not to be excluded from a wider family of Pentecostal and other Protestant denominations that have some level of mutual respect for each other. As mentioned, Cristo tu Unica Esperanza has a softer approach to prosperity teachings and does not assert direct causality between donations and material blessings. However, the emphasis on prosperity and donations does seem to generate a defensive attitude toward potential criticisms from the outside, something I experienced first-hand when the pastor in the congregation of the city of Viña del Mar insisted on a meeting with me in June 2016. He had learned that, in my interviews with congregants (which he had permitted me to conduct), I had asked about their views on prosperity. My most recent interview had taken place after a service in which the pastor had asked the congregation for extraordinary donations to cover an electricity bill, something I have never experienced in other churches (where such bills are covered by the tithes) except when I visited the UCKG. After a lengthy explanation of how the church was self-supporting and relied on tithes and donations, he eventually asked me to stop doing more interviews with congregants. On a side note, the numerous interviews that I had done at that point had revealed that congregants were not very concerned with the theme of prosperity and in fact attributed more importance to other, and less dominant, themes of the pastor’s preaching and teachings. Writing the history of the internal divisions of contemporary Pentecostalism in Chile would require several volumes. The main point here is that with the growing entanglement of Chilean Pentecostals in global flows of religious institutions, media, and ideas, the awareness of belonging to a worldwide Pentecostal community and of many different possible ways of being Pentecostal is increasing. Many Chilean Pentecostals may not have embraced the prosperity gospel, but they are well aware of its existence and hold strong opinions about how proper or authentic Pentecostalism differs from some of its more dubious foreign manifestations and how the former should therefore be thwarted against the contaminating influence of the latter.

Conclusion In this chapter, I have attempted to show how the Chilean Pentecostal movement, despite following its own trajectories and having a history that is mainly driven by local agency, has also been shaped by being positioned within a global landscape of faith. Pentecostalism was not originally imported to Chile from abroad and the direct theological and financial influence of foreign Pentecostal missionaries has been limited. However, as we have seen the birth of Chilean Pentecostalism was rooted in theological and sociological instabilities that were inherited from American Methodism and the awareness of being part of a transnational and transcontinental Protestant revival was present among Chilean Pentecostals from the very beginning. During the military regime, the decision of Pentecostal leaders to seek alliances with the regime was motivated by “local” agendas, most importantly a desire for some of the same official recognition and status that the Catholic Church enjoyed, but by seeking such alliances Pentecostal leaders also positioned themselves within a global conflict. Finally, we have seen how Pentecostalism in democratic Chile has become increasingly diversified, in part due to the influx of foreign Pentecostal churches and to growing transnational flows of ideas and media. I am not disputing that Chilean Pentecostals do (to different extents) practice “local” and context-driven versions of their faith. For instance, some of the larger indigenous churches maintain the practice of child baptism. Besides, the reluctance of many churches and adherents to embrace the prosperity gospel, and especially its hard versions, must be seen in the light of local/national cultural-religious preferences. But at 29

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the same time as I have explained in some detail elsewhere (Lindhardt 2012), by positioning themselves as the ones who must prepare the world for the second Coming of Christ through praying and evangelization, many Chilean Pentecostals insert themselves into a transnational and transcendental history. Pentecostals in Chile are also increasingly aware that they belong to a transnational movement whose adherents both share much in common and at the same time practice the Pentecostal faith in different ways. Some of the internal, or local, debates among Chile’s Pentecostal population about proper and acceptable ways of practicing the faith are better seen as glocal debates, insofar as they are positioned within a global landscape of faith.

Note 1 After the terrorist attacks in New York in 2001, several of my Pentecostal acquaintances in Chile spoke with great interest of how they had heard American preachers attribute the attacks to the United States having distanced itself from God, an explanation they found quite plausible.

References Anderson, Allan H. 2014. “From Monogenesis to Polygenesis in Pentecostal Origins. A Survey of the Evidence from the Azusa Street, Hebden and Mukti Missions.” Pentecostudies 13: 151–72. Beyer, Peter. 1994. Religion and Globalization. London: Sage. Bowler, Kate. 2013. Blessed: A History of the American Prosperity Gospel. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Bravo Vega, Fabián. 2016. “Diversificación En El Pentecostalismo Contemporáneo Chileno: Un Estudio De Caso En Sectores De Altos Ingresos.” Revista Cultura y Religión 10 (2): 80–104. Brouwer, Steve, Paul Gifford, and Susan D. Rose. 1996. Exporting the American Gospel. Global Christian Fundamentalism. London: Routledge. Coleman, Simon. 2000. The Globalisation of Charismatic Christianity. Spreading the Gospel of Prosperity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Coleman, Simon, and Martin Lindhardt. 2020. “Prosperity and Wealth.” In Handbook of Economic Theology, edited by Stefan Schwarztkopf, 126–33. London: Routledge. Dayton, Donald W. 2007. “Methodist Studies.” In From the Margins. A Celebration of the Theological Work of Donald W. Dayton, edited by Christian T. Collins Winn, 75–108. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Deiros, Pablo. 1991.  “Protestant Fundamentalism in Latin America.” In  Fundamentalisms Observed, edited by Martin E. Marty, and R. Scott Appleby, 142–196. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Fediakova, Evguenia. 2016. “To Serve and to Save: The Social Commitment of Chilean Evangelicals. 1990-2014.” In New Ways of Being Pentecostal in Latin America, edited by Martin Lindhardt, 151–64. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Fediakova, Evguenia, and Christian Parker. 2009. “Evangélicos en Chile Democrtico (1990-2008): Radiografía al Centésimo Aniversario.” Revista Cultural y Religión 3 (2): 43–69. Florez, Joseph. 2021. Lived Religion, Pentecostalism and Social Activism in Authoritarian Chile. Leiden: Brill. Gooren, Henri. 2011. “The Pentecostalization of Religion and Society in Latin America: First Findings from Chile.” Annual Meeting of the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion, Milwaukee. Gooren, Henri. 2016. “Pentecostal Conversion Careers: Generational Effects and Political Involvement in Latin America.” In New Ways of Being Pentecostal in Latin America, edited by Martin Lindhardt, 165–86. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Hoover, Willis Collins. 1977. Historia Del Avivamiento Pentecostal En Chile. Santiago: Ebenezer. Howell, Brian. 2003. “Practical belief and the localization of Christianity: Pentecostal and denominational Christianity in global/local perspective.” Religion 33 (3): 223–48 Kessler, J.B.A., Jr. 1967. A Study of the Older Protestant Missions and Churches in Peru and Chile: With Special Reference to the Problems of Division, Nationalism and Native Ministry. Goes: Oosterbaan & Le Cointre N.V.

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The Glocalization of Pentecostal Religion in Chile Lagos Schuffeneger, Humberto. 1998.  Crisis de la esperanza:  religión y autoritarismo en Chile. Santiago: Programa Evangélico de Estudios Socio-Religiosos. Lalive d’Epinay, Christian. 1969. Haven of the Masses: A Study of the Pentecostal Movement in Chile. London: Lutterworth. Lindhardt, Martin. 2012. Power in Powerlessness. A study of Pentecostal Life-Worlds in Urban Chile. Leiden: Brill. Lindhardt, Martin. 2014. “Introduction: Presence and Impact of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christianity in Africa.” In Pentecostalism in Africa: Presence and Impact of Pneumatic Christianity in Postcolonial Societies, edited by Martin Lindhardt, 1–53. Leiden: Brill. Lindhardt, Martin. 2016a. “We, the Youth, need to be Effusive: Pentecostal Youth Culture in Chile.” In New Ways of Being Pentecostal in Latin America, edited by Martin Lindhardt, 133–50. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Lindhardt, Martin. 2016b. “Time to Move On: Pentecostal Church Shifting and Religious Competition in Chile.” In New Ways of Being Pentecostal in Latin America, edited by Martin Lindhardt, 63–86. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Lindhardt, Martin. 2019. “Chilean Pentecostalism: Methodism Renewed.” In The Oxford History of Protestant Dissenting Traditions, edited by Jehu J. Hanciles, 358–79. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lindhardt, Martin. 2020. “Pushing Pentecostalism Toward the Respectable: On the Mainstreaming of a Counter Cultural Religious Movement in Chile.” Religion 50 (4): 671–95. Lindhardt, Martin, and Dorthe Brogaard Kristensen. 2012. “Chile på vej ud af fortidens skygger.” In Chile mellem fortid og fremtid, edited by Martin Lindhardt, and Dorthe Brogaard Kristensen, 9–37. Aalborg: Aalborg Universitetsforlag. Mansilla, Miguel Ángel. 2007. “El Neo Pentecostalismo Chileno.” Revista de Ciencias Sociales 18: 87–102. Oviedo, David. 2009. “Neopentecostalismo en el Chile contemporáneo: Ruptura religiosa y asimilación social.” In Voces del Pentecostalismo ll, edited by José Daniel Chiquete Beltrán, and Luis Alberto Orellana Urtubia, 77–97. Concepción: Centro Evangélico de Estudios Pentecostales. Robertson, Roland. 1992. Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London: Sage. Sepúlveda, Juan. 1996. “Reinterpreting Chilean Pentecostalism.” Social Compass 18 (3): 299–318. Sepúlveda, Juan. 1988. “Pentecostal Theology in the Context of Struggle for Life.” In Faith Born in the Struggle for Life, edited by Dow Kirpatrick, 299–318. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Sepúlveda, Juan. 1999. “Indigenous Pentecostalism and the Chilean Experience.” In Pentecostals after a Century: Global Perspectives on a Movement in Transition, edited by Allan H. Anderson, and Walter Hollenweger, 111–34. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Stoll, David. 1990. Is Latin America Turning Protestant? The Politics of Evangelical Growth. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Wilkinson, Michael. 2016. “Pentecostals and the World: Theoretical and Methodological Issues for Studying Global Pentecostalism.” Pneuma 38 (4): 373–93.

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2 NO EYE HAS SEEN The Local and Global in Writing Australasian Pneumatic Christianity Mark P. Hutchinson

Introduction Oceanian Pentecostalism is shaped by geographical, cultural, and “encounter” histories of vast heterogeneity. A relatively small population scattered across island chains in one of the world’s largest oceans has been shaped by very different local cultures, huge linguistic and cultural diversity, and differing colonial contact histories. Protestant/Catholic and interorganizational competition unlocked differential charismatic potentialities in local cultures. The archipelagoes also interacted dynamically with the two “big island” countries in the region, Australia and New Zealand, which (in their more rapid secularization and modernization) are simultaneously locations of significant indigeneity, nodes for transnational Pentecostalism, and high migration recipients of indigenizing Pentecostalism from the more Christianized island nations. These origins and flows have made Oceania the source of significant and highly mobile charismatic innovation, which has spread around the world. This chapter describes these broad dynamics, many of which work counter to the national selfnarratives of the larger nation states in the region, and provides a number of examples of how locality and globality work in this highly mobile part of the world. In discussions of the relationship between the local and the global in Pentecostalism, Oceania is an often overlooked but critical case. It is a place of vast diversity – from large population first world “big islands” (Australia and New Zealand), to resource rich “developing” nations (Papua New Guinea), to island nations (such as the Solomon Islands and Nauru) dealing with the flotsam of colonialism, to “fourth world” cultures with barely any contact with the assumed global realities of scholars. This enormous oceanic expanse is (in the words of one author) a historiographical “donut” (Hodge and O’Carroll 2006, 177): much has been written about the Pacific Rim, but very little about its middle. Oceania is also largely ignored by historians of Pentecostalism in the “standard account,” despite its significant contributions to anthropology and the social sciences, and its increasing centrality in “the dance of elephants” (particularly in global strategic and policy organizations such as the UN, the IMF, and the International Whaling Commission) as great powers vie for global political influence. Even before the rise of the Pacific Rim as a concept, Oceania and the Indian Ocean Rim were key to the rise of modernity – from the rise of the great Dutch, English, and other chartered companies through to the great Catholic and Protestant missionary societies from 32

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the eighteenth century forward. Tahiti was the London Missionary Society’s first objective with the sailing of the Duff in 1796, while New Zealand was for some time considered a greater Protestant missionary success than either India or China. Oceania remains proportionately more Christian than almost any other region in the world, a vast “space of flows” of mobile engagements between local and global forces.

Missionary Mental Maps Its mobility and multilingualism renders Oceania a difficult scholarly focus. Its marginalization by scholars of Pentecostalism says much about both the fragmentation of the island spaces and about the European gaze, with its fascination for the large land masses on the mental Mercator map projected from London, Basle, Chicago, or Los Angeles. (In Stanley 2009, for instance, Oceania is conspicuous by its absence.) After the flight of London Missionary Society staff from Tahiti in 1798 (many to foundational Christian ministries in Australia among marginal settlements and Aboriginal people), missions to the Pacific shifted to rugged individualists (such as Charles Abel of Kwato, or Florence Young, founder of the Queensland Kanaka Mission (QKM)). Otherwise, the “European gaze” sent most “global northern” missionaries to the large land masses and centers of population. There was no equivalent in the Pacific to the celebrated “Cambridge Seven.” The lack of European support also meant a rapid transition to indigenous workers and (eventually) leadership. The QKM’s evolution into the South Sea Evangelical Mission (SSEM) in the Pacific was initially entangled with large-scale “blackbirded” labor migration, developed in order to skirt imperial abolitionist laws (Speedy 2015, 349) and to feed the “sugar boom” built (literally) on the backs of cheap Pacific labor (Corris 1968, 85–105). For the Young family at Fairymead in Bundaberg, the wealth produced by this “kanaka” labor funded evangelical outreach. Of the half a million indentured workers displaced to work in “plantation based, mining, shell diving and other enterprises across the Western Pacific” ( Jones 2019, 540–57), some 60,000 rotated through Queensland often on three-year labor contracts. Others stayed, and settled – only (barring some 2000 residents) to be repatriated forcibly after the Australian Federation imposed racial laws to satisfy white labor and other federalist activists (McGregor 2012, 332). The QKM responded to this change in context by employing large numbers of (often unpaid) “native teachers.” Former QKM converts such as Peter Abu’ofa returned to their communities of origin in the islands with their new faith (and other mobility skills, such as English and the ability to read) (Moore 2013, 23–42). This labor and capital circulation extended the entanglements of globalizing encounters and local missions. Presbyterian missionaries in the New Hebrides partly funded their work through the sale of arrowroot (grown on the islands) back in centers such as Sydney. The Young family’s Malayta Company simultaneously extended its commercial reach even as it expanded its missions (Moore 2017). New Guinea became (without the sense of irony which the size of the Australian population and the later problems incumbent on the term might have implied) Australia’s “empire” – missions, commercial interests, and the political development of the region went hand in hand (Thompson 1990, 68–84). It is possible to conceptualize these local-global exchanges and engagements in a number of ways. There were contact histories between European Christianities and indigenous and mobile Pacific spiritualities; connections between transnational and local religious flows in missions, renewal and revivalist, and migration; and then the sort of formal connections which (leaving written records of formal institutions) become the stuff of historiography. The relative lack of interest in the region heightened these very varied but significant contact histories. 33

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A number of case studies make this apparent: the emergence of Pentecostalism in northern Queensland, among Māori peoples in New Zealand, and in indigenous Pentecostalisms in the Solomon Islands and Samoa.

Indigenized Christian Revitalization Movements As Simon Moetara points out, the standard account of the rise of Pentecostalism (the single point of origin at the Azusa Street Revival) ignores prior evidence of a global upsurge of indigenized Christian revitalization movements (Moetara 2012). Contact histories in the Pacific also preceded the formal emergence of Pentecostalism. As early as the seventeenth century, European mercantilism established (often brutal) regimes in places such as India and Batavia, with consequences for the early construction of whaling, trading, and penal economies in the Pacific. Australia was a large landmass with hundreds of indigenous language groups, nations, and variants of Aboriginal spirituality. Its initial settlements were dominated by a military and penal establishment, dependent on the British colonial and ecclesial presence in India, and the Dutch trading presence at Batavia. Catholicism remained legally marginal in NSW until the 1830s, and mass migration (to both Australia and New Zealand) didn’t “tick up” until victory against Napoleon and defeat by the American colonists, Catholic emancipation, the global anti-slavery campaigns of the British navy, the race for colonies, and improved transportation technologies created a new context for global movement. Unlike the American colonies, therefore, Australia did not receive the “religious migration” that saw the birth of the Massachusetts Bay Company, or Quaker Pennsylvania, or the Eastern European settlement on the open plains of Canada, the United States, and parts of South America. Europeans as a whole (with some exceptions) did not come to Australia to do good – they mostly came to do well (often with mixed results). The indigenous people they found, however, were intensely spiritual, and encounters between indigenous peoples and the newcomers (frustratingly undocumented as they are) had a significant impact on the types of Christianities that emerged. Charismatic (or spiritual) “capital” emerges, it might be argued, precisely in those spaces where institutional, economic and other forms of capital are lacking. Encounters with Aboriginal and Islander peoples are a significant element in the life stories of early Charismatic leaders in Australia. It is not a coincidence that two of the major influences on the global Divine Healing Movement around the end of the nineteenth century emerged from locations where European settlement connected to indigenous peoples. John Alexander Dowie (1847–1907), for example, was one of those Celts who disproportionately made up the ranks of settlers on the Australian pastoral frontier (Watson 1984; Prentis 2008). He had his first ministry experiences around Alma, South Australia, experiences that were later repeated in inner city Sydney and rural Victoria. For his part, James Moore Hickson (1868–1933) was born at Broken River near Mansfield, Victoria to an Anglo-Irish family involved with the Aboriginal reserve on the Acheron River in Victoria (Hutchinson 2015). In Alma and on the Broken River, the perforce necessary reversion to medical self-help engaged with Christian spiritualities of prayer, as did the Charismatic renewals on the Scottish border, which eventually formalized into the Catholic Apostolic Church (CAC) movement. In these unspoken syntheses, can we see the influence of indigenous spiritualities? Other experiences, however, indicate that there was perhaps more cultural exchange via spiritual capital mobilizations than has previously been explored. Each of the key

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protagonists came to the contact situation with a religious language and embodied models of spirituality. It is likely that Dowie connected to the CAC while training in Edinburgh, while Hickson noted that he owed everything to his mother’s example. Dowie could call on Presbyterian roots and Congregationalist independency, while Hickson lived within a larger network of (Irish) Anglo-Catholic confidence in the church. What European migrants brought – Florence Young’s brethren spirituality, for example, or Retta Long’s Christian Endeavour and Irish Baptist evangelism – must be taken into account as they interacted with indigenous Australians. Long, who established the La Perouse mission in Sydney, was an able administrator as well as a revivalist, creating communities of spiritual practice in a number of areas in New South Wales that, by 1924, were beginning to see the “appearance” of indigenous leadership “[w]ith almost unique suddenness simultaneously all over our field” (Radi 2000). Radi emphasizes Long’s “deeper life” conventions of the 1930s as a time of particular revival among indigenous communities and, we presume, the Europeans too. It was at Long’s La Perouse mission after all that, in January 1913, another Celt, the Irish-born Isabella Hetherington, became involved in “an unusual occurrence of charismatic expressions of worship, including glossolalia.” “[To]o controversial for the mission leaders … Hetherington withdrew,” and went on to found the first Pentecostal mission to Aboriginal people in the Daintree region of Queensland (Chant 2005). Interestingly enough, it was also in 1924 (as Long celebrated the sudden emergence of an indigenous leadership in her missions) that (in the cane fields at a farm outside of Macknade, Queensland) the Holy Spirit fell on the evangelical Methodist family of cane farmer W.J. Enticknap. The Enticknaps had family connections to the Bendigo prayer groups that helped fuel the Torrey and Alexander 1902 campaign’s success in rural Victoria, and possibly to Robert Harkness, who became Charles Alexander’s pianist and one of the best-known hymn writers of his time. Referred to dismissively as “The Bible Banger’s Refuge” after Enticknap’s conversion out of liberalizing mainstream Methodism, three factors made Macknade the place of Pentecostal visitation. The first was its high local representation of islander and aboriginal people, among whom Florence Young’s QKM/ SSEM had been working for decades. Two of the most important early female leaders of Australian Pentecostalism – Annie Dennis (1872–1952) and Mary Florence “Molly” Ayers (1881–1966) – worked in Young’s circles, connecting them intrinsically to indigenous communities. The Macknade revival, moreover, spread most quickly among South Sea islander communities and, before the emergence of the European-dominated Assemblies of God in Queensland (AGQ) in 1929, featured many indigenous leaders. Its rural location reinforced this interaction with Pacific and Aboriginal peoples – it was here that the trans-Pacific labor circulation (as opposed to the managerial classes in the city) was most present. It was in these circles in the 1930s, where the evangelism of Will and Charles Enticknap was initially most effective, that key indigenous Pentecostal leaders, such as Sterling Minniecon, arose. According to his grandsons, Rod and Ray Minniecon (themselves key Christian leaders), their grandfather was born into a South Sea Islander/Kabi Kabi/Gurang nation family on the Young family plantation near Bundaberg, where his father, James, a blackbirded cane worker kidnapped from Ambrym Island, was converted under Florence Young. Sterling Minniecon was “filled with the Spirit” under the Enticknaps and became a successful itinerant evangelist based in the Lowmead/Bundaberg area (Minniecon 1987). He would be the first Aboriginal pastor to be accredited by the Assemblies of God, working around the Atherton Tablelands to establish Pinnacle Pocket Church and later Mossman Gorge, following the death of Isabella Hetherington. Reflecting on the significance of the Holy

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Spirit element of his grandfather’s faith and its continuing power among Aboriginal communities in Queensland, Ray Minniecon notes: [W]hen I look back on that moment, I think it was the birthing place of the Holy Spirit’s movement amongst the people … particularly through Queensland … because you have this incredible spiritual move of God throughout that particular state in all of these Aboriginal communities. Not all of them, but, you know, most of them anyways had what you would call a Charismatic or a Pentecostal influence through there … After two hundred and thirty years of rejection and exclusion and racism and all from the church, who’d want to be an Aboriginal Christian? It’s just dopey, it’s a foreign religion, and still is. If it wasn’t, I think, for [Florence Young], and the ways in which the Spirit moved at that time, I think … we might not have had the same experiences … with God … Because the church was really not part of our life, at that time. Missionaries amongst us, but not the denominations that they came from. Minniecon (2019, 89ff ) The Enticknaps were also well-connected through family circles to Victoria and to parts of Northern Queensland impacted by the campaigns of R.A. Torrey, C.A. Alexander, and J.W. Chapman. Between 1902 and 1912, these campaigns opened up large parts of Australia to the influence of transnational revivalism. When the Chapman–Alexander mission came to Mackay in 1910, Will Enticknap Sr’s oldest daughter, Nell, reintroduced them to an old family friend. Robert Harkness, Chapman’s pianist, had grown up in Bendigo, and was well known to Will Sr’s mother. It was while in Mackay for this campaign that Will first connected with Annie Smith’s (later Dennis) evangelical mission, Hebron Mission home, before it was yet Pentecostal. Finally, Macknade’s location at the center of the burgeoning sugar industry connected early Pentecostals such as Will Enticknap Sr to the larger world – he took part in several sugar industry delegations to the seat of the new nation’s government, Melbourne, where he stayed with his sisters, Eliza and Lena. They had become fervent Christians through a prayer group in Bendigo, and Eliza (living in Melbourne) had become connected to John Coombe’s Palmer St Mission in Fitzroy (an outgrowth of the 1909 Chapman Alexander Mission influential on a number of early Pentecostal leaders, including C.L. Greenwood) (Confidence 1909, 94–5; Chant 1999). Both sisters shortly thereafter received the Keswick “fullness” of Christ, and (again, after a time) “the Gift of Tongues.” Lene wrote: “My sister received her Pentecost in the Gift of Tongues nine months after claiming the fullness … I believe I am the first one in Bendigo to have received the Gift of Tongues” (in Hutchinson 2018). Often separated in the literature, it is at this biographical level that the connections between the global economic (sugar, Pacific labor, etc.), political (colonialism, abolitionism, etc.) and religious (Keswick, transnational revivalist, etc.) networks, on the one hand, and local Pentecostalisms, on the other, can be seen to overlap and interact. Although formally separated at the level of institutional identity, in the experience of local, often marginal players, the Holy Spirit emphases in Methodist perfectionism, Keswick “fullness,” transnational revivalism, and indigenous appropriations of Christianity found a fully blown Pentecostal expression. A decade later, Good News Hall evangelist Annie Dennis remembered her meeting with Will Jr in Mackay during the Chapman Alexander Mission. Not knowing the Enticknap address, she merely inscribed “Mr Enticknap, Ingham District” on the envelope. The result was the 1924 Macknade Revival, a primary plank in the institutional birth of the AGQ in 1929, and in turn a key contributor to the emergence of the Assemblies of God in Australia in 1936. 36

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New Zealand The historiography of Pentecostalism on “the other big island,” New Zealand, resonates with the Australian experience, but also demonstrates the variety of Pacific local/global engagements. Like Australia, New Zealand was at the end of the global “train line” for European expansion and colonization. As transportation and communications technologies improved, it was increasingly caught up in the web of global missions and revivalism. The connections between, for instance, the Spurgeonite and Congregationalist Abel/Carter family and missions in Papua New Guinea, ran through Auckland, as did the missionary networks typified by the career of C.J. Rolls. At various times, Rolls was a missionary in India, Dean of the New Zealand Bible Training Institute in Auckland; Dean of Education at the Kansas City Bible College in Missouri and Dean of the Missionary and Bible College, Sydney. New Zealand punched well above its (demographic) weight as a center for religious innovation and global impact. In part, this is because New Zealand attracted a larger proportion of religiously inspired migrant movements out of Europe than Australia did. For this to be made plain, one only has to think of the Otago Settlement (1848) under the Reverend Thomas Burns (Brooking 1990; Harper 2011), the impact of the Brethren movement both historically (members of the Young Family were originally New Zealand Brethren, and connected to the worldwide influence of their cousins, the medical/banking Deck family) (Griffiths 1977; Lineham 1982; Braga 1990; Redden 2011), and, more recently, the Baptistinspired Albertland settlers (Brett and Hook 1979), the settlement of Waipu by Norman McLeod’s followers (Lenihan 2015), the impact of New Zealanders (and Australians) on the emergence of Smith Wigglesworth and A.C. Valdez Sr as international figures, and their involvements in the spread of the Charismatic movement in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s throughout Asia and the Pacific (Hutchinson 2010, 2014, 2020). The question is “why?” When Christians thought about the term “the end of the world,” two things occurred. First, the prophetic imagination connected with the parousia – the return of Christ and the fulfillment of all things. Second, they thought about the literal geographical ends of the earth – which, from London, is cartographically New Zealand. These different “ends of the earth” were conflated in and had played a key role for the Christian imagination ever since Jesus had uttered the words of the promise to his disciples: “But you’ll receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you’ll be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8, NIV). It was, as Stuart Piggin has noted of the work of Jonathan Edwards, an indwelling ticking clock that constantly returned to inform the missional mindset (Piggin 2003). As “Bible Prophecy” conferences and publications reached a height at the end of the nineteenth century, New Zealand emerged as a new land of promise entangled in prophetic glamour. Unlike the post hoc use of de Queirós “Austrialia del Espiritu Santo” in Catholic literature in the latter part of the nineteenth century, here was a biblical impulse for primitivist Christians that was part of their imagination before they migrated (Kelly 1966).

Māori Movements New Zealand was also home to a large, well-organized, and well-connected “reception community” with an integrated spirituality of nature, the Māori. Until the 1850s, Māori remained a majority of the New Zealand population. Even when land disappropriations sparked a series of painful wars with p ākeh ā [white men] government and allied Māori communities, the spiritual responses of Māori communities remained coherent, synthetic, and innovative. 37

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The response to social disruption and declining economic capital was a rise in prophetic and healing movements that, as Bronwyn Elsmore notes, leant heavily on the translation of the Christian scriptures into Māori (Elsmore 2013). After an early mass movement of Māori into Christian affiliations, the entanglement of the churches with an increasingly oppressive colonial regime, spiritual crises among the tohunga and community leadership, introduced diseases, materialism, and the patent divisions between Christian denominations, undermined their authority. Many adopted syncretic indigenizations (Elsmore 2013, 81). It was clear to the Māori that, having given up their own gods for the high God of the Christians, they were the only ones actually taking the Bible seriously. Elsmore refers to the “Prophetic Period” after 1860, building on a period of healers who responded to large-scale deaths from introduced diseases by appropriating Christian teachings and the promised power of the high God into traditional practices. Missionaries such as the Cornish Wesleyan William Woon testified to effective spiritual healing practices in the name of Jesus, by traditional healers (Elsmore 2013, 83). The attempts of missionaries and administrators to suppress the practices, while failing to provide any equivalent spiritual power, only reinforced Māori spiritual independence. In addition to a return to traditional practices, a new style of prophetic movement appeared in the Pai Marire, Ringatu, Parihaka, and to some degree in the Wairarapa district, “all formed around a distinct prophet figure or figures who were inspired by the biblical model” (Elsmore 2013, 154). Both prophets and followers had previously been Christian adherents, and the prophets themselves were often associated with formal roles in the Church: “Te Ua was a local teacher, it is said that Te Kooti had wanted to take office in the church, and Te Whiti was known to be a great biblical scholar” (Elsmore 2013, 155). For the history of Pentecostalism, this more recent, de-denominationalized historiography has three major consequences. First, it demonstrates that the spiritual capital already in the local was provided with new potency and application by the structural holes in the global. Māori healing and prophecy appropriated Christian teachings and forms in order to develop more effective political and social approaches to dealing with European dominance. Among the best researched accounts of this dynamic encounter between indigeneity and globalizing colonialism draw on the story of Tahupōtiki Wiremu Rātana. Born in 1873, Rātana came from an influential family line (his grandfather was the Anglican, pro-government loyalist chief, Rātana Ng ā hina), which featured healers (such as Mere Rikiriki, faith healer in the Te Whiti circle who later founded her own “Church of the Holy Spirit” at Parewanui) and prophets. Two key events occurred that propelled an otherwise unexceptional (if well-connected) agricultural worker into national prominence. First, on November 8, 1918, he had a powerful visionary experience that was interpreted by his family (after a short period in which they considered him mad) as the fulfillment of a 1912 prophecy by Mere Rikiriki that a new prophet would arise who would restore the mana of the Māori. She identified T.W. Rātana as that prophet. Second, the advent of Spanish Influenza decimated many Māori circles – it left Rātana as the only male heir in his family, seemed to fulfill his predictions, and highlighted the inefficacy of European scientific medicine compared to Māori traditional practices. His farm (called later by many a pa) began to attract first Māori, after the healing of the daughter of a significant chief, and then increasing numbers of Europeans. As his fame grew through articles and books, “During 1919 and 1920 the train disgorged from 20 to 100 visitors at Rātana station daily,” and a village grew up centered on his farm (Ballara 1996). Initially, he won widespread support from Anglican and Methodist ministers, in particular as he campaigned against traditional Māori tohunga and desecrated the locations of ancient tapu. The transition of the Rātana movement into a church, a social movement, and, finally, a religiously driven political party, has been covered elsewhere (Mathiesen 2006; Newman 2009). Most interesting for this 38

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chapter, however, is to note the influence on the rise of Pentecostalism. Reporting in 1921 on the miracles associated with his ministry, A.A. Boddy’s magazine Confidence declared Rātana “entirely orthodox,” with teaching “strictly on Bible lines, that they must forsake their idolatry, their religious worship (Tohuogaism) [sic] and superstition, and all their vices, and turn to the true God” (Anon 1921, 55). In Melbourne, the Foursquare evangelist and teacher, Kelso Glover, pointed to Rātana’s revival as evidence of a sovereign and “end times” pouring out of the Spirit upon the world (Anon 1925, 13). For Pentecostal readers, such reports appeared in journals right alongside the reports of healings at Sunderland, in India, and by such key figures as Smith Wigglesworth and Stephen Jeffreys. Rātana (and particularly his success in healing Europeans such as Fanny Lammas) were thus coopted as part of what we might call “the first Pentecostal globalization.” This was a narrative space, not unlike the revivalist press of the eighteenth century, which placed the local experiences of Pentecostals in Florida, or Chicago, or Springfield into the context of a global Holy Spirit upsurge. The stories of Pentecostal outpourings in China, India, Australia, and New Zealand functioned to demonstrate the “end times” sovereignty of God. This was not the work of humans – it is precisely Rātana’s humble origins and non-pākehā status that makes him an attractive example of the power of God, confounding the despised traditional denominations and giving him a permissible deference to European rule. (Had the international press known about his political activities, it would, perhaps, have been less enamored of his Spirit-led ministry.) Where the missionary movement had struggled, Rātana’s campaigns drew thousands, and boasted some 12,000 “undeniable” personal accounts of healing. This was not a Pentecostalism that, like the Azusa Street story, starts somewhere and then spreads everywhere. Rather, this was a Pentecostalism that started everywhere, in God’s sovereign timing, and only later was recognized by co-believers and fellow experientialists in one another. Rātana, of course, did not claim to be a Pentecostal. By the mid-1920s, however, the growth of the indigenous Pentecostal revival in Australasia had begun to draw significant numbers of international visitors. Smith Wigglesworth toured in 1922, but mainly had an impact on pākeh ā communities. Unlike the Assemblies of God in New Zealand, which emerged from these campaigns, the Apostolic Church evangelist Alfred Greenway intentionally ministered to Māori at Waitangi Pà, Te Puke in 1934, and from 1937 there was a deliberate attempt to identify and raise Māori leaders and to have pākeh ā ministers become functional in Māori.

Integration into Global Networks When Pentecostalism began to renew itself through the spread of Latter Rain teachings and practices in the 1950s and 1960s, and then Charismatic teachings in the 1960s and 1970s, therefore, Māori communities were key starting points and articulators of the new spirituality. Among the more successful evangelists produced by New Zealand was Muriwhenua (Muri) Thompson, who worked with Open Air Campaigners, but went on to have an international impact also through the Charismatic Revival movement of the 1960s and 1970s (particularly in the Solomon Islands). A more self-conscious descendant of R ātana was sometime Apostolic pastor, Brian Tamaki, founder of the Destiny Church movement, which planted offshoots along Māori labor and migration trails in the trans-Tasman region. As Michael Frost notes, Destiny spirituality was dynamically transnational and syncretic, appearing “to be a fusion of some aspects of Māori culture, African-American Pentecostalism, fundamentalism, an Apostolic heritage, the prosperity gospel, and Brian Tamaki’s personal charismatic leadership” (Frost 2018, 184). Destiny’s chief historian, Peter Lineham, notes that the 39

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church is “Māori at heart,” particularly appealing (through the “black power” influences of African-American leader Eddie Long) to detribalized Māori who find in Tamaki’s patriarchal economic self-empowerment a spiritual technology for self-restoration. Lineham notes the resonances between chiefly Māori traditions and Tamaki”s “apostolic” Old Testament kingly rulership (Moetara 2012; Lineham 2013). Finally, the continuing spiritual coherency and orientation among Māori communities – shaped by the Rātana experience – predisposed the original inhabitants of this other Pacific “big island” to respond to certain (although not all) aspects of Pentecostalism. Māori communities formed a particular cultural system, but one that was also connected to a broader Polynesian Pacific community. While there would be conflicts between the communities, the specifically Polynesian culture of New Zealand integrated significant in-migration from Samoa, the Cook Islands, and Tonga, presenting pākeh ā New Zealanders with a concrete reality around which European communities would have to build. Both pākeh ā and Māori Pentecostalisms needed to work together. New Zealand has also been, if not a back door, at least a side window through which Pacific influences have continued to influence Australia, even when the biggest of the big islands has been more concerned with its Asian neighbors to the north and around the Pacific Rim (Hutchinson 2001). Rātana soaked up both local Māori and globalizing European settler influences and presented solutions back to the dominant imperial establishment that have taken generations to resolve – and, some would say, are yet to be fully resolved. These ripples in the Pacific have moved many successor movements. As Alan Tippett (1977) powerfully noted, the Pacific early generated a remarkable, self-sustaining, self-converting process of regional cross-cultural missions. Since it has been mined with profit by historians in Africa and Asia, it is useful to remember that these insights arose in the Pacific, precisely because indigenous communities took to the oceanic highways with great enthusiasm, carrying indigenous versions of missionary Christianity across remarkable distances to their confreres in other Pacific cultures. As Michael Griffiths noted, in surprise, in 1997 while on his way to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of indigenous OMF Japanese missionary outreach: “There has been much missiological enthusiasm about the ‘great new fact of the second half of the 20th century-two-thirds world missions’ … Imagine our amusement therefore to discover that this ‘great new fact’ was entirely dwarfed by the mission of Pacific islanders in the first half of the 19th century!” (Griffiths 1997). The missionization of the Pacific “was not accomplished by European missionaries alone but by a veritable army of islander teachers and pastors, themselves often recently converted,” a lower boundary figure of some 1,500 serving in “overseas” service between 1819 and the early 1970s (Munro and Thornley 2000, 2).

Conclusion The case study of Oceania holds many lessons for the study of Pentecostalism. The story on the ground in no way reflects the unidirectional “center to periphery” stories told both of nineteenth-century European missions, or by the emergence of twentieth-century Pentecostalism (Macdonald 2020). Scholars based in first world countries will inevitably find Pacific Pentecostalism a conundrum to their received assumptions. It remains a profoundly “enchanted” (Barker 2003, 292) source of influence and change in a modern globalized world where secularism is assumed to reign. The secularized “big islands” in particular have been, and continue to be, receiving points for influences from this vast oceanic hinterland. The underlying “paths in the sea” 40

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continue to produce charismatic innovations, and so to provide insights into Pentecostalism elsewhere in the majority world. Migration, for example, requires significant psychological and social capital (Dennis 2017; Openshaw 2018). In the absence of the access to financial capital, migrants from the majority world can opt instead for mobility through highly energetic forms of spirituality. Many Pacific movements have responded to the penetration of the global by adopting the “fluid paths” of globalization as mechanisms for self-advancement and the spread of the particularly Pacific sense of millennial calling. Conversion to Pentecostalism in Fiji, for example, often follows contact with one of the many urban Pentecostal churches that sprang up after Independence in 1970. This is transferred through internal migration back to the villages, which in turn are then connected to global narratives of migration. Charismatic spirituality empowers the renegotiation of traditional social roles and relationships. In short, Pentecostalism has been remarkably successful because of its “paradoxical capacity to promote global modernity in the form of universalistic values centered on individual achievement, yet see these values within a deeply anti-modern worldview prioritizing religious faith” (Brison 2007, 21). The Pacific thus retains a relevance that far outweighs its population numbers. Pasifika labor migration has become a deeply entrenched tradition, and the Pacific itself a front line in the global repositioning of superpowers (Fry and Tarte 2015; Zhang 2017). With their large pasifika populations, New Zealand and Australia play important mediating roles, economically (through remittances), culturally (as an officially recognized convergence point for Polynesian cultures), and politically (many pasifika peoples carrying dual passports, enabling them to travel more freely than would otherwise be the case). As recent public conflicts over racism and religious rights within Australian sporting codes (Knox 2020) and increased Australian government engagement with Pacific churches have demonstrated, Pentecostalism is now a key facilitator for Pacific peoples in diaspora (Hutchinson 2019). What “no eye had seen” except the eye of localized and migrant faith, has now become clearly visible to all in the public square.

References Anon. 1909. Confidence (April 1909): 94–5. Anon. 1921. “A Maori Miracle Man”, Confidence (Oct-Dec): 55. Anon. 1925. “Blessing in New Zealand,” Latter Rain Evangel (Nov 1925): 13. Ballara, Angela. 1996. “Rātana, Tahupōtiki Wiremu 1873–1939.” In Encyclopedia of New Zealand, edited by E. Cox et al. Online: Te-Ara: The Encyclopedia of New Zealand (Wellington, NZ: NZ Government Printer, 2022), https://teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/3r4/ratana-tahupotiki-wiremu, (accessed 1 March 2021). Barker, John. 2003. “Christian Bodies: Dialectics of Sickness and Salvation Among the Maisin of Papua New Guinea.” Journal of Religious History 27 (3): 272–92. Braga, Stuart. 1990. “Deck, John Northcote.” In Australian Dictionary of Evangelical Biography. Adelaide: Flinders University Press and the EHAA, online https://sites.google.com/view/australiandictionary-of-evang/d/deck-john-northcote-1875-1957, (accessed 10 February 2021). Brett, Henry, and Henry Hook. 1979. The Albertlanders: Brave Pioneers of the Sixties. Christchurch: Capper Press. Brison, Karen. 2007. “The Empire Strikes Back: Pentecostalism in Fiji.” Ethnology 46 (1): 21–39. Brooking, Tom. 1990. “Burns, Thomas 1796?–1871.” In Dictionary of New Zealand Biography (1st ed.), edited by Tim Shoebridge et al. Online: Te-Ara: The Encyclopedia of New Zealand (Wellington, NZ: NZ Government Printer, 2022), https://teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/1b52/burns-thomas, (accessed 10 February 2021). Chant, Barry. 1999. The Spirit of Pentecost: Origins and Development of the Pentecostal Movement in Australia, 1870–1939. PhD. Thesis, Macquarie University.

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Mark P. Hutchinson Chant, Barry. 2005. “Hetherington, Isabella (1870–1946).” In Australian Dictionary of Biography. National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/ hetherington-isabella-12980/text23459, published first in hardcopy Australian Dictionary of Biography, Supplementary Volume, (Carlton: Melbourne University Press, 2005), (accessed online 9 February 2021). Corris, Peter. 1968. “‘Blackbirding’ in New Guinea Waters, 1883–84: An Episode in the Queensland Labour Trade.” Journal of Pacific History 3: 85–105. Dennis, Dorcas. 2017. “Travelling with the Spirit: Pentecostal Migration Religiosity between Ghana and Australia.” Unpublished PhD thesis, Victoria University of Wellington. Elsmore, Bronwyn. 2013. Mana from Heaven: A Century of M āori Prophets in New Zealand. Auckland: Libro International. Frost, Michael. 2018. The Spirit, Indigenous Peoples and Social Change: M āori and a Pentecostal Theology of Social Engagement. Leiden: Brill. Fry, Greg, and Sandra Tarte. 2015. The New Pacific Diplomacy. Canberra: ANU Press. Griffiths, Alison. 1977. Fire in the Islands! The Acts of the Holy Spirit in the Solomons. Wheaton, IL: H. Shaw. Griffiths, Michael. 1997. “The Deep Sea Canoe Movement.” Evangelicals Now [online], https:// www.e-n.org.uk/1997/01/features/the-deep-sea-canoe-movement/?search=1 Harper, Marjory. 2011. “A Century of Scottish Emigration to New Zealand.” Immigrants & Minorities 29 (2): 220–39. Hodge, Bob, and John O’Carroll. 2006. Borderwork in Multicultural Australia. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin. Hutchinson, Mark P. 2001. “Goes without Saying: Themes for Trans-Tasman Religious Research.” Seminar paper, University of Otago Liberal Arts Seminar, October 2001, https://www.academia. edu/12141878/Goes_without_Saying_Themes_for_Trans_Tasman_Religious_Research. Hutchinson, Mark. 2010. “The Latter Rain Movement and the Phenomenon of Global Return.” In Winds from the North: Canadian Contributions to the Pentecostal Movement, edited by Michael Wilkinson, and Peter Althouse, 265–84. Leiden: Brill. Hutchinson, Mark. 2014. “Paul Herbert Collins.” In Australasian Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, edited by M.P. Hutchinson. Parramatta, NSW: Alphacrucis University College, online https://sites.google.com/view/adpcm/a-d-top-page/collins-paul, (accessed 10 February 2021). Hutchinson, Mark. 2015. “James Moore Hickson (1868- 1933).” In Australasian Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, edited by M.P. Hutchinson. Parramatta, NSW: Alphacrucis University College, online https://sites.google.com/view/adpcm/e-h-top-page/hickson-james-moore, (accessed 9 February 2021). Hutchinson, Mark. 2018. “William John Enticknap, Sr (1863-1938).” In Australasian Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, edited by M.P. Hutchinson. Parramatta, NSW: Alphacrucis University College. https://sites.google.com/view/adpcm/e-h-top-page/enticknap-william, (accessed 9 February 2021). Hutchinson, Mark. 2019. “PCCs in Oceania: An Overview.” In Australasian Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, edited by Mark P. Hutchinson. Parramatta, NSW: Alphacrucis University College. https://sites.google.com/view/adpcm/home/pccs-in-oceania, (accessed 17 March 2021). Hutchinson, Mark. 2020. “Reframing Howard Carter: Alternative ‘Routes’ for the Emergence of the Australasian Charismatic Renewal.” In Australasian Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements: Arguments from the Margins, edited by C. Rocha, M.P. Hutchinson, and K. Openshaw, 25–52 Leiden: Brill. Jones, Grant. 2019. “The Construction of a Slave Identity: An Examination of the Dual Identity of Indentured Labourers Across the Western Pacific.” Labor History 60 (5): 540–57. Kelly, Celsus, ed. 1966. La Austrialia del Espíritu Santo: The journal of Fray Martín de Munilla O.F.M. and Other Documents. Cambridge: University Press, for the Hakluyt Society. Knox, Malcolm. 2020. Truth Is Trouble: The Strange Case of Israel Folau, or How Free Speech Became So Complicated. Cammeray: Simon and Schuster. Lenihan, Rebecca. 2015. From Alba to Aotearoa: Profiling New Zealand’s Scots Migrants, 1840-1920. Dunedin: Otago University Press. Lineham, Peter. 1982. “Tongues Must Cease: The Brethren and the Charismatic Movement in New Zealand.” Christian Brethren Research Fellowship Journal 96: 1–48. Lineham, Peter. 2013. Destiny: The Life and Times of a Self-Made Apostle. Auckland: Penguin.

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The Local and Global in Australasian Pneumatic Christianity Macdonald, Fraser. 2020. “How to Make Fire: Resonant Rupture within Melanesian Charismatic Revivalism.” Australian Journal of Anthropology 31 (2): 187–202. Mathiesen, Mari S. 2006. “The Ratana Church: Where Christianity, Politics and Māori Culture Come Together.” PhD Thesis, University of Oslo. McGregor, Russell. 2012. “Drawing the Local Colour Line: White Australia and the Tropical North.” Journal of Pacific History 47 (3): 329–46. Minniecon, Ray. 2019. “Interview with Tanya Riches.” Australasian Pentecostal Studies 20: 89ff. Minniecon, Rodney. 1987. Interview with Stuart Piggin, 14.9.1987, CSAC Oral History Collection, APSC Archives, Alphacrucis College. Moetara, Simon. 2012. “Māori and Pentecostal Christianity in Aotearoa New Zealand.” In Mana Maori and Christianity, edited by Hugh Morrison, Lachy Paterson, Brett Knowles, and Murray Rae, chapter 4. Auckland: Huia Publishers. Moore, Clive. 2013. “Peter Abu’ofa and the Founding of the South Sea Evangelical Mission in the Solomon Islands, 1894–1904.” Journal of Pacific History 48 (1): 23–42. Moore, Clive. 2017. “From QKM to SSEM, 1904–09.” In Making Mala: Malaita in Solomon Islands, 1870s–1930s. Canberra: ANU Press. https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1rfsrr9.14, (accessed 10 February 2021). Munro, Doug, and Andrew Thornley. 2000. “Pacific Islander Pastors and Missionaries: Some Historiographical and Analytical Issues.” Pacific Studies 23 (3/4): 1–31. Newman, Keith. 2009. Ratana: The Prophet. North Shore City: Raupo. Openshaw, Kathleen. 2018. “‘I am Universal’: An Ethnographic Study of the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God in Australia.” Unpublished PhD thesis, Western Sydney University. Piggin, F. Stuart. 2003. “The Expanding Knowledge of God: Jonathan Edwards’s Influence on Missionary Thinking and Promotion.” In Jonathan Edwards at Home and Abroad: Historical Memories, Cultural Movements, Global Horizons, edited by Douglas A. Sweeney, and David William Kling, 266–96. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Prentis, Malcolm D. 2008. The Scots in Australia. Kensington: UNSW Press. Radi, Heather. 2000. “Long, Margaret Jane (Retta) (1878–1956).” In Australian Dictionary of Biography. National Centre of Biography, Australian National University. https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/ long-margaret-jane-retta-10857/text19271, published first Australian Dictionary of Biography, volume 15 (Carlton: Melbourne University Press, 2000), (accessed online 9 February 2021). Redden, Guy. 2011. “Destiny, the Exclusive Brethren and Mediated Politics in New Zealand.” In Mediating Faiths: Religion and Socio-cultural Change in the Twenty-first Century, edited by Michael Bailey, and Guy Redden, 205–18. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing. Speedy, Karin. 2015. “The Sutton Case: The First Franco-Australian Foray into Blackbirding.” Journal of Pacific History 50 (3): 344–64. Stanley, Brian. 2009. The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh, 1910. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans. Thompson, Roger C. 1990. “Making a Mandate: The Formation of Australia’s New Guinea Policies 1919–1925.” Journal of Pacific History 25 (1): 68–84. Tippett, Alan R. 1977. The Deep Sea Canoe: The Story of Third World Missionaries in the South Pacific. South Pasadena, CA: William Carey Library. Watson, Don. 1984. Caledonia Australis: Scottish Highlanders on the Frontier of Australia. Ringwood: Penguin Australia. Zhang, Denghua. 2017. “China’s Diplomacy in the Pacific: Interests, Means and Implications.” Security Challenges, Shifting Tides 13 (2): 32–53.

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3 ONE GOD, MANY MOVEMENTS The Historical Narratives of Oneness Pentecostals Andrea Shan Johnson

Introduction Driving up the Arroyo Seco Parkway between Los Angeles and Pasadena, one travels a route of historic significance: once part of Route 66, the road traveled by many early twentiethcentury migrants to the American West; it became part of the first freeway in the United States in 1940, thanks to the New Deal infrastructure projects. Now part of Los Angeles’ urban sprawl, broken up only by a greenbelt along the road, the lands along this parkway were less developed in the 1910s, and became the perfect place to hold a revival for the unity of the Pentecostal movement. A 1913 revival there, occurring as the Pentecostal movement was passing its Azusa Street Revival heyday, is often described as the place where Oneness Pentecostalism began. Much of the historical narrative of Oneness Pentecostalism is centered around this moment, the conflicts that resulted, and the denominational organizations that developed as a result through the early Cold War era. However, this narrative does not reflect the full story of Oneness Pentecostals. Like their Trinitarian counterparts, North American Oneness Pentecostals did support mission works, perhaps even more so than others. The result is that the movement became stronger internationally than in the United States. In 2014, Talmadge French estimated that there were around 30 million Oneness Pentecostals and that, globally, 40 percent were black, 30 percent were Asian, 20 percent were Hispanic, and 9 percent were white (French 2014, 17, 25–26). These numbers appear to be an update of his work, Our God is One: The Story of Oneness Pentecostals, a book that is essentially a census of denominations that derived from Oneness Pentecostal movements (French 1999, 253–83). French broadly interprets Oneness Pentecostalism to include a large number of groups. For the faithful, these numbers are their own reward, shoring up a vision of a diverse people adherent to one doctrine. For scholars, however, these numbers should serve as a cautionary sign that traditional narratives of the movement may not well-represent the entire church body even within North America, and that the history is not a monolithic one. Indeed, while some ministerial figures in the historically black and white organizations can trace their theological ancestry to Arroyo Seco, other figures with international impact reported using baptismal formulas that reflected Acts 2:38 prior to the 1913 Arroyo Seco revival. More importantly, as the North American churches divided along racial and national lines, ministers within those organizations made choices 44

DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-5

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that often reflected the lived-reality of their congregants, the history of which is not always reflected in the narrative from any one organization. This has resulted in denominations that comprise a movement that is both demographically and politically diverse even within North America itself.

A Familiar Narrative The commonly recorded narrative in works on Oneness Pentecostal history is largely based on the recollections of Frank Ewart in his 1947 work The Phenomenon of Pentecost, the first attempt to chronicle the early days of the Oneness movement. As this history goes, Maria Woodworth-Etter and R.J. Scott called a revival for the area that was ambitiously titled the Apostolic Faith Worldwide Camp Meeting. Held for a month, the main tent is reported to have held up to 5,000 people, and an entire tent city arose around it, complete with temporary street names. In what seemed to be something of a minor incident at the time, Canadian evangelist R.E. McAlister speaking at a baptismal service promoted the use of the Acts 2:38 Jesus’ Name baptismal formula over the Trinitarian one. Under pressure, McAlister later said this was a point of preference rather than a necessary requirement for salvation. However, later in the camp meeting John G. Scheppe ran through camp one morning proclaiming he had received a similar revelation about the power of the name of Jesus. While the issue was not immediately divisive, over the course of the next few years, Pentecostal ministers began to take sides in what was deemed the “New Issue” (Ewart 1947; Warner 1983; Foster 2009, loc. 72, 771–80; Bernard 2013; Barba and Johnson 2018, 1–2). The New Issue of Oneness Pentecostalism bore two key hallmarks: baptism in Jesus’ Name and a view of the godhead that rejects the Trinitarian version consisting of the God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It is important to note that the first tensions among Pentecostals on this issue arose around the issue of the baptismal formula. As their guiding scripture, Oneness Pentecostals cite the baptisms of the apostles and particularly look to Acts 2:38 as evidence that the name of Jesus should be invoked over those being baptized. Their view of the godhead is that Father, Son, and Spirit are manifestations of one God, seen in the flesh as Jesus. The theology that Oneness adherents later came to adopt in support of that baptismal formula developed in the context of these debates over baptism. While the early Pentecostals showed a preference for baptism by immersion, they did not have a unified position on the words spoken at the event. Historian Kimberly Ervin Alexander has found that it was only after the introduction of the Acts 2:38 paradigm that a more Trinitarian formula became entrenched in the broader movement (Alexander 2008). By 1916, leaders of the Assemblies of God, one of the key Pentecostal ministerial organizations, gave up on their plan from the year before to avoid making the baptismal formula a point of fellowship. Instead, they adopted a 16 point “Statement of Fundamental Truths” that held firmly to a Trinitarian view of the godhead. The following year, the council barred Assemblies of God presses and members from printing the works of those associated with the Oneness perspective (Assemblies of God Minutes 1916, 77; Assemblies of God Minutes 1917, 18). Ministers with Oneness beliefs, in part driven by the necessity of maintaining membership in an organization with conscientious objector status as World War I drew near, joined the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, an organization that then struggled to maintain an integrated membership and leadership (Foster 2009, loc. 975–1038, 1096–121; French 2014, 11). In 1924, with a plan for a segregated organization rejected, many white ministers fled the organization, claiming that an integrated organization would not work for the promotion of 45

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the church in the American South (Reed 2008, 211–13; French 2014, 148). Although Oneness Pentecostal leaders tried to build an integrated organization with the Pentecostal Assemblies of Jesus Christ again in the early 1930s, that effort failed when in 1937 the annual convention was to be held in Tulsa, where no integrated accommodations were allowed (Reed 2008, 215–18; Foster 2009, loc. 1220–21). Black ministers largely returned to the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World fold, its charter having been preserved, while white ministers who now made up the majority of the Pentecostal Assemblies of Jesus Christ merged with the Pentecostal Church Incorporated to form the United Pentecostal Church in 1945 (Foster 2009, loc. 1229–352). Because of such divisions and mergers, the historically black and white organizations maintain a similar early historical narrative. This narrative begins with the Arroyo Seco revival and then traces its impact through various heroes of the movement who often had particular regional influences. Two particular figures stand out: the evangelist and missionary A.D. Urshan and the pastor G.T. Haywood. Haywood’s influence would largely be in the Midwest, as he would eventually come to build the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World from Indianapolis. Urshan, also a key Midwestern figure, would be important in spreading Pentecostal beliefs to Russia. While both men have become important figures within the North American movement, they also represent the diversity of that movement from its origins.

A.D. Urshan: An Eastern Voice in America A.D. Urshan, known as the Persian Evangelist, holds a place as one of the founders of what eventually came to be part of the United Pentecostal Church. However, his embrace of a Oneness theology is perhaps due more to his Middle Eastern roots than his American revival experiences. An Assyrian Christian whose father had been a Presbyterian pastor, he immigrated to the United States from Persia (now Iran) in 1901, fleeing violence in the region. He eventually moved to Chicago where he was influenced by the Moody Church and began to build an Assyrian congregation before converting to Pentecostalism and taking his flock along with him. As the pastor of the Persian Pentecostal Mission, he was able to attend the 1913 Arroyo Seco revival, where his call to return to Persia was confirmed. In the spring of 1914, he returned to his homeland, just as the region was on the verge of World War I. He spent the next two years traveling in Persia and Russia, where he established Pentecostal congregations. He returned to the United States in time to participate in the 1916 council, although he did not then hold credentials with the Assemblies of God. He largely attempted to avoid the rising theological fray of the moment (Segraves 2017, 88). While many of the early ministers were American, Canadian, Australian, or of European ancestry, Urshan holds a unique positionality as an Eastern voice in the early Pentecostal Movement. As Urshan was on the mission field while the New Issue debate grew in the United States, he did not immediately become a strong contender for either side. It has become apparent, however, that he was practicing a form of Oneness baptism as early as 1910, meaning that his views on the proper formula predate the 1913 camp meeting (Bernard 1998, 274). Indeed, biographer Daniel Segraves maintains that Urshan continually identified his spiritual baptism as the point that he began to develop a Jesus’ Name theology (Segraves 2017, 16). His adherence to the Oneness of God as a theology was further cemented with his own rebaptism in Russia in 1916, although he did not immediately abandon contact with those in the Assemblies of God (French 2014, 133). In addition, Urshan greatly influenced the Russian Pentecostal movement and its Oneness adherents during his 1914–1916 missionary 46

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trip (Fletcher 1978, 218; Wachtstetter 2015) Therefore, Oneness Pentecostalism in Russia was less influenced by the debates in the United States and more by Urshan’s individual theology. His Eastern upbringing was continually present. When he began street preaching in Chicago while still associated with Moody Church, he rode the street car to his chosen corner in the borrowed robes of an Islamic cleric, wearing a turban and carrying a religiously symbolic hatchet (Segraves 2017, 30). This was not a unique tactic for the time: faith healer John Alexander Dowie who also operated in Illinois frequently wore such clerical looking garments, and Oneness Pentecostal leader Howard Goss, an early protégé of Charles Parham, recalls that Parham often required those working with him to appear at street meetings in costumes representing the Middle Eastern world (Goss 2008, 704). The impact of such robes on the Persian evangelist, however, must have been quite different, appearing as less of a costume. Similarly, Urshan came to see the Trinity as a failure of Western religion. Urshan believed that Trinitarians saw God as three separate persons, a view to which he could not subscribe. For him, the Pentecostal movement was a chance to restore the faith of the early church. However, Urshan connected the growing church not to European religious reformers, but to Eastern Christianity that he saw as being more akin to the biblical church. For Urshan, Oneness Pentecostalism, with its rejection of Trinitarianism, was a greater move toward the restoration of true Christianity (Segraves 2017, 141–42, 191). Given Urshan’s prolific publication record and his long career as an evangelist, it is little wonder that Oneness Pentecostals often perceive themselves as restorationists, preserving the original doctrines and practices of the apostles. Admittedly, Urshan did come to hold a key place in the history of the rise of Oneness denominations. His publications are key to understanding the development of many practices within the movement. However, his theological path represents less of the typical origin narrative and more of his Eastern religious heritage. He serves as a reminder that the familiar narrative does not explain why all came to embrace the theology.

Black Progressives Although the usual narrative well-describes G.T. Haywood’s Oneness heritage, his subsequent ministry and that of his protégé R.C. Lawson demonstrate the ways in which black pastors in the United States had to adjust to the lived realities of congregants and their place in the nation. Predominantly African-American groups faced a different American experience than their white counterparts in the early twentieth century and, as a result, black Oneness pastors built some of the largest churches in the nation, filled with saints who were attracted to a gospel preached alongside social justice. In their case, church identity may be less about theology and more about place in the community. Haywood converted to Pentecostalism as black Pentecostals began to have a presence in Indianapolis in 1907. He soon became pastor of the local church, which later would be known as Christ Temple Apostolic Faith Assembly. It was an integrated congregation. A gifted speaker, he was in demand, often preaching for integrated audiences, and although he was never a member of the Assemblies of God, he was known within their movement and spoke during Assemblies of God Council meetings (French 2014, 22). Although he reportedly attended the 1913 camp meeting, it was not until 1915 that he embraced the Oneness doctrine as an evangelist named Glenn Cook brought the message into the region. He maintained ministerial licenses with the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World in its various forms and held leadership positions in it until his death in 1931. Biographer Talmadge French credits Haywood with shifting the center of the Oneness Pentecostal movement from California to the Midwest (French 2014, 23). 47

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In his pre-ministry career as a cartoonist/illustrator for black newspapers in Indianapolis in the Progressive Era, Haywood would have been well aware of the issues confronting the community on a daily basis. The first two decades of the century saw increased tension over race and immigration in the North, resulting in the second rise of the Ku Klux Klan, an organization that would build numerous klaverns in the Midwest and maintain a particularly strong presence in Indiana. At the same time, many black Americans embraced some level of progressive reform or race uplift ideas, although the models they followed varied from Booker T. Washington, who focused on economic independence but who was often labeled an accommodationist, to W.E.B. DuBois, a man who was much more willing to promote civil rights causes. In examining Haywood’s early newspaper work, French claims Haywood was more influenced in his early days by Washington’s ideas but that DuBois’ philosophy appears in more subtle ways (French 2014, 152–54). In church organization, however, Haywood was definitely not an accommodationist, a label often associated with Washington. When in 1924 white ministers of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, including A.D. Urshan, wanted a segregated organization supposedly to appease Southern adherents, Haywood stood firm against it. The move failed, but that failure led to the departure of many white ministers (French 2014, 162; Segraves 2017, 115–16). Haywood did not live to see the renewed struggles along these lines in the 1930s. Haywood’s protégé R.C. Lawson had carried the gospel to New York City and established a church in 1919. Originally part of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, Lawson had parted ways with the organization over its stand on divorce, and established an organization that would become known as the Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ (French 2014, 133–37). His arrival in New York coincided with the rise of the Harlem Renaissance, an era in which black culture was advanced through literature, music, art, and politics. Although no longer part of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World during the 1924 split, Lawson was critical of it, seeing the racial division as spiritual leprosy. Lawson was also critical of a variety of ills of the day, from the eugenics movement to the subservient role of blacks in art works, to racially problematic curriculums. A believer in racial uplift practically as well as theologically, Lawson recognized the issues prevalent in the Harlem neighborhood and sought to alleviate problems by opening community institutions such as a reasonably priced grocery store, a day care, a culturally relevant library, a school for inner city youth, and more. Many of his Pentecostal peers would have seen this as rather too close to the Social Gospel of the Progressives for their liking (Barba 2015, 1–32). Haywood and Lawson represent a movement that sprang from the 1913 camp meeting, but their approach to denominational organization resulted from the racial segregation and divisions of the day. The Azusa Street Revival was noted for the mingling of blacks and whites, an aspect that was critiqued both in the Los Angeles press and by some Pentecostals in other parts of the nation. Attempts to hold the Oneness Pentecostal movement together as an interracial body faced similar challenges. However, these controversies are usually framed in terms of the black-white racial tensions of the day. Less frequently acknowledged until recently, probably in part because of shifts in both demographics and notions of race and ethnicity, is the trajectory of Oneness Pentecostals of Mexican heritage.

Antonio Nava: Borderlands Pastor The border between the United States and Mexico was not fenced in the early days of the movement, and even through the 1940s was only loosely monitored, although the Great Depression had been marked by deportations of Mexican immigrants and their children, 48

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many of whom held United States citizenship. To understand the movement among Mexican and Latino congregants, one has to then think of the region in its historic form, and recognize the existence of a borderlands region more easily traversed than today. One also needs to note that contemporary to the growth of Pentecostalism out of the Azusa Street Revival and the Arroyo Seco event was the Mexican Revolution (1910–1920s). This war, led by regional leaders such as Emiliano Zapata and Pancho Villa, eventually resulted in the establishment of a new constitution and government but, for at least a decade, the civilian population of Mexico was subject to the hardships of war. For some early adherents to the faith, conversion came hand-in-hand with war-related migration experiences in a way that would not have been entirely unfamiliar to A.D. Urshan. The conversion and ministry of Antonio Nava reflects this trajectory of the movement. Nava, coming of age just as the Mexican Revolution began, was persuaded by his family not to join the Revolutionary forces. In 1915, he moved to Southern California where he converted. His calling to the ministry three years later came through a vision in which two military figures carried him before a man who told him to go and preach the gospel. Nava then set out to carry the gospel, first to Yuma, Arizona, where his sister lived, then establishing churches on both sides of the border (Ramírez 2015, 35–39). It must be noted that many of the early ministers of Mexican descent, including Nava, had Pentecostal Assemblies of the World credentials (Ramírez 2015, 49). It is likely that their theological understanding of the godhead was influenced by conversations within that denomination led in part by G.T. Haywood. However, it is clear that there was also a choice made to develop a unified view on the matter among the Spanish-speaking ministers. Early histories of this movement note that Jesus’ Name baptismal formulas were common in this region as early as 1909 (Barba and Johnson 2018). The use of the Jesus’ Name baptismal formula does not, however, necessarily indicate a rejection of the Trinitarian version of the godhead, and Nava received a vision that unity was needed. The resulting meeting in 1925, attended by over 200 saints and ministers, affirmed Jesus’ Name baptism. Subsequent conclaves drew in other churches in the border region (Ramírez 2015, 49–52). It is interesting to note that this initial meeting occurred one year after the 1924 divide where many of the white ministers left the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World. While they did not abandon that denomination at the time, it is clear that the Mexican ministers saw a need to ensure unity among their own ranks as this larger split occurred. It is uncertain as to whether they were influenced by the issues of the larger organization as the basis for the initial meetings but, by 1930, Nava moved to incorporate a new organization, the Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus (Ramírez 2015, 80). A few years later, the Iglesia Apostólica de la Fe in Cristo Jesús developed in Mexico as a sister organization to the Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus. It owes its origins to another borderlands traveler. Romana Carbajal de Valenzuela had converted in the Los Angeles area, and on her return to Chihuahua in 1914, she set about to convert family and acquaintances in the region, often by making inroads into other Protestant groups, congregants from which were easier to persuade than Catholics (Ramírez 2015, 62–65). Although it is likely she crossed the border more than once before her death in 1917, her development of the Jesus’ Name perspective predates the point of the debate in the United States. Therefore, while many Oneness Pentecostals in Mexico can trace their theological ancestry to the Azusa Street revivals, it is likely that revival in 1913 at Arroyo Seco and the subsequent debates in the United States are less significant in their history. For those in the borderlands, immigration policies and practices may have been more essential to developing their exposure to Oneness Pentecostalism than the debates more common among their black and white fellow adherents. 49

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Canadian Regionalism As with the southern border, the northern border between the United States and Canada was also traversed fairly freely by early Pentecostals. Australian Frank Ewart, the first chronicler of the Oneness Pentecostal movement, had stopped in Canada before moving on to the United States, and R.E. McAlister, whose sermon at Arroyo Seco in 1913 had sparked the controversy, was himself Canadian. McAlister, however, seems to have been more interested in the issue of baptismal formulas than the development of a Oneness theology (Reed 2010, 198). More significant for the development of the movement in Canada was the work of Frank Small. Small was an adherent of William Durham’s Finished Work doctrine and was key, along with American Howard Goss, in forming the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada that initially associated with the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World. His discontent with that organization grew when it formed a short-lived alliance with the now clearly Trinitarian Assemblies of God in 1920. The following year, Small formed the Apostolic Church of Pentecost and worked, not always successfully, to form alliances with other Oneness churches in Canada. In the post-World War II years, many of those other churches chose to join the United States-based United Pentecostal Church. In the following decade, Small’s Apostolic Church of Pentecost merged with a Trinitarian organization. The new organization managed to adopt baptismal formulas and a view of the godhead that accommodated both perspectives (Robinson 2009, 44–46; Reed 2010, 199–209). While Small was key to the development of the movement in Western Canada, the larger history of Oneness Pentecostalism is marked by regional identities. For example, the broader Pentecostal movement had been slow to evangelize in the Maritime district, and the strongest efforts in that region had come from Oneness Pentecostals across the border in Maine, including the Davis sisters and their protégés. While many ministers held credentials with Small’s organization, they also formed their own, the Full Gospel Church, and shortly after affiliated with the United Pentecostal Church. These efforts led to the New Brunswick region being a stronghold of the movement in Canada, but Trinitarian Pentecostals came to dominate in most other regions. The Canadian story demonstrates the ways in which the open borders of the time contributed to the promotion of the movement, but the tendency to bring the Canadian churches into the United Pentecostal Church rather than build a parallel national leadership structure in Canada may have inhibited the growth of the movement overall (Robinson 2009, 44–49). In the Canadian examples, we see a history lost, as a distinctly Canadian church merged into an American one.

Consequences of Diverse Beginnings The long-term result of this diverse history has been that such churches share a claim to the Jesus’ Name doctrine, but no longer resemble each other to the extent that they once did. For example, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World still holds its place as the largest predominantly black Oneness Pentecostal organization in the United States. The United Pentecostal Church is the largest historically white organization, although their pews in the American Southwest seat increasing numbers of Latino congregants who would also be welcome in the Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus. These three organizations have thrived above and beyond the multitude of other Oneness Pentecostal organizations that have appeared; however, they have not done so through common paths. They have very different approaches to the place of their church in their community and increasingly different allies in the political world. 50

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The Pentecostal Assemblies of the World churches typically have the highest profile of the Oneness churches. With several influential mega churches to be found in their directory, their ability to impact a community is significant. Although he withdrew from the organization in 2007, the ministry of Arthur Brazier and development of the Apostolic Church of God in Chicago demonstrates the potential of these churches. Brazier, returning to Chicago after service in World War II, became involved in local politics. Of note, he headed The Woodlawn Organization, which had ties to the Industrial Areas Foundation of noted community activist Saul Alinsky. In the 1960s, as part of his efforts there, Brazier fought the expansion of the University of Chicago and the consequent displacement of lowincome housing. He joined Martin Luther King, Jr. at protests in Chicago and welcomed to his church another Southside activist, Barack Obama, during the presidential campaign in 2008 (Ramirez 2010; Sailes 2023). Conversely, leadership of the United Pentecostal Church has generally grown closer to the Republican Party, a trend started by Nathaniel Urshan, son of evangelist A.D. Urshan. Nathaniel Urshan served as General Superintendent of that denomination from 1977 to 2002. In June of 1978, seven religious dissidents now known as the Siberian Seven fled into the American embassy in Moscow. They refused to leave until they could ensure that members of the group who had not made it into the compound had been released by the Soviet guards, after which they realized that their holding out had now focused Soviet attention upon them. They again refused to leave the embassy and, as a result, lived in the basement for nearly five years. For both the Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan administrations, the dilemma was how to get their unwelcome guests to leave willingly without it appearing that the Americans had turned this Pentecostal group over to an atheist government. In 1982, Nathaniel Urshan, citing the connection of his father to the Russian church, determined to advocate for the seven, visited the Moscow embassy and essentially found his team in a position of unofficially negotiating with the Soviets, doors for which had no doubt been opened by the work of American embassy staff. Urshan’s denomination later helped some of the Siberian Seven and their extended family as they immigrated to the United States. In 1988, as Reagan’s Vice President George H.W. Bush was running a hard fought campaign, Urshan invited Reagan to attend the denomination’s General Conference. Unable to attend in person, Reagan sent a taped greeting meant to build the church’s allegiance to the Republican Party ( Johnson 2019). More recently, leadership of the organization has been active in forming the National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference, chaired by United Pentecostal Church Superintendent David Bernard, meaning that the separation between denomination and political organization is increasingly thin. A relatively new organization, its website reflects a conservative framing of causes, including promotion of the Faith & Blue initiative meant to build ties between law enforcement and the community and a statement on church resistance to Covid-19 restrictions that encourages some level of health and safety guidelines, while at the same time promoting individual cases of resistance to state health orders, particularly in California (National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference, “Home,” n.d.; National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference “COVID_19 Resources,” n.d.). The Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus falls somewhere between these two models. There is a demonstrated desire to meet the daily needs of both ministry and laity. The denomination maintains a Department of Social Assistance that offers disaster relief as well as funding for counseling, rehabilitation, and medical emergencies. The A.C. Nava Foundation, named after its founder, offers scholarships, disaster relief, and retirement help for those in the ministry (Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus 2021). Their political aspirations are not as openly displayed. However, there are several members who have held public 51

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office at the state level, including Arizona politician Steve Montenegro, a Donald Trump supporting Republican endorsed by nationally known conservatives including Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who gained national fame for his hardline prison and immigration policies (KTAR. com 2017). Montenegro’s 2010 campaign website listed him as being active in his church, Surprise Apostolic Assembly, holding multiple positions, including that of Assistant Pastor (Montenegro for House 2010). Montenegro’s career seems to have flatlined for the moment, but Gaddi Vasquez, son of the founding pastor of the Apostolic Church of Orange, has had a more promising political path. The first Hispanic on the Orange County, California, Board of Supervisors, he also served under George W. Bush as the Director of the Peace Corps and as the ambassador to the United Nations Agencies for Food and Agriculture (Bunis 2005). Born in Texas, Vasquez represents the possibilities for Mexican-American Oneness Pentecostals to thrive in the political sphere. Montenegro, whose family came from El Salvador, demonstrates the potential for the denomination to attract immigrants from the Latin American world beyond Mexico. Both demonstrate the potential conflicts for such a laity whose faiths and lived realities may be best represented by opposing political parties.

Global Implications This diversity within the Oneness Pentecostal movement is also apparent within the larger global church. Just as Pentecostal movements in the Soviet Union were influenced by A.D. Urshan and developed a trajectory apart from the American church, so too did movements in Asia and Africa. Ethiopia is a particular stronghold for the movement. After the government forced American missionaries out of the country in the early 1970s, an Ethiopian pastor Teklemariam Gezahagne worked with Oneness Pentecostal churches to form the Apostolic Church of Ethiopia. This resulted in a fairly independent Ethiopian church, which officially separated from the United Pentecostal Church in 2004 over the divine flesh controversy. The point of division was Christological, with the Ethiopians believing that from conception Jesus had a glorified body rather than a human one. This belief, entwined with the theology of Ethiopian Orthodoxy, is rejected by the American church (Haustein 2013). The movement has developed similar independent trajectories in Asia, particularly in China. The True Jesus Church, founded in 1917 by Wei Enbo/Paul Wei was influenced by the then integrated Pentecostal Assemblies of the World; although as it grew, it converted the adherents of many protestant churches in China, including a large number of Seventh Day Adventists. The movement intentionally rejected ties to American or European missions. Wei was critical of Western involvement in World War I, and in the 1920s and 1930s, the church served to help large numbers of Chinese shed another problem foisted upon them by the West, the addictions that derived from the British opium trade. This independence from American and European denominations meant that the church developed differently but it also meant that the church, free from foreign influence, was able to survive both the Japanese invasion of the 1930s and 1940s and the rise of communism after World War II (Lian 2010, 42–63, 182–84, 207–208). Today, they are active in reverse missions, having opened branch churches in California. Their historic roots lay buried in Oneness Pentecostalism, but having developed independently, they may not classify themselves in quite the same manner. Given such trends, it is likely that Oneness movements will continue to diversify both in North American and in the global church. This may come as a surprise to some in North America, such as the National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference, a group that has the stated intention of influencing political leaders and policy with hopes of promoting a “unified voice” for the Oneness Pentecostal movement. This goal hardly seems achievable. 52

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A shared theological distinctiveness does not make for coherence politically or socially. A church or pastor whose historical trajectory has led them to understand the value of Saul Alinsky’s model of organizing and to welcome Barack Obama to their pulpit will find little common ground with the organizations or members with happy memories of rolling tape of Ronald Reagan at their General Conference or promoting hardline immigration policies. As there is no one historical narrative that contributed to the formation of Oneness Pentecostal identity, neither is there a present version of that identity that exists outside of a few points of doctrinal agreement. A full understanding of the history of these organizations reveals that the movement is far more diverse both in origin and in its present form than the mere theological label would imply.

References Alexander, Kimberly Ervin. 2008. “Matters of Conscience, Matters of Unity, Matters of Orthodoxy: Trinity and Water Baptism in Early Pentecostal Theology and Practice.” Journal of Pentecostal Theology 17 (1): 48–69. Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus. 2021. English Homepage. http://asambleaapostolica. org/english/, (accessed 19 July 2021.) Assemblies of God. 1916. Minutes of the General Council of the Assemblies of God in the United States, Canada, and Foreign Lands. Flower Pentecostal Heritage Center, Accessed at: https:// pentecostalarchives.org. Assemblies of God. 1917. Minutes of the General Council of the Assemblies of God in the United States, Canada, and Foreign Lands. Flower Pentecostal Heritage Center, Accessed at: https:// pentecostalarchives.org. Barba, Lloyd. 2015. “Jesus Would be Jim Crowed: Bishop Robert Lawson on Race and Religion in the Harlem Renaissance.” Journal of Race, Ethnicity, and Religion 6 (3): 1–32. Barba, Lloyd, and Andrea Shan Johnson. 2018. “The New Issue: Approaches to Oneness Pentecostalism in the United States.” Religion Compass 12 (11): 1–11. Bernard, David K. 1998 rpt. The New Birth. Hazelwood, MO: World Aflame Press. Bernard, David K. 2013. “The Jesus Name Centennial.” Pentecostal Herald. January 2013. https://issuu. com/pentecostalherald/docs/jan2013heraldreduced. Bunis, Dena. 2005. “Gaddi Vasquez at Peace in New Role.” Orange Country Register. September 15, 2005. http://webarchive.loc.gov/all/20020915115615/http%3A//www2.ocregister.com/ocrweb/ocr/ article.do?id%3D2827. Ewart, Frank. 1947. The Phenomenon of Pentecost: A History of the Latter Rain. Houston, TX: Herald Publishing House. Fletcher, W. 1978. “American Influence on Russian Religion: The Case of the Pentecostals.” Journal of Church and State 20 (2): 215–32. Foster, Fred. J. 2009 rpt. Their Story, 20th Century Pentecostals. Hazelwood, MO: Word Aflame Press. Kindle. French, Talmadge L. 1999. Our God is One: The Story of Oneness Pentecostals. Indianapolis, IN: Voice and Vision. French, Talmadge L. 2014. Early Interracial Oneness Pentecostalism: G.T. Haywood and the Pentecostal assemblies of the World (1901–31). Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Goss, Ethel E. 2008 rpt. The Winds of God: The Story of the Early Pentecostal Movement (1901–1914) in the Life of Howard Goss. Hazelwood, MO: World Aflame Press. Kindle. Haustein, Jörg. 2013. “The New Prime Minister’s Faith: A Look at Oneness Pentecostalism in Ethiopia.” PentecoStudies 12 (2): 183–204. Johnson, Andrea Shan. 2019. “May Each of you Fulfill Your Call: Geopolitics, Ronald Reagan, and the 1988 Address to the United Pentecostal Church General Conference.” Paper Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society for Pentecostal Studies, College Park, Maryland. KTAR.com. 2017. “Trent Franks, Joe Arpaio endorse Arizona senator for Franks’ Old Seat,” KTAR News. https://ktar.com/story/1867044/trent-franks-joe-arpaio-endorse-arizona-senator-for-franksformer-seat/. Lian, Xi. 2010. Redeemed by Fire: The Rise of Popular Christianity in Modern China. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

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Andrea Shan Johnson Montenegro for House. 2010. “Steve Montenegro 2010”. https://web.archive.org/web/20110714113147/ http://www.montenegroaz.com/aboutsteve.html, (accessed 19 July 2021). National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference. n.d. COVID-19 Resources. http://www.naclc. org/in-person-services/, (accessed 19 July 2021). National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference. n.d. Home. http://www.naclc.org, (Accessed 19 July 2021). Ramírez, Daniel. 2015. Migrating Faith: Pentecostalism in the United States and Mexico in the Twentieth Century. Chapel Hill, NC: UNC Press Books. Ramirez, Margaret. 2010. “Bishop Arthur M. Brazier, 1921–2010.” Chicago Tribune. October 22. Reed, David A. 2008. “In Jesus Name”: The History and Beliefs of Oneness Pentecostals. Blandford Forum, UK: Deo Publishing. Reed, David A. 2010. “Oneness Seed on Canadian Soil: Early Developments of Oneness Pentecostalism.” In Winds from the North: Canadian Contributions to the Pentecostal Movement, edited by Michael Wilkinson, and Peter Althouse, 191–214. Leiden: Brill. Robinson, Thomas A. 2009. “Oneness Pentecostalism.” In Canadian Pentecostalism: Transition and Transformation, edited by Michael Wilkinson, 39–57. Montreal-Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Sailes, Rosa M. 2023. “The Braziers: Three Generations of Apostolic Activism.” In Oneness Pentecostalism: Race, Gender, and Culture, edited by Lloyd D. Barba, Andrea Shan Johnson, and Daniel Ramirez, 142-159. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Segraves, Daniel L. 2017. Andrew D. Urshan: A Theological Biography. Lexington, KY: Emeth Press. Wachtstetter, Stanley. E. 2015. Andrew David Urshan and the Russian Pentecostal Church. Scotts Valley, CA: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. Warner, Wayne. 1983. “The 1913 Worldwide Camp Meeting.” Assemblies of God Heritage. Spring. https://archives.ifphc.org/pdf/Heritage/1983_01.pdf.

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4 ON THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE FAITH The Nineteenth Century Transnational Foundations of Latin American Pentecostalism Leonardo Marcondes Alves Introduction In general, much of the historiography of Pentecostalism in Latin America follows a model that Cerillo (1997) calls providential. According to this narrative, missionaries came to an unknown world from a northern “Jerusalem” of revival to plant churches that grew into fullfledged denominations. This model often neglects that the so-called new Pentecostal churches were built on the foundations of previous transnational processes that included migration, the circulation of the Bible and other evangelistic literature, and Protestant missionary activities from various denominations, as well as Roman Catholics. Furthermore, many Pentecostal churches came into the movement as local churches that already existed. The trajectories of the Methodist Francisco Penzotti and the lay monk João Maria de Agostini (Thomas 2014) across the Americas, and the largely autonomous revival among the Latvian Baptists in Brazil, are cases that illustrate the diverse historical roots of Pentecostalism in Latin America. Those testimonios presented here reflect the global character and local aspects of a transnational flow by which Pentecostalism emerged and became part of Latin American societies.

Glocal Pentecostalism: Alongside and beyond Azusa Most textbooks about Latin America Pentecostalism trace its origin to the Chilean revival among Methodists led by William Hoover in 1909 and the role of missionaries coming from the United States in the following years. Indeed, after William Durham, who visited Azusa, introduced the Pentecostal message to the migrant communities of Chicago, Louis Francescon went to the Italian communities of Argentina and Brazil in 1910, and Gunnar Vingren and Daniel Berg to the Amazon. Chilean Pentecostals learned about the revival from the news coming from India. Some historians discuss how Latin Americans went to the Azusa Street Revival (Espinosa 2014). Others discuss how they experienced a Pentecostal outpouring independently from Azusa (Gomez Hoover 2000). Nevertheless, people with Azusa’s connections were instrumental in introducing and supporting Pentecostalism in Latin America. People who attended the Azusa Street Revival spread the news through the borderland’s communities, and one of them, Romanita Carbajal, founded the first Pentecostal DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-6

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congregation in Mexico (Alvarez 1999). Another Azusa pioneer, Lucy Leatherman, on her adventurous missionary trips, met and introduced the Pentecostal message to William H. Durham, the mentor of those Italians and Swedes, as well as to T.B. Barratt, who spread the Pentecostal message in Europe and who was quick to send missionaries to Latin America. Finally, Leatherman herself had been to Chile and Argentina, visiting the new Pentecostal congregations (Alexander 2005). The role of the Azusa Street Revival is indelible in the emergence of Pentecostalism as a node for a global phenomenon. The new Pentecostal outpouring ran on tracks laid earlier by other actors and conditions in global cultural flows (Wilkinson 2007). Here, I present some intertwined transnational flows like migration, popular Catholic healing itinerant lay ministers, and Bible distribution as forerunners of Latin American Pentecostalism. Those global flows of ethnic groups, media, and ideas have changed local and global cultural landscapes (Appadurai 1996). Thus, the Pentecostal forerunners of Latin American Pentecostalism provided ethnic, media, and ideoscapes that later would merge into a worldwide movement that gained publicity and identity from the Azusa Street Revival. Soon, those cultural landscapes become “glocal” forms of the same movement (Robertson 1992). This glocal aspect – the simultaneity of being a local expression while being caught by a global movement – has been a characteristic of Latin American Pentecostalism since its beginning, showing that Pentecostalism was not just a single uni-direction movement from Azusa. Defining Pentecostalism in essentialist terms misses much of its complexity. By pinpointing its origins to a single historical moment, one would neglect similar events, forerunners, and local activities that had been in place before and during its North American emergence. Likewise, restricting Pentecostalism to theological formulations like speaking in tongues with the baptism of the Holy Spirit – a doctrine that many Chilean Pentecostals do not hold – would miss its diversity. In this chapter, Pentecostalism refers to a wider range of events and movements in which experiences of the Spirit occur and are a tangible practice of spiritual gifts (Anderson 2013, 8). Here, it includes the immediacy of the Spirit in missionary adventures, a particular reading of the Bible as God speaking directly to followers, and providential accounts of the Spirit working through migration and revival. The cases presented here are examples of a thriving religious landscape existing throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in Latin America. The itinerant healer Monk João Maria, the Bible distribution and evangelism by Francisco Penzotti, the Latvian Baptism revival in Brazil, and a few other examples share Pentecostal traits. They are forerunners, factors, and independent cases for Latin American Pentecostalism that is part of a wider and more dense transnational flow in the course of when Pentecostal revivals bloomed.

Idea Flows: Monk João Maria After the French Revolution, Catholicism experienced a spiritual and political renewal. In contrast, liberal Catholics sought to reform Catholicism by valuing the national clergy and local practices, “Romanized” ultramontane Catholicism promoted a transnational communion under the authority of the Holy See, valuing certain dogmas and devotions, like a higher Mariology and the cult of the sacred heart (Pereira de Queiroz 1976; Roux 2015). Caught between the parties and broadly neglected, popular peasant Catholicism sought to preserve their local spiritualities while incorporating Romanized devotions. The plight of Giovanni Maria de Agostini (1801–1869), popularly called Monk João Maria in Brazil, portrays an ideological flow that changed grassroots Catholicism in Latin America. His healing ministry, handling of the Bible, transcontinental self-supporting 56

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missionary traveling, and lay ministering of the sacrament made inroads in the rural areas of Latin America. The wandering ascetics could be termed the first religious transcontinental grassroots movement in Latin America, attracting the masses and occasionally bursting into messianic-millenarian movements (Pereira de Queiroz 1976). Many of the details of his life are shrouded in local myth and legend, yet he is one of the most documented wandering monks (Karsburg 2012). Monk João Maria was born in Sizzano, Piedmont, Italy, to the gentry. After his mother died in 1819, he attended a seminary in Rome but left before ordination. Wearing a friar habitus, he made pilgrimages throughout southern Europe for the next decades. In 1838, João Maria went to South America, entering Venezuela and visiting Amazonian towns in Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Brazil. Six years later, he left the Amazon basin for Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo province. For a while, he disappeared to reemerge preaching, counseling, and healing in Cerro Campestre, a hamlet in the inner Rio Grande do Sul. This frontier province had just finished a decade-long war, and the monk’s message offered comfort. His administration of miraculous holy water attracted scores of pilgrims, as well as suspicion from secular and religious authorities. Looking for a calmer place, he settled in a cave in the contested zone between the provinces of Santa Catarina and Paraná in 1847. However, as his fame as a miracle worker soon spread, he could not live alone as a hermit. While he avoided drawing attention to himself by showing up in a town and disappearing overnight, he would stay for a short time to fulfill ministerial duties like reciting the rosary, administering herbal medicines, performing marriages and baptisms, and blessing objects and animals. Often, he delivered denunciatory and apocalyptical sermons. Holiness was central in his calls for repentance, as well as erecting wooden crosses for penitential processions. Unlike the parish priests, he did not charge for his spiritual services but supported himself by donations, bartering for crosses and rosaries that he carved. João Maria had trouble with the authorities who sent him to Rio de Janeiro in 1848, where he had an audience with the emperor Pedro II before vanishing again. He was reportedly seen in Paraguay, moving southward toward Buenos Aires and arriving there in 1853. Over the next five years, he traveled through the Andean countries. In 1859, he reached Mexico. After some short stays in Cuba and Canada, he settled in a cave close to the town of Las Cruces in New Mexico in 1867. In April 1869, some residents discovered his murdered body in the hermitage cave. His tomb became a folk shrine (Campa 1994). After his disappearance in Brazil, many stories about him circulated. His footsteps from Italy through Brazil to North America were reconstructed (Campa 1994; Karsburg 2012) over a century later. Hopes for his return fed the imagination of his devotees in Brazil, and many miracles were credited to him. Reported sightings of the monk and similar ascetics popped up in several places with the same modus operandi (Pereira de Queiroz 1976). From 1912 to 1916, many of his peasant devotees fought governmental forces in the Contestado War. This messianic-millenarian peasant rebellion against land grabbing, fueled by one of the incarnations of João Maria, challenged governmental troops. Unfortunately, it ended in a massacre. Nevertheless, João Maria is still revered as a popular saint in southern Brazil. His devotees highlight the direct contact with the divine by experiencing miracles, healings, and lay administration of sacraments like a second water baptism (Welter 2007). The miraculous and ascetic ministry of João Maria was not an isolated event in nineteenthcentury folk Catholicism. During the Romanization process, other European friars and priests – Jesuits, Lazarists, and Capuchins, among others – traveled through the rural areas of Latin America. Local prayer leaders (many females) also had a relevant role in keeping popular Catholicism alive. This grassroots religiosity gained currency after the independence 57

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of Latin American countries, compensating for the lack of regular parish priests sustained by the somewhat dysfunctional Padroado regime (Roux 2015). The ministry of the wandering monks enabled folk Catholicism to bring together their earlier local religious elements with ideas from the Romanized version. One overlooked aspect of these folk Catholic movements is the transnational dimension associated with social action. The peasant devotees clung to local spiritual practices and social values and kept an eye on the global. While wandering friars with a strange accent connected the rural areas to a broader world, a messianic-millenarian discourse provided a global eschatological challenge to the status quo. When those moral communities faced an impending threat, religious fervor was inseparable from political protest (Hobsbawm 1971). Throughout the nineteenth century, Latin America was the scenario for many such movements (Pereira de Queiroz 1976). The person of João Maria has inspired many social upheavals in Brazil, such as the Contestado War. However, a less dramatic effect was the solidarity of communities among the followers, where reciprocity and godfathering networks happened (Welter 2007). A contemporary of João Maria was Charbel Makhlouf (1828–1898), whose cult among Maronite Catholics transcended ethnic and national frontiers, being popular in Mexico and many Latin American countries. However, while the Catholic church sanctioned the Saint Charbel cult, other popular thaumaturges had less success in Latin America. Perhaps, suspicion of the social protest movements like the Contestado or Canudos War (also led by a mystical lay ascetic, Antonio Conselheiro) made the established Roman Catholic hierarchy suspicious of such charismatic leaders. The Pentecostals would later fill this void. Many early Latin American Pentecostal believers or those who converted in the boom from the 1970s onward came from rural backgrounds. Brazilian social scientists like Rolim (1987) and Brandão (2007) observed the ruptures and continuities between rural and popular Catholicism with Pentecostalism. The Latin American rural and small-town folk Catholic miracle worker movement cared for a neglected population’s spiritual and social needs in the rural landscape of an increasingly connected, industrialized, and urban world. In Brazil, it is documented that followers of the peasant Catholicism of the monks would embrace Pentecostalism (Rolim 1985, 42–46), and this religious competition would sometimes result in open conflict between popular religiosities (Helgen 2020, 107). In northern Mexico, the Saulo and Silas revival in the 1920s was led by two itinerant Pentecostal preachers in the fashion of the wandering monks (Ramirez 2015). Therefore, it is not surprising when, in 1910, the people in the frontier town of Santo Antonio da Platina (incidentally, in the same state where João Maria lived and devotion to him persisted) first saw the Pentecostal Louis Francescon, a stranger from a far-away land, preaching about an immediate contact with the divine. Their ideoscape was already prepared and in place by the imaginaries of the wandering, monk-like preacher and thaumaturge. The beginnings of Pentecostalism in Latin America are very similar to the wandering monk’s ministry. Many earlier “one-way ticket missionaries” traveled without a set destination, seeking audiences willing to accept them, and expecting support from the divine providence. They were laypeople or at least did not look like the representatives of the Roman Catholic hierarchy. The poverty of many of the missionaries mimicked the asceticism of wandering monks. Peripheral villages also received their attention, like Romanita Carbajal de Valenzuela in Villa Aldama, Chihuahua, Mexico, where Gunnar Vingren and Daniel Berg worked among the riverside hamlets around Belém-do-Pará and Fredrik Mebius in Las Lomas de San Marcelino in El Salvador (Wadkins 2017), among others. It reflected a transnationalization from below (Smith and Guarnizo 1998). 58

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João Maria always carried his Bible along with rosaries and crucifixes. After he died, the cave he lived in Paraná state was referred to as the abode of a hermit who read from an old Bible and said he was sent by God (Karsburg 2012, 321). He read and delivered sermons from the “Book of Truth.” Perhaps, his volume had been the first one that many Latin Americans had ever seen and heard preached as the Word of God. In his last years in New Mexico, he was portrayed holding the precious volume under his arms. In the solitude of his U.S. Southeast hermitage, he translated parts of the Latin Bible into Spanish. This material sacrality of the Bible is one aspect of Latin American religiosity (Catholic, Pentecostal, and even non-Christian) that differs from the strictures of North American verbal-centered religiosity. Folk Catholicism’s handling of the Bible as a predecessor for Pentecostalism’s message based on the Scriptures, however, already had an impact on the people living there prior to the arrival of early Pentecostal preachers. Peasant Catholicism, influenced by the monks, constitutes a local expression of an earlier transnational process spread by steam power and strenuous land traveling. Peasants had already incorporated practices from overseas, like newer rosary prayers and renewed interest in Mary. However, in a radical reaction, peasant Pentecostal converts quickly dismissed such practices as idolatry and considered Roman Catholicism a missionary field. Nevertheless, the same Pentecostals retained many traits of this folk Catholicism. While the Bible brought by the Protestant missionaries conveyed a salvation message, the reverence for the Bible as an artifact continued the devotion to the physical means of grace taught by the monks. Thus, from its inception, Latin American Pentecostalism was glocalized as a fruitful blend of transnational and local elements (Robertson 1994). Although Pentecostalism later would achieve remarkable success and become an urban social phenomenon, its rural roots need to be considered. This case illustrates how a series of events and factors happening in overlooked villages far from the world metropolis laid the tracks for Pentecostalism. Rural folk religiosity of the wandering monks contributed primarily to the continuities of solidarity networks, thaumaturgical emphasis, lay leadership, the material sacredness of the Bible, and the dimension of a grassroots transnationalism that acquired local expressions.

Media Flows: Francisco Penzotti and the Bible Bible distribution is another way in which the paths for the Latin American Pentecostal revival were already in place. The Bible Society’s Spanish and Portuguese editions existed as part of the global flows of media in circulation, reminding the followers of the availability of the Word of God. Wandering preachers, like João Maria, transferred the Bible from the dusty parish lecterns to the everyday devotions of Catholics. However, the popularization of the Bible in the vernacular language became more of a Protestant endeavor and was intertwined with migration too (Vasconcelos 2011). The transnational missionary work of the ItalianUruguayan Methodist missionary Francisco Penzotti (1851–1925) is illustrative of the labors of the missionaries and lay preachers preceding the Pentecostal movement on the continent. Francisco Penzotti was a native of Chiavenna in the Lombardo-Veneto region (Celada 1945). His devoutly Catholic widowed mother often took him to the parish, where the priest cared for him. Then, when he was a teenager, his brother-in-law wrote inviting him to move to Montevideo. Penzotti came to Uruguay in 1864, where he learned carpentry. Although lacking formal education, he was an avid reader and self-taught in many subjects. At the age of nineteen, he married the Spaniard Josefa Joaquina Sagastibelza. Unfortunately, the wedding event that should have been festive went sour because of the expensive fees charged by the priest for the wedding. 59

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Afterward, Penzotti became increasingly disillusioned with the Catholic Church. He was then a successful owner of a carpentry shop and patronized taverns. One day, in a café, a man handed Penzotti the Gospel of John, which he enjoyed. Later, he learned about the Methodist mission in Montevideo and its Bible reading services. This mission was led in 1876 by Argentina-based Scottish man hailing from the United States, missionary John F. Thompson (1843–1933), and another minister Andrew Murray Milne (1838–1907), field secretary of the American Bible Society. The Penzottis attended, and soon Josefa converted. Francisco had a spiritual crisis as he listened to the preachers who also prayed for him. Shortly after, Penzotti became active in sharing his new faith, helped by his literacy and communicational skills. He distributed tracts and preached to any willing audience. Persecution ensued, and the Catholic clergy tried to curb his evangelism. After an arsonist destroyed his carpentry workshop, he became a full-time minister at the Italian Waldensian colony of La Paz for two years. His fervor caught the attention of the Methodist Board, and he began speaking among congregations in Uruguay and Argentina. In 1883, the Bible Society agent proposed to Penzotti and another evangelist, only recorded as Gondolfo, to make a Bible distribution journey. They traveled for eight months through the northern provinces of Argentina, Bolivia, and Chile. A second missionary tour lasted thirteen months, visiting the previously planted congregations and newer towns. After this long journey, Penzotti returned to Montevideo in poor health. Milne invited Penzotti for a furlough in Europe. They toured churches in England and, on their trip back, made evangelistic stops in Barbados, Trinidad, and Curaçao. After some persecution in Venezuela, they went to Colombia, where Milne fell ill. Penzotti continued on to Panama. Later, the duo went to Ecuador, crossed Peru, and passed by Chile, to return to Montevideo after fourteen months of traveling. In 1887, the Methodist Church assigned him to the church in Rosario, Argentina. However, in the same year, the American Bible Society placed him as an agent for the Pacific coast, overseeing the Bible distribution in Bolivia, Chile, Ecuador, and Peru. As a result, he moved with his family to Callao, Peru, where he began door-to-door evangelism. At the beginning of 1890, while in Arequipa, a Catholic bishop asked for Penzotti to be jailed. The Protestant story says that after an earthquake – much like Paul and Silas in Acts 16:16–40 – people became afraid of harming those godly men, and the liberal Peruvian President Andrés Cáceres asked for his release. However, a judge ordered Penzotti to be imprisoned again when he returned to Callao when Cáceres was no longer the President. The country’s liberal press decried his prison sentence. Public opinion was divided, and it became a cause for celebration. His picture in jail was published, stirring outcries for religious freedom. The political pressure from London and Washington constrained Peruvian authorities, and Penzotti was released after eight months, meeting a crowd at the prison gate. His next Bible Society assignment was in 1902 as an agent for Mexico and Central America, where he worked until 1908, when he succeeded Milne at the Society’s operations director in South America. Penzotti died while living in Buenos Aires. At that time, his missionary work resulted in numerous Protestant congregations. Penzotti’s indefatigable missionary activity, often portrayed with heroic tones, became a model of evangelism in Latin America. Like him, lay Pentecostal preachers distributed the Bible and bore personal testimony. When in a new town, Penzotti would spread his message by door-to-door contact or by engaging people on the streets to offer the Bible and prayers. Whenever he could, he would secure a venue for evangelistic services. As part of a global religious media flow, the material availability of the Bible unlocked doors for the reception of Pentecostalism. Reportedly, Penzotti had directed the distribution of over 60

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two million copies (Celada 1945). In addition, the lack of full-time, seminary-trained ministers led to a practical reading of the Bible without intermediaries, setting the mentality for Latin American Pentecostalism to see the Scriptures as a direct message for them from God. An often-told tale in many families of early converts to Pentecostalism (the author’s family included) repeats the trope of the ancestor as the lone reader of the Bible. As part of this global media flow, the Scriptures reached remote areas. Sometimes, the book was revered as much for how it conveyed the sacredness of the artifact rather than by its content because of rampant illiteracy, or perhaps the volume might be a vulgate edition in Latin. Thus, the reader could only wonder what those pages meant before meeting an evangelist who explained the message. The transnational flows and the social and cultural liminality of migrants made them ideal propagandists of newer ideas, including forms of Christianity like evangelical Protestantism and later Pentecostalism, often aided by the distribution of the Bible and other religious literature. Sometimes that literature led to conversions, like father Conceição, or remained dormant for a while or, in some cases, influenced charismatic grassroots movements. A transitional figure and close contemporary of João Maria was the former Roman Catholic priest, José Manoel da Conceição (1822–1873) (Léonard 2002). Conceição lived in the inner São Paulo province. He was ordained in 1845 in Sorocaba, a town visited by the monk about the same time (Karsburg 2012, 24). Influenced by liberal Catholicism, Conceição urged his parishioners to confess their sins directly to God. Somehow, Protestant literature came into his hands, and upon hearing about foreign missionaries, Conceição joined them to become the first Brazilian ordained pastor of the Presbyterian Church in 1865. However, holding to a Roman Catholic piety of seeing conversion as a process, Conceição soon disagreed with the American missionary bureaucracy and became an independent itinerant preacher. Like Penzotti, he conducted his evangelism and Bible distribution by walking through small towns and suffering persecution. Finally, he died of exhaustion in a charity hospital after a lengthy journey. French historian (Léonard 2002) considered him part of the Brazilian “Illuminist” (meaning, Spirit-led) Protestants because of his mystical piety. Other accounts of the role of the Bible as a form of media prior to the arrival of American Pentecostals are illustrative. For example, a Bible of unknown provenance reached the port city of Recife and became associated with one of the first forms of a local indigenous congregation in Brazilian Protestantism. In 1846, the police jailed the Afro-Brazilian Agostinho José Pereira, the Divine Master, and a handful of his followers. He was charged with preaching against the state religion and stirring black rebellion in a criminal case reconstructed with scarce sources (Silva 2003). In 1841, Pereira, a tailor, had an inspiration while sleeping and began preaching from the Bible. He dismissed much of the Catholic practices, like the veneration of the saints, and became a pastor for nearly 300 adherents in his Church of the Divine Master. Pereira preached and taught his followers to read the Bible, like the seven detained male and seven female followers. The police found a Bible, proof of his crime, among his belongings. The volume highlighted verses only about freedom and against slavery. The Church of the Divine Master was disbanded, and nothing else is known about its leader, dubbed “the black Luther” (Silva 2003). The story of Francisco Hermógenes Ramos Mejía (1773–1828) is another story about the effects of the mediascape through the global flows of the Bible (Bruno 2012). Ramos Mejía was born in Buenos Aires to a Spanish couple with a Scottish Protestant maternal grandfather. In the unsettling late years of the Spanish Empire in the River Plate, the family of Ramos Mejía was involved in the offices of public administration, as well as in the independence process. After marrying the daughter of an influential landholder, Ramos Mejía lived for a time 61

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in La Paz. In an exodus-like pilgrimage in 1806, he led his large household, including many indigenous people, from the Andean town to his newly acquired large farm in the Buenos Aires province. Ramos Mejía seemed the typical caudillo, but he had some peculiarities. For example, he was an advocate for indigenous rights, insisting that the Spanish-speaking Argentinians respect their lands. In 1820, he mediated a treaty between the Buenos Aires government and indigenous leaders, an agreement not honored by many of the large landholders (Annessi 2020). Another issue was his idiosyncratic view of religion (Bruno 2012). Ramos Mejía was an avid reader of Chilean Jesuit Manuel Lancuza (1731–1801), having hand-copied much of his writings and later annotating an English edition (published by the Pentecostal forerunner Edward Irving) of La venida del Mesías en gloria y magestad. His marginalia and a pamphlet allow for sketching of his theology. He believed in the sole authority of the Bible, salvation by faith, and a pre-millenarian eschatology. At his farm chapel, he presided over services attended by many indigenous people. After some accusations of heresy and political changes, he was placed under house arrest on another farm, where he died. Without leadership, his movement dispersed. Nevertheless, his memory lived on. Many schools and streets are named after him in Argentina. Adventists (he was a Sabbatarian) and many evangélicos reclaim his story as part of a long national faith in an effort to not reduce their churches to a mere religious import. Penzotti’s life and others discussed above are a case of a transnationalization from below led by a traveling religious peddler. His distribution of the Bible challenged the religious monopoly of Catholicism as well as fostered freedom of the press and religion, elements later enjoyed by early Pentecostals (Seiguer 2019). His many persecutions also reflected a transnational flow of an ultramontane Catholicism that other Pentecostals would encounter. (Helgen 2020) reports that the persecution was instigated by a wandering monk, the Italian Frei Damião, when the Assemblies of God made inroads in the Brazilian semi-arid Sertão. Despite being minorities and the common identity of evangélicos, the encounter between Pentecostal and non-Pentecostal Protestants also had their clashes. For now, the Latvian Baptist revival illustrates one case.

Ethnic Flows: Revival Among Latvian Baptists in Brazil Baptists came to the Baltics as part of the nineteenth-century European Continental revival (Rushbrooke 1915; Ronis 1974). Free churches, inspired by the Genevan Réveil and the German Erweckungsbewegung, highlighted a primitivist ideology of horizontal church government, congregationalism, strict mores, and freer forms of worship mediated by a plain reading of the Bible. Due to the local pietist and continental revival influences, it soon developed an indigenous identity whose practices had been charismatic in many aspects in this area of a tense plurality of religions and ethnicities. Many of these congregations adopted a Baptist identity from the 1850s onward when the first Baptist congregation among Latvians was organized in Liepaja, a seaport town (Teraudkalns 1999). After some opposition from Baltic-German Lutheran and Russian Orthodox clergy and secular authorities, the numbers of Baptists grew enough to be recognized in 1879. Despite this recognition, being a minority within a disputed zone between the German and Russian Empires, the status of Latvian Baptists was unsure. In the following decades, an awakening swept the land (Teraudkalns 1999), developing a tradition to celebrate the Feast of Pentecost in the spring. Tradition says that a Latvian pastor had a revelation to explore Brazil to establish Baptist agricultural colonies where worship freedom would be permanent (Ronis 1974). Consequentially, 62

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many Baptists migrated to Brazil by the end of the 1890s, settling in Santa Catarina, Rio Grande do Sul, and São Paulo states. They founded the first Latvian Baptist church in Brazil in 1892 in a rural village in Rio Novo, in the municipality of Orleans, Santa Catarina State. Leadership was largely lay-led until pastor Janis Inkis (1872–1958) visited them between 1897 and 1899 to organize the congregations. Inkis wrote back to many co-religionists, encouraging them to move to Brazil. At the turn of the century, a new wave of Baptists moved to Brazil, among them Pastor Peteris Graudins (Pedro Graudin) (1871–1935) (Tedesco 2015), and about 400 families by 1902. The Riga-born Graudin had been ministering to a Latvian community in Novgorod, Russia. Then, the group moved to Brazil, where they founded the Baptist church in Guaramirim (Bananal), Santa Catarina. Pastor Karlis Andermanis (1874–1951) came from this milieu to Brazil. Andermanis (also known as Carlos Andermann) was a former bookseller when the Baptist Missionary Society sent him for seminary training and the evangelization of Russian pilgrims in Palestine. After four years in the Holy Land, he returned to Latvia to marry. He was next assigned to the migrant congregations in Brazil. In 1905, Andermann arrived in Rio Nova, Santa Catarina, where he became the local teacher and pastor. A polyglot and avid reader of evangelical literature that circulated in many languages, he learned from that literature about the Pentecostal movement. Around 1908–1909, a revival broke out in Rio Novo (Tedesco 2015). Both Andermann and Grundin encountered the charismatic Baptists and spoke in tongues, as many in their congregations did. The leading Latvian periodical, Avots (Teraudkalns 1999), noted the revival, but soon it would publish a summary of it in an anti-Pentecostal Berlin Declaration (1909). Not everyone in the colonies agreed with the movement, so Inkins visited Brazil in 1911 to counteract the awakening among the Latvian Baptists (Teraudkalns 1999). Both pastors were defrocked. While Graudin insisted on remaining in the Baptist congregation (often forced to watch the service from outside the chapel), Andermann moved to another colony, Mãe Luzia, in the municipality of Criciúma, also in the state of Santa Catarina. There, he organized a small independent congregation of mostly his family and close friends and corresponded with other Latvian Pentecostal sympathizers in Brazil. In addition, he translated and distributed Pentecostal literature, especially from Aimee Semple McPherson. Ostracized by their fellow Latvian Baptists, the awakened did not fare better with the nascent Brazilian Pentecostals. In 1923, the Swedish-American missionary Gunnar Vingren, a pioneer of the Brazilian Assembly of God, somehow learned about the movement in Santa Catarina. He traveled and reported that it “was not Pentecost, but witchcraft and low Spiritism” and expressed his distaste for their dancing and jumping during prayer (Vingren 2000, 116). The Latvian Pentecostals continued their separated ministries for a while, some in independent congregations in Santa Catarina and the Rio Grande do Sul states, others within the Baptist ranks. In 1931, André Bernardino da Silva (1904–1992), a Brazilian member of the Assemblies of God, came from Rio de Janeiro to his native state of Santa Catarina (Araujo 2007). In 1933, Bernardino met Graudin, and his Latvian group merged into the local congregation of the Assemblies of God. Graudin, feeling welcomed to exercise his charismatic gifts, resumed his pastoral activities. One day, after traveling sixteen kilometers in heavy rain to answer a prayer request, Graudin fell sick and died. His wife Lina continued coordinating the Pentecostal work in Santa Catarina state, raising funds for the congregation and the pastoral stipend of Bernardino, who became Graudin’s son-in-law. With time, the Latvian Pentecostals either gave up their charismatic manifestation and returned to the Baptist fold or joined the Assemblies of God. 63

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A second migratory wave happened between 1920 and 1944 during the short-lived independence of Latvia (Ronis 1974). At that time, the Baptist Union was divided over charismatic practices by the Atmodnieki (Awakened). After World War I, Inkis became sympathetic to speaking in tongues and prophecy. He began collecting prophecies given at the St. Matthew’s Baptist Church in Riga. Around that time, fearing the Red Army, many prophecies urged him to flee to a “promised land” of peace and prosperity. In 1921, Inkis moved to Brazil and, over the next two years, nearly 2,000 Baptists emigrated to Brazil. This new wave founded or expanded the Latvian Baptist churches in Nova Odessa, Varpa, and São Paulo City – all in São Paulo state. Unlike the 1909 revival, most retained their Baptist fellowship, although some members went to the Assemblies of God and the Christian Congregation in Brazil. Along with the flows of ideas and media, as seen in the wandering monks and the Bible, a changed ethnoscape cleared the roads for Pentecostalism. Migration opened legal and societal acceptance of Protestantism in Latin America by breaking the hegemonic Catholic monopoly. Trying to attract sympathies and labor from Europe and even the United States, many Latin American countries relaxed the status of the Roman Catholic Church as the statepreferred religion. Many foreign chapels harbored native converts and offered networks for traveling Bible peddlers and missionaries. German Lutheran, American Protestant, and Italian Waldensian colonies eventually became assimilated and opened their doors to their neighbors. Also, many migrants, far from social obligations from their home countries, felt less pressure to maintain their established church affiliation. Many would join Pentecostal churches. The relationship between the non-Pentecostal and the Pentecostal evangélicos would be a mix of tension and collaboration. The pattern of migrant revival and the transnational circulation of Evangelical (and later Pentecostal) literature of the Latvian Awakened had other consequences. In 1913, a Swedish Baptist colony in Guarani das Missões, Rio Grande do Sul, experienced a revival upon the arrival of a Swedish missionary linked to Johan Ongman’s Örebro Mission in Sweden. Unlike the Latvian case, they formed a full-fledged denomination, the thriving Independent Baptist Convention (Valério 2013). Currently, with newer flows of media, the patterns of migrant revival continue. However, it does so in new directions emanating from Latin America to other parts of the globe (Ramirez 2015; Adogame and Barreto 2019).

Conclusion While the Azusa Street Revival raised awareness for Christians around the globe to expect recognizable signs of the agency of the Holy Spirit in their lives and the publicity and financial support ensured that the movement connected to Azusa gained a common identity worldwide, the diversity of Pentecostalism has to be understood in the various local religious and cultural contexts. The success of Pentecostalism as a global religious phenomenon owes much to the preceding local factors and movements in Latin America, as well as earlier transnational links. Following Anderson’s (2013) argument about the polygenesis aspects of global Pentecostalism, I have explored the roles of Latin American pre-history of the movement where the ideoscape, mediascape, and the ethnoscape (Appadurai 1996) prepared followers to embrace local Latin American religious expressions with Pentecostalism. There were revivalist precedents, missionary movements, migration, the spread of the Bible and community formation, internal transformation, and independence. This chapter illustrates some cases of such earlier transnational flows that would become markers for Latin American Pentecostalism. 64

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References Adogame, Afe, and Barreto, Raymundo, eds. 2019. Migration and Public Discourse in World Christianity. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg and Fortress. Alexander, Estrelda. 2005. The Women of Azusa Street. Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press. Alvarez, Carmelo. 1999. “Hispanic Pentecostals: Azusa Street and Beyond.” Cyberjournal for PentecostalCharismatic Research 5 (1): 1–14. Anderson, Allan Heaton. 2013. To the Ends of the Earth: Pentecostalism and the Transformation of World Christianity. Oxford Studies in World Christianity. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Annessi, Gustavo Javier. 2020. Tratado de Miraflores. Apuntes En El Bicentenario Del Histórico Acuerdo de 1820. Maipú: Centro de Estudios Sociales de Maipú. Appadurai, Arjun. 1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Araujo, Isael de. 2007. Dicionário do movimento pentecostal. Rio de Janeiro: CPAD. Brandão, Carlos Rodrigues. 2007. Os Deuses Do Povo: Um Estudo Sobre a Religião Popular. Uberlândia: EDUFU. Bruno, Darío Mariano. 2012. “Lo que no se contó sobre Francisco H. Ramos Mejía”. Francisco Ramos Mejía. https://franciscoramosmejia.org.ar/, (accessed 26 July 2021.) Campa, Arthur Leon. 1994. Treasure of the Sangre de Cristos: Tales and Traditions of the Spanish Southwest. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Celada, Claudio. 1945. Un Apóstol Contemporáneo: La Vida de FG Penzotti. Buenos Aires: Editorial La Aurora. Cerillo, Augustus. 1997. “Interpretive Approaches to the History of American Pentecostal Origins.” Pneuma 19 (1): 29–52. Espinosa, Gastón. 2014. Latino Pentecostals in America. Cambridge, MA; London: Harvard University Press. Gomez Hoover, Mario, ed. 2000. Willis Hoover: History of the Pentecostal Revival in Chile. Santiago: Ebenezer. Helgen, Erika. 2020. Religious Conflict in Brazil: Protestants, Catholics, and the Rise of Religious Pluralism in the Early Twentieth Century. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Hobsbawm, Eric J. 1971. Primitive Rebels: Studies in Archaic Forms of Social Movement in the 19th and 20th Centuries. New York, NY: Norton. Karsburg, Alexandre de Oliveira. 2012. “O Eremita Do Novo Mundo: A Trajetória de Um Peregrino Italiano Na América Do Século XIX (1838–1869).” Rio de Janeiro: Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro. Léonard, Émile-G. 2002. O protestantismo brasileiro. São Paulo: ASTE. Pereira de Queiroz, Maria Isaura. 1976. Messianismo no Brasil e no Mundo. São Paulo: Alfa-Ômega. Ramirez, Daniel. 2015. Migrating Faith: Pentecostalism in the United States and Mexico in the Twentieth Century. Chapel Hill, NC: North Carolina Press, 2015. Robertson, Roland. 1992. Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London: Sage. Rolim, Francisco Cartaxo. 1985. Pentecostais no Brasil. Petrópolis: Vozes. Rolim, Francisco Cartaxo. 1987. O Que é Pentecostalismo. Coleção Primeiros Passos. São Paulo: Brasiliense. Ronis, Osvaldo. 1974. Uma Epopeia de Fé: História Dos Batistas Letos No Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Casa Publicadora Batista. Roux, Rodolfo R. 2015. “La Romanización de La Iglesia Católica En América Latina: Una Estratégia de Larga Duración.” Pro-Posições 25 (1): 31–55. Rushbrooke, James Henry. 1915. The Baptist Movement in the Continent of Europe: A Contribution to Modern History. London: Carey Press. Seiguer, Paula. 2019. “‘Los Caminos de Penzotti’: Las Misiones Protestantes En América Del Sur y La Construcción de La Laicidad.” IBEROAMERICANA. América Latina-España-Portugal 19 (70): 157–79. Silva de Jesus, Alexandro. 2003. “Identidade e Representações No Brasil Império: O Caso Do Divino Mestre (1846).” Recife: Universidade Federal de Pernambuco. Smith, Michael Peter, and Guarnizo, Luis Eduardo, eds. 1998. Transnationalism from Below. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Tedesco, Marcos Anderson. 2015. “De Perseguidos Em Nome da Fé a Imigrantes.” Azusa: Revista de Estudos Pentecostais 2 (1):99–124. https://azusa.faculdaderefidim.edu.br/index.php/azusa/article/ view/11/10.

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5 ARROWS FLYING TO THE FIVE CONTINENTS Hong Kong and the Pillars of Early Pentecostal Print Culture Alex Mayfield The newspaper is like an arrow flying to different places in the five continents to save all lives … This paper comes to the world to realize the divine truth, to lend strength, and to spread kindness. With the power of the Holy Spirit, it destroys the stronghold of the devil. With the knife of the truth, it condemns the evil in human hearts. With the precious blood as water, it washes the sin of this world. It is as pure as the lamb, holy and flawless. It is like a dove, flying from heaven. It powerfully hits on the drum at dusk to proclaim the sign of the time. It makes no attempt to retreat from battles and spears. It vigorously wakes up the drunken souls to flint fire. It eases humankind’s thirst without taking a trifle by the grace of the Lord, who provides free offerings. Mok (01/1909, 2)1

Introduction In his role as the editor of Pentecostal Truths, the first Chinese language Pentecostal periodical, Mok Lai Chi believed that the printed word was a proven and powerful weapon in the battle for humanity’s soul. Unlike people, who required continual discipleship and were susceptible to failures and temptations, the written word could march on holy and unblemished; it could do battle with evil wherever it was circulated; it was an active agent of God’s saving, sanctifying, and Spirit baptizing power. Mok was not alone in these convictions, nor was he the first to express them. Rather, Mok’s conviction in the power of the printed word was an expression of a long-established evangelical print culture that saw the printing press as an invaluable asset in the struggle to save ungodly societies and sanctify believing communities (Gunther-Brown 2004, 1). Yet, Mok’s paper was also an expression of something much newer. Pentecostal Truths was part of a growing web of regionally and internationally circulated evangelical periodicals that were spreading the message of modern Pentecost.2 Not content to redeem and sanctify, Pentecostal periodicals wanted to baptize people with the Spirit. For that reason, Mok edited, printed, and distributed Pentecostal Truths from 1908 to 1917. In that nine-year run, Mok produced around forty issues of the paper that were distributed to almost every province in China and to Chinese diaspora communities around the globe.3 The paper also influenced the DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-7

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founding of the True Jesus Church, the first major, independent Chinese Pentecostal church (Bays 1995, 129). This story of the paper and Mok’s influential role has been told and retold to good effect (Anderson 2007; Au 2017, 2019). Yet, there is also another story that the nineyear run of Pentecostal Truths tells. For, while around forty issues were printed, three-fourths of those issues were produced in the first four years of the paper’s nine-year run. The remaining one-fourth were produced only sporadically in the remaining five years. This uneven production hints at a different history of the periodical, one that encapsulates both its influence and its gradual decline. That story also provides a unique vantage point into the advent and development of Pentecostal print culture more generally. Pentecostal Truths, and the Pentecostals in Hong Kong who helped produce it, were part of an emerging transnational network of discourse about the meaning and shape of the modern Pentecost. This network was knit together by revival centers, traveling evangelists, and – most importantly – periodicals. Pentecostal periodicals constituted the lion’s share of publications during the first few decades of the movement, and they used testimonies, sermons, news reports, and doctrinal treaties to create a common language and theological framework for the movement (Wacker 2001, 264; Werner 2002). Print cultures, however, are not just the texts they produce, and Pentecostal print culture was as much about the social processes that gave rise to periodicals as the periodicals themselves (Downy 2008). Pentecostal periodicals were produced by a global network in which power and access were not evenly distributed. To use the language of social network analysis, not all points in this emerging network had the same measure of centrality (Scott 2012). For varying reasons, certain people, organizations, and locations were more “central” to the emerging network because they were able to create stronger and more numerous connections. Understanding the causes of Pentecostal Truths’ uneven production, then, sheds light on the evolving social processes and latent power structures that created different degrees of centrality and modified the transnational Pentecostal print culture in the process. This chapter will use Pentecostal Truths and the Pentecostal movement in Hong Kong as a case study for exploring the underlying structures of early Pentecostal print culture, especially in its transnational form. After outlining historical precedents and influences on Pentecostal print culture and Pentecostal Truths, the chapter will turn toward an analysis of the social process that produced and ultimately destabilized the production of the periodical. This will be accomplished by using archival research and a graph database to reconstruct time slices of the relational and print networks that surrounded the periodical. Changes to the transnational Pentecostal network had dramatic – and ultimately dire – effects on the periodical and greatly altered the shape of the Pentecostal movement in Hong Kong and China. To return to Mok’s metaphor, Pentecostal Truths was an “arrow flying to the five continents,” but the trajectory of that arrow changed as the air currents shifted around it.

Precursors and Purposes of Pentecostal Print Culture in China Pentecostal periodicals like Pentecostal Truths require special attention to both form and function. As Lathan and Scholes have observed, there is an “autonomy and distinctiveness” to periodicals that must be recognized when studying them as cultural objects; they cannot simply be studied as literary texts or journalistic excerpts (Lathan and Scholes 2006, 519–20). As such, the story of Pentecostal Truths – and Pentecostal periodicals more generally – needs to be understood within the broader scope of what came before and in light of the objectives that engendered its creation. 68

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Precursors Pentecostal Truths was the inheritor of two rich print cultures. First, it was part of a Western evangelical print culture that extended back to the Reformation. Reformers’ focus on sola Scripture and vernacular translations readily combined with the advances in printing technology to elevate the place of the printed word within the evangelical experience (Pettegree 2015). While short treatises or books dominated the earliest expressions of evangelical print culture, by the eighteenth century, innovations in printing had enabled prominent evangelical editors and denominational groups to experiment with the periodical format (Snead 2010). By the late nineteenth century, the general populace’s thirst for news and inventions like fast cylinder presses, typesetting machines, and cheap newsprint made mass printing and distribution more affordable and accessible to smaller groups and individuals (Zboray and Zboray 2011). Many evangelical groups and prominent individuals quickly embraced these innovations and began producing and distributing large numbers of periodicals. Second, Pentecostal Truths can also be considered part of the even longer tradition of Chinese printing. Woodblock printing had been used in China since the Tang Dynasty (618–906 CE), and the mass production and circulation of texts had remained an important part of Chinese society since that time (Chia and De Weedt 2011). This print culture, however, was rapidly changing during the nineteenth century as missionaries introduced Western movable-type printing to China. Missionary publishing houses held a monopoly on mechanized printing up to 1876, and they used that monopoly to litter China with tracts, Bibles, books, and periodicals. After 1876, independent Chinese printers began utilizing Western modes of printing production; among them were more than a few religious groups. According to Scott and Clart (2014, 11–12), “print was one of the key areas where religious groups could establish themselves in the public sphere, and new genres such as the periodical and technologies … facilitated such strategies with unprecedented scale and speed.” (Pentecostal Truths was part of this quickly changing culture of print and clearly had the Chinese public sphere in mind.) More specifically, the periodical embraced a format that had more immediate precursors in the faith and missionary periodicals produced by evangelicals from North America and Europe. In terms of personnel, the periodical exemplified the “fluid network” of evangelical print culture, where publishers, editors, and writers appeared in multiple periodicals and where stories and snippets were borrowed between papers (Shields 2020, 177). Pentecostal Truths frequently included translated articles from Pentecostal periodicals around the world, and Mok and his colleagues frequently wrote for English language periodicals. In terms of its expenses, the periodical emulated faith publications in that no subscription fees were required and Mok and his colleagues offered the paper free of charge to whoever wrote in to subscribe; if the paper was the will of God, then they believed God would cover their printing and distribution costs through free-will offerings (Wacker 2001, 131; Maxwell 2016, 136). Finally, Pentecostal Truths also inherited some of the trappings of missionary periodicals by virtue of its relationship to the Hong Kong Pentecostal Mission. Also run by Mok, the mission was an independent Pentecostal organization, and the paper was one of its primary sources of publicity and funding (Moreshead 2015, 54–104). In some sense, then, the periodical must be seen as a form of propaganda that sought to achieve outcomes that were both external and internal to the mission (Jensz 2012).

Purposes The outcomes pursued by Pentecostal Truths were common among Pentecostal periodicals more generally, especially during the early years of the movement. Like evangelicals, Pentecostal 69

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periodicals desired to redeem society from its sinful ways. Yet, the periodicals of the nascent Pentecostal movement tended to be far more skewed toward the sanctifying aims of the evangelical print culture. Pentecostals wanted to spread the message of modern Pentecost to existing evangelical groups (Werner 2002). In so doing, however, their publications tended to foster individuals and communities that distinguished themselves from other evangelical groups (Gunther-Brown 2004). As such, early Pentecostal periodicals can largely be read as an exercise in identity formation. By sharing narratives, community, and texts, Pentecostal periodicals were “inventing” the Pentecostal movement as their papers spread around the globe (Lambert 1999).

Shared Narrative In his study of holiness periodicals in the southern United States, Stephens observed that the narrative of the Azusa Street Revival played a key role in converting holiness groups to the Pentecostal cause. In his words, “[t]he reportage of the Azusa revival allowed individuals in the region to reconstruct their religious experience along Pentecostal lines” (Stephens 2010, 215). While some debate remains about the exact origins of the Pentecostal movement, there is little disagreement about the importance of Azusa in helping to popularize and spread the Pentecostal message around the world. While missionaries were instrumental in this process, the revival’s periodical, The Apostolic Faith, proved to have the farthest-reaching impact. Produced by the mixed-race, mixed-gendered team of leaders at the revival, The Apostolic Faith was among some of the first publications to proclaim that a revival of modern Pentecost was sweeping the world (Espinosa 2014). This narrative was quickly picked up by newspapers and religious periodicals around the world, and – importantly – it was quickly repeated by newly established periodicals like The Latter Rain Evangel, The Bridegroom’s Messenger, and Pentecostal Truths. Alongside missionaries, evangelists, pastors, and laypeople, these periodicals created what Lindsey Maxwell called the “pneuma network” (Maxwell 2016, 142). With Azusa as its narrative hub, this network continued to grow and foster a belief in the experience of modern Pentecost – in effect, Azusa “branded” the movement (Maxwell 2016, 125).

Shared Community This shared narrative helped to foster a sense of community among evangelicals around the world who embraced this new move of God (Sneath 2004). Wacker notes that “early Pentecostals were furious writers” and that their thousands of pages of text were essential in helping to foster a sense of global community (Wacker 2001, 264). Pentecostal periodicals shared stories of spiritual victories around the world, dates, and locations of upcoming meetings and revivals, and even lists of approved and disapproved leaders, organizations, books, and more. In erecting boundaries and sharing experiences, periodicals helped to foster a sense of community even when physical proximity was not possible (Stephens 2010). Fraternity in this imagined global community was key. Authors frequently employed first-person plural pronouns like “our” and “we,” and prayer requests from missionaries and evangelists in far-off places were common (Maxwell 2016, 215). Periodicals flattened the globe for Pentecostals and oriented them to the new Pentecostal world.

Shared Texts Pentecostal periodicals also brought this community together through a shared language produced by common objects and common stories. While Pentecostals inherited their reliance on the Bible and evangelical print culture, Pentecostal periodicals provided another sort 70

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of sacred text that could unite the community. Maxwell notes how periodicals differentiated themselves from common newspapers. They were prayed over, and readers were asked to pass them along when they were done. As Mok’s opening quote illustrates, Pentecostals saw their periodicals as imbued with spiritual power, and that power was communicated through stories of Pentecostal experiences. This could be done through the unique use of biblical imagery, which suffused Pentecostal periodicals. In studying the descriptors of Pentecostal worship in early periodicals, Melissa Archer observed that worship scenes in the Apocalypse were commonly used by Pentecostals to frame their own experience (Archer 2012). It could also be done through the sharing of personal testimonies, especially regarding instances of healing or Spirit baptism. In exploring the way Katherine Kuhlmann utilized printed narratives of healing, Gunther-Brown observed that narratives of miraculous healing had a way of “forcing readers to choose sides and perhaps find themselves in unexpected company” (Gunther-Brown 2008, 291). Although much earlier, the printed testimonies of Pentecostals were similarly intended to rouse non-Pentecostal readers to seek Spirit baptism and provided a framework for them to understand how to do so. For example, every issue of Pentecostal Truths featured instructions for how to seek the experience of Spirit baptism.

Hong Kong and the Pillars of Pentecostal Print Early Pentecostal periodicals shared a mutual history, similar formats, and common goals. Yet, this shared foundation was not enough to ensure the success of any single Pentecostal periodical. This shared culture of print was shored up by social processes and forms of power, which ensured that some “arrows” would fly longer and farther than their peers. The longevity and success of any Pentecostal periodical were largely dependent on three things: access to production technologies, control over a distribution network, and connection to financial support. Importantly, the strength of these “pillars” for any Pentecostal periodical was socially determined; the durability of the pillars was linked to the strength of an editorial team’s connection to a larger network. The importance of these pillars becomes clear when one looks at the Pentecostal movement in Hong Kong and Pentecostal Truths’ uneven publication history. As such, the remainder of this chapter will explore the story of Pentecostal Truths through the reconstruction and analysis of the social network that produced the periodical, the Pentecostal network of Hong Kong (Mayfield 2021).4 As will be seen, changes in the first decades of the Pentecostal movement dramatically shifted the balance in Pentecostal print culture to favor periodicals that were firmly aligned with or controlled by Western denominational bodies. In this shift, the importance and feasibility of independent, Chinese-produced periodicals like Pentecostal Truths were gradually eroded.

1907–1912: Establishing Access to Production After the first Pentecostal missionaries arrived in 1907, Hong Kong quickly became a hub of Pentecostal activity and growth in China. This hub was made up of an eclectic mix of faith-minded evangelicals; it was highly volatile and highly interconnected. So, while most Pentecostals did not stay in Hong Kong for very long, those who passed through met – or were at least familiar with – the other Pentecostals in the colony. At the center of this Pentecostal hub, as seen in Figure 5.1, was Mok Lai Chi.5 Mok had served as one of the main translators for the earliest Pentecostal services in the colony and was among the first group of Chinese people to convert to the Pentecostal message. 71

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Figure 5.1  The Pentecostal Network of Hong Kong, 1907–1912

In the months following his conversion, Mok went from being a translator for Pentecostal missionaries to being the “pastor” of the Hong Kong Pentecostal Mission. Run “on faith,” the mission began as a jointly run Sino-Western enterprise with locations in Central and Wan Chai. Through the first five years of its existence, the mission served multiple purposes: revival and tarrying services, Sunday school and services, various educational ventures, and eventually as a home for Mok, Mok’s family, Western missionaries, and other Pentecostals who were passing through the colony. One of the most important operations of the mission, however, was the production of Pentecostal Truths. The origins of the paper are relatively clear, although the emphases change in the telling. Writing home in a letter, Thomas J. McIntosh – the first Pentecostal missionary to China – wrote as follows: Some time ago God put it in my heart to get out a paper in the Chinese language for the dear Chinese. Of course, I did not have the money, only as God brought it in, but I put it before our Christian Chinese brethren at Hong Kong, and God gave us a Holy Ghost filled Chinese brother to translate English into Chinese. He also gave us a Holy Ghost filled Chinese brother to do the printing. God gave me the name of the paper, it is “Pentecostal Truth”. McIntosh (1908, 4) In sharing his testimony with the Atlanta-based Bridegroom Messenger, Mok recalled the momentous proposal slightly differently: One day Brother McIntosh told me that the Lord had spoken to him about starting a free paper, giving the name “Pentecostal Truths,” and asked me to pray about it. 72

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When I prayed, the Lord spoke to me, commanding me to take charge of it. I said, “Lord, I am not a writer,” but the Lord reminded me of what Moses said on Mt. Horeb, and promised that He would make my brothers to help me … Besides the paper, we are publishing free tracts. Mok (12/1909, 4) Mok’s story largely follows McIntosh’s trajectory, but they diverge at junctures that are of the utmost importance to the process of print production. First, McIntosh’s narrative depicts his proposal as one made to a generic group of Chinese people, whereas Mok’s account depicts the proposal as a personal request to Mok. This latter account begs the question: why would McIntosh ask Mok? Mok laid the groundwork for an answer earlier in his testimony when he revealed that, earlier in life, he had planned to start a newspaper and had even gone so far as to secure a reputable scholar to serve as his sub-editor. While the venture fell through, that he could even secure an editor was a telling demonstration of Mok’s literary prowess and status. As the rest of his testimony makes clear, Mok was born into a growing class of bilingual, Christian elite who served as the civil servants and middlemen of Hong Kong’s government and economy (Smith 1985; Au 2017). Mok was born to Christian parents and even spent some time as a local secretary for the Hong Kong YMCA. From an early age, Mok had received an English education, and he was running his own English school at the time of his conversion. In short, Mok was bilingual, educated, betterconnected, and much better acquainted with the changing world of Chinese publishing than any of the Pentecostal missionaries arriving in the colony. His centrality to the earliest period of the Pentecostal enterprise in Hong Kong is unquestionable, and McIntosh recognized this. This leads naturally to the second major difference between Mok’s and McIntosh’s accounts. McIntosh’s letter implies that the Chinese periodical consisted mostly of translated articles from other Pentecostal periodicals, an approach that would leave ample room for foreign involvement and render the paper a parrot of Western Pentecostal print culture. Mok’s account, however, places himself firmly in the editorial chair, and this seems to be born out in the editorial choices he made. Pentecostal Truths did include translated articles from English language Pentecostal papers, but this practice was common in the fluid evangelical web of early Pentecostal print culture. These translated articles, however, were complemented by a good deal of original Chinese compositions in the form of editorials, sermons, theological treatises, and testimonies. While some issues make it clear that Mok was working with missionaries to produce and edit the paper, their names are conspicuously absent on the bylines.6 This makes sense for many reasons, none more so than the fact that most of the early Pentecostals in Hong Kong had little to no Chinese language training. While articles might be suggested for translation, the editorial weight clearly fell on Mok. Finally, McIntosh’s narrative makes it clear that the Hong Kong Pentecostal Mission was able to produce the periodical because there was a converted printer in the ranks. Mok attests to this fact in a different way. While he makes a vague mention of his “brothers” helping him to produce the paper, he also notes that the mission was also publishing its own tracts. Like Mok, the unnamed printer was an important asset for the young and relatively small mission as it provided the expertise and access to printing technology that was required to produce Pentecostal Truths. While such expertise and access could be found elsewhere in Hong Kong, the price would likely have been out of reach for the mission, as its faith principles and the high cost of living in the city usually meant that the coffers were light (Appleby 1964, 5). Between 1907 and 1912, the production of Pentecostal Truths would have been impossible without prominent Chinese leaders in the mission, such as Mok and the unnamed printer. While McIntosh may have jump-started the creation of the paper, Chinese leaders provided 73

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access to production equipment and editorial expertise that were the raw ingredients out of which the periodical could be formed. This core leadership outlasted the first wave of Pentecostal missionaries and ultimately produced a Chinese vision of Pentecost that was distinct from the those brought by missionaries (Mayfield 2021). By 1912, however, the relationship between the Chinese leadership and the rotating door of foreign Pentecostals reached its nadir, and the mission became a completely independent Chinese venture (Mayfield 2021, 126–38). In one sense, this shift should have meant little for the paper. The mission retained the expertise and production access required to continue to produce the paper. Yet, the split quickly undermined the other pillars of Pentecostal print.

1913–1922: Losing Connection to Financial Support Early Pentecostals almost exclusively produced their papers “on faith.” Prominent periodicals like The Apostolic Faith, The Bridegroom’s Messenger, Confidence, and The Latter Rain Evangel charged no price for their papers and would often mail issues free of charge to anyone who asked. Without wealthy financiers backing them, periodicals subsisted on the donations of supporters, most of whom were readers. The precariousness of this arrangement, however, was belied by the importance of periodicals for the continuance of the movement. For readers, periodicals offered a steady flow of information about the newly emerging Pentecostal world and a new lexicon by which people could reimagine their own Christian experience. For authors, editors, and ministers, they provided a reliable platform to share one’s ideas, upcoming speaking engagements, and – most crucially – a place to solicit financial support, even if indirectly. Editorial offices for periodicals were fixed locations where funds could be sent and then distributed to corresponding authors, ministers, and missionaries around the globe. To be published in a Pentecostal periodical was to be visible and integrated into a network of support. In this fluid and interconnected print culture, adhering to faith principles could – if one wrote fast enough and well enough – be feasible. Yet, the interconnected nature of the Pentecostal print network also meant that a rupture within any part of the network could cause disproportionate financial problems. The split between Chinese leaders and foreign Pentecostal missionaries in Hong Kong (seen clearly in Figure 5.2) was one such split, and it had a disproportionate effect on the financial sustainability of Pentecostal Truths. In the five years following the split, the periodical would only produce around ten more issues at irregular intervals, mostly due to lack of funding (Mok 1917, 4).7 The split caused a decrease in funds on two levels. First, it cut the periodical off from the flow of money that came from Pentecostal missionaries themselves. The Hong Kong Pentecostal Mission was an experiment in faith funding and communal living. Housing upward of twentyodd people at its height, the costs of the mission were met through direct donations and the financial support of the individual missionaries who called the mission home (Garr 1912). Missionaries would pool their resources and cover costs as they came in. The arrangement was ripe for financial strife, and later Pentecostal missionaries recalled that the financial burden was not always evenly distributed. At the same time, with missionaries connected to periodicals and church networks across North America, the mission had a diversified portfolio of potential supporters. Every missionary who lived and worked at the mission was, even if indirectly, raising funds with every letter home and report published in Pentecostal periodicals. On a more direct level, many missionaries advocated for direct donations to the mission and even sought to raise funds at prominent camp meetings (Scott and Studd 1913). Even without this diversified portfolio of fundraising, the mission and Pentecostal Truths might have been able to continue production if they were able to garner attention in English 74

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Figure 5.2  The Pentecostal Network of Hong Kong, 1913–1922

language periodicals, which would allow them to draw financial support from wealthier foreign networks. Dependence on foreign networks was largely necessary as the Pentecostal community in China was still small, and most Chinese Pentecostals on the mainland were largely affiliated with churches and mission stations run by foreigners. Tapping this foreign network could take place in two ways: through article republication or direct solicitation. As Pentecostal Truths was published mainly in Chinese and distributed to Chinese readers, article republication was not possible – or at least unlikely. Yet, bilingual authors at the mission, like Mok, could continue to publish in foreign Pentecostal periodicals by sending English language compositions to editors. Unfortunately, Mok seems to have largely been deprived of this opportunity – or chosen not to avail himself of it – following the split. During the first five years of Pentecostal Truths, Mok’s testimony and letters appeared in periodicals across North America and the United Kingdom, including The Household of God, The Latter Rain Evangel, Confidence, and, most prolifically, The Bridegroom’s Messenger. Following the split, snippets of Mok’s letters appeared only twice, once in a 1913 issue of Word and Witness and once in a 1916 issue of The Bridegroom’s Messenger. For whatever reason, Mok and the Chinese-led mission were cut off from the foreign Pentecostal periodicals and the financial possibilities they provided. The financial effects of the split were made worse by an even larger rupture taking place across the global Pentecostal print network. By 1922, most of the Pentecostals in North America belonged to newly minted Pentecostal denominations. These organizations eschewed the faith mission principles of the past and adopted more stable forms of governance and fundraising. This would have far-reaching importance for Pentecostal printing writ large as periodicals gradually began to affiliate with new denominations and carefully police authorial affiliation. While some papers remained somewhat independent, there was a decreasing appetite among editors for independent writers who might pull support to nondenominational endeavors. Cut off from this network, Pentecostal Truths’ pillar of financial 75

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support was drastically weakened, and the periodical ceased production around 1917 or soon after. At the same time, the Hong Kong Pentecostal Mission was gradually hemmed in by better-funded, foreign-run Pentecostal missions in Hong Kong and on the mainland.

1923–1942: Control Over Distribution Networks During the waning years of Pentecostal Truths, the pillars of Pentecostal print in Hong Kong were effectively split. Chinese leaders of the mission had the modes of production, and missionaries had the means. Between 1917 and 1922, most Pentecostal missionaries in Hong Kong and southern China simply did not have the expertise to produce a Chinese language periodical (Kelley 1932).8 By 1923, however, the tides had begun to turn for foreign missionaries in Hong Kong as they were finally able to capitalize on several grueling years of organizational realignment. Despite economic hardships in the homeland, North American denominations like the Pentecostal Holiness Church – and the Assemblies of God to a lesser extent – were slowly able to establish a firm base of operations in the colony, replete with buildings, by-laws, Chinese colporteurs, Bible women, and Chinese preachers. The strong reliance on Chinese leadership seen in earlier decades of the Pentecostal movement in China had been supplanted by a new denominational model of mission. This new model of mission also relied upon Chinese people for its success, but this time they were dutifully incorporated into missionary-run organizations. Figure 5.3 clearly shows this new, growing contingent of Chinese who were integrated into missionary-centered networks.

Figure 5.3  The Pentecostal Network of Hong Kong, 1923–1942

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Additionally, the Pentecostal missionary personnel in the colony were gradually becoming more adept through attrition and addition. By the 1920s, the Pentecostal movement in China included several experienced missionaries, some of whom had arrived as early as 1907. These missionaries had slowly gained Chinese language skills and connections through their years of missionary service. Newly arriving denominational Pentecostals also settled into the more traditional mode of focused language training upon arrival. Together, these two trends meant that the missionary-run Pentecostal enterprise of Hong Kong was able to produce its own literature. Soon, missionaries were translating catechisms, hymnbooks, and tracts, and even creating their own denominational periodicals. Prior to this burst of new print production, Pentecostal Truths had held a virtual monopoly on Chinese Pentecostal print in China as it was one of the only major literary Pentecostal sources that missionaries and Chinese evangelists could have on hand (Iap 2017).9 Pentecostal Truths, however, did not have the same sort of monopoly on its audience that other, more established papers in the West did. In North America and Europe, Pentecostals could rely on steady mail service and address systems, which enabled periodicals to be mailed directly to their readers. Distribution lists of names and addresses, then, were the backbone of any Pentecostal paper, and editors sought to expand their lists and ensure that they were reaching their intended readers. Although the historiographic trail is messy, the famous example of the Azusa Street Mission and The Apostolic Faith’s decline is a case in point on the importance of distribution for continued success. In 1908, Clara Lum and Florence Crawford moved to Portland, Oregon, with the mission’s mailing list in tow. Margaret English de Alminana has shown that the Portland move began as an expansion of the Los Angeles-based Apostolic Faith movement, but while the transfer to Portland took place on good terms, it was a serious blow to the visibility of the Los Angeles group. Lum was one of the few members of the Apostolic Faith leadership team with expertise in editorial work and printing (de Alminana 2016). Without the ability to produce and distribute a paper, the Apostolic Faith Mission of Los Angeles quickly faded out of public view. Pentecostal Truths did not have the same sort of distribution network because the mail service was far less reliable in China. Instead, the periodical relied mostly on distribution centers and personal delivery of the paper by evangelists, colporteurs, and missionaries. Figure 5.4 lays out the known distribution of Pentecostal Truths and the known locations of Pentecostal activity in China up to 1942. The overlap illustrates two important points. First, Pentecostal Truths tended to circulate in and around major urban hubs of missionary activity like Guangdong, Beijing, Shanghai, and Kunming. By being distributed in urban centers, the paper could reach many interested urbanites as well as those visiting from the surrounding countryside. This less-controlled form of distribution meant that continued distribution was highly dependent on interpersonal relationships and organizational continuity. This likely meant that the Chinese-Western split had a notable impact on the distribution of the paper. Nevertheless, the paper did go out, and it formed a network that future Pentecostals would build on in years to come. Simply put, Pentecostal missionaries did not always have to sow to reap. Due to Pentecostal Truths’ earlier circulation in urban and sub-urban areas, Pentecostal ideas and language were already circulating among the populations that Pentecostal missionaries sought to reach. As denominational Pentecostal groups began to solidify their own mission organizations and publication distribution networks, they already had an audience that was primed by the earlier paper. 77

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Figure 5.4 Distribution of Pentecostal Truths and Known Pentecostal Missions, 1907–1942 ◇ Known Location of Pentecostal Truths ● Known Location of Pentecostal Mission

This final pillar of Pentecostal print was, perhaps, always the most socially constructed support for Pentecostal Truths. The relationality and idealism that propelled the movement in its earliest years helped build a relatively loose network of distribution for Mok’s periodical. Yet, as structural changes in Hong Kong and around the Pentecostal world took place, that network was divided up and refashioned for denominational ends. For almost a decade, Pentecostal Truths watered the soil of Chinese Christianity with the Pentecostal message. In subsequent decades, however, it was Pentecostal denominations who reaped the rewards.

Conclusion Mok made his last appearance in an English language Pentecostal periodical with the announcement of his death in 1927 in The Bridegroom Messenger, almost eleven years after his last published article in the same paper. Written by his son, William, the short obituary recounts how Mok’s health had flagged in the final three years of his life, but that he continued to “teach his children the full Gospel and nothing more” (Mok 1927, 1). The short, simple account belied the outsized influence that Mok had on the early Chinese Pentecostal movement as the editor of Pentecostal Truths. Through the printed word, Mok sent his “arrows” to the Chinese communities around the world and contextualized the Pentecostal message into the Chinese context. Yet, the tiny obituary is also a plot point in another story, one which includes the SinoWestern Pentecostal split and the final five years of Pentecostal Truths’ production. Pentecostal print did not arise merely out of goodwill and spiritual fervor. Rather it was, and remains, the product of social processes that bring texts into existence and into readers’ hands. The gradual 78

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decline of the periodical and Mok’s influence in the broader Pentecostal movement illustrate that one must pay attention to the socially constructed pillars that support the printed word as much as the words themselves. Within the early Pentecostal world, the global flow of resources tended to run from Europe and North America to the rest of the world. In that lopsided flow, independent non-Western leaders, like Mok, were disadvantaged to be active participants in the global Pentecostal exchange of ideas. During the early years of the Pentecostal movement in Hong Kong, this disadvantage was tempered by Sino–Western cooperation. However, as tensions between Chinese and Western leaders, the imbalance of resources – and thus power – resulted in the collapse of Chinese Pentecostal printing, at least for a time. When Pentecostal print returned to China, it was by and large controlled by new denominational groups with their power bases located in North America. Instead of arrows flying out of China to the five continents, this new brand of Pentecostal print was fired from one origin, Western missionaries, and pointed in one direction, China. With Pentecostal Truths gone, Pentecostal print in China became – for the most part – a Western import.

Notes 1 All quotations from Pentecostal Truths are translations by Connie Au, to whom I am deeply indebted. 2 The early Pentecostal movement clearly understood themselves as re-enacting and/or re-experiencing the biblical account of Pentecost as recorded in Acts 2. 3 Only eighteen issues of Pentecostal Truths have been discovered to date. The final issue is listed as the thirty-ninth issue, meaning over half of the influential paper’s run has been unfortunately lost. Distribution may have been much larger but can only be pieced together by the place names attached to testimonies sent to and published in the paper. 4 This social network was reconstructed through the detailed coding of over 1,500 Pentecostal periodicals (including Pentecostal Truths). Within this social network graph, individuals are denoted as having a relationship when they (1) mentioned another person in writing, (2) were directly related to a person, or (3) worked in the same institution within a one month time frame. For a more detailed description of the methodology, see pp. 369–77. 5 As is common in social network graphs, larger node size denotes more connect ions. 6 Thomas J. McIntosh and Alfred G. Garr were mentioned once as conduits for money but were never listed as editors. 7 In the final extant issue, an editorial note says that the paper was “published as often as we have the means.” 8 One major exception to this would be George Kelley’s Ecclesia, though no extant copies have been found thus far. 9 Exceptions would be Kelley’s paper (see above) and Bernt Berntsen’s Popular Gospel Truths 通傳福音 真理報, but neither was as influential during the earliest period of Pentecostal missions in China.

References Anderson, Allan. 2007. Spreading Fires: The Missionary Nature of Early Pentecostalism. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Appleby, Blanche. 1964. “I Remember.” The Pentecostal Evangel. May 24, 1964. Archer, Melissa L. 2012. “The Worship Scenes in the Apocalypse, Effective History, and Early Pentecostal Periodical Literature.” Journal of Pentecostal Theology 21 (1): 87–112. Au, Connie. 2017. “Elitism and Poverty: Early Pentecostalism in Hong Kong (1907–1945).” In Global Chinese Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity, edited by Fenggang Yang, Joy K.C. Tong, and Allan H. Anderson, 63–88. Leiden: Brill. Au, Connie. 2019. “From Collaborations with Missionaries to Independence: An Early History of the Hong Kong Pentecostal Mission (1907–1930).” In Asia Pacific Pentecostalism, edited by Denise A. Austin, Jacqueline Grey, and Paul W. Lewis, 85–106. Leiden: Brill.

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Alex Mayfield Bays, Daniel H. 1995. “Indigenous Protestant Churches in China, 1900-1937: A Pentecostal Case Study.” In Indigenous Responses to Western Christianity, edited by Steven Kaplan, 124–43. New York & London: New York University Press. Chia, Lucille, and Hilde De Weedt. 2011. “Introduction.” In Knowledge and Text Production in an Age of Print: China, 900-1400, edited by Lucille Chia, and Hilde De Weerdt, 1–29. Leiden: Brill. de Alminana, Margaret English. 2016. “Florence Crawford and Egalitarian Precedents in Early Pentecostalism.” In Women in Pentecostal and Charismatic Ministry: Informing a Dialogue on Gender, Church, and Ministry, edited by Margaret English de Alminana, and Lois E. Olena, 103–39. Leiden: Brill. Downy, Greg. 2008. “Opening Remarks.” Presented at the Culture of Print in Science, Technology, Engineering, and Medicine, University of Wisconsin – Madison, September, 2008. https:// uncoveringinformationlabor.blogspot.com/2008/09/. Espinosa, Gastón. 2014. “Introduction: Definitions and One Hundred Years of a Historiography on Seymour.” In William J. Seymour and the Origins of Global Pentecostalism: A Biography and Documentary History, 1–40. Durham: Duke University Press. Garr, Lillian. 1912. “Missionary Admonitions.” The Latter Rain Evangel. February 1912. Gunther-Brown, Candy. 2004. Word in the World: Evangelical Writing, Publishing, and Reading in America, 1789-1880. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press. Gunther-Brown, Candy. 2008. “Healing Words: Narratives of Spiritual Healing and Kathryn Kuhlman’s Uses of Print Culture, 1947-1976.” In Religion and the Culture of Print in Modern America, edited by C.L. Cohen, and P.S. Boyer, 271–97. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Iap, Sian-Chin. 2017. “A Comparative Study on the Two Earliest Chinese Pentecostal Periodicals: Popular Gospel Truth and Pentecostal Truths.” International Journal of Sino-Western Studies 13: 81–99. Jensz, Felicity. 2012. “Origins of Missionary Periodicals: Form and Function of Three Moravian Publications.” Journal of Religious History 36 (2): 234–55. Kelley, George. 1932. “Report of Ecclesia – and Canton Assembly, First Year of Self-Support - A Success (1932).” “Kelley, George” Folder, Assemblies of God World Missions Archives, Springfield, MO. Lambert, Frank. 1999. Inventing the “Great Awakening. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Lathan, Sean, and Robert Scholes. 2006. “The Rise of Periodical Studies.” PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 121 (2): 519–20. Maxwell, Lindsey Brooke. 2016. “The Pneuma Network: Transnational Pentecostal Print Culture in the United States and South Africa, 1906–1948.” PhD diss., Florida International University. Mayfield, Alex R. 2021. “Pentecostal Hong Kong: Mapping Mission in Global Pentecostal Discourse, 1907-1942,” PhD diss., Boston University. McIntosh, Thomas J. 1908. “Letter from Brother McIntosh.” The Bridegroom’s Messenger. April 1, 1908. Mok, Lai Chi. 01/1909. “A Letter on the First Anniversary of the Pentecostal Truths and a New Year Blessing,” Pentecostal Truths 五旬節真理. January 1909. Mok, Lai Chi. 12/1909. “Testimony of Mok Lai Chi.” The Bridegroom’s Messenger. December 15, 1909. Mok, Lai Chi. 1917. Pentecostal Truths 五旬節真理. April 1917. Mok, William K.S. 1927. “With Christ.” The Bridegroom’s Messenger. March 1927. Moreshead, Ashley E. 2015. “‘The Seed of the Missionary Spirit’: Foreign Missions, Print Culture, and Evangelical Identity in the Early American Republic.” PhD diss., University of Delaware. Pettegree, Andrew. 2015. Brand Luther: 1517, Printing, and the Making of the Reformation. New York, NY: Penguin Press. Scott, John. 2012. What is Social Network Analysis? New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic. Scott, Gregory Adam, and Philip Clart. 2014. “Introduction: Print Culture and Religion in Chinese History.” In China Religious Publishing and Print Culture in Modern China: 1800-2012, edited by Philip Clart, and Gregory Adam Scott, 1–16. Berlin: De Gruyter, Inc. Scott, R.J., and George B. Studd. 1913. “Missionary Offering at Los Angeles.” The Bridegroom’s Messenger. August 15, 1913. Shields, Juliet. 2020. “Evangelical Periodical Culture: Or, Evangelicalism Was Everywhere.” Victorian Review 46 (2): 176–79. Smith, Carl T. 1985. Chinese Christians: Élites, Middlemen, and the Church in Hong Kong. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Snead, Jennifer Ellis. 2010. “Print, Predestination, and the Public Sphere: Transatlantic Evangelical Periodicals, 1740–1745.” Early American Literature 45 (1): 93–118.

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Hong Kong and the Pillars of Early Pentecostal Print Culture Sneath, Robyn. 2004. “Imagining a Mennonite Community: The Mennonitische Post and a People of Diaspora.” Journal of Mennonite Studies 22: 205–20. Stephens, Randall J. 2010. “There Is Magic in Print: The Holiness-Pentecostal Press and the Origins of Southern Pentecostalism.” In Southern Crossroads, edited by Walter H. Conser, Jr., and Rodger M. Payne, 194–230. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky. Wacker, Grant Wacker. 2001. Heaven Below: Early Pentecostals and American Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Werner, W.E. 2002. “Publications of the Pentecostal Movement.” In The New International Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, Revised and Expanded Edition, edited by Stanley M. Burgess, and Eduard M. Van Der Maas, ebook. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Zboray, Ronald J., and Mary Saracino Zboray. 2011. “The Changing Face of Publishing.” In The Oxford History of Popular Print Culture, Volume 6: US Popular Print Culture 1860–1920, edited by Christine Bold, 24–43. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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6 STUDENT MOVEMENTS AND SPIRITUAL IDENTITY IN THE GROWTH OF PENTECOSTALISM IN KENYA Kyama Mugambi Introduction Addressing their realities, the dynamic religious experience of young people, especially within Pentecostalism, makes them key participants in the growth of African Christianity. Africa is in many ways a young continent. In 2019, the African Union estimated that three-quarters of the continent’s population were below the age of thirty-five (Population Reference Bureau 2019, 4). Africa accounts for a sixth of the world’s youth population between fifteen and twenty-four years of age (United Nations 2020, 40). It is therefore not difficult to see why demographers predict that, by 2050, two in five of the world’s Christians will likely come from the continent (Zurlo and Johnson 2019). This chapter explores young people’s engagement with Pentecostalism, a prolific expression of Christianity in Africa (Barrett 1968; Kalu 2008). Through their indigenous agency, the rising population of youth account for a truly African expression, challenging the notion that this exuberant Christianity is “something particularly North American” (Gifford 2009, 136). The high population of young Africans described above is the result of varied causes. Two of the most significant reasons are a high fertility rate and improved healthcare. High fertility rates, further enhanced by improved provision of healthcare, raised life expectancy during the 1980s. The resulting population growth created a demographic youth bulge that rose exponentially in the 2010s. Implications of the bulge are that the youth population on the continent will not peak until the middle of the twenty-first century (Skirbekk et al. 2015). Consequently, the number of youthful African Christians will continue growing relative to other parts of the world. With only a handful of dedicated scholarly works, the youthfulness of Africa’s Pentecostals has received less than adequate attention in studies of growth among global Christians (Sommers 2001; Tshabalala and Patel 2010; Gitau 2018). Young people, or the youth, here refers to the population between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five (African Union 2006). This demographic group constitutes the majority within the varied Pentecostal groups on the continent. I use the term Pentecostal broadly here to refer to Christian expressions that emphasize the immanence of the Holy Spirit’s work in their lived faith. They reach back to New Testament spirituality and eschatological concerns with a view to reenacting them literally. 82

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The movements’ broad understanding of soteriology includes both spiritual and physical categories. Within this understanding, healing, dreams, visions, glossolalia, and other New Testament experiences find eager acceptance. This rubric envisages Pentecostalism as more than a denomination. It is a “family of related expressions” of which student movements are a part (Mugambi 2020, 6). My interest here is in the role of these student movements in the growth of Pentecostal movements in Kenya.

Negotiating Multiple Identities in an Urbanizing Milieu The history of Pentecostalism in Kenya is in part a narrative of young people constantly negotiating their spiritual identity in a rapidly urbanizing environment. This story fits within the larger narrative of the development of Christianity in Africa South of the Sahara. Christian expansion here began in the missionary era from the late 1800s into the early 1900s. Conversion among Africans in this period was the result of two factors – missionary evangelism through catechism, combined with European formal education. Small numbers of local children enrolled in missionary schools where their curriculum invariably included Christian instruction. To the unconverted, there was no distinction between Christianity and literacy. In Kenya, the same word was used to refer to both – wasomi, Kiswahili for those who read (Mugambi 2020, 29–30). Most conversions happened in church-founded schools and institutions that then, as now, were filled with young people. The conversion rate relative to the general population in the missionary era was very low. Few adults converted as the majority in pre-independence East Africa preferred traditional religion. Missionaries made up for the low conversion rate with their spirited efforts to translate the Bible and other religious texts into local languages (Peterson 2004; Dube and Wafula 2017; Kinyua 2017). The impact of the Bible translation initiatives bore great dividends in the next generation of indigenous Christians in the period between the 1920s and 1950s. The small number of young and literate Kenyans enthusiastically received these texts when, for the first time, they heard the Holy Scriptures spoken in their own tongue. These translated texts paved the way for literate and semi-literate young people then to innovate early expressions of Christianity that were more indigenous. Founded from the first half of the twentieth century, these are the expressions known today as African Initiatives in Christianity (AICs). A few of these churches had limited contact with classical Pentecostal denominations. The influence of historic mission churches was more pronounced on the AIC’s modified and highly oral liturgies. Here, the historic mission churches reverence for the creeds, baptism, and communion found resonance. Their characteristic insertion of prophecy and healing rituals within their worship points to their commitment to charismatic ideals associated with later Pentecostal movements. I have argued elsewhere that the resilient charismatic expressions of AICs resonated with, and promoted the growth of Pentecostalism since the 1970s (Mugambi 2020, 23–54). The gospel message, made clear in the translated Bibles, fueled their reverence for the Holy Spirit and openness to the Spirit’s work through the miraculous. World War II and the clamor for independence from colonial governments in Africa ushered in a new era. Missiologists observed that the World Wars put a severe economic strain on Europe and America, which in turn affected the resourcing of missions (Robert 1994; Pierard 1998; Barrett 2015). Furthermore, the rise of independent African states created an uncertain environment for missionary agencies that had relied on a colonial infrastructure. These agencies used the colonial legal and security apparatus to their advantage. They also relied on the roads, rail, and postal systems created to support the colonies. The clamor for 83

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independence among Africans threatened the long-term access to this infrastructure, making the missionary agencies hesitant to send their people to the field. Taken together, these realities on the continent hastened the end of the missionary era in the 1950s. Surprisingly, this same period saw unprecedented success among indigenous evangelistic initiatives, especially in the emerging cosmopolitan centers. One unique example of a highly successful young people’s movement was the East Africa Revival. The East Africa Revival swept over the region during the 1940s, promoting a Christian fervor akin to the holiness movements from England (Kariuki 1985; Gat ũ 2006; Peterson 2014). Revival initially spread within historic mission churches through conventions held in mission schools and colleges. Young people within these institutions embraced this fervid expression of Christianity, which infused a new impetus to the quiet and reserved spirituality of historic mission denominations. The outworking of their Christian commitment was an incessant flow of evangelistic missions to the rural areas. It needs to be said here that the East Africa Revival did not define itself as a Pentecostal community in the same way as classical Euro-American Pentecostals did. However, they used language that characterized them as a pneumatic movement energized by the outworking of the Holy Spirit (Kinoti 1998, 63). They prioritized a pneumatology with the concrete presence of the Spirit who directed them to repent. Many accepted the role of dreams, visions, and healing, signaling what one missionary called an “African Pentecost” (Peterson 2014, 116–17). Most expressions of the Revival rejected glossolalia as essential evidence of a baptism of the Spirit in the way classical Pentecostals did. They presented themselves as reformers and invigorators of protestant denominations such as the Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Lutherans. To this end, they promoted personal piety in their frequent tellings of ushuhuda, or stories of conversion (Gat ũ 2018). The movement gradually aged from the 1940s with the college age Revivalists maturing to middle age. Their reticence to include younger people in the mid-1950s contributed to the rise of student movements in the student colleges (Gitari 2014, 298–99). Here again, a fresh generation of young people took the lead, organizing themselves into Christian groups in their schools. Christian student movements developed in three key directions. The Kenya Student Christian Fellowship (KSCF), founded in 1958, came out of the mission partnership between Scripture Union and the International Students Christian Fellowship (ISCF) in England. Anglican missionaries worked with students conducting evangelistic activities, building churches, and organizing local leadership. Reports of KSCF activities can be found scattered in the periodic missionary documents of the day (“Diocese of Fort Hall: CMS OX Historical Record, 1960–1961. 01 132–149,” 1961, 142–43). Under the indigenous leadership of David Gitari in the initial years, KSCF expanded its work in high schools, developing a wide scope throughout the country (Gitari 2014, 20–21). Operating from a secretariat in Nairobi, KSCF acted as an umbrella body for student groups. Its main role was to coordinate activities of student groups, known as Christian Unions, in high schools. A second trajectory of growth among student movements came through the Fellowship of Christian Unions (FOCUS). FOCUS came out of the work of the continent-wide Pan African Fellowship of Christian Students (PAFES). The leaders of PAFES modeled it after the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students from the USA (IFES) (Lineham 2004). Like KSCF, FOCUS was an umbrella body set up to work with Christian Unions in tertiary institutions. Although affiliated with an American organization, FOCUS relied on indigenous leadership to drive its activities. FOCUS became a registered legal entity in 1973 after a decade of operating in Kenya (Karanu 2016; Gichinga 2018). 84

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KSCF and FOCUS filled an important gap in Kenya’s Christian landscape. They leveraged the efforts of local volunteers working through small secretariats to guide a growing constituency of indigenous student Christians. Student Christian leaders, rooted in their context, navigated the social and economic challenges of a post-colonial nation to craft a strong network of student bodies. A third trajectory of student movements in Kenya were foreign missionary-led initiatives, the majority of these being American. The Navigators, for instance, started their work in Kenya before KSCF in 1956 (“Navigators Kenya: Our History,” n.d.). The Navigators shifted their focus from prison ministry to young people in 1968. Other youth focused groups followed later. These included Youth for Christ, Trinity Fellowship, Ambassadors for Christ, and Life Ministry (known then in the United States as Campus Crusade). These groups remained small relative to the number of students in FOCUS and KSCF. They also remained dependent on foreign resources to sustain their missionary infrastructure. Their effect was most significantly felt in the discipleship of small numbers of students. American materials leaned heavily on evangelical models. There was little contextualization of these models in response to local concerns in the rapidly changing context of the 1970s. Indigenous leadership in both KSCF and FOCUS strongly encouraged local evangelism. Students evangelized to their fellow students when schools were in session. During the school breaks, they organized mission excursions to their rural areas, which predominantly adhered to African traditional religions. Most student Christian Union members in the 1960s and 1970s were first or second-generation Christians. Unlike foreign-led initiatives, the FOCUS and KSCF student volunteer leadership at the schools and at the secretariats contextualized their approaches in order to be more effective in evangelism. Their worship gatherings and Bible studies made room for the use of local languages and music. While many students that converted in the 1970s were from historic mission Christianity, the latter generations included members of emerging Pentecostal movements. Beyond the use of local languages, African Christian students engaged their faith with the prevailing holistic worldview. Although foreign missionary-led student movements ignored, or were oblivious to, local questions of metaphysical realities, African Christian students were alive to them. The students recognized the need for their Christianity to address the problem of good and evil, as well as matters of the spirit world, in ways that countered African traditional religions. The students expressed their faith through their sermons and worship services, where they articulated Christianity in ways that resonated with their holistic worldview. Historic mission church worship avoided addressing this holistic cosmology. In filling that void, Pentecostal priorities percolated to the top as students sought a more meaningful engagement of their faith with their world (Gichinga 2018). The result was a gradual shift through the 1970s toward Pentecostal leanings, especially among the Christian unions under FOCUS. Students in universities and colleges probed their Christian faith to address a context that demanded answers for questions about illness and health, provision, and the miraculous. They found their answers in Pentecostal evangelistic gatherings convened within urban centers such as Nairobi, Mombasa, and elsewhere (Masinde 2017; Gakuo 2020). In these places, students came into contact with Pentecostal evangelists such as Joe Kayo, Arthur Kitonga, Johanna Muruka, and others (Gichinga 2018). These Pentecostal evangelists developed a large urban following through their frequent meetings in social halls and open-air meetings. The Pentecostal groups evolved oral liturgies but hardly any written materials. The leaders’ oratory skills and charismatic personalities became the primary means of influence on the students. A section of students involved with student Christian fellowships embraced the evangelistic fervor of local Pentecostal leaders. These young people relished the energetic oral services enlivened by new music. Younger 85

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Pentecostal groups wrote new songs such as Ulishuka, which expanded the student movements’ repertoire with indigenous compositions (Masinde 2017; Gakuo 2020). African agency through young indigenous evangelists was a critical component in the establishment of Pentecostalism. To be clear, Pentecostal missions from America and Northern Europe did make a significant impact on Africa (Parsitau and Mwaura 2010). However, classical Pentecostal missionaries did not play as significant a role here as they did for rural missions. For example, Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC) missions in Kenya devoted their work to rural outposts in Western Kenya between the 1920s and the 1960s. The denomination that emerged from that work, the Pentecostal Assemblies of God, (PAG) remained primarily a rural entity. Other initiatives, for example, Elim Missionary Assemblies began work in the 1940s, giving rise to the Pentecostal Evangelical Fellowship of Africa (PEFA). Assemblies of God missions from the United States in the 1960s produced the Kenya Assemblies of God (KAG). Despite significant foreign missionary input through missions in the first third of the twentieth century, the growth of local Pentecostal movements increased exponentially only when they established indigenous leadership. Early Pentecostal missions relied on foreign leadership and funding but it is the emergence of indigenous agency that provided the conditions necessary for prolific growth. Few of these church mission initiatives in the 1950s and 1960s were directed at tertiary colleges. Televangelists introduced a different kind of impact on Pentecostalism than the early classical Pentecostal missionaries. Their large-scale meetings were few and far between in the years between 1950 and 1970 when the student movements came into being. The evangelists’ effect is most pronounced in their influence on major Pentecostal figures. In Kenya, for example, Oral Roberts began his missions in the 1950s and the 1960s (Mwaura 2009). In 1957, T.L. Osborne’s Mombasa meeting left a lasting impression on a young Joe Kayo (Kayo 2018). His healing and subsequent conversion paved the way for his illustrious career during which he founded the Deliverance Church (Kayo 2018). These early evangelistic meetings did not target student movements, nor did they seem to have any strategy to extend their work in schools and colleges. Their primary focus was the conversion of adults. Reinhardt Bonnke’s crusades in the 1980s represented another effort at Western evangelism, catalyzing Pentecostal missions in Kenya. These crusades inspired the rise of such local Pentecostal evangelists as Teresia Wairimu and Margaret Wanjiru ( JIAM n.d.; Jackson and Kinyanjui 2011). While televangelists directed their open-air campaigns to adults in this second wave of evangelism, local evangelists made young people in schools and colleges their primary focus. The students’ expression of Pentecostalism was the product of a variety of influences. The greatest of these drivers was their own internalization of the faith within their ethnically and confessionally diverse environment. Student movements in Kenya, as in the rest of the continent, are ethnically diverse groups. The cosmopolitan context in secondary schools and colleges brought together different ethnic communities. Fewer schools in the tertiary and secondary level served larger geographic regions, which contributed to their ethnic diversity. In this way, schools and colleges in the 1950s to 1970s provided a microcosm of the future urban Africa.

Navigating Urban, Ethnic, and Christian Identities African cities began to take root and develop in the post-colonial era of the 1960s and 1970s (Hake 1977). This period witnessed a rapidly changing socio-political environment at a time when Africans took control of their own governments. Cities like Nairobi grew to support 86

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the fledgling political, social, and economic realities. The post-independence government set Nairobi up as the political capital, where all government offices resided. Civil servants, raised in the rural areas, came to the cities from colleges, universities, and, in many instances, secondary schools. Those who converted to Christianity sought ways to come to terms with their new status as residents of cities. The urbanites’ secondary school and college multiethnic experiences provided a useful starting point. Living in the city had social implications. The workers now lived far away from their rural homes. Their social ties to extended family in rural areas faced the challenge of distance from their kinship group and ethnic roots. Many were even separated from their spouses and children. Economic inequalities soon emerged as the shift from a barter to a monetary economy took effect. As a result, a new phenomenon of the urban poor emerged in post-independence Kenya. Varying levels of education among urban residents soon began to create economic stratification as the more educated began to earn significantly more. These realities taken together formed a new type of community: the African urban community, a subset of which were the Christians. Those living in cities began to seek ways to come to terms with their multiple identities as they looked for religious expressions that addressed the emerging challenges. It is for this reason that the 1960s and 1970s coincided with the growth of early indigenous Pentecostal movements. The Deliverance Church, for example, began in Nairobi in 1970. At the inception of the church, Joe Kayo gathered young adults for worship and prayer at various locations in Nairobi (Gakuo 2020). Using music as an evangelistic tool, Kayo built a movement of churches whose impact was felt in the student world (Masinde 2017). The Nairobi University, for example, eagerly accepted the evangelistic mission initiatives from Kayo and his contemporaries (Gichinga 2018). It was through these campaigns that students became a key part of the movements. Eventually, students came to be both the leadership and the congregations of these emerging movements. The new urban movements were even “more Pentecostal” than their predecessors – the Revivalists – or early AICs. Most of their congregations upheld the doctrine of speaking in tongues as the initial evidence of the baptism of the Holy Spirit. They also emphasized faith healing. They adapted themselves to the emerging realities of the cities through their message. The new urban churches innovated worship service schedules, which aligned to the urban working week. They introduced morning, lunchtime, and evening meetings to serve as prayer, worship, and teaching sessions (Gakuo 2020). Students and young adults from universities were naturally suited to adapt to these new ways of going to church. Their formal education experience introduced them to an urban life of weekly work cycles. Like other urban churches, the Deliverance Church message resonated with urban realities. Kayo’s teaching, prayers, and music attended to the social and economic challenges inherent in city life. They addressed financial difficulties, health, and the transition from African traditional religions. Young people seeking meaningful answers to their urban struggles gravitated to these new churches. Here, they found a vibrant faith expression that was unafraid to engage their realities in ways reminiscent of their high school and college Christian groups. Pentecostal churches invested their time in high school and college evangelism around Kenya (Masinde 2017; Gichinga 2018). Arthur Kitonga, an evangelist and the founder of the Redeemed Gospel Church, spearheaded numerous evangelistic missions to schools and colleges across East Africa in the 1970s. Pentecostal evangelists and their cosmopolitan outlook resonated well with the students. The sermons and music spoke to the students’ bicultural identity as both rural and urban. Evangelistic messages from these Pentecostals helped the students come to terms with their different ethnic, cultural, and social backgrounds. 87

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The preachers modeled this cosmopolitan outlook with their own interethnic friendships and marriages (Masinde 2017). With regard to their spiritual expressions, student movements have always prioritized their Christian identity over their ethnic backgrounds. Students in colleges are bicultural; connected to their roots from the ethnic communities from which they hailed and cosmopolitan in their educational experience. Their ethnic groups are located in specific geographic regions scattered around the country. High schools and college exposed the students to others from different places, with different cultural perspectives. Their adopted Christian identity encouraged students to relate to and learn from people with other backgrounds. This sense of common identity present in Christian student movements formed an integral feature of urban Pentecostalism. Compounding the diverse set of realities found in cities was the African urban pluralist socialization, which was carried forward into the twentyfirst century. Work and living arrangements in Nairobi and other commercial hubs bring together not just mixed ethnicities, but multiple religious traditions. Muslims mingle together with Christians from multiple denominations. Universities and colleges introduce the youth to these realities in microcosm. Christian student movements teach the young students how to remain fervent in their faith in the face of these religious differences. Twenty-first century Nairobi residents also have to contend with a highly globalized perspective on life and religion (Gitau 2018). Student movements and the growth of new Pentecostal movements are therefore closely intertwined throughout their history from the 1960s to the 2010s. In the preceding paragraphs, we argued that the Pentecostal-Charismatic impulse is an essential contributor to the development of Christianity on the continent. It is therefore curious that many Christian histories, in Africa in general and in Kenya in particular, have often left out recent pneumatic movements in favor of historic mission initiatives. Histories about the contribution of indigenous Charismatic Christian movements tended to relegate Pentecostal Charismatic movements to the fringes of Christian growth (Kalu 2008). A key reason for this is that foreign historians prioritized historic mission accounts. Extant histories from missionary documents celebrated mission successes but omitted indigenous movements as legitimate contributors to the growth of Christianity in the country. Church mission society archives contain little data about indigenous churches. Where mission archival materials mentioned African initiatives, they dismissed them as theologically deficient (“Kenya Mission: CMS OX Historical Record, 1951–1952. 01 71–108,” 1952, 72). These archival accounts – while implicitly referring to the youthfulness of their converts from mission schools – failed to point out the important contributions of the youthful converts mentioned above. Few narratives on the rise of Christianity in the post-missionary, post-colonial era pay attention to the youthfulness of active Christians at this time. One reading missionary archival records might easily assume that the churches only comprised older adults. This was far from the case. Historic mission churches began with converts from their schools. As they became more established in the 1970s, they continued to receive young people. However, these churches failed to involve them adequately in the life of the church. David Gitari lamented the failure of the Anglican church, for example, to recognize the importance of engaging young people (Gitari 2014, 298–99). John Gat ũ, a Presbyterian clergyman, pointed out the failure of Revivalists to take into account the need to find ways to involve young people (Gat ũ 2017). This omission provided an impetus for the students to find ways to organize themselves as they articulated their Christian identity. Tertiary institutions provided, and continued to 88

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provide, the ideal environment for this to happen. While away from home, the students exercised their leadership and expressed their faith in new vibrant ways. The evolving structure of student movements afforded a level of autonomy that enabled the contextualization of the students’ faith. From the 1960s into the twenty-first century, students continue to sponsor the most consistent and effective evangelistic campaigns to the unconverted. University students regularly organize outreach to schools and rural areas, organizing frequent door-to-door campaigns as part of their local outreach. Consequently, schools and colleges have incubated large numbers of evangelists and converts who worshipped together in the multiethnic context of their institutions. Within the student movements were young leaders who became entrepreneurial leaders of the emerging Pentecostal movements. The Deliverance Church, for example, was the product of young people’s missions to universities, colleges, and secondary schools. Founding leaders such as Mark Kariuki and J.B. Masinde organized themselves into a Christian group known as the Young Christian Ambassadors Fellowship. They embarked on evangelistic outreach using modern music and sound equipment (Masinde 2017; Gakuo 2020). They took their vibrant music to schools and colleges, resulting in highly effective evangelistic campaigns. Drawn to their vibrant worship, young graduates from the colleges working in cities joined these movements. The rapid growth of the Deliverance Church, the Redeemed Gospel Church, and Chrisco in the 1980s illustrates indigenous agency in these movements.

The Role of the Youth in Pentecostalism The growth of urban Pentecostalism in Kenya is a story about effective youth engagement with their faith. Such engagement highlights the efficacy of indigenous leadership. Student leaders inculturated the message as they carried out their evangelism and worship in local languages and metaphors. Their activities used local languages but the import of their engagement with the gospel was much broader than language. As local missionaries, student activities illustrate what world Christianity scholar Andrew Walls called the “translation of the message,” where Christ is taken into the “fullest reaches of personality, experience and social relationship” (1996, 28). Relative autonomy from historic mission church denominations allows the youth to craft a vibrant Pentecostal worship. They incorporate an oral liturgy with the flexibility to adapt to the demands of the moment. Their sermons communicate a message of hope through the gospel. The music and prayer take charismatic forms reinforcing this message of hope and triumph in the midst of challenges. The music and prayer become a participatory media form allowing the youth in gatherings to respond communally. The spontaneous oral liturgies offer space for feedback in ways that the ritual of historic mission churches did not. Student leaders hone their leadership capacity as they lead worship experiences through their college years. Some university Christian Union groups are as large as megachurches. The Kenyatta University Christian Union, for example, gathers more than 2,000 students for worship each weekend during the university term (Mungathia 2016; Owako 2019). High school and college Christian unions run their affairs with minimal financial and leadership input from outside. The organizational experience gained from these groups enables the leaders to give effective leadership in Pentecostal churches (Oginde 2014). Student movements thus provide a useful environment in which to train leaders. Prominent Pentecostal church leaders such as David Oginde, Calisto Odede, 89

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Stanley Mungathia, and Luke Jaoko, among many others, began as student leaders and rose to prominent leadership positions in Pentecostal churches in Nairobi (Oginde 2014; Jaoko 2015; Mungathia 2016). Christian students operate within the cosmopolitan microcosms of their schools and colleges. Their experience from this multiethnic, pluralist environment helps them socially acclimatize into the cities to which they move after graduation. Their experience as Christian students, combined with the message of hope in their Pentecostal churches, helps them face the realities they find as they work in urban Africa. The young Christians have to contend with financial difficulties that arise from their countries’ weak economies. They often face the imminent possibility of lapsing into poverty should there be an economic downturn (Ncube 2013). These infrastructural challenges also mean that they constantly face healthcare concerns. The young urban Africans living far from their families have to build new social relationships in the cities where they live. Pentecostal churches address these concerns in the sermons and prayers. As they confess their faith in Christ, these young Christian adults cannot escape their African identity. They speak the local languages in which they think and express themselves. Whether in urban centers or rural areas, they are in touch with their cultural roots. Their African names remind them of their ethnic backgrounds. The African context, even for the most urbanized among them, keeps them engaged and connected with their African identity. However, they reject the African traditional religious priorities of venerating ancestors. Pentecostalism emboldens them to reject traditional religious views of birth, death, and healing rituals that are incompatible with their expression of faith. Their aversion to aspects of African culture puts them at odds with their extended families, resulting in conflict that is damaging to their Christian witness. Their Pentecostal faith provides an alternative redemptive perspective of the Gospel that forcefully asserts itself over traditional practices. Young Christian students socialize each other into Pentecostal expressions in a bid to articulate their Christian identity. Their constant contact with each other in school provides a consistent environment where the students influence each other on how to behave as Christians. The behavioral code they evolved over the years strives to create a separate identity from what they term as “un-saved” non-believers. In some instances, these unwritten social regulations such as strict dress codes amount to forms of legalism. Their proximity to each other facilitates regular interactions that regulate each other’s responses to common issues. Through their Bible studies, they align their theological perspectives amongst themselves. Their Pentecostal worship expressions allow a fuller expression of faith in ways that historic mission Christianity initially could not. Their Pentecostal prayer sessions are both corporate and personal. A common feature in the gatherings is “moments of free worship and prayer,” where each person may loudly pray simultaneously with others in the room. Such moments are a corporate expression emerging from individual contributions. Here, it is not uncommon to hear multiple local languages and glossolalia spoken at the same time. Thus, the students socialize each other into forms of prayer found in Pentecostal gatherings. The students’ vibrant worship expressions also allow them creative freedom to write their own music and to deploy modern instruments to create encounters that deepen their spiritual engagement. Their emphasis on individual gifts (charismata) nourishes leadership roles in ways that provide the impetus for the rise of new movements. In this way, the Christian unions become an incubator for entrepreneurial leadership common in African Pentecostal Christianity. 90

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Negotiating Tensions and Innovation in Cosmopolitan Environments These formative creative environments help the young people find common ground in the presence of multiple confessional backgrounds. The groups include those who come from historic mission churches, as well as those from Pentecostal backgrounds. This is a remarkable display of a practical ecumenism uncharacteristic of their historical evangelical roots. The groups continue to rely on evangelical books and approach to discipleship. Their Bible study content takes the shape of evangelical manuals characteristic of groups like the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students (IFES). While their worship gatherings take Pentecostal forms, the theology in their sermons and studies leans toward American evangelicalism. Students innovate in certain ways to hold these differing influences together in a tension that serves the movements well. Student movements also navigate the balance between formal structures and the spontaneous characteristic of Pentecostalism. Christian unions maintain rigid structures governed by their constitutions (“Main Campus Christian Union Constitution” 2008; “JKUAT Christian Union Constitution” 2017). The student movement constitution provides the framework within which the students organize their group and institute leadership. The students complement their formal structure with aspects of worship that are oral and spontaneous. Their orality comes through in their music, particularly the indigenous songs they sing. Their Bible study groups also provide for orality where the students tell their stories of conversion and spiritual growth in ways reminiscent of the East African Revival (Peterson 2014). Leaders from these movements must constantly navigate the complexities of African urban environments. Their mastery of their context is evident in the Pentecostal leaders who emerge from the movements. The bishop of Deliverance Church Umoja, J.B. Masinde, fluently speaks several Kenyan languages in addition to his mother tongue (Luhya). He is also conversant with the local slang language (sheng) spoken in Nairobi’s Eastlands, where his church continues to reach young people. He uses this ability to good effect, resulting in a large ethnically diverse congregation. Student movements embrace and use technology from their exposure to global trends and Western forms of education. This is as true of young people’s groups in the 1960s as it is among the Christian youth today. Their embrace of modern public address equipment, music instruments, and mobile and information technology enhances the effectiveness of their evangelism and worship services.

Conclusion: Catalyzing Indigenous Pentecostal Spirituality At the heart of student movements is an effective indigenous spirituality that is consistent and self-regenerating. Successive generations of students in high schools and universities sustain and rely on their home-grown organizational structures. Through their umbrella organizations, a robust, sustainable local movement thrives, founded on volunteerism. Student movements are self-regenerating. Students inherit leadership through structures that perpetuate themselves. Elective leadership combined with national support from FOCUS and KSCF provides stability through four-year secondary school and university education cycles. FOCUS, for example, brings together more than 150 groups in colleges catering to tens of thousands of students (Owako 2019). Their movements’ formal and informal linkages with school chaplaincies safeguard the interface between the students and their institutional administrations. Christian union patrons, who are teachers within the institutions, were often members of similar student movements in their own alma maters. 91

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I have argued in this chapter that the story of Pentecostalism in Africa cannot be complete without a reckoning with young people’s dynamic encounter between their faith, identity, and social context through their student movements. Pentecostalism in Kenya shows autochthonous innovation evident in these young people’s movements. Expressing their faith in charismatic forms, student movements enact local missions and train leaders in ways that resonate with, and catalyze the growth of, urban Pentecostal churches. Their structures sustain the internal governance without stifling their vibrant oral worship expressions. The students’ multiethnic, exuberant gatherings serve as an introduction to the urban Pentecostal churches where they settle after school. Here, they can live out their highly engaged pneumatology and priority for charismata in the context of an oral and spontaneous worship. This youthful Pentecostal Christianity that begins in schools communicates hope in the face of the challenges of urban Africa.

References African Union. 2006. African Youth Charter. Addis Ababa, Ethiopia: African Union. Barrett, David B. 1968. Schism and Renewal in Africa: An Analysis of Six Thousand Contemporary Religious Movements. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Barrett, John C. 2015. “World War I and the Decline of the First Wave of the American Protestant Missions Movement.” International Bulletin of Mission Research 39 (3): 122–26. “Diocese of Fort Hall: CMS OX Historical Record 1960-1961 01 132-149.” 1961. UK: Church Missionary Society. Dube, Musa W., and R.S. Wafula, eds. 2017. Postcoloniality, Translation, and the Bible in Africa. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers. Gakuo, Samuel. 2020. Interview with author, Kyama Mugambi. Gatũ, John G. 2006. Joyfully Christian. Truly African. Nairobi: Acton Publishers. Gatũ, John G. 2017. Fan into Flame. Nairobi: Moran Publishers and Worldreader. Gatũ, Kibacia. 2018. Interview with the author, Kyama Mugambi. Gichinga, John. 2018. Interview with the author, Kyama Mugambi. Gifford, Paul. 2009. Christianity, Politics and Public Life in Kenya. London: C Hurst & Co Publishers Ltd. Gitari, David. 2014. Troubled but Not Destroyed: Autobiography of Dr. David M. Gitari. Portland, OR: BookBaby. Gitau, Wanjiru M. 2018. Megachurch Christianity Reconsidered: Millennials and Social Change in African Perspective. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic. Hake, Andrew. 1977. African Metropolis: Nairobi’s Self Help City. Sussex: Sussex University Press. Jackson, Anne, and Teresia Wairimu Kinyanjui. 2011. A Cactus in the Desert: An Autobiography of Reverend Teresa Wairimu Kinyanjui. Nairobi: Revival Springs Media. Jaoko, Luke. 2015. Interview with the author, Kyama Mugambi. JIAM. n.d. “Bishop Margaret Wanjiru.” Accessed May 28, 2020. https://jiam.org/bishops-profile/. “JKUAT Christian Union Constitution.” 2017. JKUAT Christian Union. Kalu, Ogbu. 2008. African Pentecostalism: An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Karanu, Daniel. 2016. “Fellowship of Christian Unions: University Based Revitalization in Kenya.” In African Urban Christian Identity: Emerging Patterns, edited by J. Steven O’Malley, and Philomena Njeri Mwaura, 82–110. Nairobi: Acton Publishers. Kariuki, Obadiah. 1985. A Bishop Facing Mount Kenya: An Autobiography, 1902-1978. Nairobi: Uzima Press. Kayo, Joe. 2018. “Fathers Day Sermon.” Presented at Parklands Baptist Church, Nairobi, June 17. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Syq93z20ml8. “Kenya Mission: CMS OX Historical Record 1951-1952 01 71-108.” 1952. UK: Church Missionary Society. Kinoti, Hannah W. 1998. “Christology in the East African Revival.” In Jesus in African Christianity: Experimentation and Diversity in African Christology, edited by J.N.K Mugambi, and Laurenti Magesa, 54–9. Nairobi: Acton Publishers. Kinyua, Johnson Kiraiku. 2017. Bible Translations into Gi-Gikuyu: A History. Nairobi: Acton Publishers.

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Student Movements and Spiritual Identity in Kenya Lineham, Peter. 2004. Students Reaching Students: A History of the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students. Unpublished. https://www.academia.edu/31608310/Students_Reaching_Students_a_ History_of_the_International_Fellowship_of_Evangelical_Students. “Main Campus Christian Union Constitution.” 2008. Main Campus Christian Union. Masinde, J.B. 2017. Interview with the author, Kyama Mugambi. Mugambi, Kyama M. 2020. A Spirit of Revitalization: Urban Pentecostalism in Kenya. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Mungathia, Stanley. 2016. Interview with the author, Kyama Mugambi. Mwaura, Philomena Njeri. 2009. “The Role of Charismatic Christianity in Reshaping the Religious Scene in Africa: The Case of Kenya.” In Christianity in Africa and the African Diaspora: The Appropriation of a Scattered Heritage, edited by Roswith Gerloff, Klaus Hock, and Afe Adogame, 180–92. London: Bloomsbury Academic. “Navigators Kenya: Our History.” n.d. Accessed October 5, 2017. http://kenyanavigators.org/ our-history/. Ncube, Mthuli. 2013. “The Making of the Middle Class in Africa.” Text. Future Development. October 2, 2013. http://blogs.worldbank.org/futuredevelopment/making-middle-class-africa. Oginde, David A. 2014. Interview with the author, Kyama Mugambi. Owako, Lucas. 2019. Interview with the author, Kyama Mugambi. Parsitau, Damaris Seleina, and Philomena Njeri Mwaura. 2010. “God in the City: Pentecostalism as an Urban Phenomenon in Kenya.” Studia Historiae Ecclesiasticae 36 (2): 95–112. Peterson, Derek R. 2004. Creative Writing: Translation, Bookkeeping, and the Work of Imagination in Colonial Kenya. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann Educational Books. Peterson, Derek R. 2014. Ethnic Patriotism and the East African Revival: A History of Dissent, c.1935-1972. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Pierard, Richard V. 1998. “Shaking the Foundations: World War I, the Western Allies, and German Protestant Missions.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 22 (1): 13–9. Population Reference Bureau. 2019. Policy Brief - Africa’s Future: Youth and the Data Defining Their Lives. Addis Ababa: African Union Commission. Robert, Dana L. 1994. “From Missions to Mission to beyond Missions: The Historiography of American Protestant Foreign Missions since World War II.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 18 (4): 146–62. Skirbekk, Vegard, Phillip Connor, Marcin Stonawski, and Conrad Peter Hackett. 2015. The Future of World Religions: Population Growth Projections, 2010-2050. Washington, DC: Pew Research Center. Sommers, Marc. 2001. “Young, Male and Pentecostal: Urban Refugees in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania.” Journal of Refugee Studies 14 (4): 347–70. Tshabalala, Bhekani G, and Cynthia J Patel. 2010. “The Role of Praise and Worship Activities in Spiritual Well-Being: Perceptions of a Pentecostal Youth Ministry Group.” International Journal of Children’s Spirituality 15 (1): 73–82. United Nations. 2020. World Youth Report: Youth Social Entrepreneurship and the 2030 Agenda. New York, NY: United Nations. Walls, Andrew F. 1996. The Missionary Movement in Christian History: Studies in the Transmission of Faith. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Zurlo, Gina A., and Todd M. Johnson. 2019. World Christian Encyclopedia. 3rd edition. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

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PART II

Abandoning “Waves” – Localizing Pentecostal Historiography

7 ADVERSITIES AND PECULIARITIES OF PENTECOSTALISM IN GREECE Evangelos Karagiannis

Introduction Pentecostalism is a marginal phenomenon in Greek religious life. Today, the most credible estimates talk about 15,000 Greek Pentecostals (Chalkias 2000, 94; AEPE 2017, 2). Given the centuries-old tradition of the Orthodox Church in Greece and the close relations that it maintains with the population and the authorities, this marginality is anything but a surprise. Pentecostalism shares this position with all non-Orthodox communities in the country. Nonetheless, in its nearly century-long history in Greece, it has become the third largest Christian community and the leading force in the country’s born again Christianity. This is quite remarkable given that Pentecostalism has neither the historical roots in the country nor the economic clout that characterize the Greek evangelical churches. Any attempt to tell the story of Greek Pentecostalism should first focus on three basic and intertwined configurations of Greek modernity. These form the basic structure of the context in which the development of Pentecostalism in the country can be comprehended. The first is the entanglement of nationality and religion in modern Greece, which makes deviance from the Orthodox norm appear as political deviance. The result of the transformation of Greek identity from a cultural–religious one to a political (that is, a national) one in the course of the Greek nation-building process, this entanglement of nation and religion/denomination, was cultivated and strengthened throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The second relevant configuration is the country’s pattern of secularization, which has consisted neither of church–state separation nor of the state’s neutrality toward all religions. Typical of an authoritarian state, the core of secularization in modern Greece has been state control over the most important religious institution, the Church of Greece (CoG), and its transformation into a state authority. Over time, the model added two further features: the adoption of the secular national ideology by the CoG, which made it one of the main vectors of Greek nationalism, and the protection by the state of the CoG’s hegemony in the country’s narrow religious sphere. The church was supposed to legitimize politics and, in return, be protected by the state. By strongly emphasizing the quasi-monopolistic privileges of the CoG, scholars have questioned secularization in Greece. However, it is the structural weakness of the CoG vis-à-vis the state that allows this configuration to be recognized as a pattern of secularization. The key actor in religious matters has always been the state, not the CoG (Karagiannis 2009). DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-10

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Finally, reference must also be made to the chronically ambivalent relationship of the Greek population to the West, an attitude typical of a country of the (European) periphery. The image of the West is crucial here as Pentecostalism in Greece has the aura of a Western/ American religion. The country has a long history of both pro- and anti-Westernism. While serving as a powerful model for the future since the early years of modern Greece, the West has also stood for political and ideological hegemony, a view that has nurtured chronic antiWestern resentments. Pro- and anti-Western attitudes have never been evenly distributed among the population. While the overwhelming majority of the secular elites have always and unreservedly been pro-Western, broad and less privileged categories of the population were more likely to be critical of the West (Fokas and Karagiannis, 2015, 70–73), an attitude that was to be entrenched in these strata by the political left. And the main bearer of the antiWestern message has traditionally been the CoG. These three fundamental configurations of Greek modernity clearly indicate the difficulties that Pentecostals faced in their attempt to pursue their faith and win the population to that faith. What follows traces the development of Pentecostalism in Greece as a story of difficult beginnings and consolidation, followed by a remarkable breakthrough and growth, and finally of stagnation.

Beginnings and Consolidation of Pentecostalism in Greece The first Pentecostals in Greece were Greeks who had experienced their spiritual revival while immigrants in the United States and devoted themselves to missions in their home country when they returned there. Considering that Pentecostalism had taken root in fifty countries in 1906 (Faupel 1996, 15), its beginnings in Greece were rather late. The oldest recorded arrival of a Greek Pentecostal from the United States was in 1924. Most of the pioneers of Pentecostalism had been members of the Primitive Apostolic Church of Pentecost, a Greek Pentecostal church based in California and associated with the Assemblies of God. Nevertheless, the first Pentecostal church, established in the Athens district of Kato Petralona, was affiliated with the Church of God of Prophecy. It was there that, in 1927, the first outpouring of the Holy Spirit in modern Greek history was witnessed. In the following years, churches were established in the center of Athens, in the city of Katerini, where there was a large evangelical community, and in Thessaloniki. The pioneers of Pentecostalism in Greece came from a humble background. They were, without exception, very poor people with very little education. As a rule, they were deeply religious even before their revival. Pursuing missionary activities, they repeatedly encountered the vehement hostility of large parts of the Orthodox population and not least of the Orthodox clergy. They also faced strong hostility from evangelicals, who saw in Pentecostals a danger to their own churches. These fears were not unfounded as former evangelicals were instrumental in the establishment of many Pentecostal churches in this early phase.1 However, the challenges for Pentecostal life and missionary work in Greece went far beyond the limited resources of the pioneers and the hostility they faced. The beginnings of Pentecostalism coincided with the introduction of a regime of religious governance that was highly restrictive to non-Orthodox communities. Although the privileged treatment of the CoG by the state was already enshrined in the constitution of 1911, it was the 1938–1939 laws passed by the Metaxas dictatorship banning proselytism and determining the requirements for licensing a house of prayer that were to make Greece an “impossible” mission field. The law against proselytism, which only concerned proselytism against the predominant Orthodoxy and thus was always in tension with religious freedom, effectively criminalized 98

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mission in the country. Especially for Pentecostals, who have always attached eminent importance to the “salvation of souls” and pursued that goal as a divine call, this law represented a strong obstacle to their practice of faith for decades. Many Pentecostals were sentenced to prison terms or interned in concentration camps because of their evangelistic activities. Some had to sign a “declaration of repentance” in order to be released from internment (Dimitriadis 1983, 31). An even greater problem was the provision for the licensing of a house of worship, which required the permission of the police and of the local Orthodox bishop. For a license to be granted, it had to be established that no danger of offending public order or public morals and of proselytism would arise from the house of worship. In addition, the law left it to the discretion of the minister for education and religions to reject the application for a license if he did not establish substantial grounds for doing so. It was also not uncommon for a license that had been granted to be revoked. Obtaining a license was of great importance to the non-Orthodox communities, as gatherings and communal prayers without a license became illegal, subject to the law against proselytism and thus to criminal sanctions. But even if an application was granted, the administrative and judicial process often meant considerable humiliation of the individuals involved.2 As the room for interpretation of the laws was very wide, these exposed Pentecostals to the arbitrariness of the state authorities, which generated great insecurity within the communities. Since often every legal recourse had to be exhausted in order to obtain a favorable decision, those affected had to brace themselves for years of grueling court battles at best. As a rule, the road to vindication was long. The laws of the 1930s did not stop the Pentecostal movement in Greece but they set clear limits to its work and decisively hindered its dynamics. They caused many setbacks in the development of the movement since several congregations were dissolved as a result of the pressure coming from these laws and later had to be reestablished. In conjunction with systematic denunciation from CoG and evangelical circles, these laws encouraged the cultivation of a low profile among Pentecostals, who were concerned with leading an inconspicuous existence and anxious not to provide an occasion for being attacked. This legal framework also caused the first cracks within Greek Pentecostalism. Being affiliated either with the Assemblies of God or the Church of God of Prophecy, the Pentecostal pioneers initially had a very weak institutional consciousness. Their affiliation with a particular American mission was largely irrelevant to their position in a congregation in Greece.3 The first Greek Pentecostal magazine, The Voice of God (1934), was a joint effort of leading Pentecostals who maintained relations with different missions. When the state required religious communities to acquire legal personality, the first ruptures in the unity of the movement occurred, as each of the leaders wanted to affiliate his congregation with the mission with which he was associated. The fact that the missions were financially supporting some Greek Pentecostals must have been decisive for the emergence of different loyalties and for the first fissures (Dimitriadis 1983, 41–42). Despite this critical impact, it is an undeniable fact that Pentecostalism could hardly ever have gained a foothold in the extremely hostile Greek landscape without the support of these missions. This support took various forms and could range from securing the pastor’s livelihood to providing funds to secure premises for congregations. The postwar period was the era of consolidation of Greek Pentecostalism. In that period, the activity of foreign missionaries and mega-churches from the United States and Sweden increased significantly. More experienced and better educated people than the Pentecostal pioneers of the 1930s became active in the country. Greece came to the attention of Pentecostal leaders from abroad. In 1952, Lewi Pethrus and David du Plessis tried to establish a Christian 99

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broadcasting station for the Far East Broadcasting Company in Athens. The project, which ran up against the state radio monopoly and the state-protected religious monopoly of the CoG, had to be abandoned after two years of unsuccessful negotiations (Du Plessis 1956). Morris Cerullo’s first Crusade was held in Athens in 1955 (Cerullo 2016, 55–64). The event, which was to remain without significant impact on the later development of Pentecostalism in the country, was the first of its kind in Greece and came about through a collaboration of all Greek Pentecostal churches (Davis 1956). In the first postwar decades, Pentecostalism made some inroads into the middle classes but its growth was very limited. Support from foreign missions could not neutralize the structural obstacles to missionary work in Greece. The strong influence of the United States on Greek politics since 1947 and the fact that quite a few Pentecostal missionaries were US citizens did not help the position of Greek Pentecostals. On the contrary, cooperation with American missions repeatedly provided cause for discrediting Pentecostal churches in the press. On some occasions, foreign missionaries were asked by the authorities to leave the country. By the mid-1960s, the Greek Pentecostal movement consisted of about 1,000 people and thirteen to fifteen assemblies. Eight of these were affiliated with the Assemblies of God, reflecting its long-established relationship with Greek Pentecostals in the United States. They were united into a common synod and adopted the name Apostolic Churches of Pentecost (ACP). The Athens chapter of the ACP eventually came to play a leading role in Greek Pentecostalism, not least because it gave birth to the Free Apostolic Church of Pentecost (FACP), which would give renewed impetus to the movement and decisively shape the Pentecostal landscape in the country. Although the Athens chapter was the largest ACP assembly, the majority of the faithful were in congregations in provincial towns. People with evangelical backgrounds were instrumental in establishing and leading almost all ACP congregations. The other Pentecostal churches were all located in the greater Athens area. As well as the oldest Pentecostal church affiliated with the Church of God of Prophecy, two other churches affiliated with the International Church of the Foursquare Gospel and the Church of God of the Full Gospel, respectively, were founded in the 1950s.4 The Swedish Filadelfia Church, which showed a great interest in the country from the early 1950s, supported mainly churches in northern Greece.

Breakthrough and Growth It is a historical curiosity that Pentecostalism in Greece made a breakthrough not with the support of the foreign missions that had stood by the faithful for decades but only after a break with them and the worldwide movement. In 1966, the pastor of the Athens chapter of the APC, Leonidas “Louis” Fengos, refused to sign a declaration of accession requested by the Assemblies of God. As a response, the American mission that until then hosted the Athens APC meetings in its rooms called on the objectors to leave them. Most of the congregation stood behind their pastor and they formed a new church that added the term “Free” to its old name as a sign of its independence. The new church gained a following unprecedented for non-Orthodox communities in Greece, which was to determine the future of Pentecostalism in the country. The foundation of the FACP had the effect of a powerful centripetal force within Greek Pentecostalism. Individual believers, families, and entire congregations soon joined the new church. In the following decades, the FACP grew steadily. This brought about a considerable homogenization of the Greek Pentecostal landscape. Two-thirds to three-quarters of Greek Pentecostals today belong to the FACP. Even more remarkable was its success in church planting, which 100

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remains unique for a non-Orthodox community in Greece. The FACP is the only nonOrthodox church so far to succeed in establishing over 100 local parishes throughout the country. Its substantial growth and expansion have not only made the FACP the leading Pentecostal church in Greece but has also made Pentecostals the leading force in the country’s born again landscape. The appeal of the FACP was founded in a number of adaptations it introduced that made Pentecostalism compatible with prevalent expectations of religious normalcy in Greece (Karagiannis 2021, 20–26). The model for these adaptations was provided by the CoG. The FACP’s autocephalous position as a national church; the rejection of a number of ProtestantEvangelical practices (communion on the first Sunday of the month, choirs, and the use of musical instruments during the service, ordination of women, etc.); the adoption of protoChristian elements (Mass every Sunday, women veiled in prayer); the ban on women preaching or even testifying in church, as well as on wearing trousers – these are among the most prominent factors that brought the FACP closer to the Greek Orthodox realities, investing it with a sui generis character within global Pentecostalism. When the FACP entered into dialogue with the population through its monthly newspaper and radio station in the 1980s and 1990s, this “theological adaptation” went so far that Louis Fengos even argued that the theology of the FACP was the same as that of the CoG, just “brought into being and simplified according to the Gospel” (Fengos 1992). However, what decisively increased the attractiveness of the FACP and consolidated its hegemonic position in the Greek born-again landscape were two features that had little to do with Pentecostal faith in the narrow sense but which became formative for the profile of the church. The first was the FACP’s radical break with all other Pentecostal churches in Greece and abroad. This was backed up by a strong exclusivity claim but also by a robust anti-Western bias that tallied well with the traditional anti-Western discourse of the CoG. The second was the voluntary nature of all FACP ministries. Both features helped the FACP to consolidate its credibility and capitalize on it. The FACP responded to a deep-rooted anti-Westernism in society, fed by various discursive traditions and perceiving the West as a threat to the political and cultural integrity of the Greek people. In the postwar period, as a result of the determining influence of the United States on the authoritarian policies of the state (including the junta regime in 1967–1974), anti-Westernism in the form of Anti-Americanism gripped increasingly broad segments of the population and reached its peak in the post-dictatorship era after 1974. The boom in antiAmericanism was the climate that allowed the FACP to flourish. As the FACP did not seek to invalidate the prevalent prejudices against Pentecostals and evangelicals as promoters of dubious American interests in Greece but rather to put itself beyond the reach of anti-American criticism by breaking with global Pentecostalism and by establishing the voluntary nature of all ministries, its success, ironically, reflected a reaffirmation of these prejudices. What is more, the FACP seems to have appropriated elements of that criticism and used them to its own advantage. According to members of other Greek Pentecostal churches, the FACP defamed these – particularly in its early formative years – with reference to the wages of their pastors and the relationships they maintained with foreign churches and missions, thereby sabotaging their missionary work. For the Pentecostals who decided not to join the FACP, its emergence and development was an extremely painful and traumatic experience, the traces of which are still visible. If they had been confronted for decades with defamation by the CoG, they now also faced it from their own ranks. Moreover, the growth of Pentecostalism went hand-in-hand with their own repudiation and marginalization, and a breakthrough of the movement came not through the 101

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pooling of all their forces but through a clear and unbridgeable internal divide. Louis Fengos summed up the relationship of his church to the other Pentecostals in Greece with a notorious aphorism: “They may see us as their brothers, they are not even third cousins for us.” He is even reported to have later claimed that they were not even that. The FACP is largely a Greek peculiarity. Its profile and growth are not related to global trends. Its success is owed to a genuine provincialism. Nevertheless, some church-related studies have sought to integrate the FACP into actual or supposed global Pentecostal currents of the 1960s. Thus, the autocephaly of the FACP is placed in the context of a global trend toward the nationalization of Pentecostalism in the postwar period (Chalkias 2000, XIX–XX). In addition, the FACP is brought close to the Charismatic movement of the 1960s by reading the latter as an expression of the “open disapproval of the Holy Spirit for the classical Pentecostal churches turning away from the teaching and practice of the early church” (EAEP 2006, 44). This peculiar “invention of tradition” seeks to justify the FACP’s break with global Pentecostalism and its emergence as part of a divine plan rather than as an isolated phenomenon of the periphery. It is important to clarify that the success of the FACP was not solely due to downplaying the differences between Pentecostalism and Orthodoxy. Due precisely to the highly regulated and hostile national setting, almost all Greek Pentecostal and Evangelical churches have been concerned with largely downplaying their differences with the prevailing version of Christianity in the country. The distinctive feature of the FACP has been that it has corresponded to prevalent religious, social, and political ideas and attitudes in the population, while at the same time making a radical claim to be the exclusive vehicle leading to salvation. It was the combination of familiarity and aggressiveness in the FACP’s testimony that made it attractive, especially among religious people. In contrast, the other Pentecostal churches that cultivated a cautiously low profile – “we too are Christians” – were largely unsuccessful. They weakened the testimony to such an extent that evangelism could hardly be effective. Sometimes, people did not know that they were Pentecostals. There is much to suggest that the low profile of Greek Pentecostals was not only a result but also a reason for their marginality.

Liberalization and Stagnation In the last decades of the twentieth century, the historically evolved model of religious governance in Greece began to be increasingly challenged by two fundamental political developments: democratization and globalization, which both led to stronger pluralism of politics and society. With the democratization of the country in the 1970s, the conditions that had produced state control and regulation of the religious sphere faded away. No longer reliant on CoG support for their legitimacy, the democratic governments of the post-dictatorship era had little interest in a restrictive regime of religious governance. At the same time, Greece’s integration into transnational political and legal structures limited the state’s discretionary authority in a number of issues. As new actors like the EU and the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) increasingly penetrated and shaped Greek public life, violations of human rights by the state to protect the hegemonic position of the CoG became hardly tenable. In addition, the population was becoming increasingly transnational. In the 1990s, Greece turned from a traditional emigration country into an immigration country. The consequent pluralization of society made Greece’s historic pattern of secularization look increasingly inappropriate. To avoid a large-scale conflict with the CoG, successive governments took the path of slow and unspectacular liberalization. The transformation of religious governance has therefore 102

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been a long, ongoing process. The most important events that severely shook the system took place in the 1980s and especially in the 1990s. With the CoG vehemently committed to maintaining the status quo, these years were difficult for non-Orthodox people. There can be no talk of a liberal regime until the beginning of the new millennium. It was the “Athens Three” case that heralded the dawn of a new era of religious governance in Greece. In 1984, two Youth With A Mission missionaries along with a leading figure of the evangelical movement were sentenced to three and a half years imprisonment for violating the proselytism law by handing a Bible to a sixteen-year-old young man. The complaint against the three missionaries for “proselytism” and “supporting the voluntary escape of a minor” had been filed by the teenager’s mother. Even though it had barely engaged society, the ruling in the “Athens Three” case sparked worldwide outrage and an unprecedented international mobilization to overturn it in the Court of Appeals. In the United States alone, more than 400,000 people signed petitions to Greece’s prime minister. Even President Ronald Reagan and former President Jimmy Carter intervened. In the case of the “Athens Three,” the state for the first time faced enormous international pressure to revise “lawful” violations of religious freedom in the country. The pressure was so great that the defendants were acquitted of all charges in the Court of Appeals (Montgomery 2011, 26–30). When Greece recognized the individual right to file a complaint with the then European Commission of Human Rights and the ECHR in 1985, the demise of the regime that for decades had subjected the country’s non-Orthodox to arbitrary discrimination was bound to happen sooner or later. Despite the ECHR’s reluctance to challenge the legal systems of Member States, Greece has topped the list of countries with the most convictions for violations of religious freedom in the decades that followed (EHCR 2021). Three judgments of the ECHR have severely unsettled the religious governance in the country as it had been since the 1930s: the judgments in the Kokkinakis and Larissis cases related to the proselytism law in 1992 and 1998, respectively, and the judgment in the Manoussakis case regarding the license for a house of worship in 1996. While the applicants in the Kokkinakis and Manoussakis cases were Jehovah’s Witnesses, in the Larissis case they were Pentecostals and members of the FACP. This case concerned three Air Force officers who were cashiered by the Permanent Airforce Court of Athens as a result of their conviction for evangelizing fellow personnel, as well as civilians. The CoG and, in particular, the later Archbishop of Athens Christodoulos were actively involved in their persecution. Their convictions were upheld by the Court of Appeals and later by the Supreme Court. The ECHR, while finding that they had “abused their position and rank” by trying to evangelize Air Force personnel, acquitted the applicants of evangelizing civilians in 1998 (Case of Larissis and others vs. Greece 1998; Montgomery 2011, 30–34). After the Athens Court of Appeals ruling in the “Athens Three” case, the ECHR ruling in the Larissis case was the second momentous victory for the Pentecostal-Charismatic camp in a legal battle with the Greek state. Following this ruling, the prosecutor of the Supreme Court issued a circular requesting that people no longer be brought to police stations and prosecutors for proselytizing. Considering the significance of restrictions and persecution in the history of the Greek Pentecostal movement, it is remarkable that the liberalization of religious governance in Greece did not result in any significant growth for the movement. The turn of the millennium saw a leveling off in the number of Pentecostals, due primarily to stagnation in the FACP’s growth. After establishing itself as a leading Pentecostal church in Greece, the FACP grew rapidly in the 1980s and 1990s. During that period, it built up the two main media that became the main vehicles of its evangelistic work: a newspaper, several thousand copies of which are distributed free of charge by church members throughout Greece, and a radio 103

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station, which soon broadcast 24/7 a program with Christian content. However, the FACP’s growth stalled at the beginning of the millennium, when legal and administrative restrictions had largely faded away. Twenty years later, nothing has changed. If at first the shutdown of its radio station was blamed for this,5 after the reopening of the station it became obvious that the stagnant growth primarily reflected the declining attractiveness of the church (Karagiannis 2021, 26–31). This situation caused tensions within the FACP for the first time. Voices were raised questioning the exclusivity claim of the church and calling for an opening to the Greek and worldwide Pentecostal movement. However, the FACP has decided to tackle the challenge by resorting instead to familiar self-isolation. Only one of the other Greek Pentecostal churches, the Apostolic Church of Christ (ACC), has also succeeded in growing significantly. But, as the FACP, its growth began long before liberalization. The ACC was founded in Athens in 1952 by Theodore and Mary Davis, a Greek-American missionary couple associated with the International Church of the Foursquare Gospel. In its first twenty years, it failed to consolidate. After many ups and downs, the church was granted a license for a house of worship in 1974, based on the police’s observation that it posed no danger as all of its members were old, uneducated, and poor, except for the pastor. The rise of the ACC from a poor church of twelve members to the largest Pentecostal congregation in Greece today with about 1,000 members is largely due to the organizational talent and leadership qualities of its pastor, Giorgos Patsaouras, a lawyer who had repeatedly represented Evangelical or Pentecostal churches in court and, by his own account, had been arrested over thirty times for proselytism. Being open to the domestic and worldwide Pentecostal-Charismatic movement as well as to Evangelical Christianity, the ACC embodies a very inclusive understanding of Pentecostalism. This openness has been reflected in extensive networking and a variety of collaborations. Guests from a diverse range of churches, nationally and internationally, preach at the ACC on a recurring basis, which is unthinkable for the FACP. Consistent with his global Pentecostal self-awareness, the pastor’s models extend beyond Greece. However, what characterizes the ACC most is social service. It has established a wide range of social services with the active participation of the faithful, a remarkable organizational achievement considering that mobilizing people for volunteer work is not a tradition in Greece and is still rare. In addition, the ACC was the first Pentecostal church to systematically reach out to migrants. Several Pentecostal churches, especially for migrants from Eastern Europe, were established under the auspices of and are affiliated with the ACC. In contrast, the FACP has never been particularly keen on social work and has failed to address migrants. The main difference between the two most successful Pentecostal churches in Greece is less about theology and much more about their basic attitude to the world. A provincial, strongly introverted and exclusive attitude characterizes the FACP; an extroverted and rather globalist attitude, the ACC. The former attitude has also long been cultivated by the authoritarian state and the CoG, and is deeply rooted in broad strata of the population. Although the latter attitude can also look back on a long past, it has always been weaker. It was against the backdrop of globalization processes that this more open attitude has gained ground in society. It is not surprising, therefore, that the ACC was able to consolidate and grow during this period. However, it is not surprising either that its success has been almost exclusively limited to Athens, where the middle classes who maintain such an attitude are more strongly represented than in provincial towns or in the countryside. In the Greek periphery, the ACC remains unsuccessful. Therefore, its success can hardly be seen as indicative of a larger trend in Greek Pentecostalism toward globalism. The ACC also seems to have reached the limits of its growth. Despite its strong social commitment, the church – not unlike the other Greek 104

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Pentecostal churches – failed to attract people in the course of the great economic crisis that gripped the country in the 2010s and drove many into unemployment and poverty. The ACC’s future, like that of the FACP, is also uncertain as both are dealing with a new situation after their respective long-time charismatic leaders who shaped their profile and decisively contributed to their growth recently passed away. The liberalization of religious governance in Greece has not had any significant structural impact on the Pentecostal landscape up to now. The cards have not been reshuffled. The only significant change occurred in 1990 when all Greek Pentecostal churches except the FACP combined to create the Brotherhood of Greek Pentecostal Churches, a loose network that allowed better coordination among their leaders.6 The churches of the Brotherhood are also members of the Greek Evangelical Alliance, an umbrella organization that promotes cooperation between Evangelical and Pentecostal churches. The significance of these structures is essentially symbolic. They point to the inclusive identity of the Pentecostals involved and to the mutual opening of Pentecostals and Evangelicals in Greece, which is anything but a matter of course. However, the establishment of the Brotherhood made the sharp dichotomy between the FACP and the other Pentecostals even more apparent. This dichotomy and the hegemonic position of the FACP remain the main structural features of the Greek Pentecostal movement to this day.

Conclusion Notwithstanding the connections that Greek Pentecostals have always maintained with the global Pentecostal movement and the crucial importance of these connections at particular moments, the evolution of Greek Pentecostalism does not reflect a global pattern. The three-wave model that usually structures the history of the global Pentecostal-Charismatic movement is largely irrelevant to the history of Pentecostalism in Greece. The factor that decisively determined the development of Pentecostalism in Greece was the state. It has always been omnipresent in Greek Pentecostal life – in the form of the police, the judiciary, the army, the city administration, the Ministry of Religious Affairs, and even the CoG, which is a quasi-governmental authority with considerable influence on politics and government. In a sense, the FACP’s effort to reconcile Pentecostalism with the structures and configurations of Greek modernity might be understood as conforming to the expectations of the state. There are some oddities in the history of Greek Pentecostalism that deserve particular attention. The extensive homogenization of the Pentecostal landscape was paralleled by a sharp internal divide. Greek Pentecostalism’s greatest breakthrough to date occurred not with the support of the worldwide Pentecostal-Charismatic movement but as a result of the severing of relations with it. And, last but not least, Greek Pentecostalism experienced its greatest expansion under a very restrictive regime of religious governance and not as a result of its liberalization. In Greece, it can be clearly shown that an appealing adaptation of Pentecostalism, as embodied by the FACP, is much more consequential for its growth than liberal or restrictive missionary conditions.

Notes 1 The pastor of the Apostolic Church of Pentecost in Katerini, Ilias Chatzieleftheriou, makes the case that “what has facilitated the growth of the Pentecostal faith in Greece, is the long presence of the Greek Evangelical Church and its rich fund of experience, which has served as an indigenous resource base for the modern-day Pentecostal enterprise” (Chatzieleftheriou 2010, 5). On the hostility of many Evangelicals toward Pentecostals but also on the strong evangelical involvement in establishing the first churches in the early phase of Greek Pentecostalism, see Dimitriadis (1983).

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Evangelos Karagiannis 2 The account of the Pentecostal pioneer in Chania, Crete, provides a vivid illustration of the persecutions and indignities Pentecostals faced in their effort to establish a church in Greece (Zachariou 2011). 3 The pastor of the Primitive Apostolic Church of Pentecost in California, which was affiliated with the Assemblies of God, would later become the founding pastor of the first Pentecostal church in Greece, which was affiliated with the Church of God of Prophecy. Similarly, many individuals from this first Pentecostal church would later assume leadership positions in churches affiliated with the Assemblies of God. 4 The Church of God of the Full Gospel came into being in 1958 following a schism in the International Church of the Foursquare Gospel. 5 In 2001 – apparently under pressure from the Orthodox Church of Greece – the station had to stop broadcasting via radio waves in Attica. After the program was broadcast for a long time on the internet via satellite, the ex ante situation was reestablished in 2017. 6 The four most important churches of the Brotherhood are the two historical churches that were founded before World War II: the Apostolic Church of Pentecost and the Church of God of Prophecy, and the ACC and the Church of God of the Full Gospel.

References AEPE. 2017. I Ekklisia tis Pentikostis Elladas: I Ekklisia tis Pentikostis: Istoria, Ypodomi, Pliroforia. [Brotherhood of Greek Pentecostal Churches: The Church of Pentecost. History, Infrastructure, Information]. Athens: AEPE. Case of Larissis and others v. Greece. 1998. The International Journal of Human Rights 2 (2): 102–05. Cerullo, Morris. 2016. The Legend of Morris Cerullo. How God Used an Orphan to Change the World. Lake Mary, FL: Creation House. Kindle. Chalkias, Christos. 2000. Pagkosmia Pentikosti. Tomos 2. I Pentikosti se olon ton kosmo [World Pentecostalism. Vol. 2. The Pentecost in the World]. Athens: [author]. Chatzieleftheriou, Ilias. 2010. “The Development of Pentecostal Churches in Greece.” MTh in Practical Theology dissertation, Mattersey Hall in association with Bangor University, Mattersey, UK. Unpublished Manuscript. Davis, Theodore. 1956. “Athens is Stirred by Full Gospel Evangelist.” Pentecost 35: 2 (March). Dimitriadis, Giannis. 1983. I istoria tis Ekklisias tis Pentikostis stin Ellada [The History of the Pentecostal Church in Greece]. Thessaloniki: [author]. Du Plessis, David J. 1956. “A Vision Realized in IBRA.” Pentecost 36: 10 ( July). EAEP. 2006. Elefthera Apostoliki Ekklisia tis Pentikostis: I istoria tis. Ti pistevei. Pos politevetai [Free Apostolic Church of Pentecost: History, Beliefs, Ways of Conduct]. Athens: Oros. ECHR (European Court of Human Rights). 2021. “Violations by Article and by State 1959–2020” (HUDOC database). https://www.echr.coe.int/Documents/Stats_violation_1959_2020_ENG.pdf. Faupel, William. 1996. The Everlasting Gospel. The Significance of Eschatology in the Development of Pentecostal Thought. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Fengos, L. 1992. “Grammata kai apories anagnoston” [Notes and Queries]. Christianismos 101: 7. Fokas, Effie, and Karagiannis, Evangelos. 2015. “Greek Identity and Europe: Entanglements and Tensions.” In Religion and National Identities in an Enlarged Europe, edited by Wilfried Spohn, Matthias Koenig, and Wolfgang Knöbl, 68–95. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Karagiannis, Evangelos. 2009. “Secularism in Context: The Relations between the Greek State and the Church of Greece in crisis.” European Journal of Sociology 50 (1): 133–67. Karagiannis, Evangelos. 2021. “Provincialism as Asset and Predicament. The Free Apostolic Church of Pentecost in Greece.” PentecoStudies 20 (1): 9–35. Montgomery, John Warwick. 2011. “Greek Opposition to Evangelism.” International Journal for Religious Freedom 4 (1): 23–36. Zachariou, Philemon. 2011. The Proselytizer. The Diaries of Panos T. Zachariou, Pioneer Minister of the Gospel in Greece. Author [Second edition]. Kindle.

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8 RUSSIAN PENTECOSTALS From the USSR to Post-Soviet Russia Vera Kliueva and Roman Poplavsky

Introduction Steve Durasoff dedicated his book about Russian Protestants to “the Russian evangelical who has recently completed a century of survival and faces the second with faith for revival” (Durasoff 1969). This dedication figuratively describes the situation of the twentieth century, when Russian Protestants, and the Pentecostals among them, had to survive in unfavorable conditions. For a significant part of the twentieth century, they lived under the Soviet antireligious regime, and only in the 1990s, after the USSR had collapsed, could they profess their religion openly. However, Russian Protestants again encountered restrictions in the late 1990s. Although Pentecostalism appeared in Russia in the 1910s, its adherents have always been small in numbers. Pentecostals were a minority among Soviet evangelicals. Most of their communities were not officially registered, so only approximate numbers are known. In 1961, the authorities made an attempt to count all unregistered communities. According to their data, there were “more than one thousand Pentecostal associations,” and the total number of Pentecostals was estimated at about 50,000, which surpassed the prewar data by three times (GARF, 6991, 3, 1424, 99).1 Those numbers climbed above 60,000 Pentecostals in 1973. As of the end of 2017,2 the official statistics included 1,742 communities of different Pentecostal movements (Russian Statistical Yearbook 2018, 245–46). However, those were only registered churches, whereas up to two-thirds of Protestant communities prefer not to register. The United Church of Christians of Evangelical Faith alone includes 640 unregistered Pentecostal communities. As to the number of adherents, Pentecostal associations rarely provide these data as no fixed membership is usually required. Opinion polls show the total number of Protestants in Russia at the level of statistical error: about 1 percent, that is, about 1.5 million people (Anonymous 2011). Some researchers give figures of three million Protestants (Lunkin 2014, 139). Pentecostals are the most visible group of the Protestant community; their number is estimated to be 900,000 at the beginning of 2000 (Kuropatkina 2018). As for Charismatic churches, it is impossible to estimate their number as the word “Charismatic” is rarely used in the official name.3 Moreover, Russian researchers broadly interpret the term “Charismatic” and apply it to any community with modern forms of worship, dancing, music, etc. DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-11

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This chapter is dedicated to Pentecostalism in Russia and other territories that formed part of the country in the imperial and Soviet times. It is impossible to go into the details during a period of more than 100 years. We focus on the development of Pentecostalism with key events around the politics of the Russian State that have had an impact on the Pentecostals. By doing so, we mainly concentrate on the heterogeneity of the Russian Pentecostal movements, their multiple roots, and their development in response to political decisions and local events.

Origins of Russian Pentecostalism The first evidence of Pentecostalism in Russia is attributed to Thomas Ball Barratt, a Norwegian pastor, who preached in St. Petersburg in 1911. Nevertheless, the first Pentecostal churches were established in Vyborg (Russia) and Helsinki (now Finland) after Nikolai Smorodin and Alexander Ivanov had preached among local Russian-speaking communities of Evangelical Christians in 1913. Their followers are known as Smorodintsy. In 1914, a church appeared in St. Petersburg, and in the same year its members organized a missionary trip to the Caucasus. In 1914, a Pentecostal community was planted in Tiflis (now Tbilisi, Georgia). It is also known that a small number of Pentecostals lived in Baku (now Azerbaijan) in 1916. In 1916, Andrew Urshan, an American evangelist with Persian origins, arrived in Petrograd (the Russian name for St. Petersburg between 1914 and 1924). His preaching of Jesus Only, or Oneness theology, was adopted by Smorodintsy and paved the way for the Russian Oneness movement, officially called “Evangelical Christians in the Apostolic Spirit” since 1921 in order to distinguish it from other evangelical Christians. In the mid-1920s, when another Pentecostal movement, Christians of Evangelical Faith, started gathering force, there were about eighty Oneness Pentecostal communities in Central Russia, South Caucasus, and Siberia (see Stepanov 2020, 388–90, 446–50). The most numerous and widespread Pentecostal movements in the USSR are associated with Ivan Voronaev4 (by birth, Nikita Cherkasov). In 1912, he emigrated to the United States, where, in 1917, he became a pastor of the Russian Baptist Church in Seattle. Baptized by the Holy Spirit in 1919, he created the first Russian Pentecostal Church in New York. In 1921, Voronaev and his assistant Vasilii Koltovich came to Odessa (Ukraine) and began intense missionary activity. Not only did they start churches in the region, but they also sought to create an organizational structure and legalize the Pentecostal movement. In 1924, the Odessa Regional Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith was formed. The All-Ukrainian Union succeeded it in 1926.5 At the same time, “The Brief Doctrine of the Christians of Evangelical Faith (Pentokostol)” (sic) was published, full-time preachers funded by the Union began to travel around the country, and special missionary courses for women were created. Voronaev also published eight issues of Evangelist, the first Pentecostal journal in Russia, in 1928.6 At the same time, Pentecostalism emerged in Western Ukraine (part of Poland until 1939) where Ivan Geres (or Geris), a missionary of the Church of God, and Gustav Schmidt, an evangelist of the Eastern European Mission and the Assembly of God, founded churches in the 1920s. Slightly different in ritual practice and theology, both Schmidtovtsy (called in this way after Gustav Schmidt) and Voronaevtsy were actively supported by the Assembly of God. While followers of Voronaev spread all over the country, the communities of Schmidtovtsy were located in Western Ukraine and Belarus, which became part of the USSR only after 1939. During the Soviet period, Voronaevtsy and Schmidtovtsy used the phrase “Christians of Evangelical Faith” based on Acts 11:26 and Philippians 1:27 to identify their ministry. However, they were more commonly known by the term “Pentecostals” in atheistic propaganda, 108

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legislation, and the official discourse. Thus, it can be said that Russian Pentecostalism had multiple terms to identify the movement in their history. Specifically, three independent foci can be distinguished. The movement that appeared in St. Petersburg was non-Trinitarian, in contrast to Voronaevtsy and Schmidtovtsy. The latter movements were dogmatically identical and differed in the ritual practice of washing of feet: Voronaevtsy practiced it before every communion, while Schmidtovtsy observed this ritual just once a year.7

Pentecostals in the USSR: Searching for Their Own Place Unlike the Orthodox Church, Russian Protestant communities enjoyed a short period of religious freedom after the February and October Revolutions. The 1920s were the most favorable time for Soviet Protestants: the government did not interfere with their mission, and by the end of the decade more than 350 communities with 17,000 followers of Voronaev existed throughout the country (Anonymous 1928, 1). Since they had been persecuted by the official church in Imperial Russia, the Soviets considered Protestants trustworthy. In return, the unions of Baptists, Evangelicals, Adventists, and Pentecostals adopted declarations of loyalty to the Soviet government in 1924–26. The situation dramatically changed after new Soviet legislation on religious associations was adopted in 1929. It prohibited educational, catechetic, and charitable activities. Mass deportations and arrests of believers began. Ivan Voronaev and many of his associates were arrested in 1930. The few Pentecostal leaders who remained (G. Ponurko and M. Bout) sought to preserve the connection between the communities but the second wave of arrests in 1932–1935 undermined their attempts. The Pentecostals lost their established communication and broke up into small groups almost entirely disconnected from each other. All religious associations and unions had been destroyed by the end of the Great Terror (1937–1938). It would appear that Pentecostalism ceased to exist in the USSR. That atheistic policy was perceived by many Pentecostals as a sign of the end times, which opened ground for the development of an apocalyptic spirit among them. In this context, the decade of the 1930s evidenced a rise of small movements of Zionist Pentecostals (Leontievtsy),8 Saint Zionist Pentecostals (Murashkovtsy),9 and Sabbatarian Pentecostals.10 They were very close in theology and yet marginal in the post-Soviet territory. Currently, their communities can be found mainly in Ukraine, Belarus, and Transnistria (Skakun 2014). There are small communities of Sabbatarian Pentecostals in Krasnodar Krai (Southern Russia). Soviet Pentecostals were able to reestablish their churches and ties between them when the western republics of the USSR were occupied during World War II. The Pentecostal leaders needed understandable terms on which to communicate with the occupying power. For this reason, it was decided at a congress in Piatykhatky (now Ukraine) in 1942 to introduce a new rank, and senior presbyters M. Bout, G. Ponurko, A. Bidash, and D. Ponamarchuk were ordained bishops. The movement of Voronaevtsy developed an episcopal structure with bishops, senior presbyters, and presbyters making up the church leadership. After Soviet troops returned to Ukraine in 1945, some Pentecostal leaders (M. Bout and I. Panko) were accused of having collaborated with the occupying power and were exiled to Central Asia. In 1944, Soviet authorities had initiated the registration of the All-Union Council of Evangelical Christians and Baptists (AUCECB), a political decision that coincided with a tendency toward associations between Protestants. However, the case of the Pentecostals was different. They sought to register their own association but were not allowed to do so because of the theology and practice of glossolalia, considered by the authorities as harmful to health, and their conscientious objection to military service. Instead, the Soviet Pentecostals 109

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were forced to join the AUCECB by signing the “August Agreement” in 1945 (Durasoff 1969, 119–23; Sawatsky 1981; Nikolskaia 2010; Kliueva 2015). The document obliged them to abandon the public practice of glossolalia and washing of feet before communion. Oneness Pentecostals, who joined the Council in 1947, had to agree with the trinitarian baptismal formula. In turn, Evangelical Christians and Baptists recognized baptism with the Holy Spirit. Protestants were also forced, under severe pressure, to baptize only adult believers. This tradition continues to the present, although the state does not require it. By the end of the 1940s, the AUCECB had converted into an umbrella structure uniting dogmatically different Protestant denominations. In 1948, the Council embraced 2,766 communities with a total number of members exceeding 183,000 people, among which 20,953 were Pentecostals (Schmidtovtsy, Voronaevtsy, and Smorodintsy) (GARF, 6991, 3, 1424, 99). Since the “August Agreement” had been signed, three scenarios emerged within the Pentecostal movement: (1) refusal of any association with Baptists and holding independent prayer meetings (considered illegal by the authorities); (2) affiliation with the AUCECB for joint services with Baptists, although refusing ecstatic practices; (3) affiliation with the AUCECB in order to preach on baptism with the Holy Spirit among Baptists. The second and third scenarios were beneficial for the Pentecostals. They enjoyed a relatively free environment in which they could openly fulfill their religious obligations. It also gave them a chance to preach among the Baptists, although their eagerness to do so was bound to create conflict. However, the AUCECB was an instrument of control for the authorities and obliged the Pentecostals to make a compromise with the Baptists. However, the “August Agreement” would lead to conflict between the groups. The Pentecostals complained that the Evangelical Christians and Baptists did not allow them to conduct services and infringed upon their rights in every possible way. The Baptists, in turn, were outraged by Pentecostal missionary work among other believers because it caused schisms and conversion of Baptists to Pentecostalism. For instance, one of the most famous Soviet Pentecostal communities headed by Ivan Fedotov stemmed from a church of Evangelical Christians and Baptists in Maloiaroslavets and their missionary work in 1970 (Beliakova and Kliueva 2019). In 1946, a mass withdrawal of Pentecostals from officially registered communities began. Some of them left on their own; others were excommunicated for not accepting Baptist practices during religious services. It is important to note that Soviet Pentecostals were ready to follow the official rules and repeatedly tried to register their own union in the 1940 and 1950s but were always denied because the authorities considered them incompatible with Soviet ideology. This ultimately led to the foundation of an unregistered association. Still in 1946, Pentecostal leaders A. Bidash, V. Belykh, and I. Levchuk organized in Kyiv (now Ukraine) a meeting of ordained presbyters who criticized the “August Agreement.” That meeting gave birth to a coordinating body called Kyiv Council of Bishops (also known as Kyiv Episcopate), which united unregistered Pentecostal communities outside the AUCECB from 1956 to the early 1990s. In 1948, a congress of unregistered Pentecostals was held in Dneprodzerzhinsk (now Kamenskoe, Ukraine). They adopted a statement where they declared the following: “We, Christians of Evangelical Faith, can only belong to a separate union, according to our creed.” All the participants of the Congress, however, were arrested and released only in the mid1950s. In 1956, a congress of presbyters in Kharkiv (now Ukraine) adopted “The Brief Creed of Christians of Evangelical Faith who live in the USSR” and established an independent unregistered Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith. The Congress approved four principles of relations with the authorities as follows: (1) refusal of any relations with the 110

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Soviet state and public bodies; (2) ignoring Soviet laws;11 (3) military service is a private matter of a believer; and (4) charity, missionary work, and religious education of children are inalienable rights of the church. In 1968, the Soviet State allowed religious communities to have registration outside the AUCECB. Many Pentecostals decided to take that option as they were equally unwilling to contravene the law staying unregistered and to be part of the AUCECB. Nevertheless, not all Pentecostals did so. In fact, in the early 1980s, Pentecostal churches exhibited three general responses on the issue of state registration: (1) registration in the official AUCECB; (2) autonomously registered communities; and (3) unregistered (i.e., “illegal”) communities under Kyiv Episcopate. It can be clearly seen that before the 1970s divisions among the Pentecostals were caused by the state religious politics, and not by dogmatic differences. “Tallinn Awakening” (also known as “Tallinn Blessing”, or “Tallinn Wind”), the only known Charismatic movement in the USSR, gave rise to another split in the second half of the decade. It was headed by Rein Uuemõis, Ianis Ozolnikevich, and Aleksander Popov, among others, and began in St. Olaf ’s Church in Tallinn (now Estonia), where different Protestant denominations gathered within the officially registered community of Evangelical Christians and Baptists. The awakening was characterized by people being “slain in the Spirit” and healings. It was an extraordinary event in an officially atheistic state. Protestants from all over the USSR started coming to Tallinn, attracted, among other things, by services in Russian. In 1980, the pastors were prohibited from using the Russian language and praying for people to be “slain in the Spirit,” which led to the flow of visitors coming to a halt and the meetings coming to an end (Ringvee 2015). The Kyiv Episcopate leadership also did not agree on the various practices of prayer and healing during the meetings. The majority of them opposed it, and the advocates of the awakening were removed from the service in 1984, as Bishop V. Murashkin told Vera Kliueva in a personal conversation in 2014. The Russian Pentecostal community, which consisted of non-Trinitarian and, mainly, Trinitarian churches in the 1920–1930s, experienced a series of splits after the war due to state religious politics and the Tallinn Charismatic awakening. Pentecostal leaders of registered and unregistered communities had to maneuver through the political realities of those years trying to find ways of communicating with their coreligionists. That diversity would be even more pronounced at the turn of the 1980–1990s, when several independent Pentecostal unions and movements were established.

Beyond Legality: Everyday Life and Activism of Soviet Pentecostals Soviet scholars of religion emphasized the isolationism and marginal character of Soviet Pentecostals, arguing that they were “urged to refuse to participate in public life, to attend cinema and theaters, not to read books and newspapers, not to get involved in sports” (Moskalenko 1966, 124). However, Soviet Pentecostals refuted the restrictions attributed to them: [w]e recognize and implement all the laws issued by the government of our country. Our children study at school; we do not prohibit joining the Pioneers and the Komsomol.12 We use medical treatment both at home and in the hospital. We diligently work at factories or in institutions. We serve in the ranks of the Soviet Army both in peacetime and during military operations. Grazhdan (1976, 25–26) 111

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Indeed, most Pentecostals successfully combined the religious and the Soviet in everyday life. By doing that, they were like ordinary Soviet citizens who lived in a state of “doublethink.” They did not isolate themselves from the society but managed to find peculiar niches for a relatively calm life, without conflict with the state authorities. A significant part of evangelicalism in the late Soviet period described Soviet rituals as a formality, and participation in them was not considered a religious or political statement (Kliueva 2020). Pentecostals understood Soviet ideological rhetoric and the symbolism of public actions that served as markers of loyalty (Beliakova 2018). For instance, when a trial against Pentecostals in Petropavlovsk (now Kazakhstan) began in 1983, the presbyter of the community sent a letter to the Council for Religious Affairs accusing the local authorities of violating human rights and the Constitution (Interview with Bishop V. Golovin, 2008).13 After Nikita Khrushchev’s anti-religious campaign (1958–1964) ended, a generation of Pentecostals grew up who had no experience of persecution. They respected older “prisoners of conscience” and their unwillingness to demonstrate loyalty to the Soviet authorities, but they tried to lay out a different approach to relations with other Protestants and the state. In particular, they supported “prisoners of faith” with assistance, prayers, and money donated by their coreligionists. They participated in a strong emigration movement among the Soviet Pentecostals in the 1960–1980s (see Rowe 1977; 1983; Kliueva 2018). In the context of emigration, they established contacts with human rights defenders and Soviet dissidents (see Alexeyeva 1985, 215–31). As they were prohibited from officially publishing religious literature, they copied prayers and hymns in handwriting and participated in the publication of samizdat.14 Soviet Pentecostals evangelized among non-believers talking “heart to heart” with relatives, colleagues, or acquaintances. That practice was very common during family events (weddings and funerals) where dozens and even hundreds of people gathered. The Soviet press eloquently described active attempts of Pentecostals “to spread their faith either through personal talks or through letters to be copied and passed on,” wherever they were (Kolarz 1961, 335). Thus, despite their marginal position in the society, Soviet Pentecostals managed to adapt to everyday life while at the same time alien to Soviet ideology. After the USSR had collapsed, a new epoch came, represented by a time of hope for the spiritual revival of the country.

History Repeats Itself: Pentecostals in Contemporary Russia On October 1, 1990, the Law of the USSR No. 1689–1 “On Freedom of Conscience and Religious Organizations” was adopted followed by the Law of the RSFSR of October 25, 1990, No. 267–1 “On Freedom of Religion.” The believers were given liberties to profess their faith openly, to conduct missionary and educational activities, and to register freely their communities. Nevertheless, attitudes of Pentecostals toward state registration still differed. In 1989, Pentecostals left the AUCECB and new associations emerged. In May 1990, the Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith-Pentecostals was organized. In 2003, it changed its name to the Russian Church of Christians of Evangelical Faith (RCCEF). In the early 1990s, it included twenty-five regional associations, 295 local churches, and fortyone missions. At the same time, some groups who left the AUCECB preferred to remain unregistered. In August 1992, a split occurred in the Kyiv Episcopate, and the United Church of Christians of Evangelical Faith (UCCEF) was formed. It embraced those churches of the former USSR that wanted to preserve their unregistered status and to have no direct 112

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contact with the authorities. In 1995, several communities separated from the UCCEF, and the Russian United Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith (RUUCEF) was established, which later would become one of the leading Pentecostal associations in Russia. The abovementioned three associations dominated the Pentecostal landscape in Russia and continued Voronaev’s legacy. At the same time as the processes of reorganization among the Pentecostals with Soviet roots, foreign missionaries from Australia, Brazil, Germany, Great Britain, Latvia, Mexico, the Netherlands, South Korea, Sweden, Ukraine, and the United States, representing Pentecostal churches of various kinds, came to Russia. It was a period of mass street evangelizations, schisms, concerts, sermons of preachers at stadiums, and large-scale missionary campaigns that covered the entirety of Russia. Some Pentecostal churches appeared after schisms and the relocation of Baptists and unregistered Pentecostals throughout the state. As a result, a rich palette of new Pentecostal communities was formed in just a few years, and the number of churches and their members sharply increased. At the same time, charismatic churches appeared in the country – mainly Korean Methodist and Presbyterian communities that recognized the baptism of the Holy Spirit with the sign of other languages (Kovalchuk 2008). Soviet-rooted Pentecostal communities have been wary of the influx of new Pentecostal groups that occurred in the 1990s. This attitude is due to the modern forms of worship and active manifestations of the gifts of the Spirit practiced in new Pentecostal churches. Currently, conservative Pentecostals distance themselves from close contact with other Protestant communities and very rarely participate in their projects or support their initiatives. A hostile climate against new religious movements, negative stereotypes of Pentecostals, and new regional legislation slowed the growth by the mid-1990s. In 1997, the Law of the Russian Federation “On Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations” came into force. It restricted the activities of foreign missionaries in Russia who, at that point, played a significant role among Russian Pentecostals. They brought religious literature and helped their coreligionists to build or acquire buildings for worship. Missionary expeditions organized by foreign missionaries spurred the formation of new Pentecostal communities all over the country. Some of them were very extensive. For instance, Carl Gustaf Severin undertook two large-scale expeditions by train, after which several “Word of Life” churches were established in different towns and cities all over the country. The first mission occurred in 1991 and covered more than 4,000 km from Abakan (East Siberia) to Khabarovsk (Far East) with a second, more extensive one in 1992 starting from St. Petersburg and ending in Abakan. Foreign missionaries supported local Pentecostal communities in organizing social activities and educational programs for local Bible colleges. After the 1997 law, conducting those activities became more complicated. Anxious about possible harassment, new Pentecostal churches in Russia began to distance themselves from their foreign roots, and contacts with foreign missionaries declined. In addition, the 1997 law introduced a fifteen-year requirement: from that time on, only older communities could be registered and granted the status of a legal entity. The rest could act as religious groups (which significantly limited legal ways to conduct missionary and educational activities) or be registered within a centralized organization. The role of those organizations was assumed by unions and associations: both previously created and new ones. Further amendments to the 1997 law, introduced almost annually, complicated the missionary and educational activities of believers even more. Therefore, the centralized organizations also began to provide the communities with legal support. This was the beginning of a new period in the history of Pentecostalism in Russia. After a short period of religious freedom, another tightening of state policy and anti-sectarian 113

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sentiments and “investigations” forced Russian Pentecostals to join forces to find their place in Russian society, in order to gradually shift the emphasis from mass evangelism and rapid growth to concern with socio-political issues (Anderson 2004, 206–10).

Pentecostal Diversity and Quest for Common Identity By the end of the 1990s, the Russian Pentecostal movement was a heterogeneous community. It included Pentecostal churches of Soviet origin (the former Kyiv Episcopate, Oneness movement, small communities of Sabbatarian Pentecostals, and churches that appeared under the influence of the Tallinn Awakening) and new Pentecostal churches that emerged as a result of foreign missionary activity. They began to band together for better coordination and numerous associations and unions took shape in the 1990s.15 Currently, there are international, all-Russian, and regional associations. Some regional associations are members of larger unions, as required by the current Russian legislation. Some unions consist of dogmatically close communities (UCCEF, the Mission of Christians of the Evangelical Faith “Grace”). Other unions are heterogeneous, which is due to the massive entry of new Pentecostal churches after the changes introduced to the legislation in the late 1990s (Association of Christian Churches “Christian Union,” RUUCEF, RCCEF). UCCEF Pentecostal churches are characterized by a conservative type of worship, without loud music or excessive emotionalism. They practice “washing of feet” before communion (either before each monthly communion or once a year on Holy Saturday), which has been observed since Soviet times. They traditionally refuse to get official state registration and use social entities called “missions” as mediators in their dialogue with the authorities and civil organizations. Some conservative Pentecostal communities are not members of the UCCEF, but they are mainly in close contact with the Union since they share common doctrinal principles, the Soviet past, and attitudes toward the state registration. New Pentecostal churches differ significantly from one another. The official name of a church sometimes refers to the foreign mission or Pentecostal movement it originated from. Word of Life churches, for example, derive from the Swedish megachurch in Uppsala; Calvary Community churches from the Calvary International mission, the United States; Vineyard churches from the Vineyard Movement, the United States; and Kingdom of God churches from Universal Church of the Kingdom of God, Brazil. However, in the majority of cases, the official name does not tell us anything about the church. Some new Pentecostal communities are dogmatically close to Soviet-rooted Pentecostals but allow for modern types of worship with the use of various musical instruments and styles. Many of them form part of the RCCEF. Other communities combine ecstatic practices and modern worship. They are predominantly united within the RUUCEF and the ACC “Christian Union.” Communities of new Pentecostals are the most diverse in dogmatic terms. Depending on the history of the formation of communities and dogmatic references, they interpret spiritual gifts in different ways, and accept prosperity theology, healing, visions, holy laughter, slain in the Spirit, and other practices to varying degrees or reject them. Even attitudes toward the gift of speaking in other tongues differs. For instance, glossolalia is understood as evidence of Spiritual baptism within Word of Life Association of Churches in Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug-Yugra (part of the RUUCEF) (Kliueva et al. 2013, 178). At the same time, this gift is considered optional for receiving the grace of the Holy Spirit in the communities of the North-Eastern Union of Churches of Evangelical Christians (NEUCEC; part of the ACC “Christian Union” and RUUCEF).

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Dogmatic differences can often be observed within the same church. For instance, a survey among the parishioners of Word of Life churches in Khanty-Mansi Autonomous OkrugYugra shows that among their favorite books are authors who favor some types of PentecostalCharismatic teachings and practices (e.g., Derek Prince and Rick Joyner), and those who do not (e.g., John Bevere); on prosperity theologies, there are supporters (e.g., Aleksei Lediaev and John Avanzini) and critics (e.g., Mats-Ola Ishoel) (Kliueva et al. 2013, 146). Even pastors from time to time refer to distinct preachers and evangelists. Therefore, the distinction between conservative, moderate, and liberal Russian Pentecostal churches suggested by O. Kuropatkina remains ambiguous (Kuropatkina 2009, 74–76). Dogmatic differences have led to conflicts within separate communities and at the level of unions. For instance, in 2005, the RUUCEF accused Aleksei Lediaev, pastor of the “New Generation” Church (Riga, Latvia) and leader of the New Generation Association of Churches in Russia, of theological heresy as he advocated a “new world order” and called for the active participation of the church in politics and the formation of a Christian government. Relations between the leaders were restored only in 2016. In 2021, the New Generation Association of Alexei Lediaev was included by the Russian authorities in the list of undesirable non-governmental organizations in Russia, and communication between the believers became complicated again. Nevertheless, dogmatic differences started to recede into the background in the context of tightening legislation that urged new Pentecostal associations and communities to initiate dialogue with each other and other Protestants. Such dialogue had not been on the Russian Pentecostal agenda since the very beginning. In the first half of the 1990s, they aimed at rapid church growth and were more likely to compete with each other. Frequent schisms, dogmatic disagreements, and personal grudges were common. However, the discriminatory laws of the second half of the 1990s mobilized new Pentecostals and other Protestants to team up and jointly solve common issues. Since the 2000s, Protestant churches have held prayer meetings16 in many Russian localities, where they also discuss joint projects and issues of concern. Even conservative Pentecostals, who traditionally refrain from such contacts, are known to participate (Poplavsky 2012, 120–21). Close communication, however, has been developed only between Protestant churches. Representatives of other religious traditions generally eschew close connections. If an interfaith event is organized, they are likely to participate only as private individuals (Interview with Mikhail Dubrovskii17, 2021). We are aware of only one advisory body in Russia where Protestants, Muslims, and Jews regularly participate, the Congress of Religious Associations of Tyumen Region. It was founded as an initiative of believers from different churches in 2005 after the regional authorities refused to accept a declaration that would establish rules of cooperation and communication between them and religious organizations in the region (Poplavsky 2012, 120–21). Nevertheless, advocates of closer communication regularly arrange sporting events for different religious traditions, and announce interfaith projects.18 At the national level, Protestant leaders maintain close contacts within the Advisory Council of Heads of Protestant Churches in Russia established in 2002. In 2003, the Council adopted a joint document, “The Social Position of Protestant Churches in Russia” (the second supplemented edition was published in 2010). Still in 2003, an even more representative Russian Evangelical Alliance was created, which is considered to be a successor to the Russian Evangelical Union of Ivan Prokhanov. It aims to “build bridges between believers” and implement the principles set out in the social position. Not all Pentecostal unions and associations joined the above-mentioned initiatives.

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As evidenced from the examples of the above-mentioned inter-Protestant forums, the main goal of these initiatives was to coordinate and develop social work. Indeed, the current political circumstances made Russian Protestant communities, and Pentecostals among them,19 pay more attention to various social programs where the believers and the authorities had some agreement. There are known cases of government financial support for Pentecostal initiatives. Moreover, Pentecostals often acted on behalf of non-profit organizations and had the opportunity to communicate with those officials who refused to talk directly to them. Communication between churches, the protection of the rights of believers, and social activity are the areas where a consensus has been found among the Protestant churches in Russia with the new Pentecostal churches acting as a driving force. Along with a growing move toward cooperation in the social sphere and human rights activism, some new Pentecostal churches began to discuss a deeper unification of Russian Protestants. Advocates are looking for common denominational self-designation and common roots through reappraisal of the history of Protestants in Russia, as they also elaborate on a unique Russian Evangelical theology that would be endorsed by all Russian Protestants. They argue that these three elements would contribute to the formation of a common Protestant identity in Russia, which, in its turn, would make the believers and churches more visible, and therefore, legitimate in Russia. In the following paragraphs, we discuss this process and its role in shaping a new identity among Protestants in Russia. The use of the words “Christians” or “Evangelical Christians” as common names for all Protestant denominations broke out in the second half of the 1990s when anti-cult discourse ran rampant in the Russian society and restrictive laws were adopted. In addition, the word “Protestant” was also perceived as an underlying political message of “protest” and “opposition” to the Russian Orthodox Church and the authorities. We doubt, however, that the use of Protestant will be completely rejected as most Protestant churches in Russia celebrate Reformation Day. Some even advocate introducing it into the civil calendar. As to the word “Pentecostal” (Piatidesiatnik, in Russian), the refusal to use it may have different reasons. First, its Soviet negative interpretation as a synonym to “fanatical sect” has been widely used within the anti-cult movement. Second, some Pentecostals end up rejecting the term, trying to distance themselves from their foreign roots opting for a more neutral “Evangelical Christian” language. At the same time, other believers thought the term Pentecostal should became part of the official names of many churches in order to satisfy a requirement of the 1997 law. Thus, they thought of the term “Pentecostal” as a formality, as “a definition which the State gives us. And we are ready to accept this definition. . . whatever definition we have, Protestants or Evangelicals, the essence of our work won’t change” (Interview with Mikhail Karlov, 201120). We cannot be sure how much of the new Pentecostal community endorses this idea, as mainly advocated by some leaders of the RUUCEF and the ACC “Union of Christians.” Nonetheless, a trend can be observed in the official statistics. Until 2008, annual statistical reports identified all Pentecostal churches with one double-fold term of “Christians of Evangelical Faith – Pentecostals.” A distinction between “Christians of Evangelical Faith” and “Christians of Evangelical Faith – Pentecostals” appeared in the 2008 Statistical Yearbook for the first time. In ten years, the number of communities registered under the first name almost quadrupled, while those registered under the second name decreased by 24 percent (Russian Statistical Yearbook 2008, 56; Russian Statistical Yearbook 2018, 262). Based on these data, we suggest that a significant number of communities chose to use the term “Christians of Evangelical Faith” instead of “Pentecostal” in the process of state registration/renewal of registration during those years. 116

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The second element that the advocates of a common Russian Protestant identity appeal to, is the idea of common roots for all Russian Protestants. RUUCEF mentions on its website that communities “with all the features of the Pentecostal doctrine” existed back in the middle of the nineteenth century (i.e., more than 50 years before the Pentecostals actually appeared in the Russian Empire). The websites of the non-Trinitarian Association, the RCCEF, and the Russian Assembly of God refer to the churches in Helsinki and in St. Petersburg in the early twentieth century as the first Pentecostal communities in Russia. The UCCEF traces its history to the first communities of Voronaevtsy. Pavel Timchenko from the NEUCEC appeals to Ivan Prokhanov (who was not Pentecostal himself ). The point of view that significantly stands out is that of the ACC “Christian Union.” Its leaders consider the religious history of Russia through the prism of the opposition of Byzantism (represented by the Russian Orthodox Church) and evangelism (represented by various religious movements) (Bachinin and Nikitin 2003; Bachinin 2005). Among advocates of these ideas are the Baptist historian Marina Karetnikova and the Adventist Oleg Zhigankov (see Vasilieva 2004, 97). They argue that the Reformation in Russia had started well before the European Reformation and manifested itself in the religious movements of Strigolniki, Judaizers (Zhidovstvuiushchie), and Dukhobory.21 This point of view is included in the educational program of the Eurasian Theological Seminary under the RUUCEF (Interview with Mikhail Dubrovskii, 2021). It is possible that the advocates of this idea based their point of view on the works of Soviet researchers, some of whom described the above-mentioned religious movements as reformist (see Kazakova and Lurie 1955; Klibanov 1960). As to a third element of a common Protestant identity, at the beginning of the 2000s some leaders began to voice a need for an original Russian language theology, which, according to its advocates, would help evangelical churches overcome isolation in Russian society. In their view, it could be the basis for an inclusive Christian identity, which would neutralize ritual and dogmatic differences (Dubrovskii 2012a; 2012b, 98). Since then, however, no specifically Russian theological ideas have been known to us. Conservative Pentecostals resort to Voronaev’s legacy, while new Pentecostals mainly focus on foreign evangelists and preachers in their histories since the 1990s. The above-mentioned ideas on common self-designation, roots, and theology grew in importance from the second half of the 1990s to the late 2000s and were voiced by their advocates at religious forums and conferences. The Evangelical Councils held from 2010 to 2014 were among them. Starting as a private initiative of several like-minded people (Interview with Mikhail Dubrovskii, 2021), the Councils were intended to unite all Russian Protestants around the ideas that went beyond social activities and the protection of the rights of believers. Interestingly, the Councils were named in the following way: the First Evangelical Council (the First Council of Naro-Fominsk), the Second Evangelical Council (the Second Council of Naro-Fominsk), the Third Evangelical Council (the Council of Irpin), the Fourth Evangelical Council (the Council of St. Petersburg), which clearly resembles the names of the Ecumenical Councils of the fourth and eighth centuries, revealing that the organizers harbored grand aspirations for them. The participants of the Councils identified themselves as the heirs of the “church fathers, great saints and reformers, missionaries and theologians, Russian religious philosophers and modern Western theologians” (Anonymous 2010, 8). They observed the importance of the acts of the evangelical lives of Russian kniazes and the ideas of Medieval Russian religious movements (Anonymous 2010, 17). They elaborated upon the unity of Russian Protestants, aiming to legitimize them in the Russian society and to influence its social and political life 117

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more actively. Interestingly, these ideas were similar to those of Aleksei Lediaev, who was accused of heresy by the RUUCEF earlier in 2005. Planned as annual events, the Councils ceased in 2014. There are several reasons for this. First, after 2014, it was impossible for the organizers to invite pastors from Ukraine to the forums (Interview with Mikhail Dubrovskii, 2021), who had been active participants in the previous years. The Third Council took place in Ukraine (in the city of Irpin). We assume that some ideas promoted at the Councils were influenced by the participants from Ukraine as Pentecostal churches there are known for their active social and political positions (Cherenkov 2018). Second, the Evangelical Councils gave a new impetus to the development of Protestant social projects and to the movement of Christian business people (for example, Mikhail Dubrovskii, an ideologist of the Councils, is the founder and leader of the Community of Christian Business People). The Councils did not achieve their main goal, however, because the ideas expressed there did not find a wide positive reception beyond the confines of the RUUCEF and ACC “Christian Union.” Many Protestant churches deny being involved in such unifying tendencies and prefer joining forces only for prayer meetings, social activities, and defending religious rights. The statement by the Russian Union of Evangelical Christians-Baptists published in 2015 on its official website is an illustrative example. There, they announced their withdrawal from the Advisory Council of the Heads of Protestant Churches because of the danger of “losing its own religious identity, which in turn could lead to the unification of theology and spiritual practice of the independent centralized religious organizations.”

Conclusion Pentecostalism in Russia has traveled a long way in what is Russia today. Since the very beginning, it was not homogeneous due to the different roots of the movement. That diversity increased over the course of the twentieth century, coming to its peak in the religious boom of the 1990s. Authorities and their decisions have always strongly influenced the religious landscape in Russia. As to Pentecostals, they enjoyed two periods of freedom in their history (the 1920s and first half of the 1990s) when they managed to spread throughout the country. Nevertheless, their numbers in contemporary Russia are comparably smaller to those of many other countries where a religious revival took place. Russian Pentecostals survived long years of anti-religious Soviet policy maneuvering between the official requirements and necessities of their coreligionists. Organizational fragmentation and the practice of baptism of only adult believers are a result of Soviet religious policy. At the same time, they were able to integrate into the everyday life of the society combining religious and Soviet patterns of behavior. The Iron Curtain prevented Soviet Pentecostals from regular communication with their foreign coreligionists. The “Tallinn Awakening,” the only Charismatic movement in the USSR, quickly faded away as the authorities did not approve of ecstatic practices. So, all the developments and tendencies in the world of Pentecostalism that took place outside the USSR earlier reached Russia all at once only in the early 1990s, when evangelists from all over the world came there. Pentecostalism in contemporary Russia is not a homogeneous movement. Many of its adherents share the common Soviet past and respect for the believers who suffered for their convictions in the USSR (so-called “confessors of the faith”). Nevertheless, they significantly

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differ in rituals, perception of their origins, and attitudes toward modern forms of worship. In the context of new restrictions in contemporary Russia, they adhere to various strategies of adaptation to political and social realities. The most conservative Pentecostals distance themselves from the state, as they did in the USSR, and, except for rare cases, from communication with other Protestant churches as well. The majority of new Pentecostal communities maintain communication, even restraining from practicing glossolalia in the presence of Baptists, and cooperate with other Evangelicals and public authorities within social programs. Ambitious attempts at a deeper integration made by an RUUCEF initiative group in the framework of Evangelical Councils (2010–2014) did not strike a chord with the majority of Russian Protestants.

Notes 1 Russian Federation, numbers in the reference are to the fond, opis, delo, list, respectively. 2 Since 2019, the Russian Statistical Yearbook does not reflect the religious diversity in Russia and only provides data on the total number of religious organizations without breakdown by confession. 3 In 2003, there were twenty-two of them (Russian Statistical Yearbook 2003); now they are only four (http://unro.minjust.ru/NKOs.aspx). 4 Christians of Evangelical Faith are also called Voronaevtsy, after the founder of the movement. 5 It is known that Voronaev tried to register the All-USSR Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith, but there is no reliable data on its official registration. It is only known that its first congress in 1927 laid foundations for missionary trips all over the country (Galchuk 1928). 6 For a detailed biography of Voronaev, see Donev (2011), Mozer and Bornovolokov (2011), and Simkin (2018). 7 Some contemporary churches that do not derive from Schmidtovtsy also adopted this practice. 8 After the name of their preacher Leontii Melnik. He began to preach back in 1922 in what is now Central Ukraine, but the first convention of Zionists was held in 1931. 9 After their preacher Ivan Murashko. The movement was formed in 1932 in Belarussian Polesie. 10 It took shape in the 1920s to 1930s in what is now Western Ukraine among the Pentecostals baptized by the Church of God mission. 11 It is important to note that Pentecostals ignored the Soviet laws in extraordinary cases, for instance, when attempting to emigrate. Such religious movements as Jehovah’s Witnesses, True Orthodox Church, and a part of Adventists ignored the Soviet laws more systematically. 12 The Vladimir Lenin All-Union Pioneer Organization, abbreviated as the Young Pioneers, was a mass youth organization of the Soviet Union for children and adolescents aged from 9 to 14 years. Komsomol (The All-Union Leninist Young Communist League) was a political youth organization in the Soviet Union for young people aged between 14 and 28 years. 13 All cited interviews were conducted by the authors of this article. 14 Samizdat (literally “self-publishing”) was a form of dissident activity across the socialist Eastern Bloc in which individuals reproduced censored and underground makeshift publications, often by hand, and passed the documents from reader to reader. For more on samizdat, see Savenko (2017) and von Zitzewitz (2020). 15 According to the website of the Ministry of Justice (http://unro.minjust.ru/NKOs.aspx), 122 centralized Pentecostal organizations were registered in Russia in 2021. Such great number is due to dogmatic disagreements, different origins, and vast dimensions of Russia. 16 At such meetings, Pentecostals often refuse to pray in languages in the presence of Baptists. 17 Mikhail Dubrovskii was head of Theological Department of the RUUCEF from 2005 to 2018. 18 For example, the RUUCEF announced on its official website in September, 2020 an interfaith funeral home to be built in Moscow. 19 For example, the Pentecostal Churches of the Cornerstone Association “specialize” in drug rehabilitation. Many of their communities are made up of believers who have undergone rehabilitation. 20 In 2011, Mikhail Karlov was a pastor of the Cornerstone Church in Tyumen. He is a pastor of the Cornerstone Church in Astrakhan now. 21 For more on Russian spiritual movements, see Mealing (1975), Rybakov (1993), and Panchenko (2004).

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References Anonymous. 1928. “Ot redaktsii.” Evangelist, no. 1: 1–2. Anonymous. 2010. Filosofskie i Religioznye Tetradi. Tetrad No. 1. Materiali Pervogo Evangelskogo Sobora. Moscow: Izdatelstvo mestnoi religioznoi  organizatsii Evangelskikh khristian-baptistov “Na Rusi”. Anonymous. 2011. “Veroispovedanie.” Research Service “Sreda”. https://sreda.org/opros/v-bogaveryat-82-rossiyan Alexeyeva, Ludmilla. 1985. Soviet Dissent: Contemporary Movements for National, Religious, and Human Rights. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Anderson, Allan. 2004. An Introduction to Pentecostalism: Global Charismatic Christianity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bachinin, Vladislav, and Nikitin, Igor. 2003. Istoki Konflikta Mezhdu Vizantizmom i Evangelizmom. Istoricheskie Portreti Iosifa Volotskogo i Nila Sorskogo. St. Petersburg: Soiuz Khristian. Bachinin, Vladislav. 2005. Natsionalnaia Ideia dlia Rossii: Vibor Mezhdu Vizantizmom, Evangelizmom i Sekuliarizmom. St. Petersburg: Aleteia. Beliakova, Nadezhda, and Kliueva, Vera. 2019. “Leadership, Communication and Conflicts Among Evangelicals: Analysis of Relations in Religious Communities in the Late USSR.” Canadian Slavonic Papers 61(1): 4–24. Beliakova, Nadezhda. 2018. “‘Soobshchaem o Prestuplenii protiv Pravosudiia…’: Obrashcheniia I Zhalobi Veruiushchikh v Brezhnevskom SSSR.” Noveischaia istoriia Rossiii 8 (3): 640–58. Cherenkov, Mykhailo. 2018. “The Church’s Social Activism in Post-Maidan Ukraine.” New Eastern Europe. https://neweasterneurope.eu/2018/04/17/church-without-walls-churchs-socialactivism-post-maidan-ukraine/. Donev, Dony. 2011. The Life and Ministry of Rev. Ivan Voronaev. Spasen Publishers. Dubrovskii, Mikhail. 2012a. “Sobornost - Sleduiushchii Shag v Reformatsii.” Philosophic and Religious Booklets. Booklet no. 4. Materials of the Annual “Reformation vs Revolution” Conference: 89–99. Dubrovskii, Mikhail. 2012b. “Tri Vetvi Khristianstva.” https://www.cef.ru/pentacostal/branch. Durasoff, Steve. 1969. The Russian Protestants: Evangelicals in the Soviet Union: 1944-1964. Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press Galchuk, Makarii. 1928. “O Soiuze Khristian Evangelskoi Veri.” Evangelist 2: 14–15. Grazhdan, Valerii. 1976. “O ‘Dukhovnykh Darakh’ i Ikh Pochitateliakh.” Nauka i Religiia 12: 23–26. Kazakova, Natalia, and Lurie, Iakov. 1955. Antifeodalnie Ereticheskie Dvizheniia na Rusi 14 –Nachala 16 Veka. Moscow: USSR Academy of Sciences Press. Klibanov, Aleksander. 1960. Reformatsionnie Dvizheniia v Rossii v 14 - Pervoi Polovine 16 Veka. Moscow: USSR Academy of Sciences Press. Kliueva, Vera, Poplavsky, Roman, and Bobrov, Igor. 2013. Piatidesiatniki v Iugre (Na Primere Obshchin RO TsKhVE KhMAO). St. Petersburg: Russian Christian Humanitarian Academy Press. Kliueva, Vera. 2015. “‘Ne Oni Ustupili, a s Nimi Soglasilis’: Evangelskie Khristiane-Baptisti i Piatidesiatniki v Pervoe Poslevoennoe Desiatiletie. Sovetskoe Gosudarstvo I Obshchestvo v Period Pozdnego Stalinizma, 1945–1953. Moscow: ROSSPEN: 586–594. Kliueva, Vera. 2018. “Emigratsiia po Religioznim Motivam: Sovetskie Piatidesiatniki v Poiskakh ‘Luchshei Doli’.” Quaestio Rossica 6 (2): 438–53. Kliueva, Vera. 2020. “Soviet Pentecostals: The Exclusivity of the Excluded.” In Eight Essays on Russian Christianities, edited by Igor Mikeshin, 132–55. St. Petersburg: Saint Petersburg Center for the History of Ideas; Politekhnika Servis. Kolarz, Walter. 1961. Religion in the Soviet Union. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press. Kovalchuk, Iulia. 2008. Koreiskii Protestantizm i Ego Missionerskie Praktiki v Aziatskoi Chasti Rossiiskoi Federatsii. Novosibirsk: Institut Arkheologii i Etnografii SO RAN. Kuropatkina, Oksana. 2009. “Religioznaia i Sotsiokulturnaia Samoidentifikatsiia ‘Novikh’ Piatidesiatnikv v Rossii.” Manuscript of PhD. Moscow. Kuropatkina, Oksana. 2018. “Piatidesiatniki.” Great Russian Encyclopedia. https://bigenc.ru/religious_ studies/text/5229119 Lunkin, Roman. 2014. “Rossiiskii Protestantizm: Evangelskie Khristiane kak Novii Sotsialnii Fenomen.” Sovremennaia Evropa 3 (59): 133–43. Mealing, Francis Mark. 1975. Doukhobor Life: A Survey of Doukhobor Religion, History and Folklife. Castlegar: Kootenay Doukhobor Historical Society.

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Russian Pentecostals from the USSR to Post-Soviet Russia Moskalenko, Aleksei. 1966. Piatidesiatniki. Moscow: Izdatelstvo Politicheskoi Literaturi. Mozer, Pavel, and Bornovolokov, Oleg. 2011. “The Development of Pentecostalism in Russia and the Ukraine.” In European Pentecostalism, edited by William Kay, and Anne E. Dyer, 261–292. Leiden: Brill. Nikolskaia, Tatiana. 2010. “Avgustovskoe Soglashenie i Pozitsii Piatidesiatnikov v 40-50-kh gg. XX veka.” Gosudarstvo, Religiia i Tserkov v Rossii i za Rubezhom 3: 124–33. Panchenko, Aleksander. 2004. Khristovshchina i Skopchestvo: Folklor i Traditsionnaia Kultura Russkikh Misticheskikh Sekt. Moscow: OGI. Poplavsky, Roman. 2012. “Pentecostal Churches in Russia: Changing Self-images and Inculturation in Tyumen.” Religion, State, and Society 40 (1): 112–32. Ringvee, Ringo. 2015. “Charismatic Christianity and Pentecostal Churches in Estonia from a Historical Perspective.” Approaching Religion 5 (1): 57–66. Rowe, Michael. 1977. “Soviet Pentecostals: Movement for Emigration.” Religion in Communist Lands 5 (3): 170–74. Rowe, Michael. 1983. “The Soviet Pentecostal Emigration Movement.” Religion in Communist Lands 3: 337–339. Russian Statistical Yearbook. 2003. Moscow: Rosstat. Russian Statistical Yearbook. 2008. Moscow: Rosstat. Russian Statistical Yearbook. 2018. Moscow: Rosstat. Rybakov, Boris. 1993. Strigolniki: Russkiie Gumanisty XIV Stoletiia. Moscow: Nauka. Savenko, Elena. 2017. Svobodnoe Slovo: Ocherki Istorii Samizdata Sibiri (1920-1990 gg.). Novosibirsk: GPNTB SO RAN. Sawatsky, Walter. 1981. Soviet Evangelicals Since World War II. Kitchener: Herald Press. Simkin, Lev. 2018. Begushchii v Nebo. Kniga o Podvizhnike Veri Evangelskoi Ivane Voronaeve. Moscow: EKSMO. Skakun, Roman. 2014. Budivnichi Novogo Erusalimu: Ivan Murashko i “Murashkivtsi”. Lviv: Ukrainian Catholic University Press. Stepanov, Vladimir. 2020. Rossiia v Ogne Piatidesiatnitsi: Obzor Vsemirnoi Istorii Tserkvi, Istoriia Rannego Russkogo Piatidesiatnichestva i Tserkvi Evangelskikh Khristian v Dukhe Apostolov (do 1929). St. Petersburg: Bibliia Dlia Vsekh. Vasilieva, Olga. 2004. “Sovremenny Russkii Protestantizm: v Poiskakh Sebia.” In Put Vostoka: Kulturnaia, Etnicheskaia i Religioznaia Identichnost: Materialy VII Molodezhnoi Nauchnoi Konferentsii po Problemam Filosofii, Religii, Kultury Vostoka, vol. 33, 96–100. St Petersburg: Sankt- Peterburgskoie filosofskoie obshchestvo. von Zitzewitz, Josephine. 2020. The Culture of Samizdat: Literature and Underground Networks in the Late Soviet Union. London: Bloomsbury Publishing.

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9 THE NIGERIA-BIAFRA CIVIL WAR AND THE BIRTH OF INDIGENOUS NEO-PENTECOSTALISM IN IGBOLAND, 1967–1980 Richard Burgess Introduction Nigeria gained its independence from British rule in 1960. Decolonization resulted in rapid social change. From being a society organized around the local community, Nigeria became a large-scale nation state. This was a direct result of the colonial project and created profound tensions that continued to be felt following independence. During the First Republic (1960–1966), Nigerian hopes were raised due to the improving economy and the growth of educational institutions. Oil had taken over from agriculture as the mainstay of the economy. However, optimism gave way to disillusionment due to pervasive corruption, the collapse of the parliamentary democratic system in 1963, the contested 1964/1965 elections, and the growth of regional and ethnic antagonisms. Nigeria is roughly equally divided between Christians and Muslims: of the three main ethnic groups, the northern Hausa-Fulani are predominantly Muslim, the eastern Igbo are predominantly Christian, and the western Yoruba are divided between the two faiths. Violent pogroms in the North, largely directed against easterners, resulted in a mass exodus of over a million Igbos back to their crowded homeland. The series of crises reached their climax with the Nigeria-Biafra civil war (1967–1970), when an estimated three million Igbos died (Falola and Heaton 2008). Most studies of Pentecostalism in Nigeria have focused on the movement in southwestern Nigeria where the largest Pentecostal churches are located (e.g., Ojo 2006; Marshall 2009; Wariboko 2014). This chapter examines the provenance and growth of indigenous neoPentecostalism among the Igbo people of eastern Nigeria. It had its roots in an evangelical revival that began during the civil war involving young people associated with Scripture Union (SU). Henceforth, I will refer to this movement as the Civil War Revival. At the time, Igbo revivalists used the term “Pentecostal” to describe the new churches generated by the revival. However, I use the term “neo-Pentecostal” to distinguish them from the older mission-related Pentecostal denominations such as the Apostolic Church and Assemblies of God. Scripture Union was introduced into Nigerian secondary schools from Britain in the 1950s. 122

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The first SU school groups in Igboland were established at Umuahia in 1955 and Enugu in 1957, and by 1966, the number of groups in the East had grown to approximately thirty. The chapter draws upon research conducted in Igboland between 1998 and 2004, and uses oral histories to gain access to the past. Oral history provides access to “hidden histories,” the “stories of faith” often ignored by socio-religious commentators. This can help to counteract the bias often present in written sources and to challenge so-called “official” histories. Oral sources consisted of expatriate missionaries, former revivalists who maintained their mission church affiliation, and Pentecostal leaders and members. However, most research participants were former revivalists who became neo-Pentecostal pioneers. Oral histories are used in conjunction with written sources. These include popular revival accounts (e.g., Roberts 1970; Bolton 1992), private correspondence, missionary reports, and locally produced church documents. Unfortunately, the havoc wreaked by the civil war has meant that relatively few written documents related to the revival have survived in Eastern Nigeria. However, I had access to a collection of private papers owned by the British Scripture Union travelling secretary Bill Roberts. Roberts was based in Biafra during the civil war, but left in 1969 due to illness and was unable to return. His collection includes conversion testimonies and letters written by Igbo revivalists, personal prayer letters composed for a British audience, and minutes of Scripture Union Nigeria committee meetings. My analysis of the Civil War Revival and its Pentecostal progeny takes its cue from Ogbu Kalu’s Africanist approach to historiography. The chapter begins by outlining Kalu’s approach, with a particular focus on his treatment of African Pentecostalism. Second, it traces the contours of Igbo Pentecostalism prior to the Civil War. Third, it narrates the story of the Civil War Revival against the backdrop of decolonization and the Nigeria-Biafra civil war. Finally, it considers some of the factors behind the growth of the movement and its generation of a new wave of indigenous Pentecostalism.

Ogbu Kalu and the Historiography of African Christianity A recurring theme in Kalu’s historiography was an attempt to tell the story of Christianity in Africa in ways that recovered the African voice and privileged the contributions of African agents rather than placing Western missionaries at the center. His intention was to correct misrepresentations in histories of Western missions in Africa that overemphasized the role of non-African agents. Kalu suggested that historians of African Christianity should turn their attention from the “mode of transmission” toward the “mode of appropriation” (Kalu 2005a, 6). Kalu’s emphasis on African agency was reflected in his treatment of African Pentecostalism. His many publications on the subject culminated in his ground-breaking book African Pentecostalism: An Introduction (2008), published shortly before he died. According to Kalu (2008a, 22), Pentecostal historiography differed from missionary historiography because “local actors were crucial in the story of the early movement and are still reshaping the faces of the movement characterized by rapid growth.” Challenging Western accounts of African Pentecostalism that place undue emphasis on globalization, Kalu reasserted its roots in African soil and the contributions of African protagonists to its growth and popularity. A consistent theme in Kalu’s scholarship was the extent that African patterns of response to Christianity are determined by primal religious structures. Kalu (2009) argued that people appropriate the gospel through the prism of their own worldviews and cultures, demonstrating the indigenizing capacity of the gospel to answer questions raised within the interiors of those cultures. The continuity between African “maps of the universe” and biblical 123

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theology was also an important element in the interpretative framework employed by Kalu to explain the salience of Pentecostalism in Africa (Kalu 2002). Conceiving African Christianity as always building on pre-existing African cultural realities enabled Kalu to identify a line of continuity through the various phases of evangelical revivalism in Africa culminating in contemporary Pentecostal and Charismatic expressions (2005b). Kalu (2008a, 170) argued that Pentecostalism had grown in Africa “because of its cultural fit into indigenous worldviews.” Contrary to the early missionary attitude, urging rejection, Pentecostals perceive a resonance between the Bible and African indigenous religions. Alongside religious factors, Kalu’s historiography was also attentive to political, economic, and social influences on African responses to Christianity. One example is Kalu’s examination of the effects of African nationalist movements and decolonization on the churches. He argued that just as the two world wars “increased African confidence and shifted the vision of cultural nationalism to the quest for political independence, so were the efforts of missionaries to consolidate denominationalism confronted by intensified, subversive, indigenous initiatives” (Kalu 2008b, 39). Kalu drew on Antonio Gramsci’s notion of passive revolution, whereby a dominant political group may change its way of exercising power in order to maintain it. The goal of decolonization, which involved a limited transfer of power, was to retain sufficient economic resources to exert control over the future development of the continent. Kalu’s argument was that missionaries shared a similar tactical response to decolonization so as to retain control over the churches using indigenous personnel and resources. This was the main thrust of the missionary policy of indigenization, intended to preserve missionary structures while enabling broader African participation (Kalu 2008b). However, their efforts were sabotaged by the moratorium debate, which advocated the withdrawal of Western missionaries, and by various forms of local charismatic independency from the margins (Kalu 2003). Kalu referred to the emergence of youthful charismatic preachers during the 1970s whose activities challenged the hegemony of the mission churches and generated a proliferation of new Pentecostal churches in countries such as Nigeria, Kenya, and Malawi (Kalu 2008b). One example of charismatic independency discussed in African Pentecostalism is the Civil War Revival in Igboland. In this chapter, I follow Kalu’s Africanist approach by focusing on the role of both indigenous agents and western missionaries, and the influence of the traditional religious culture and socio-political context on Igbo responses to Christianity. The revival was an African initiative involving mostly lay young people belonging to Protestant mainline denominations but its course was influenced by two British missionaries, Bill Roberts and Sydney Elton. As I will argue, the primary reason for the revival’s impact lay in its missionary impulse, forged in the furnace of the civil war crisis. But it was successful because revivalists were able to exploit the disorder of Igbo society and the failure of existing religious options to fulfil traditional aspirations. It was precisely because they bore the brunt of the suffering that Igbo response to the revival was so dramatic compared to their counterparts in southwestern Nigeria. Although there are similarities between the story of the Civil War Revival and accounts of the charismatic movement in other regions of Nigeria and in neighboring Ghana (e.g., Asamoah-Gyadu 2005; Ojo 2006), there are also significant differences.

Igbo Pentecostalism Before the Civil War Revival The arrival of the Apostolic Church during the early 1930s marked the beginning of Pentecostalism in Igboland. Not only was it one of the largest Pentecostal churches prior to the civil war, it also experienced several secessions that facilitated the spread of Pentecostalism 124

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throughout Igboland. Apostolic Church origins in the British Pentecostal movement are well documented, as is its entry into Western Nigeria in 1931 through links established with the Nigerian Faith Tabernacle Church (Peel 1968; Worsfold 1991).1 The spread of the Apostolic Church to Igboland was an African venture, though British Apostolic missionaries played an active role. The church entered Igboland through local agents (possibly Efik traders) in 1931, but was properly established in 1932 when Pastor Albert Emetanjo was sent from Calabar to Aba in order to gather up existing assemblies and form them into districts. In November 1932, British Apostolic missionaries Idris Vaughan and George Perfect visited southern Igboland, following invitations from Faith Tabernacle leaders. By 1938, the Apostolic Church in Igboland had grown to over 120 assemblies, and in 1940 Vaughan arrived as their first Missionary Superintendent (Burgess 2008). British Apostolic missionary Sydney Elton (1907–1987) served as a link between the two major strands of revivalist and Pentecostal activity in Nigeria (1930–1939 and 1967–1975). He began his missionary career in 1937, based in Ilesha, southwestern Nigeria. In 1953, he invited a team from the Latter Rain movement in North America to conduct evangelistic campaigns in south-western Nigeria. The Latter Rain Revival began in 1948 in North Battlefield, Saskatchewan (Canada) at the Sharon Bible College, founded by George Hawtin. It spread rapidly and, by 1949, there were revival centers established in cities throughout the continent. Subsequently, it spread to other parts of the world, carried by Latter Rain revivalists and missionaries. Latter Rain leaders believed that God was sending a worldwide revival that would bring a restoration of new truths to the church, and especially a demonstration of the gifts of the Spirit in the world. Other features of the Revival, linked to this restorationist theology, were prophecy over individuals by the presbytery, recognition of the five-fold Ascension gift ministries, worship as praise, and church unity (Riss 1982; Faupel 2010; Abodunde 2016). According to Faupel (2010), far from achieving its restorationist aims, the revival brought further fragmentation and controversy. However, as an agent of renewal, it proved successful. Large numbers of churches in North America and globally identified with the revival. It also became a major influence upon the Charismatic Renewal of the 1960s and 1970s. The Latter Rain Revival spread to the Apostolic Church in Britain, and revival meetings were organized, initially with the approval of the General Council in Bradford. News of the revival had reached Nigeria by 1951 and was followed with excitement by Elton and some of his fellow Apostolic missionaries. In May 1952, Elton travelled on furlough to Britain and attended some of the Latter Rain meetings before returning to Nigeria later that year. The delegation of Latter Rain revivalists arrived from North America via Ghana. Large evangelistic campaigns were held in towns and cities across southern Nigeria. According to eye witness accounts, these meetings were accompanied by remarkable healings and precipitated a fresh wave of Pentecostal activity (Abodunde 2016). Meanwhile, in Britain tensions arose within the Apostolic Church over the revival. During a meeting of the church council, an anti-Latter Rain faction secured an amendment to the constitution that prevented anyone outside the Apostolics to visit their work without the approval of the home base. The fifty-four council members present were required to reaffirm their allegiance to the Church tenets and Constitution. The missionaries in Nigeria were also required to sign a letter of reaffirmation that would prevent any future relationship with the Latter Rain Revival. Several missionaries, including Elton, refused to sign. Elton was eventually forced to resign from the Apostolic Church in 1954 but remained in Nigeria as an independent missionary supported initially by the Latter Rain movement. This released him to work more widely across Nigeria and placed him in a position where he could later influence leaders of the Civil War Revival (Abodunde 2016). 125

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Over the next few years, short-term mission teams of Latter Rain revivalists worked under Elton’s direction with independent churches, mainly in south-eastern Nigeria. Later Elton distanced himself from the Latter Rain movement and its leaders because he felt that they were using the revival to promote their individual ministries (Abodunde 2016). However, as we will see later, the revival left an indelible mark on his ministry. In 1960, a visit to North America enabled Elton to establish collaborations with American evangelists Gordon Lindsay and T.L. Osborn. Through Lindsay’s Native Church Crusade and later Osborn’s Association for Native Evangelism, Elton was able to solicit funds to support indigenous evangelists, including Civil War revivalists (Burgess 2008; Abodunde 2016). The Assemblies of God Nigeria (AGN) was the first Igbo-founded Pentecostal church. It was a local initiative with roots in a revival that occurred in the southern townships of Umuahia and Port Harcourt. Early protagonists were lay members of Faith Tabernacle who eventually left to form the Church of Jesus Christ (CJC), following opposition from their denominational leaders. Faith Tabernacle teaching on salvation, faith healing, and holiness appealed to the young revivalists, but their exposure to American Pentecostal literature stimulated a quest for Holy Spirit baptism, which resulted in their rejection and resignation in August 1934. Within a month of their separation from Faith Tabernacle, they experienced an outpouring of the Holy Spirit, which precipitated a fresh wave of evangelistic activity, resulting in rapid growth. By the late 1930s, there were eight CJC congregations in Igboland, as well as congregations in the Benin Province of Western Nigeria, and the Northern cities of Kafanchan, Kaduna, Zaria, and Kano. Meanwhile, CJC leaders were actively pursuing links with overseas organizations and in 1939 they affiliated with the American Assemblies of God. From the outset, AGN pursued a policy of indigenization but prior to the Civil War Revival expanded slowly compared to the mainline churches (Burgess 2008). Another wave of Pentecostal activity began in the 1940s and consisted of smaller groups, often associated with charismatic figures possessing healing and prophetic gifts. Some were Aladura churches imported from southwestern Nigeria or spiritual churches from southeastern Nigeria. Others grew directly out of Igbo soil. As they lacked any formal Western links, they generally took on more local color in their quest to relate their indigenous heritage to the message of Christianity. In Igboland, members of mission churches usually refer to these prophet-healing churches as “prayer houses” (uka ekpere, Igbo). Most early Igbofounded prayer houses were secessions from the Apostolic Church movement rather than from Assemblies of God, possibly because of the latter’s Igbo roots, its relative freedom from missionary control, and its promotion of indigenous church principles (Burgess 2008). To an extent, these local initiatives and innovations counteracted the secularizing influences of mainline Christianity, mobilized indigenous agency, and responded more effectively to consumer demands. By the 1960s, however, neither the prayers houses nor the mission-related Pentecostal churches posed a significant threat to the hegemony of the mainline mission churches. It was within Scripture Union ranks that a new wave of revival would arise at a critical moment in Igbo history. To this we now turn.

The Civil War Revival The Story of the Revival The Civil War Revival followed the contours of Igbo history and proceeded in several distinct stages. The first occurred soon after the outbreak of war. Following the closure of educational institutions, many young people congregated at SU headquarters in Umuahia that 126

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had become the capital of Biafra after the fall of Enugu in September 1967. Bill Roberts’ decision to remain in Biafra made a great impression upon the youth, particularly as Britain had come out in support of the Federal Government of Nigeria. Most Protestant missionaries left Igboland before or during the war, including all Assemblies of God and Apostolic Church missionaries. As the war escalated, refugees poured into Umuahia, and many secondary school students sought refuge at SU headquarters, where they were gradually forged into an interdenominational fellowship. Most were Anglicans and Methodists, the main Protestant denominations in the area. The second stage of the movement was a period of mobilization. As Igbo townships and cities were overrun by federal troops, revivalists migrated to rural areas where they reported a favorable response to their message. The fall of Umuahia in April 1969 was a critical event and provided the main impetus for this second phase. SU members later referred to it as the “dispersion of Umuahia.” In his account, Roberts (1970) describes their evacuation along with 100,000 other refugees as enemy shells bombarded the outskirts of Umuahia. SU headquarters subsequently moved to a remote village in Mbano and, during the next six months, the number of SU groups in Biafra increased from twenty-five to eighty-five, most started by young people nurtured within the ranks of SU Umuahia. Because of Scripture Union’s organizational flexibility, groups were able to meet in a variety of locations, and by the end of the war many villages had become centers of renewal. The climax of the revival occurred in the aftermath of the war and progressed in two distinct stages. The first centered on the activities of SU township groups and autonomous charismatic fellowships. During the war, access to Igbo cities had been severely restricted because they were the main focus of the conflict, but now the movement was able to penetrate the major cities of Onitsha, Enugu, and Aba. As revivalists migrated to these cities in search of employment or to reclaim homes, they carried the revival message with them. It was still a period of crisis. Many had lost family members as well as possessions. Educational institutions in the East did not resume immediately and jobs were scarce, so there were many young aspiring evangelists with time on their hands. Preaching the gospel became their fulltime occupation. A new wave of revival swept through Igboland, again centered on Scripture Union. Soon after the war, young people reactivated Scripture Union township groups in all the major Igbo cities. Igbo-founded charismatic fellowship groups were among the earliest to emerge in Africa, and in contrast to southwestern Nigeria, where they arose mainly on university campuses (Ojo 2006), it was the SU township groups that provided the foundation for their emergence in Igboland. Consequently, they initially attracted a broader cross-section of society than their counterparts in the west. The most important charismatic fellowship group for the progress of the revival was the Hour of Freedom Evangelistic Association. In 1969, three young men were converted from a prayer house background. Their names were Stephen Okafor, Raphael Okafor (not related), and Arthur Oruizu, members of Ufuma Practical Prayer Band (UPPB). Hour of Freedom, the platform for their ministry, was started toward the end of 1969 and soon became the main vehicle for the spread of the revival. Stephen Okafor, the leader of Hour of Freedom, was converted through the ministry of Bill Roberts. Following their expulsion from UPPB due to their preaching activities, they became itinerant evangelists. Initially, Hour of Freedom encountered opposition from Scripture Union because of its emphasis on Holy Spirit baptism and “crusade” evangelism, which clashed with official SU policy. However, it was not long before many SU members joined its ranks, resulting in its rapid expansion. As the revival spread, charismatic fellowship groups affiliated to Hour of Freedom were started all over Igboland. Like Scripture Union, Hour of Freedom did not 127

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believe in starting new churches. Later, however, these fellowship groups became the basis for the formation of new Pentecostal churches. In 1973, the revival entered a fresh phase with the formation of new Pentecostal churches out of the charismatic fellowship groups. In Igboland, the transition to denominational status occurred earlier than in southwestern Nigeria where the first neo-Pentecostal denominations were established in the 1980s (Ojo 2006). By 1980, there were at least twenty-six neoPentecostal denominations in Igboland, all with direct links to the Civil War Revival (Burgess 2008). Sydney Elton was largely responsible for introducing the church planting principle in the east. Elton’s involvement in relief work and in evangelism during the war brought him into contact with many young Igbo evangelists. Elton had close links with the Hour of Freedom evangelists, but his initial attempts at persuading them to gather their converts into new churches were unsuccessful. This changed following the departure of Stephen and Raphael to Britain for further studies in mid-1972. In their absence, Paul Nwachukwu took over the leadership of Hour of Freedom in Onitsha, and Elton soon convinced him of the strategic importance of planting churches. The other important factor behind the formation of new churches was the opposition the young revivalists received from mainline church leaders over their interdenominational approach, charismatic style of preaching, and holiness ethic. Initially, the most important neo-Pentecostal church was Riches of Christ Mission, started in 1973 by five young men: Edozie Mba, Paul Nwachukwu, Augustine Nwodika, Emeka Eze, and Charles Nwafor. By the mid-1970s, the ecumenical impulses of the revival had begun to give way to schismatic tendencies as leaders struggled for ascendancy, leading to the formation of other churches. These included Save the Lost Mission (1974), National Evangelical Mission (1975), Holiness Evangelical Church (1976), Master’s Vessel Church (1976), Grace of God Mission (1978), Redeemed People’s Mission (1977), and All Christians Fellowship Mission (1978). As Kalu (2003) notes, these Pentecostal initiatives from the fringes sabotaged the passive revolution designed by the missions as a response to decolonization. Later, however, the charismatic impulse that originated in the revival spread to the mainline mission churches whose leaders once rejected it. One reason for this was that some SU revivalists chose to remain in the mainline churches to bring renewal from within and a number have since attained positions of ecclesiastical influence.2 Another reason was that the mass exodus of youthful revivalists challenged the mainline churches to emulative action as a means of retaining their members (Burgess 2008).

Scripture Union and Bible Reading The primary reason for the revival’s success lay in its missionary impulse, which was kindled within the Scripture Union groups during the war. Most revivalists were mainline church members and attended SU activities. SU acted as a globalizing force and a bearer of evangelical religious culture. However, global flows can precipitate resistance and heterogeneity. SU supplied participants with a new repertoire of images and narratives. In particular, it expanded their world by providing access to a global evangelical network with missionary ambitions. But these images and narratives underwent transformations as revivalists appropriated them for local consumption. SU’s evangelical and ecumenical religious culture, its relative freedom from missionary control, and its focus on youth made it a suitable medium for the expression of revival Christianity. During the civil war, many young people, exposed to the influence of SU, began to devote themselves to the study of the Bible. In Africa, re-readings of the Bible have sometimes sparked off local revivalist activity and generated new religious movements (Maxwell 2002). 128

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Anthony Nkwoka shows how the combination of waning missionary control, cultural nationalism, and the Biafran crisis led to a greater degree of Bible reading autonomy among the Igbo. The translation of the Bible into the Igbo language by the Anglican Archdeacon T.J. Dennis between 1913 and 1917 made the Bible more accessible, but responsibility for interpretation remained largely in the hands of mission-trained church pastors. However, SU (Nigeria)’s achievement of national autonomy in 1966, and the introduction of adult Pilgrim Groups, provided a favorable environment for Bible study, relatively free from missionary and clerical control. This coincided with the rise in cultural nationalism (following independence) and the advent of civil war (Nkwoka 2000). This Bible reading culture was reinforced by SU policy, which encouraged its members to read the Bible systematically, and the publication of daily reading notes in English and Igbo (Igenoza 2000). These were crucial factors in the recovery of an evangelical piety and sparked off a new wave of intense evangelistic activity, which eventually led to the formation of autonomous charismatic fellowships.

Gospel Evangelism and “Born-Again” Conversion The success of the revival depended partly upon its ability to trigger conversions. An emphasis on personal conversion was one of the elements of evangelical culture exported to Nigeria and the defining feature of Scripture Union spirituality. New birth was an important ingredient of Bill Roberts’s teaching, and Bible studies on the necessity of personal salvation were a regular feature of SU activity in Umuahia during the war. In their testimonies, SU converts referred to “being saved,” “receiving Jesus as personal Savior,” “surrendering to Christ,” and being “born again.” During the revival, why did so many Igbos reject existing religious options in favor of born-again Christianity? The combination of urbanization and Western education associated with modernization, and social dislocation caused by the civil war, contributed to increasing religious pluralism and an expanding religious marketplace as existing traditional social and religious ties were loosened. This facilitated the process of autonomy of the individual, including religious choices, and created an environment favorable to religious conversion. However, a more complete understanding of conversion should start from the internal religious convictions of participants and then proceed from there to prevailing social processes. Igbo converts appropriated the gospel via inherited religious categories. Maxwell (2002, 7) notes that the success of new forms of African popular Christianity “lay in both their continuity and discontinuity with what had gone before.” Igbos interpret Christianity through the lens of existing religious categories and especially the traditional search for spiritual power. For the Igbos, the quest for power to enhance life (ezi-ndu) is the hermeneutical key to understanding their attraction to all religion, Pentecostalism included. In Igbo culture, the “good life” encompasses children, health, success, prosperity, and more abstract concepts such as peace and social justice, all fruits of power looked for in Christianity (Okorocha 1987). The search for power was a pervasive theme in Igbo society that took prospective converts along a variety of paths prior to the actual moment of conversion and was often intensified during periods of personal stress. Out of 45 interviewees converted during the revival, eleven said that the civil war contributed to their conversion. For those who encountered the revival, conversion sometimes involved a transition from traditional religion to Christianity, but more often a movement from a “nominal” to a revitalized “born-again” faith commitment. A third category included revivalists who later converted to Pentecostalism. For many, conversion involved a combination of these processes, sometimes taking place over a prolonged period. It is not possible to determine precisely 129

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how many were converted. Roberts (1970) refers to a significant increase of SU converts in Umuahia during the war.3 Other accounts refer to large numbers of people converted in villages, refugee centers, and army camps, especially after the dispersion of Umuahia in April 1969. After the war, there was a rapid escalation in the rate of conversion as the revival spread throughout the region. Born-again conversion enabled the young revivalists to challenge their elders in church and community and express in public that they had made a complete break with their former traditions and with unconverted friends and family. Sometimes, these encounters involved the destruction of shrines, idols, and other traditional or “occult” paraphernalia as new converts were required to demonstrate their commitment to “born-again” Christianity (Bolton 1992). During the war, SU members visited homes, market stores, army camps, refugee camps, and hospitals to preach and pray for the sick and wounded. The revivalists were motivated by their expectation of Christ’s imminent return. This conviction was derived from the Bible, but was strengthened by the war situation. With the close of the war and removal of restrictions, there was a significant increase in evangelistic activities. Enthusiastic young Christians carried the gospel onto the streets and organized evangelistic campaigns where they not only called on people to repent, but offered prayers for healing and deliverance. This approach was generally absent in the mainline churches and created tensions between revivalists and their elders in church and community. It also led to tensions within SU and directly contributed to the formation of autonomous charismatic fellowships. SU was also committed to evangelism, but wished to restrict evangelistic activities to its own groups and was reluctant to move beyond these boundaries.

Pentecostal Appropriation Igbo neo-Pentecostalism emerged from the womb of the Civil War Revival. However, a definite “born-again” identity existed prior to the introduction of Pentecostal doctrines. Revival narratives suggest that Pentecostal appropriation was consistent with the indigenous religious quest for power and was stimulated by local exigencies and external forces. Yet in contrast to new birth, Pentecostal conversion was primarily associated with power for service. In its early civil war phase, the revival had no close links with Pentecostal denominations. The Assemblies of God did have a strong base in Umuahia, but most early revivalists were Anglicans and Methodists. As the movement progressed, a growing desire developed among members of SU Umuahia for a deeper experience of the Spirit, for revival to break out in the land, and for increased effectiveness in witness (Roberts 1970). This was partly precipitated by their exposure to SU teaching and Christian literature but it was also a consequence of the civil war crisis that generated a quest for spiritual power. Gradually, two distinct but interrelated strands of discourse on the Holy Spirit emerged, both drawing upon biblical motifs and Western theological traditions. Keswick teaching was an important early influence. Bill Roberts sometimes attended the annual Keswick Bible conventions when home on furlough. This branch of the Holiness Movement regarded “full surrender” as the decisive crisis experience after conversion, enabling the individual to receive the infilling of the Spirit. Keswick taught three steps to spiritual power: full surrender of one’s self to Christ; being filled with the Spirit; and power for service (Fiedler 1994). The later Keswick tradition, reacting against the divisive nature of the Pentecostal doctrine of initial evidence, taught that the fullness of the Spirit is obtained through growth in sanctification rather than a second experience involving empowering for service (Lovelace 1979). At SU Umuahia meetings, Bible talks were given on Keswick 130

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themes such as “Absolute Surrender” and “Brokenness,” and members read books on holiness and victorious Christian living. The language of Keswick is also evident in revivalist written narratives, where there are references to “total surrender,” “forsaking self,” the “victorious life,” and “brokenness.” Rather than using the term “baptism of the Holy Spirit,” early revivalists talked about “being surrendered to Jesus.” Roberts himself was heartened by this new interest in the Holy Spirit, but taught that the fullness of the Spirit was a “continual, day by day, process” of yielding in obedience to God (Roberts 1970, 69). The gradual infiltration of Pentecostal doctrine occurred from the movement’s inception, initially through the Assemblies of God (AGN) members attached to SU Umuahia. But its introduction was contested. Here, the global evangelical culture exported by Scripture Union’s British headquarters clashed with local aspirations. In May 1970, SU Nigeria adopted a statement on the doctrine of the Spirit written by Tony Wilmot (a British expatriate worker and SU leader in Lagos), which forbade “preaching likely to stimulate contention about gifts such as ‘tongues’ or healing or miracles” at SU meetings. It was an attempt to curtail excesses and discourage behavior that might interfere with SU’s interdenominational stance and “responsible church policy,” intended to encourage members to remain in their churches and bring renewal from within.4 Roberts and senior SU members resisted Pentecostal doctrine and practice because they felt it was divisive and threatened the unity of the fellowship. They were also averse to Pentecostal manifestations that they believed would divert the young believers from evangelical concerns. Toward the end of the war, the SU committee in Biafra expressed concern over the infiltration of certain Pentecostal doctrines and practices, such as tongues as initial evidence of Spirit baptism, healing without the use of medicine, an overemphasis on fasting, and excessive emotionalism.5 Yet as SU groups were established further afield, exposure to Pentecostal influences increased. More members came from Pentecostal churches, and Assemblies of God pastors became regular speakers at SU evangelistic services. Toward the end of the war, SU members began to leave the mainline churches to join Assemblies of God and other Pentecostal churches, a development opposed by Roberts and some senior SU leaders. After the war, there was a significant shift away from the Keswick emphasis on “full surrender” toward a full-blown theology of Holy Spirit baptism. This gradually came to dominate the revival and provided the foundation for other features such as tongues, healing, holiness, and prophecy. Pentecostal appropriation after the war was facilitated by the spread of the revival to other urban areas where protagonists encountered a variety of Pentecostal influences. In the Onitsha area, for example, SU members became more receptive when Hour of Freedom evangelist Stephen Okafor started to promote Spirit baptism after working alongside Yoruba SU travelling secretaries Mike Oye and Muyiwa Olamijulo in early 1970. Oye and Olamijulo came to Biafra to engage in relief work. They were Pentecostals from the Apostolic Faith Church and products of the growing Christian Union at the University of Ibadan, a center of charismatic renewal in southwestern Nigeria (Ojo 2006). Their arrival in Igboland sparked off a new wave of revivalist activity and helped to unite the revival in Eastern and Western Nigeria. The arrival of the Igbo evangelist J.M.J. Emesim and the presence of Assemblies of God speakers at SU events were also significant developments. A former Anglican, Emesim had migrated to Lagos in 1961 where he was converted in 1964 and introduced to Pentecostal doctrine. Emesim formed the Hour of Deliverance Ministry as a vehicle for training workers for the evangelization and rehabilitation of Igboland. When the war ended, he returned to the East. In August 1970, Stephen Okafor invited him to be the guest speaker at an evangelistic campaign in Awka-Etiti, near Onitsha, and in Ogbu Kalu’s words, “he simply set the whole area ablaze” (Kalu 1996, 277). This event introduced many 131

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revivalists to Pentecostal spirituality. Subsequently, Emesim set up a Bible school in Igboland, called the Hour of Deliverance College of Evangelism, which became the training ground for many future Igbo neo-Pentecostal leaders. Another important Pentecostal influence was Sydney Elton, introduced earlier in the chapter. Elton helped to lay the doctrinal foundation of indigenous neo-Pentecostalism in Igboland by distributing evangelical tracts, revival magazines, and American Pentecostal literature, especially books by Gordon Lindsay and T.L. Osborn. As noted by Abodunde (2016, 198), he “gradually became the backbone of the revival: theologically, spiritually, financially and structurally.” Elton was a spiritual mentor to some of the leading Igbo evangelists who late became neo-Pentecostal pioneers. He was steeped in the restorationist theology of the Latter Rain movement and referred to the Civil War Revival as the “latter rain of God’s Spirit.” According to Abodunde (2016), Elton’s emphasis on the importance of Spirit baptism and the practices of charismatic gifts for the ministry of the church was an important factor in shaping the early charismatic movement in Nigeria. Pentecostal infiltration exacerbated tensions within Scripture Union and contributed toward the emergence of autonomous charismatic fellowships as members from mainline churches mixed freely with those from Pentecostal churches, such as the Assemblies of God, and gradually assimilated their doctrine of Spirit baptism and their practice of charismatic gifts. The insistence on tongues as initial evidence of Holy Spirit baptism aggravated tensions within SU and aroused the hostility of mainline church authorities. The relationship between the Assemblies of God (AG) and the revival went through several stages. AG was familiar with the concept of revival but expected it to occur within its own ranks and was initially skeptical when faced with an apparent outpouring of the Spirit upon the mainline churches, which it regarded as “spiritually dead.” Gradually, however, AG became more receptive and benefitted from its contact with the revival. AG leaders preached at SU events and used SU as a platform for their ministries. AG also received an influx of SU members rejected by the mainline churches as well as many new converts, resulting in significant growth. An important development took place in 1970 when Tony Ewelike, an AG member, became leader of SU Enugu, the largest SU group in the East. The revival also stimulated a fresh outburst of charismatic and evangelistic activity within AG’s institutionalized structures. However, AG’s contribution was hampered by its strong denominational stance, which conflicted with SU and alienated it from the emerging charismatic fellowship groups. Eventually, the relationship became so strained that some AG pastors tried to prevent their members from participating in SU activities for fear of losing them (Burgess 2008). From the mid-1970s, some Igbo neo-Pentecostals established links with North American Pentecostal organizations. Elton and Benson Idahosa provided the conduit for connecting Igbo neo-Pentecostal pioneers to leading American Pentecostals such as Osborn, Lindsay, and Morris Cerullo. In 1971, Elton introduced Idahosa to Lindsay, and this proved decisive in exposing Igbo revivalists to the particular brand of Pentecostalism emanating from America with its emphasis on the prosperity gospel. Idahosa trained at Lindsay’s Christ for the Nations Institute in Texas and on his return started his own Bible College in Benin City with teachers from North America, England, and Nigeria, which attracted leading Igbo neo-Pentecostals such as Paul Nwachukwu and Augustine Nwodika. In the mid-1970s, Cerullo and Osborn visited Eastern Nigeria and forged links with Igbo neo-Pentecostal pioneers. In the late 1970s, Igbo neo-Pentecostal pastors began to travel to North America, either for ministry engagements or to attend Pentecostal Bible schools such as Kenneth Hagin’s Rhema Bible Training Center and Cerullo’s School of Ministry (Burgess 2008). Toward the end of his life, Elton expressed regret for introducing Nigerian Pentecostals to American Pentecostalism and feared that America’s influence would be the ruin of Nigeria’s Pentecostalism (Abodunde 2016). 132

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Conclusion The Civil War Revival, with its origins in the evangelical Scripture Union, provided a means for Igbo participants to forge new identities for themselves through their absorption into a dynamic missionary fellowship. SU expanded their world by providing access to a community with international connections at a time of increasing isolation. The formation of this band of itinerant preachers out of the furnace of the civil war crisis was principally responsible for the spread of the revival. But their efforts were successful because local conditions of sociopolitical and economic distress created new religious demands as Igbos looked for practical solutions to current dilemmas through the lens of existing religious categories. It was precisely because they bore the brunt of the suffering that Igbo response to the revival during the 1970s was so dramatic compared with their counterparts in Western Nigeria. Despite its ecumenical and evangelical ideals, Scripture Union set in motion certain trends that hastened the fragmentation of the movement. The flexible structures of SU facilitated the introduction of Pentecostal spirituality into its ranks as members from mainline churches mixed freely with those from Pentecostal churches and gradually assimilated their doctrine of Spirit baptism. The revivalists’ aggressive evangelistic style, radical ethics, and adoption of Pentecostal spirituality created tensions within SU and alienated the young revivalists from elders in church and community. As the SU fellowship became the source of spiritual sustenance for a growing number of young people, links with existing denominations became increasingly fragile, facilitating the emergence of autonomous charismatic fellowships. Their transition to denominational status was relatively swift and partly precipitated by the need to survive in a competitive religious market. In some cases, influences from outside Igboland acted as catalysts but these never overrode local concerns. It led to significant mission initiatives but ultimately resulted in the movement’s fragmentation as institutional forces overtook charismatic impulses and leaders struggled for control. After their decision to adopt independent status, the newly formed churches rapidly attracted large followings in Igboland and beyond. The Civil War Revival was an African initiative, with its roots in Igbo soil. To an extent, it sabotaged the passive revolution designed by the Western missions as a response to decolonization. However, as I have shown in this chapter, the evolving theology of its leaders, and especially their understanding of the Holy Spirit, the Church, and mission, was influenced by the ministries of two very different British missionaries, Bill Roberts and Sydney Elton, who as far as we know never met. Roberts, the Scripture Union travelling secretary, helped to lay the evangelical foundations of the revival and overlaid this with Keswick spirituality. Elton built on these foundations by helping to consolidate the nascent neo-Pentecostal church movement and provide it with a set of Pentecostal doctrines informed by his British Apostolic Church roots and American Latter Rain theology. It was only after the revival had run its course that theological currents from prosperity preachers in America began to influence the new churches to the detriment of their original missionary impulse and radical holiness ethic.

Notes 1 The Faith Tabernacle had its origins in the North American Holiness movement and was an offshoot of John Alexander Dowie’s Christian Catholic Church. Its subsequent spread to Nigeria occurred through literature and correspondence rather than missionary agents (Mohr 2013). 2 For example, former revivalists, Raphael Okafor and Cyril Okorocha, are now Anglican bishops. 3 “Bill Roberts of the Scripture Union tells of Outstanding response to the Gospel in Biafra,” Interview with Bill Roberts, Church of England Newspaper, No. 3961 (9 January 1970). 4 SU (Nigeria), Minutes of the 6th Meeting of Council (2 May 1970) Ibadan, p. 3. 5 Roberts, SU Prayer Letter No. 18 (29 December 1969).

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References Abodunde, Ayodeji. 2016. Messenger. Sydney Elton and the Making of Pentecostalism in Nigeria. Lagos: Pierce Watershed. Asamoah-Gyadu, J. Kwabena. 2005. African Charismatics: Current Developments Within Independent Indigenous Pentecostalism in Ghana. Leiden: Brill. Bolton, Frances. 1992. And We Beheld His Glory. A Personal Account of the Revival in Eastern Nigeria in 1970/’71. Harlow: Christ the King Publishing. Burgess, Richard. 2008. Nigeria’s Christian Revolution: The Civil War Revival and its Pentecostal Progeny (1967–2006). Milton Keynes: Paternoster. Falola, Toyin, and Matthew Heaton. 2008. A History of Nigeria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Faupel, William D. 2010. “The New Order of the Latter Rain: Restoration or Renewal?” In Winds From the North: Canadian Contributions to the Pentecostal Movement, edited by Michael Wilkinson, and Peter Althouse, 229–64. Leiden: Brill. Fiedler, Klaus. 1994. The Story of Faith Missions. Carlisle: Paternoster. Igenoza, Andrew Olu. 2000. “Contextual Balancing of Scripture with Scripture: Scripture Union in Nigeria and Ghana.” In The Bible in Africa. Transactions, Trajectories and Trends, edited by Gerald O. West, and Musa W. Dube, 292–309. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Kalu, Ogbu U. 1996. The Embattled Gods: Christianization of Igboland 1841–1991. Lagos/London: Minaj. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2002. “Preserving a Worldview: Pentecostalism in the African Maps of the Universe.” Pneuma 24 (3): 110–37. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2003. “Passive Revolution and its Saboteurs: African Christian Initiative in the Era of Decolonization 1955–1975.” In Missions, Nationalism, and the End of Empire, edited by Brian Stanley, 250–77. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2005a. “Introduction: The Shape and Flow of African Christian Historiography.” In African Christianity: An African Story, edited by Ogbu U. Kalu, 1–23. Pretoria: University of Pretoria Press. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2005b. “A Trail of Ferment in African Christianity: Ethiopianism, Prophetism, Pentecostalism.” In African Identities and World Christianities in the Twentieth Century, edited by Klaus Koschorke, 19–47. Wiesbaden: Harrossowitz Verlag. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2008a. African Pentecostalism. An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2008b. “African Christianity: From the World Wars to Decolonisation.” In The Cambridge History of Christianity, Volume 9: World Christianities c.1914-c.2000, edited by Hugh McLeod, 197– 218. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2009. “A Discursive Interpretation of African Pentecostalism.” Fides et Historia 41: 71–90. Lovelace, Richard F. 1979. Dynamics of Spiritual Life: An Evangelical Theology of Renewal. Exeter: Paternoster. Marshall, Ruth. 2009. Political Spiritualities. The Pentecostal Revolution in Nigeria. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Maxwell, David. 2002. “Introduction. Christianity and the African Imagination.” In Christianity & the African Imagination. Essays in Honour of Adrian Hastings, edited by David Maxwell, and Ingrid Lawrie, 1–24. Leiden: Brill. Mohr, Adam. 2013. “Faith Tabernacle Congregation and the Emergence of Pentecostalism in Colonial Nigeria 1910s-1941.” Journal of Religion in Africa 43 (2): 196–221. Nkwoka, Anthony O. 2000. “The Role of the Bible in the Igbo Christianity of Nigeria.” In The Bible in Africa. Transactions, Trajectories and Trends, edited by Gerald O. West, and Musa W. Dube, 326–35. Leiden: Brill. Ojo, Matthews A. 2006. The End-Time Army: Charismatic Movements in Modern Nigeria. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Okorocha, Cyril C. 1987. The Meaning of Religious Conversion in Africa: The Case of the Igbo of Nigeria. Aldershot: Avebury. Peel, John. 1968. Aladura: A Religious Movement Among the Yoruba. London: Oxford University Press. Riss, Richard. 1982. “The Latter Rain Movement of 1948.” Pneuma 4 (1): 32–45. Roberts, William B. 1970. Life and Death Among the Ibos. London: Scripture Union. Wariboko, Nimi. 2014. Nigerian Pentecostalism. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Worsfold, James E. 1991. The Origins of the Apostolic Church in Great Britain: With a Breviate of its Early Missionary Endeavors. Thorndon: Julian Literature Trust.

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10 A REVIVAL WITHIN A REVIVAL The 1940s–1950s Canadian Latter Rain Movement and Its Influence in Global Charismatic Christianity Michael McClymond Introduction Those who know of the so-called Latter Rain Movement (LRM) that commenced among Canadian Pentecostals in Saskatchewan in 1948 generally think of it as a brief revival and organizational conflict that disappeared with little impact on the broader movement. They assume that it was a local revival that came and went – a passing episode in a century-plus long history. This chapter will argue instead that the LRM has been formative for global, Spiritfilled Christianity since the 1970s, that aspects of global Pentecostalism today have their roots in the LRM, and that the LRM raises methodological and historiographic issues regarding the study of global Pentecostalism. I will support this claim in three areas: first, concepts of contemporary apostles, prophets, and five-fold ministry; second, biblical typology and intensive prayer and worship in connection with spiritual warfare; and third, an impetus toward Christian unity. As we will show below, LRM ideas and practices diverged from those of its parent denomination, and this shows that not only “Pentecostalism 1.0” but also “2.0” or “3.0” are possible or actual. While a number of LRM ideas and practices were not wholly unknown among Pentecostals prior to World War II, the LRM offered a new emphasis and a novel synthesis (Darrand and Shupe 1983; Riss 1987a; 1987b; Faupel 1989). My argument runs against Douglas Jacobsen’s claim that “in a 25-year burst of creative energy at the beginning of the twentieth century, these [Pentecostal] leaders articulated almost all the basic theological ideas that continue to define the Pentecostal message in the United States and around the world” (Jacobsen 2003, x). Although Jacobsen excellently expounded “classical Pentecostal” teachings that have shifted little over time, he neglected the LRM. The LRM may have been rejected by classical Pentecostal officials in Canada and the United States because they recognized it as something new and as subversive of classical Pentecostal teaching that also challenged the organizational authority of the Pentecostal Assemblies (PAOC) and the Assemblies of God (AG). Despite the marginalized existence of the LRM in North America in the 1940s and 1950s, forms of Spirit-filled Christianity that grew rapidly in Africa, Latin America, Asia, and Oceania from the 1970s and 1980s onward were often those of LRM vintage. Classical Pentecostal leaders had reasons to be suspicious of the LRM. After a Christian believer had received Spirit baptism, as attested by speaking in tongues, then what further development DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-13

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or advancement could occur? Based on classical Pentecostal assumptions, the LRM – in which tongue-speaking Pentecostal Christians claimed additional gifts and graces – may have seemed an impossible thing. As I will argue in the conclusion to this chapter, the classical Pentecostal theological presumption that Spirit baptism marks a once-for-all, irreversible, and unsurpassable transition to a new spiritual life has affected academic historiography and methodology in approaching Pentecostalism. The result has been an ingrained insensibility to the possibility of further transitions and transformations among existing Pentecostal persons and communities. In many respects, the LRM lay outside the customary categories of analysis. Scholars viewed Pentecostalism as affecting members of existing denominations who underwent Spirit baptism – as in the early phases of North American and European Pentecostalism, or, decades later, in the mainline Charismatic renewal. Scholars also realized that the global Pentecostal movement affected non-Christians, some of whom converted from non-Christian religions into Pentecostalism. Yet the LRM fit neither category, since it affected neither nonPentecostal Christians, nor non-Christians, but professing Pentecostals. The LRM by its very existence posed a question: What new identity might lie as a further step beyond “classical” Pentecostalism? Outsiders to the LRM had difficulty in understanding who or what these people were claiming to be. It was easier therefore to ignore them. When C. Peter Wagner in the 1980s labeled the three “waves” of the Spirit in North America since 1900 – the classical Pentecostals; the mainline Charismatics; and the more diffuse group associated with John Wimber and the Vineyard Church – he skipped over the LRM, as though it were another form of classical Pentecostalism, or had never occurred at all (Wagner 1988). LRM teachings appear in voluminous but obscurely published writings of the 1940s through the 1970s – too numerous to list here – by little-known authors such as George Hawtin, George Warnock, Bill Britton, John Robert Stevens, Franklin Hall, Reg Layzell, Dick Iverson, and Kevin Connor (see the bibliography for a partial listing). Since the 1980s, LRM successors included Bill Hamon, Earl Paulk, and Kelley Varner. Contained in these writings is a complex, interlocking set of ideas and practices, focusing on the restoration of prophets and apostles in the church, a call for spiritual and functional unity among Christians, and an optimistic understanding of eschatology and the present prospects for Christian-led social change (Hamon 2002; Wohlberg 2004; Valloton 2010; Sandford 2018; cf. Irving 1865). Organized prophetic ministry, apostles today, anti-denominationalism, newer styles of worship, warfare prayer, and a dominionist posture toward secular culture, all found roots in the LRM. Dominion theology emerged from the LRM teaching that God’s supernatural power could transform not only individuals but societies (McClymond 2010). Australian scholar Mark Hutchinson observes that Brian Houston’s Hillsong Church grew out of the LRM in Australia. A kingdom-now emphasis on the felt presence and supernatural manifestation of God is apparent in Hillsong’s music and worship style. Although “expelled from North America in the 1950s,” the LRM “seep[ed] back through the search for cultural relevance and engagement with youth culture.” Hutchinson adds: “While the [LRM] as such no longer continues, its influence has been very significant in fusing with charismatic, healing revival, corporate church and cultural relevance influences to produce some of the more dynamic charismatic movements in the world today” (Hutchinson 2010, 280–81). Hutchinson’s claim finds support in this essay.

Overview of the Latter Rain Movement The spiritual awakening that soon took shape as the LRM erupted on February 14 1948 (Valentine’s Day) at the Sharon Orphanage and Bible College – a small Pentecostal orphanage and school in the remote region of North Battleford, Saskatchewan, Canada. It had been 136

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preceded by months of prayer and fasting on the part of students, teachers, and staff at the college. Leaders at the college had read Franklin Hall’s Atomic Power Through Prayer and Fasting (1946), which touted the benefits of prolonged fasting – including fasting on water alone for up to forty days at a time. For more than a decade prior to this, observers had described a spiritual dryness and deficient sense of God’s presence in the North American Pentecostal churches. LRM leader George Hawtin wrote that “I can never begin to describe the things that happened that day. It seems that all Heaven broke loose upon our souls … The power and the glory were indescribable” (Faupel 1989, 404). Hawtin became convinced that God was soon to pour out the Spirit on all nations to prepare for Christ’s return and to manifest new truths. People soon came from far-flung locations to the camp meetings held in North Battleford. The revival spread to various localities, including Glad Tidings Temple in Vancouver (pastored by Reg Layzell), Bethesda Missionary Temple in Detroit (pastored by Myrtle Beall), Elim Bible Institute, at that time in Hornell, New York (founded by Ivan Spencer), and Wings of Healing Temple in Portland (pastored by Thomas Wyatt). By 1951, new leaders had emerged, and the North Battleford leaders became less central. Swedish Pentecostal pastor Lewi Pethrus, of Filadelphia Church in Stockholm, came to Canada to investigate, and returned to commend the revival to European Pentecostals (although he later retracted his words). A loose network – rather than a more integrated denominational structure – rapidly took shape among the LRM congregations and educational institutions. LRM leaders understood their movement not as a renewal but rather as a reestablishment of the church, requiring God’s saints to break from existing denominations. The LRM message may be summarized in the word restoration. Adherents believed that the church needed a manifestation of all “nine gifts” of the Spirit (including healing and prophecy; 1 Cor. 12:8–10), as well as the five-fold or “ascension gift ministries” (apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers; Eph. 4:10–12). The LRM was never a “tongues movement,” since it emphasized a range of spiritual gifts. It not only acknowledged prophetic utterances, when and where they occurred, but it regularized and routinized prophetic activity among Pentecostals by organizing special meetings for acknowledged prophets to speak God-given and directive messages to individuals. The LRM stressed the nature, mission, worship, and authority of the church, along with God-glorifying worship, according to the biblical principle that God “inhabits the praises” (Ps. 22:3) of his people. Reg Layzell proposed that “God actually lives in the praises of His people” – an idea that propelled new forms of charismatic worship over the ensuing decades (Blomgren 1985). Global mission became a focus at first National Latter Rain Convention, held in St. Louis, Missouri, USA, in November 1950. Soon thereafter, ministry teams went to Jamaica, India, Kenya, Ethiopia, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Switzerland, France, Sweden, Ireland, and the Philippines. Like the earlier Pentecostal revival, the LRM rapidly became internationalized. Today, hundreds of independent charismatic congregations in North America, and thousands more around the world, owe their origins to the work of LRM missionaries. The LRM’s spread to Ghana, through missionary James McKeown, has been well documented (Larbi 2001). Typological interpretation of the Bible was integral to the LRM. Teachings were often not based directly on the New Testament but a spiritual reading of Old Testament passages. The Exodus from Egypt and the return of the Jews from Babylon to their homeland, were taken as types of the call for Christian believers to come out of the bondage of denominationalism. The LRM viewed its own worship as a restoration of the “tabernacle of David” (Amos 9:11). The Feast of Tabernacles in the Old Testament, for George Warnock, was a 137

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feast of “ joy,” “ingathering,” “rest,” “glory,” “unity,” and “restoration,” and a prefiguration of the eschatological future (Warnock 1951). In LRM theology, the tabernacle or place of God’s presence became an organizing motif, and congregations were often given names that included the words “Tabernacle” or “Temple” (Faupel 1989, 457–58). A core conviction in LRM teaching was that God himself is seeking a place to dwell and a people to indwell (Darrand and Shupe 1983, 102). A controversial aspect of the LRM was its practice of the laying on of hands. Earlier Pentecostals had “tarried for the Spirit” (Lk. 24:49), whereby they prayed and waited in the expectation that spiritual gifts would come directly from God, without human mediation. Yet having noted the biblical texts that tie the conferral of spiritual gifts to “prophetic utterances” and the “laying on of hands” (1 Tim. 1:18, 4:14), LRM leaders began to lay on hands, pray, and prophesy for the impartation of new spiritual gifts. This practice aroused controversy, and the laying on of hands was a key reason that both the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC) and the Assemblies of God (AG-USA) disfellowshipped the LRM ministers and congregations. Another contentious issue was the affirmation of present-day apostles and prophets – a teaching with nineteenth-century precedents among the followers of Edward Irving and in the Catholic Apostolic Church (Flegg 1992). Most LRM teachers distinguished the “twelve apostles of the Lamb” – i.e., the original Twelve chosen by Jesus – from subsequent apostles. They held the apostle’s work to be that of establishing new churches or imparting faith to existing churches. For the LRM, the prophet’s ministry was second only to that of the apostle. When the prophet spoke, it was not a human voice, but God’s voice, that people heard. Above we noted the influence in the early LRM of Franklin Hall’s Atomic Power Through Prayer and Fasting (1946), which was the book that encouraged the leaders at the Sharon Bible College to summon the entire community to extended prayer and fasting. Hall is recognizable in retrospect as a precursor of what came to be called dominion theology. He taught that Spirit-filled, prayerful believers could not only receive healing, but travel instantaneously from place to place, extend their lifespans indefinitely, raise people from the dead, and control the weather (Hall 1960; 1966; 1968; 1973; 1976). The Hawtin brothers’ articles and correspondence in 1949–1951 shows that they were embracing radical ideas akin to those of Hall. In 1949, the General Council of the Assemblies of God (AG-USA) – apprised of Canadian developments – passed a resolution disapproving the LRM’s “overemphasis relative to imparting, identifying, bestowing or confirming of [spiritual] gifts by the laying on of hands and prophecy,” “the erroneous teaching that the Church is built on the foundation of present-day apostles and prophets,” and “the extreme and unscriptural practice of imparting or imposing personal leadings by the means of gifts of utterance” (Riss 1987b, 16). Within two years, the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC) and the Assemblies of God (USA) had disfellowshipped ministers and congregations that clung to LRM teachings and identity. One minister who withdrew from the AG-USA General Council, never to return, was the long-time editor of The Pentecostal Evangel, Stanley Frodsham. In their study of Canadian Pentecostalism, centering on the PAOC, Michael Wilkinson and Linda Ambrose document the struggle over control of finances and property pertaining to the Bible institute led by George Hawtin, occurring the year before outbreak of the 1948 LRM revival (Wilkinson and Ambrose 2020, 80–3). Undoubtedly, the separation of the LRM from the PAOC and AG-USA had something to do with clashing personalities and divergent views on church organization. But, as the rest of this chapter will show, it also had to do with a differing theological agenda and a divergent charismatic ethos that was rapidly taking shape in the LRM. 138

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Apostles, Prophets, and the Concept of Five-Fold Ministry The LRM reimagined the structure and governance of the church. Leaders directed attention to the biblical mention of five church offices conferred in the aftermath of Christ’s ascension, viz., apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers (Eph. 4:11). This notion of a church led by apostles, alongside the other officeholders, is generally referred to today as “five-fold ministry” – although some view pastors and teachers as one office rather than two, thus yielding a four-fold rather than a five-fold pattern. Raymond Hoekstra’s The Ascension Gift Ministries (1950) reflected the LRM’s early focus on church governance. While the idea of modern-day apostles had emerged as early as the 1830s, in connection with Edward Irving, this conception was largely absent among first-generation Pentecostals (McNair Scott 2014; McClymond 2021). The apostolic movement among global charismatics since the 1990s – also called the New Apostolic Reformation – was a late-ripening fruit from LRM roots. Demographers Todd Johnson and Gina Zurlo estimated in 2019 that some 44 million Christians belonged to “apostolic churches,” which they defined as “Pentecostal” communities stressing a “complex hierarchy of living apostles, prophets and other charismatic officials” ( Johnson and Zurlo 2019, 934–35). Central to the apostolic movement is a “Copernican revolution” in understanding church leadership, away from pastor-led congregations toward a new concept (Campos 2017). Adherents propose that the church is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets” (Eph. 2:20), and that apostles and prophets are not mere figures of the past but ought to be leading the present-day church. Because the “apostle” is “one sent forth” (Greek, apostolos), and prophetically discerns and follows God’s will in a specific situation, proponents say that apostolic leadership fosters spiritual dynamism, missional orientation, and cultural adaptability. The LRM not only affirmed contemporary apostles but contemporary prophets too. Based on their reading of scripture, LRM authors juxtaposed the laying on of hands, with prayer for impartation of new spiritual gifts, and prophetic utterance to guide and encourage believers in exercising spiritual gifts. Beginning in the 1980s, independent charismatic congregations influenced by the LRM teaching began to emphasize prophecy and hold conferences at which self-described prophets delivered personalized messages. Debate swirled around the “Kansas City Prophets” (Paul Cain, Bob Jones, et al.), associated with Mike Bickle and his congregation in Kansas City, Missouri, USA (Gruen 1990). Repeated failures – in the prophets’ personal lives, in assertions regarding individuals, and in predictions of world historical events – brought greater caution and wariness by the early 2000s (Newton 2010), although not a wholesale rejection of prophetic ministry among independent charismatics (Bickle 1996). The impact of the apostolic movement is well documented in Australia, where LRM and earlier Irvingite influence had been pronounced (Elliott 2012). Australian Pentecostal leader David Cartledge attributed Pentecostal growth in Australia since the 1980s to the apostolic movement, although he admitted that “Pentecostal cessationists” still remain, who acknowledge some spiritual gifts today but not the gift of apostleship (Cartledge 2000). The apostolic movement has been controversial even in Spirit-filled congregations. Outsiders are troubled by an authoritarianism that they see as inherent in the notion of present-day apostles. If apostles existed today, would they not have unbounded authority? Concerns over authoritarianism increased during the 1970s, when leaders in the LRM-influenced “Shepherding Movement” proposed that every believer needed to submit to a higher spiritual authority in everyday life. There were reports that disciples had to consult with spiritual leaders over education, finances, marriage, etc. While proponents viewed the movement as a pastoral response to rootless and undisciplined Christians, opponents attacked and the movement soon unraveled (Moore 2003). 139

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C. Peter Wagner (1930–2016) founded in 1999 what is known today as the International Council of Apostolic Leaders, and he formulated a charismatic dominion theology in which purported “workplace apostles” bring kingdom influence into the so-called “seven mountains” of culture (religion, family, education, government, media, arts, and business). Wagner stressed apostolic authority, stating that: “In traditional Christianity, authority resided in groups such as church councils, sessions, congregations, and general assemblies. New Apostolic Christianity sees God entrusting the government of the church to individuals” (cited in McNair Scott 2014, 19). Douglas Geivett and Holly Pivec offered a stinging critique of Wagner’s teachings on apostleship, which they saw as rife with prideful self-assertion and bad theology (Geivett and Pivec 2014). Yet their critique focused on developments in the United States, rather than on other global ministry networks that are self-designated as apostolic, and that show regional variations. The German author Stefan Vatter stresses “apostolic teams” rather than individuals, the personal qualities needed in apostles (e.g., humility, faithfulness, perseverance, and willingness to suffer), and traits found in false apostles (greed, pride, lust, hunger for power, desire to control) (Vatter 2018). The Peruvian Bernardo Campos depicts the ethos of apostolic ministry in terms of “prophetic worship,” “royal ecclesiology,” “high-level spiritual warfare,” “victorious eschatology,” and new forms of church association, such as “chain-”, “star-”, and “mesh-networks.” Campos speaks of an “ethic of impartation,” “ethic of sending,” and “ethic of earthly reign” to transmit spiritual fullness to believers and send them out as agents of ecclesial and social change (Campos 2017). The teachings and practices of twenty-first-century “apostolic” charismatics go beyond the LRM teachings of the 1940s and 1950s, and yet “family resemblances” remain. Campos’ ideas regarding impartation (by prayer with the laying on of hands), his optimistic eschatology, and his conviction that the church should stand at the center of God’s design for exercising dominion over a fallen world are all reminiscent of earlier LRM teachings.

Biblical Typology, Intensive Prayer and Worship, and Spiritual Warfare A distinctive line of biblical interpretation from the LRM focused on the centrality of worship, the biblical figure of David, and such neglected biblical texts as 1–2 Chronicles, which recount how David established singers and musicians for night-and-day worship in the tabernacle (1 Chr 9:33; 15:11–29; 25:1–8). On this view, the Christian life in its highest expression consists in unending worship of God, and churches were to promote prolonged, heartfelt singing and praising of God. LRM biblical interpretation appeared in Dick Iverson’s Present Day Truths (1976), and Kevin J. Conner’s The Tabernacle of David and The Tabernacle of Moses (1976a; 1976b) – authors both associated with the Portland Bible College (Portland, Oregon, USA). Iverson did not believe that God was giving new biblical revelation, yet held that certain elements in scripture need emphasis in any given age: “In every generation, God specifically moves with a fresh ‘rhema’ [Gk., ‘word’] from Heaven … What is ‘present truth’? It is that portion of God’s Word that the Holy Spirit is emphasizing at this time” (Iverson and Scheidler 1976, v). Worship, says Iverson, was “the heart desire of God from Genesis to Revelation” (ibid, vi). All biblical revelation addresses one question: How ought one worship? For Iverson, “the restoration of the tabernacle of David” (Amos 9:11; Acts 15:15–19), or a recovery of heartfelt and uninhibited worship, was “present truth” for our age. Dick Iverson developed an elaborate account of the tabernacle of David in a twofold typological relation to Christ and to the Christian life. The brazen altar represented Christ as the believers’ sacrifice and Christian repentance. The brazen laver was Christ as sanctifier 140

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and in baptism. The golden candlestick depicted Christ the believers’ light and the apostles’ teaching. The table of showbread prefigured Christ the bread of life and the eucharist. The altar of incense anticipated Christ as intercessor (Iverson and Scheidler 1976, 188). For Iverson, the “tabernacle of Moses” was rudimentary and inadequate, while David’s music, instrumentation, and psalmody were ancient innovations that brought greater depth to worship. LRM exegesis suggests that charismatics should move from the dutiful “tabernacle of Moses” toward the exuberant “tabernacle of David.” David’s dancing before God “with all his might” (2 Sam 6:14) is a model for worship. Spiritual warfare against principalities of evil occurs in worship, as prefigured in the biblical King Jehoshaphat, who sent singers and instrumentalists to go into battle in front of his soldiers, resulting in Judah’s victory over her enemies (2 Chr 20:21–24). Worship should be not only pleasing to God but efficacious in battle. The goal is to become a “worshiping warrior.” Such “Davidic” teachings spurred the development of contemporary Christian music, and helped to shape the worship ethos of the Vineyard Church of the 1980s, the Toronto Blessing of the 1990s, and successor movements. The Australian megachurch, Hillsong, is emblematic (Zichini 2007), and, as noted, has LRM roots (Hutchinson 2010). “Davidic” worshippers do not petition God with specific requests but seek chiefly to “draw God’s presence.” Today’s younger charismatics often view worship as evangelism and as healing. Sins, addictions, and social ills will be lifted – if only God’s people worship ( Jennings 2008). The 24/7 prayer movement – led by Mike Bickle at the International House of Prayer (IHOP) in Kansas City, and by Pete Greig in the UK – encourages prolonged prayer, often accompanied by fasting. The roots of the 24/7 movement lie in LRM teachings on continual worship and “the tabernacle of David” (Blomgren 1985). Similarly, Sean Feucht’s “Let Us Worship” sponsored large-scale events in public settings in some 150 cities, beginning during the COVID-19 lockdowns of 2020 (Feucht, online). The contemporary rise of so-called strategic-level spiritual warfare, as advocated by C. Peter Wagner and others, is linked not only to the dominionism discussed above, but also to the prayer, praise, and worship movements. The participants in these movements would not see any tension between the call to worship God and the summons to fight Satan. They believe that prolonged “warfare prayer” and “warfare worship” will break satanic “strongholds” and facilitate evangelism (Asamoah-Gyadu 2007). Such teachings fit well in an African context, where exorcism or deliverance ministry is understood as integral to conversion (Anderson 2006).

Christian Unity From the outset, LRM teachers held that Christian denominationalism was contrary to God’s will and that the earlier Pentecostal movement had failed in its God-given mandate to renew the whole of Christendom when it chose to organize itself into denominations. George Warnock wrote that “the foundational truth of this whole [LRM] revival … [is] that God would now at this time bring His people together to form one body.” Reg Layzell, exclaimed: “How we all rejoiced as we realized that God was moving to eliminate the competitive spirit … It would be one church in one great building in each center. No longer would the church be called by divisive names but The Church of Vancouver … or The Church of Portland” (Faupel 1989, 447). There is little doubt that the PAOC and the AG-USA rejected the LRM in part because of its challenge to – and rejection of – denominational authority. Conversely, the LRM’s rejection by denominational leaders confirmed the LRM’s prior suspicions regarding centralization. 141

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LRM ecclesiology foreshadowed that of some later Charismatics, who stressed the overcoming of divisions and the complementarity of gifts. Precisely because of its exile from existing denominations, the LRM became a catalyst for mainline renewal in the 1950s through the 1970s. Having been expelled from existing church bodies, LRM adherents could not recruit adherents to a denomination of their own, and so instead encouraged believers to remain as Spirit-filled Christians in their respective Protestant or Catholic congregations. LRM teaching and self-identity nonetheless evolved in contradictory ways. During 1948–49, George Hawtin supported a congregationalist form of church governance. By late 1950, however, he concluded that the New Testament church had trans-local leadership. Although elders and deacons had charge of local affairs, they were nonetheless under the authority of itinerant ministers manifesting the “ascension gift ministries.” Hawtin announced that “God is raising up His church to be a glorious church without spot or wrinkle … established on the foundation of the apostles and prophets” (cited in Faupel 1989, 441). The LRM’s new hierarchy, and its claim that it had authority over Christians elsewhere (and indeed everywhere!), soured many on the movement. LRM ecclesiology was thus a sectarian ecumenism. Christians needed to be united, but united through submission to the LRM twelve apostles. Spiritual elitism was painfully apparent in the LRM idea that not all Christians, but only a select few, were the “overcomers” or “eagle saints” whose spiritual maturity and ministry would prepare the world for Christ’s return. Despite its sectarian and authoritarian tendencies, the LRM did foster at times an ecumenical ethos, since it treated church affiliation as less important than spiritual experience. The LRM affirmed the Spirit’s presence and work not only in Pentecostal churches but in older churches too. The “city church” – suggested in the quotation above from Reg Layzell – was an LRM idea. As this “city church” concept developed, it diverged from existing congregational, presbyterial, episcopal, or denominational patterns of church life. Unlike congregationalism, it linked together multiple congregations within a given urban region, focusing on a central or mother church and its satellite congregations, like a hub with radiating spokes. Unlike denominationalism, it did not place all the affiliated congregations in a province or nation under centralized leadership. Unlike presbyterianism, it summoned no general assembly to deliberate, to vote, and to make decisions for affiliated congregations. Unlike episcopacy, it did not rely on bishops, nor appeal to any historical succession of leaders. There is little wonder, then, that the LRM clashed with the existing Pentecostal denominational leadership, and that its novel paradigm for church governance was little understood. The contemporary multi-site urban church model – prevalent today, in various global regions, among Charismatics and evangelicals – seems to have evolved out of earlier LRM “city church” teachings and practices.

Conclusion: What Kind of Movement? What Implications for Studying Pentecostalism? Lasting divisions in congregations or denominations may be mostly about personality and property rather than theology and ideology. Yet not the LRM schism. The further the LRM traveled along its own path, and found its own way theologically, the more it diverged from the PAOC. Once the LRM’s initial effort at organizing itself under twelve newly appointed apostles had failed, it continued to grow, but in an unstructured way. It never did denominationalize. Early Canadian Pentecostals had wrestled with the question as to whether they should organize. The Hebdens, who played a crucial, initial role, were staunchly antiorganizational, stating that “we have no connection whatever with any general organization of the Pentecostal people in Canada … and extend the right hand of fellowship to every 142

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member of the body of Christ” (cited in Wilkinson and Ambrose 2020, 49). Although admitting that initially “[w]e took the position that God was forever through with organization,” George Chambers noted that “[w]e finally woke up to the fact that some order and system was needed” (ibid, 54). What if tension between centralization and decentralization is a key to the Canadian story? Institutionalization, so well documented in Wilkinson and Ambrose’s book, may have made the Canadian soil ripe for unstructured initiatives. The Toronto Blessing of the 1990s may be understood analogously. At the risk of sounding Hegelian, what if the “thesis” of an institutionalized PAOC evoked an “antithesis” of competing, non-institutionalized movements? On this view, the LRM was not a weird anomaly but a foreseeable outcome. To invoke a chapter of Catholic history: the Franciscan movement since the 1200s accepted and yet resisted institutionalization. Why should Pentecostalism be any different? Max Weber’s sociological model suggested that eras of religious institutionalization would be succeeded by fresh outbursts of raw, charismatic fervor – and vice versa. Weber’s thinking is double-sided, proposing not only a routinization-of-charisma, but also a charismatization-of-routineness. There is dialectic, not one-way change. Scholars generally lack the conceptual tools they need for understanding successor movements that emerge from within Pentecostal communities. Historians and social scientists who study global Pentecostalism may have accepted an unexamined theological assumption, viz., that Spiritbaptism, both for individuals and for communities, represents a once-for-all, irreversible, and unsurpassable transition to a new spiritual condition. This premise is problematic, since it excludes both “de-charismatization” and “re-charismatization.” Empirically speaking, Spirit-baptism is not irreversible – hence there is such a thing as “de-charismatization.” Moreover, LRM followers reported being re-renewed after being Spirit-baptized – hence “re-charismatization.” Against classical Pentecostalism, the LRM claimed that new experiences brought them to a spiritual level never before attained. Call it “trans-charismatization.” Data show that some Pentecostal congregations, established decades ago, are now effectively “de-charismatized” in that few of their attendees regularly practice or experience charismatic gifts. Studies of the “evangelicalization” of classical Pentecostalism in the 1940s through the 1960s confirm the point. Is it just happenstance that the “evangelicalization” of North American Pentecostals was occurring during and after the time that the PAOC and AG-USA were rejecting the LRM’s effervescent charismaticism? Joshua Ziefle judged that the LRM sought “to re-Pentecostalize Pentecostalism” (cited in Wilkinson and Ambrose 2020, 82), which was Stanley Frodsham’s view too. Margaret Poloma asserted something comparable regarding the 1990s Toronto Blessing. What language then should one use to describe the re-charismatized movements and divergent groups emerging within the Spirit-filled world? Mark Hutchinson disapproved of the metaphor of waves: “When one drills down into any specific case, the ‘wave’ disappears as an organizing form, giving way to cross-currents and local eddies. In the Italian case … the idea of a single [Pentecostal] ‘revival’ in Italy … is something of a retrospective illusion” (2017, 51). He further argues that the wave analogy functions as “a mechanism for organizing historical data around various hierarchies of theological preference” (Hutchinson 2017, 35). In affirming little waves that undulate within larger waves, representatives of earlier movements may be trying to take credit for later developments. Their wave gave impetus to what followed. And how many waves are there? As noted, C. Peter Wagner’s three North American waves ignored the LRM. Paul Freston identified three waves in Brazilian Pentecostalism (Freston 1995), yet they do not align with Wagner’s. Of the positing of waves, there is no end. 143

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In the literature on Pentecostalism, the LRM has still not received its due. Yet a closer examination of the LRM in relation to earlier and later Pentecostalism, and the development of a better model for successor movements in existing Spirit-filled communities, could provide a useful heuristic for scholars of Pentecostalism in diverse, global contexts.

References Anderson, Allan. 2006. “Exorcism and Conversion to African Pentecostalism.” Exchange 35: 116–33. Asamoah-Gyadu, J. Kwabena. 2007. “Pulling Down Strongholds: Evangelism, Principalities and Powers and the African Pentecostal Imagination.” International Review of Mission 96: 306–17. Bickle, Mike. 1996. Growing in the Prophetic. Lake Mary, FL: Creation House. Blomgren, David K. 1985. Restoring God’s Glory: The Present Day Rise of David’s Tabernacle. Regina: Maranatha Christian Center. Campos, Bernardo. 2017. ¿Apóstoles Hoy? Historia y Teología del Movimiento Apostólico-Profetico. Salem, OR: Publicaciones Kerigma. Cartledge, David. 2000. The Apostolic Revolution: The Restoration of Apostolic and Prophetic Ministry in the Assemblies of God in Australia. Chester Hill: Paraclete Institute. Conner, Kevin J. 1976a. The Tabernacle of David. Portland, OR: Bible Temple – Conner Publications. Conner, Kevin J. 1976b. The Tabernacle of Moses: The Riches of Redemption’s Story as Revealed in the Tabernacle. Portland, OR: City Bible Publishing. Darrand, Tom Craig, and Anson Shupe. 1983. Metaphors of Social Control in a Pentecostal Sect. Lewiston, ME: Edwin Mellen Press. Elliott, Peter. 2012. “Nineteenth-Century Australian Charismata: Edward Irving’s Legacy.” Pneuma 34: 26–36. Faupel, D. William. 1989. “The Everlasting Gospel: The Significance of Eschatology in the Development of Pentecostal Thought.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Birmingham, UK. Feucht, Sean. “Let Us Worship.” https://www.seanfeucht.com/luw Flegg, Graham. 1992. “Gathered Under Apostles”: A Study of the Catholic Apostolic Church. Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press/New York: Oxford University Press. Freston, Paul. 1995. “Pentecostalism in Brazil: A Brief History.” Religion 25: 119–33. Geivett, R. Douglas, and Holly Pivec. 2014. God’s Super-Apostles: Encountering the Worldwide Prophets and Apostles Movement. Wooster, OH: Weaver Book Company. Gruen, Ernest. 1990. Documentation of the Aberrant Practices and Teachings of Kansas City Fellowship (Grace Ministries). http://www.banner.org.uk Hall, Franklin. 1960. Formula for Raising the Dead and the Baptism of Fire. San Diego, CA: Literary Licensing, LLC. Hall, Franklin. 1966. Subduing the Earth Controlling the Elements and Ruling the Nations with Jesus Christ. Phoenix, AZ: n.p. Hall, Franklin. 1968. Bodyfelt Salvation: The Eradication of the Adamic Sickness. Phoenix, AZ: Hall Deliverance Foundation. Hall, Franklin. 1973. Atlantic Ocean Storms Destroying Many Cities: New Continents Coming Forth. Phoenix, AZ: n.p. Hall, Franklin. 1976. The Return of Immortality. Phoenix, AZ: Hall Deliverance Foundation. Hamon, Bill. 2002. The Day of the Saints: Equipping Believers for Their Revolutionary Role in Ministry. Shippensburg, PA: Destiny Image. Hoekstra, Raymond G. 1950. The Ascension Gift Ministries: Apostles, Prophets, Evangelists, Pastors, Teachers. Portland, OR: Wings of Healing. Hutchinson, Mark. 2010. “The Latter Rain Movement and the Phenomenon of Global Return.” In Winds From the North: Canadian Contributions to the Pentecostal Movement, edited by Michael Wilkinson, and Peter Althouse, 265–84. Leiden: Brill. Hutchinson, Mark. 2017. “The Problem with ‘Waves’: Mapping Charismatic Potential in Italian Protestantism.” Pneuma 39: 34–54. Irving, Edward. 1865. “The Church with Her Endowment of Holiness and Power.” In The Collected Writings of Edward Irving, 5 vols, edited by Gavin Carlyle, 5: 449–506. London: Alexander Strahan. Iverson, Dick, and Bill Scheidler. 1976. Present Day Truths. Portland, OR: Bible Press.

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The Latter Rain Movement and its Global Influence Jacobsen, Douglas Jacobsen. 2003. Thinking in the Spirit: Theologies of the Early Pentecostal Movement. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Jennings, Mark. 2008. “‘Won’t You Break Free?’: An Ethnography of Music and the Divine–Human Encounter at an Australian Pentecostal Church.” Culture and Religion 9: 161–74. Johnson, Todd M., and Gina A. Zurlo. 2019. World Christian Encyclopedia. 3rd ed. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Larbi, Emmanuel Kingsley. 2001. Pentecostalism: The Eddies of Ghanaian Christianity. Accra: Centre for Pentecostal and Charismatic Studies. McClymond, Michael. 2010. “Prosperity Already and Not Yet: An Eschatological Interpretation of the Health-and-Wealth Emphasis in the North American Pentecostal-Charismatic Movement.” In Perspectives on Pentecostal Eschatologies: World Without End, edited by Peter Althouse, and Robby Waddell, 293–312. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. McClymond, Michael. 2021. “Apostles, Apostolic Ministry.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, et al., 29-32. Leiden: Brill. McNair Scott, Benjamin G. 2014. Apostles Today: Making Sense of Contemporary Charismatic Apostolates: A Historical and Theological Appraisal. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Moore, S. David. 2003. The Shepherding Movement: Controversy and Charismatic Ecclesiology. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark International. Newton, Jon K. 2010. “Holding Prophets Accountable.” Journal of the European Pentecostal Theological Association 30: 63–79. Riss, Richard M. 1987a. Latter Rain. Mississauga, ON: Honeycomb Visual Productions. Riss, Richard M. 1987b. “The New Order of the Latter Rain.” In Assemblies of God Heritage [Fall Issue], 15–9. Sandford, R. Loren. 2018. A Vision of Hope for the End Times: Why I Want to Be Left Behind. Shippensburg, PA: Destiny Image. Valloton, Kris. 2010. Heavy Rain: How You Can Transform the World Around You. Ventura, CA: Gospel Light. Vatter, Stefan. 2018. Finden, Fördern, Freisetzen; Wirksam f űhren—die Wiederendeckung des apostolischen Dienstes. 3 Auflage. Schwartzenfeld: Neufeld Verlag. Wagner, C. Peter. 1988. The Third Wave of the Holy Spirit: Encountering the Power of Signs and Wonders Today. Ann Arbor, MI: Servant Publications/Vine Books. Warnock, George. 1951. The Feast of Tabernacles. Springfield, MO: Bill Britton. Wilkinson, Michael, and Linda M. Ambrose. 2020. After the Revival: Pentecostalism and the Making of a Canadian Church. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Wohlberg, Steven. 2004. End Time Delusions: The Rapture, the Antichrist, Israel, and the End of the World. Shippensburg, PA: Destiny Image. Zichini, Cassandra. 2007. “Taking Revival to the World [Hillsong Church].” Christianity Today October: 34–40.

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11 THE GLOCALIZATION OF THE ASSEMBLIES OF GOD DURING THE WARLORD PERIOD IN CHINA Connie Au Introduction After several attempts, the Revolution that broke out in 1911 eventually overthrew the monarchy and the republican system was preliminarily established in China. However, the country immediately fell into the abyss of violence and instability. Yuan Shi Kai became the president of China in 1912 and his cabinet was dominated by the Beiyang Army (北洋軍), which was formed as a modernized and Westernized army by the Manchurian government in the late nineteenth century. The Beiyang period lasted from 1912 to June 1928. As Yuan attempted to take the country back to a monarchical system, Sun Yat Sin formed his own government in Guangdong province with the Nationalist Party to protect the Constitution. The Republic was consequently divided into the northern and southern powers. In 1916, Yuan died of uremia and various forces of the Beiyang army subsequently further divided the Republic into various regional cliques, which effectively brought the country into the warlord period. In July 1926, Chiang Kai Shek, as the commander-in-chief of the Nationalist Revolution Army, launched the Northern Expedition to take control of the regions from the warlords to realize unification. In 1928, his Revolution Army entered Beijing and, in December, the three northeastern provinces surrendered to the nationalist government. The division that lasted for over ten years finally ended (August 3, 2021, Taiwanese Government’s website). Battles between warlords caused civilian casualties, destruction of properties, damage of infrastructure and roads, and stagnation of the economy, which caused widespread poverty. Bandits took advantage of this chaotic social condition where police and military forces could not effectively repress their aggression. Meanwhile, the Communist party was founded in China in 1921. It flared up an anti-Christian atmosphere across the country together with both intellectuals and peasants, a de facto repetition of the Boxer Uprising in 1900. The lives of Western missionaries and Chinese Christians, as well as church properties, were once again under threat. Despite the rise of Warlordism, Communism, and the Anti-Christian Movement in the 1920s, the Assemblies of God (AG) that spread the “Finished Work” version of Pentecostalism managed to grow rapidly through the effort of the Chinese Pentecostals and the missionaries from the United States, Canada, Norway, Sweden, and so on. By 1927, the AG had 146

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reached eighteen provinces and the peripheral regions including Qinghai, Xinjiang, Yili, Tibet, Inner and Outer Mongolia. By 1934, it had seventy-five missionaries and over 6,000 members and became the largest Pentecostal mission in China before 1949 (Lian 2010, 86). The key to the success was probably related to the contextualization of the gospel and the selfgovernance of the Chinese AG churches and councils. This chapter discusses how “Finished Work” Pentecostalism was glocalized in China under the auspices of the AG, amid ceaseless political turmoil. Glocalization refers to the process whereby both local and global or universal and particular forces come to shape the interactions and relationships across cultures and social contexts (Robertson 1992; 1995).

The Chinese Interpretation of the Assemblies of God The AG was founded in 1914 in the United States and the General Council not only represented this denomination in the United States, but also “Pentecostal (Spirit Baptized) saints from local Churches of God in Christ, Assemblies of God, and various Apostolic Faith Missions and Churches, and Full Gospel Pentecostal Missions and Churches, and Full Gospel Pentecostal Missions and Assemblies of like faith in the United States, Canada and Foreign lands” as long as they followed the scripture to worship, maintain unity, and engage in ministry (“Combined” 1914–1917, 4). This loose definition of the AG was adopted in the mission field of China by the missionaries from North America and Scandinavia, who shared similar doctrines. In 1920, the Pentecostal Missionary Conference of North China was held in Beijing, where the missionaries decided that Chen Shen Hui (current romanization: shenchaohui; 神召會), the Chinese name for the Assemblies of God, was the official name for the Council Mission Stations in North China and other parts of China regardless of the countries of origin of the missionaries (Pentecostal Evangel 1920, 12). Moreover, the Chinese AG members averred that the word “church” should be translated in accordance with the Greek word ecclesia, meaning “gathering of those summoned” (Britannica August 2, 2021). They concluded that shenchaohui was the most biblical translation as it means an assembly (會) summoned (召) by God (神) from sins (AGM 1928, 5). They rejected the traditional translation of the church – jiaohui (教會), meaning a congregation following a particular school of teaching. This new translation distinguished the Chinese AG members from the mainline Protestant churches, especially from those whom the AG Pentecostals considered as nominal. They distinguished themselves as a group of Christians with a renewed life through the vivid experiences in the Holy Spirit. Even non-Pentecostals like Zhang Zhijiang (張之江) reckoned the significance of “summons” in the Chinese name of the AG, which is not amplified in the English name. He said, “We as the disciples of Jesus, as the disciples of Jesus in the Assemblies of God, we need to know that the two words, ‘God’ and ‘summons’, mean that the true God summons us to faithfully follow his will to work” (AGM 1928, 16–17). This naming process, which involved searching for the accurate Chinese characters to interpret the meaning of the Greek and English words, was a foremost essential step to glocalize this Western classical Pentecostal denomination.

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mobilizations” (Martin 2002, 4). This type of Christianity was realized by the AG missionaries and the Chinese Pentecostals in the warlord period where lives and properties were destroyed, children lost their parents, and people could not anchor their lives and future in any certainties. In such dire circumstances, local and Western AG Pentecostals initiated charities to rescue the poor, especially the children, women, and the elderly. They also reached out to the Mongolians, who were the poor of the poor due to discrimination by the Han Chinese.

Charities for the Poor In central China, an AG lay preacher Zhaorui/Nathan Ma (馬兆瑞) saw many women wandering the streets in vain during his journey from Shanghai to Nanjing, so he decided to found the Faith Women’s Handcraft School (信德女子工藝學校). He bought materials to train women to do crocheting to produce lace and handed the products to Westerners to sell. The school was expanded through donations alone without any outside support (AGM 1926, 15–19). Besides running the school, Ma was also active in preaching about the Holy Spirit in Nanjing. People were baptized by the Holy Spirit and spoke and sang in tongues through his ministry (AGM 1928, 14). Through his words and deeds, he made Pentecostalism relevant to the situation of the poor women and the local people. In the north, an American couple Leslie Madison Anglin (1882–1942) and Ava Patton Anglin from Georgia, the United States, founded the Home of Onesiphorus in 1916 in Taian, Shandong Province. Leslie called this shelter “Onesiphorus” because it had appeared in his dream, and he later discovered that 2 Tim 1:16–18 mentioned about Onesiphorus passionately helping Paul. The home was a life-saving shelter for the impoverished in Shandong Province and nearby areas during the warlord period. The warlords of Shandong and the west of Henan Province enforced conscription and the warlords of Zhili and Shandong fought against each other. The civilians became homeless and suffered from hunger. At one point, the home accepted over 600 people, which made it overcrowded. It not only accepted children, but also the blind, the sick, widows, widowers, and the poor and elderly. Both male and female orphans of all ages worked for half a day and studied for half a day. The elderly were given food and clothes and were paid for doing light jobs like sewing, watching over the farms, and cleaning. The home offered boys and girls primary and secondary education and developed a flour factory, an iron factory, and a textile and dying factory to produce goods for sale and internal use. They also engaged in practical works like woodcraft, lighting engineering, caring for livestock, and shoemaking (AGM 1927, 22–23). Besides working and studying, the students formed an evangelistic team, which helped glocalize the gospel to the poor in Shandong province. Two of the orphans who grew up in the home, Zhang Xingyou (張醒猷) and Zhang Yuecheng (張耀成), got married and served in a church in Longshan (龍山) in that province. This village was first evangelized by some British Baptists at the end of the nineteenth century. In spring 1926, Olaf Sigfrid Ferm (Swedish) and Pauline L. Gleim Ferm (American) started a mission there and rented a house to preach. In a few months, two people were baptized and more than ten became catechists (AGM 1927, 42). In autumn 1927, the Swedish couple were on furlough back home and the church was entirely handed over to the Chinese deacon Zhang Xingyou (張興有) and the deaconess Chang Xiuzhen (常秀真). They also administered the boys’ and girls’ schools. Due to the heavy workload, the deacons requested Anglin for help and he appointed the

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principal of Taian Assembly of God School, Chen Songshan (陳松山), to minister the church in January 1928 (AGM 1928, 37). In the south, George Kelley founded an ecumenical charity called Sainam United Charity Association (西南聯愛會) with the Baptists and Christians of other denominations in Guangdong province. The AG church in Sainam had a good relationship with the local Baptist church, probably because Kelley was formerly a Baptist missionary. One of the works it did was to purchase a land on a hill for a Christian cemetery with local Christians’ donation, so that they could be buried with dignity (AGM 1927, 31).

Female Converts and Preachers For millennia, women in China were regarded as men’s properties who had no independent economic power and education. They were generally cloistered in their husbands’ houses and villages. Western Pentecostal missionaries endeavored to reach out to women without much success. In south China, the Pentecostal Mission in Sainam was run by Homer J. Faulkner, with the assistance of May Law, Mattie Ledbetter, Addell Harrison and her daughter Golden, George and Margaret Kelley who had been Free Baptist missionaries, and a Chinese worker called Wai Meng (Anderson 2007, 115). In the early stage of the mission, the Western missionaries were not welcomed by the locals: “the crowds in the market gave us a careless glance while, here and there from amongst the throng, came an oath about the ‘white devils’” (Gleanings 1920, 3). It was almost impossible for them to evangelize the women in the area in the first eight years, but this all changed in 1920 when the church held a tent meeting and invited some Chinese preachers to speak. The number of converts increased enormously, and half of the congregation was women. Two full-time Bible women assisted the missionaries in the ministry. The church also opened an orphanage and a school (AGM 1926, 18–19). Despite the inferior social status, women in the AG churches played a dominant role in evangelism and healing. Their ministry assisted the spread of Pentecostalism and brought healing to people in the war-torn nation. The AG church in Datang Street in Guangzhou was known for the prayer and healing ministry of Auntie Cheung (nee Wan: 張四嬸). She was poor, illiterate, empty-headed, and addicted to gambling, which dragged her into the abyss of debts. She had no solutions to pay off the debts but to sell twelve of her own fourteen children. However, the healings of her blindness, dumbness, and lameness and the instantaneous miraculous endowment of literacy drove her to confess her sins. She became an evangelist in villages and led prayer meetings from 6:30 to 11a.m. every morning. Her stories were not only recorded in the Assemblies of God Monthly, but also the Baptist and Reformed periodicals in Guangdong. People who suffered from all kinds of diseases traveled from other provinces to seek her prayers. They were all healed, and some were even raised from the dead (AGM 1926, 21–36). Her healing ministry converted the impoverished to Pentecostalism and some even became a minister. He Zhongen (何重恩) was an example. She received healing from Auntie Cheung’s prayer and was baptized by the Holy Spirit. She and another woman Lin Muchao (林慕超) were touched by a famous Chinese female evangelist Dora Yu’s preaching and followed her to study theology in Shanghai for two years. They planted an AG church together in Houxiang Street in Guangdong without any foreign support. The services in their church were so packed that there was nowhere to stand. Even bandits spared their lives and would listen to their preaching (AGM 1926, 10–11). The local female preachers might

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be poor and illiterate, but they contributed hugely to the spread of Pentecostalism, especially through healing under the auspices of the AG, which was much needed during the warlord period where medical support was severly lacking.

Mission to the Peripheral Region: Inner Mongolia During the Qing dynasty, Han Chinese people were allowed to migrate to Mongolian lands and millions of them settled there. Subsequently, land ownership became one of the causes of conflicts between the two ethnic groups. Since the Mongolians engaged in the pastoral way of living instead of agricultural and they were nomads wandering across pastures for their animals to graze on instead of toiling on a fixed land (Han 2011, 62), the Han Chinese considered them culturally inferior and discriminated against them. A Han Chinese Pentecostal who recorded the news of the AG church in Altanbulag in Inner Mongolia demeaned the Mongolians as “idiotic by nature” (AGM 1927, 42). They faced Sinicization and have become aliens in their own motherland. During the warlord period, people in Inner Mongolia were constantly coerced by the gentry and robbers. Considering their own protection, some of them registered as Christians in the AG church in Er Hao Cun (二號村) in Shangdu county (商都縣), which was founded in 1922. However, as they learnt more about Christian teachings, they realized that Christians did not retaliate, even when they were oppressed. They then decided to leave the church (AGM 1927, 37). Moreover, the AG church founded by a Canadian couple Thomas Hindle (1870–1969) and Louise Siegrist (1886–1964) in Gashatay, Chahar Province in 1921 was also a life-saving shelter. They provided refuge for the people who fled from the aggressive Mongolian robbers between 1923 and 1926. Their sincere service attracted the locals to become Christians and the number grew from 20 to 350. They started a primary school with about thirty boys and girls. Their church also provided aid to the local during the great famine in 1921. The Canadian Pentecostal Mission, to which the Hindles belonged, collaborated with the United International Famine Relief Committee to support about 300 people (Austin 2017, 68). As far as the Hindles were concerned, practical relief works were an effective means to reach out to the Mongolians and Han Chinese since they were not receptive to the gospel. The former group was superstitious, and the latter was “illiterate and ignorant,” as they feared that they might be bewitched by the church (Pentecostal Evangel 1921, 12). From what is revealed in AGM, Western Pentecostalism seemed to be more glocalized among the Han Chinese than the Mongolians in Inner Mongolia. The AG founded another church in Zhangbei County, where people were influenced by Buddhism and rejected Christianity, but a Han Chinese Christian Qi Wenyuan (祁文元) was passionate about evangelism and the number of converts gradually increased in 1924. Moreover, an AG church was founded in Altanbulag in 1919 by a Norwegian woman. She returned to Norway in 1927 and handed over the church to a Han Chinese preacher. The AGM recorded one Mongolianmedium AG church with a few Han Chinese, which was ministered by two Norwegian missionaries. The missionaries were compassionate for the Mongolians, even though they came to the church simply for food (AGM 1927, 34). As a peripheral region, Inner Mongolia could be considered as the poor of the poor from the perspective of the entire country, and the Mongolians’ economic and social condition was even worse than the Han Chinese. It was not clear whether the Pentecostal message could successfully reach the locals, who constantly struggled to survive due to robbery and famine. From the above stories, the AG churches were seemingly a physical shelter for them rather than a spiritual temple to encounter the Christian God. 150

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Networking Across the Country Regional Councils Despite the political instability and constant danger during the warlord period, the Chinese AG Pentecostals successfully connected local preaches, laypeople, and missionaries through their councils. By the 1930s, four regional councils were founded: Tianjin AG Council, North China Council, China’s Christian Association (中華聖徒聯合會) in Beijing, and Guangdong and Guangxi Assemblies of God Council (GGAGC, 兩廣神召會; AGM 1927, 18). The establishment of regional AG councils marked the self-governance of the Chinese Pentecostals and the institutional glocalization of Pentecostalism. The following illustrates their establishment except the Tianjin council due to the limitation of archival materials.

The Southern Council Thomas James and Annie McIntosh arrived in the Portuguese colony, Macau, on August 7, 1907, accompanied by two missionaries, Bro. Marlow and Bro. Owens, whom they had met in Hong Kong (BM 1907, 2). The McIntoshes then briefly stayed in Sainam, but several missionaries toiled in this town and founded Pentecostal missions elsewhere from this mission station. In 1921, Springfield sent a telegram to advise all these Pentecostal missions to join the AG, which they agreed to do. On July 15, 1921, representatives of these churches gathered in Sainam for the South China Assemblies of God Restructure Meeting to discuss major issues and elect some members to deal with them. They also held an annual general meeting to discuss their own ministry and to consolidate the relationship among these AG churches. From 1921 to 1925, these Chinese AG churches were still administered by Western missionaries (AGM 1926, 17–18). However, the Anti-Christian movement prompted the missionaries to hand over more administrative authority to the Chinese Pentecostals. In 1925, Springfield learnt about the widespread strike in factories and schools in Guangdong and Hong Kong in the aftermath of the Shanghai Shooting on May 30, 1925. The Anti-Christian movement was subsequently sparked off. Considering the dangers facing the missionaries, the headquarters was prepared to evacuate all missionaries and to give up all the mission stations in China. But it first sent George Kelley back to Guangdong to investigate the actual situation even though he was already back to the United States to be on furlough. However, Kelley discovered that it was not as daunting as it had been reported by journalists, but the fact was that churches had indeed died down due to the disputes between the Westerners and Chinese. He henceforth conducted a district council meeting on December 18, 1925, where he announced to the thirty to forty church representatives that the Chinese would oversee all churches. The Chinese attendants were “very grateful for the Westerners being so sincere to the Chinese.” A new council and an executive committee were formed to oversee the AG churches in Guangdong and Guangxi. Members included Kelley, Zhang Tiejun (張鐵軍), Gan Siyong (甘思永), Chung Chan Sang (鍾俊生), and Liu Huansheng (劉煥生). Each AG branch would elect its board members to manage church matters. The by-law of the AG churches would be revised by Zhang, Gan, and Zhu Gongting (朱貢廷). The foreign missions in Springfield would provide monthly a subsidy, but it would be reduced annually (AGM 1926, 11–13). The birth of this council represented a milestone in the Chinese AG history in the southern region – being independent from Springfield. 151

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The Northern Councils The Pentecostal Missionary Conference of North China was held in 1920 in Beijing where missionaries agreed to form the District Council in North China. The chairman was Harold Emil Hansen, Secretary Zella Reynolds, and the executive presbytery included Hansen, Lloyd G. Creamer, and E.N. Davis. The Conference passed a resolution to found Bible schools to train native workers (AGM 1920, 13). The North China Bible College in Shijiazhuang was therefore established. William Wallace Simpson became the principal, and forty students were recruited in the early stage (AGM 1924, 13). Another northern council, China’s Christian Association, was operated within the AG church in Beijing. During the fifth annual general meeting on September 1–10, 1926, a Chinese preacher Wei Zhiyu (位誌愚) was elected chairperson of the Association. Two elderly women prayed and fasted for the meeting day and night. Four other attendees were baptized by the Holy Spirit and nine in water in the meeting. Over twenty were healed (AGM 1927, 29, 37). This council was generally governed by Chinese Pentecostals.

Periodicals AG missionaries and local members published Chinese periodicals to spread news of their regions and connect members across the country. In the south, Assemblies of God Monthly (AGM) was published by the GGAGC from 1926 but it is not clear when it was stopped. This Chinese periodical was edited by a Chinese AG Pentecostal called Gan Jianpan (甘建磐) and was approved by Kelley. The extant twenty-two issues were published between 1926 and 1928. The purposes for publishing this periodical were threefold: (1) to enhance communication among branches to pave the way for a united association; (2) to explain to outsiders about Pentecostal doctrines on speaking in tongues and baptism of the Holy Spirit; (3) to testify the gospel (AGM 1926, 5–6). To achieve these purposes, the editor incorporated news of the AG branches mainly in Guangdong and Guangxi provinces, but also other parts of China; sermons by Chinese Pentecostal ministers; theological discussion on baptism of the Holy Spirit, the meaning of the church, and Christian ethics with references to Confucius teachings; and local Pentecostals’ testimonies on healing, resurrection, confession of sins and miraculous experiences. Most of them were written by the Chinese AG members, but news on the revival movements in the West was also included. In the north, William Wallace Simpson published a Chinese Pentecostal newspaper Charisma ( ⟪神恩報⟫ ) in April 1925 in Min County (岷縣), Gansu Province. It was later combined with the AGM in 1927 (AGM 1927, 32).

Connections with Christian Military Leaders During the warlord period, Pentecostals connected with Christian military commanders and even warlords to offer donations to their ministries. Anglin’s Home of Onesiphorus received donation from the mayor, the police chief, and the treasurer of Shandong. In 1928, he and Jing Dianying met the warlord of the northeast region, Zhang Zuolin (張作霖), to discuss further donations (AGM 1928, 36). The warlord of Shanxi, Feng Yuxiang (馮玉祥), often visited the home and became a friend of Anglin. He supported the home and the orphans called him “Grandpa Feng” (Lian 2010, 94). In 1927, Nathan Ma invited Zhang Zhijiang, the commander-in-chief of the northwestern brigade of the Nationalist Revolution Army in Henan province, to preach in his handcraft school. 152

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Zhang said, “I truly admire this school as it provides a chance for poor women to be saved. This charity should be attributed to Jesus’ love … I really thank the Lord Jesus for Mr Ma who established such a school. He truly received Jesus’ grace as Matt 25:35 says” (AGM 1928, 14). He further spoke about how Christians abandoned their faith during the Anti-Christian movement. He had seen some brilliant teenage girls in Shanghai who had distinctive academic achievement and had actively witnessed for Christ. But once they were lured by the Communist promise of wealth and high positions, they fiercely called for the crackdown of Christianity in public. As he pitifully said, “Christians suddenly became Communist.” He also eye-witnessed that some people had given up their Christian names to avoid persecution during the “fierce revolutionary wave” in Xian, another major city. To counter the Anti-Christian movement, he printed several thousand copies of the Bible in Shanghai and freely distributed them. On the front page, he did not write any common slogans of the day like “down with imperialism” and “revoke unequal treaties”, but “this is the great Word of the world” (AGM 1928, 16–17). Although the Christian military officials were not necessarily Pentecostals, their presence among the Pentecostals brought remarkable recognition to their ministries; their donation tremendously supported their works; and their speech sounded authoritative due to their superior political status. The AG Pentecostals’ connection with military officials might be criticized of violating the principle of separation of state and church, but during the time when warlords were in power, such connection was the way to guarantee the security of their lives and properties and the development of their charities.

Self-Propagation and Self-Supporting Self-propagation was an important process to glocalize the Western Pentecostal message in the Chinese context and, in many cases, local Pentecostals were able to fund themselves and even supported missionaries. Financial independence was a vital criterion to become administratively and ministerially independent from Western missionaries.

Evangelism in Rural Areas The Chinese AG evangelists actively reached out to villages where people were relatively poor and less informed of the outside world compared to those in urban areas. In the south, the GGAGC organized the Chinese Assemblies of God Inland Itinerant Evangelistic Team to evangelize remote areas and welcomed Chinese and foreign ministers and volunteers to participate in it. Monday to Thursday and Sunday were for preaching, Friday for prayer, and Saturday for rest. It had five core Chinese members: Liu Huansheng, Liang Diesheng (梁叠生), Pan Jingchu (潘鏡初), Lin Daosheng (林道生), and Wang Huanmin (王歡民) (AGM 1927, 38–40). They left Sainam in March 1927 and traveled to different villages for six months. They stayed in local evangelical churches wherever they went. However, when a rumor about them cutting off testicles for medicine spread in a village that did not welcome strangers, they were forced to shorten their tour and returned to Guangdong province for other ministries (AGM 1927, 40–41). In the northwest region, an AG member led several lay Christians to erect a tent to preach the gospel in Tianjiapu (田家堡), Gansu province in May 1927. There were at least 70–80 people attending each time and occasionally the tent was overcrowded. Quite a number of people converted. Some Christian and Missionary Alliance missionaries joined them to preach and one of its members was healed from a stomach disease (AGM 1927, 34–35). 153

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In the northeast region, the chairperson of the China’s Christian Association Wei Zhiyu went to Qingdao from Heilungjiang as part of his itinerant evangelistic tour in 1927. His car was surrounded by robbers while he was traveling, but fortunately the driver quickly made a U-turn to escape. As he arrived in Qingdao, he erected a tent in a village to preach for three weeks. More than 100 converted, with their names recorded. Each meeting was attended by 100–200 people. His goal was to lead 2,000 people to believe in Christ (AGM 1927, 31).

Church Planting AG missionaries and local members collaborated to plant churches together. Missionaries provided resources and the local engaged in preaching and ministering new churches. This collaboration effectively glocalized Pentecostalism in urban and rural areas. In the south, Shijiao, Qingyuan (清遠石角) in Guangdong province was a prosperous market town, and therefore the missionaries identified it as a strategic mission area. Kelley sent two local members to conduct an evangelistic meeting in a Baptist church founded in the 1900s. The residents were enthusiastic about the meeting, and because of that Kelley sent Liu Huansheng to plant a church in the spring of 1923. At that time, the warlords of Guangdong and Guangxi provinces were fighting, which resulted in the destruction of the roads. Thus, Liu traveled to Lopao by a goods ferry to meet Blanche R. Appleby, a missionary who was stationed there, to discuss planting a new church. She proposed to donate furniture and kitchenware to the new church and sent a devout woman to be the minister whose salary would be paid by her. Liu and his colleague Zhang Tiejun rented a place and the church in Shijiaowas officially opened. They held an evangelistic meeting for two weeks and invited John Rutherford Spence and Appleby to speak. The church and the streets nearby were filled with people. Chongsheng and two male ministers, Feng Hezhe (馮和著) and Liang Diesheng, pastored the church and they preached the gospel and sold books in villages. The general expenses were supported by the lay people ever since it was founded and the salaries and rent were paid by Springfield (AGM 1928, 30–32). After planting this church, the AG planted nine more churches in Qingyuan by 1948: Qingcheng (清城), Lungjing (龍頸), Shahe (沙河), Shikan (石坎), Jintan (浸潭), Shitan (石潭), Baiwan (白灣), Pingdi (平底), and Fudie (蚨蝶) (AGQ 1948, 20–21). In the north, Liu Yongsheng (劉永生), a former leader of the Boxer Uprising in 1900, was an active church planter. After the crackdown on the Uprising, he fled to Tianjin and lived a secret life to avoid being recognized as a Boxer. One day he heard about the gospel in the street and felt moved to believe in Christ. He self-studied the Bible and became a minister of the Shandong China Independent Christian Church. Nevertheless, he remained unsure if he was saved until he attended the service of an AG church in Tianjin and heard about the confession of sins and baptism of the Holy Spirit (AGM 1928, 34). He was then active in evangelism and, in September 1926, he went to Yangcun (楊村), a village in the north of Tianjin, to preach the gospel. He distributed 300–400 copies of Christian literature in one day. He and Martin Kvamme, a Norwegian AG missionary, looked for a place to plant a church and, finally, a Chinese landlord was willing to rent out his property (Tiedemann 2020, 207). The church was eventually founded in Yangcun in October 1926 and was overseen by Liu. At least forty people attended each service. The church members preached in streets and ordinary people came to the church to discuss the Christian faith. More than ten people became Christians in about three months. They confessed their sins with sobbing, burnt up their idols, and were filled by the Holy Spirit. During Chinese New Year, many Christians went to villages to preach the gospel (AGM 1927, 41–42). 154

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Independent Preachers Besides the ministers who were officially employed by the Chinese Council or Springfield to oversee churches, some independent Pentecostals engaged in self-supporting evangelism. Ho Maan Leung (何萬良) was born to a poor and devout Christian family. He was a colporteur who recited scriptures to attract people in the streets, but then he was given a medical prescription to produce a drug to stop smoking. Many could successfully stop and that brought wealth and reputation to Ho. As he heard about McIntosh and Garr preaching about the baptism of the Holy Spirit in Macau and Hong Kong, he invited McIntosh and those who had been baptized by the Holy Spirit to his dispensary to lead revival services. Many Christians in the province went there to listen to the revival message and were baptized by the Holy Spirit (AGM 1927, 36–37). He also built a small room on the roof to pray day and night. He later ended his prosperous business and formed a colporteur and evangelistic team to preach the gospel in villages. He paid for all the expenses and generously supported churches with his savings. He was ordained as a pastor in the Salvation Church without accepting any salary, but soon afterward he passed away. Liu Lin En (廖霖恩) graduated from a military medical school in Beijing around 1919 with a revolutionary fervor, and became a commandant of the military hospitals. As he suffered from illnesses, he read about the stories of Auntie Cheung in a Christian newspaper called True Light in 1925. He was so touched by her stories that he traveled down to Guangzhou to participate in her daily prayer meetings. He began to see visions in dreams and felt God’s real presence. A troubling nerve in his elbow was healed during his fasting. He decided to abandon his promising career in 1926 and prayed with Auntie Cheung for the whole year. In 1927, he felt being called by the Holy Spirit to be an itinerant preacher in Shantou (汕頭). He traveled with three other AG members and held revival meetings in thirteen different Protestant churches. People were enthusiastic for their preaching and the Baptist and Presbyterian ministers invited the team to guide them to seek the Holy Spirit (AGM 1927, 32–43).

Conclusion Local members and missionaries of the AG collaborated to establish charities, form regional councils, publish periodicals, and plant churches in rural and urban areas. However, local AG and independent preachers, especially female preachers, generally played a vital role in evangelizing villagers through tent meetings or healing. Considering the AG was only founded in the United States in 1914, its resources provided for foreign missions were understandably limited in the 1920s. AG missionaries and local members in China needed to acquire financial sources by themselves, and connecting with Christian military officials, local wealthy gentry, and businesspeople essentially helped them sustain their ministry. The limited support from Springfield indirectly led to the rapid independence of Chinese AG churches and councils. The volatile political environment during the warlord period also prompted missionaries to consider transferring the ministries to the locals to sustain them. It was this difficult political and financial situation that prompted glocalization of Pentecostalism and the independence of the Chinese AG churches to emerge. The subsequent political hardship including the Japanese invasion in 1937–1945, civil wars, and the establishment of the Communist regime in 1949 proved that self-governance of the Chinese churches was necessary. Although missionaries were expelled by the Communist government, Pentecostalism continued to spread in house churches despite brutal oppressions against Christians from the 1950s to the 1970s. 155

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References Anderson, Allan. 2007. Spreading Fires: The Missionary Nature of Early Pentecostalism. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Assemblies of God Monthly (AGM), 1924–1928. Assemblies of God Quarterly (AGQ), 1/2 ( July 1948). Austin, Denise A. 2017. “The ‘Third Spreading’: Origins and Development of Protestant Evangelical Christianity in Contemporary Mongolia.” Inner Asia 19: 64–90. Bridegroom Messenger, 1907. Britannica. n.d. “Ecclesia.” Accessed on 2 August 2021. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Ecclesiaancient-Greek-assembly. “Combined Minutes of the General Council of the Assemblies of God in the United States of America, Canada and Foreign Lands, 1914–1917.” Executive Department of the Taiwanese Government. n.d. “The Founding of the Republic of China.” Accessed on 3 August 2021. https://www.ey.gov.tw/state/62879155A536D543/bf 75db0530af-4c3a-bdda-3fe32e3f8e5a. “Gleanings of the Sai Nam District of the Pentecostal Mission South China 1920.” Han, Enze. 2011. “The Dog That Hasn’t Barked: Assimilation and Resistance in Inner Mongolia, China.” Asian Ethnicity 12 (1): 55–75. Lian, Xi. 2010. Redeemed by Fire: The Rise of Popular Christianity in Modern China. New Haven, CT: Yale University. Martin, David. 2002. Pentecostalism: The World Their Parish. Oxford: Blackwell. Robertson, Roland. 1992. Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London: Sage. Robertson, Roland. 1995. “Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity.” In Global Modernities, edited by Mike Featherstone, Scott Lash, and Roland Robertson, 25–44. London: Sage. “The North China Missionary Conference.” Pentecostal Evangel, Nos. 368-369 (27 November 1920), 12. Tiedemann, Rolf Gerhard. 2020. “Advance of Pentecostalism in China, 1907–1937.” In Ecumenism and Independency in World Christianity: Historical Studies in Honour of Brian Stanley, edited by Alexander Chow, and Emma Wild-Wood, 195–220. Leiden: Brill.

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12 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE REVIVAL MOVEMENTS AMONG THE NAGAS IN NORTH EAST INDIA Elungkiebe Zeliang Introduction The Naga people in North East India (NEI) have experienced three revival movements in the 1920s, the 1950s, and the 1970s, respectively. The revival movements or revivals, as called by the people, are spiritual movements (rabe mlai in the Zeme language) with the miraculous gifts of the Holy Spirit. While the revival movement of the 1920s was confined to the Naga Baptist churches in Manipur, the revival movements of the 1950s and 1970s were experienced by most of the Christian denominations like the Baptist churches, the Nagaland Christian Revival Churches (NCRCs), and the Pentecostal denominational churches in the Naga areas. In this chapter, following popular usage, the term “revival movement” or “revival” refers to all the Pentecostal-like spiritual experiences (Acts 2:1–21) among the Nagas in NEI (Zeliang 2014, 60–70, 77–90, 106–24). This chapter attempts to analyze the revival movements among the Nagas in NEI with an historical analytical method. Contemporary missionary reports serve as the main source for the first revival movement. The sources for the second and third revival movements are the local church souvenirs, church jubilee souvenirs, published works on revival movements, and interviews with Naga church leaders. Having introduced the Nagas and providing a quick glance at Christianity in the Naga areas, the chapter examines the three revival movements among the Nagas.

An Overview of the Nagas Nagas are one of the indigenous ethnic groups of South Asia living in India and Myanmar. Although the Nagas live in a compact geographical area, they are divided by the international boundary line between India and Myanmar that even divides a Konyak Naga village called Longwa into two halves. The Nagas consists of sixty-five tribes with a population of about 3 million, of which the majority live in India. Of the sixty-five tribes, thirty-two tribes live in four states of India (namely Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Manipur, and Nagaland), twenty-eight tribes live in North West Myanmar (Naga Self-Administered Zone, Sagaing Division, and Kachin State), and five tribes live across the international boundary of India DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-15

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and Myanmar (Nuh 2002, 21–22). The traditional Naga polities may be classified under three forms of government, namely monarchy (e.g., the Konyak and Sumi tribes), gerontocracy (e.g., the Ao tribe), and democracy (e.g., the Angami tribe) (Shimray 1985, 51–60). British India annexed most of the Naga areas in India by the second half of the nineteenth century (Reid 1983, 53–178; Mackenzie 2017, 101–216). With the introduction of British colonial rule in the nineteenth century and the subsequent rule of the Indian and Myanmar governments, the Naga polities have gradually transitioned to a democratic form of government. Like most tribes in the region, the Nagas follow a patriarchal system of society in which the father heads the family, lineage is through the male line, and the sons inherit ancestral property. Agriculture, domestication of animals, and micro business have been the main sources of livelihood for the Nagas in the rural areas even today. Traditionally, the Nagas practiced their indigenous religions under the leadership of the village priests. They have the concepts of a Supreme Being, benevolent spirits, malevolent spirits, celestial beings/angels, and life after death (Longchar 2000, 9–21; Thumra 2001, 47–73). The Nagas worship their Supreme Being and the benevolent spirits to express their gratitude for the blessings and to implore them for good health and prosperity. However, they offer appeasing sacrifices to the malevolent spirits either for healing or to ward off possible misfortune in life. The religious functionaries include the priests, the shamans, tiger-men/women (also called lycanthropy), necromancers or mediums, and diviners (Lanunungsang 2000, 32–46; Longchar 2000, 98–103; Thumra 2001, 68–71). While the priests, necromancers, and diviners usually do not have or work with titulary spirits, shamans and tiger-men/women work with titulary spirits. It may be mentioned that shamans (both men and women) are popular among the Tenyimia group while tiger-men/women are more common among other Naga tribes like the Aos, Changs, among others. As the shamans and the tiger-men/women work directly with spirits, they are multi-gifted for which they are able to read the past, know the present, predict future events, heal sickness, and even perform exorcism ( Joshi 2004, 269–91; Zeliang 2014, 167–73). The traditional religious background of the Nagas seems to have contributed toward the popularity of the revival form of Christianity among the Nagas. The Western missionaries brought Christianity to the Nagas in the nineteenth century and today most of the Naga tribes have been fully Christianized. However, there are still some Nagas in India who continue to practice the traditional religion, reformed indigenous religions like Heraka (Kamei 2004, 274–79; Longkumer 2016, 47–118), Tingkao Raguang Chapriak (Kamei 2019, 80–91; Kamson 2019, 73–79), and some Nagas in Myanmar practice Theravada Buddhism.

A Glance at Christianity in the Naga Areas Christianity came to the Nagas in the nineteenth century and today it has become the dominant religion of the Nagas. Miles Bronson, an American Baptist missionary, was the first missionary to bring the gospel to the Nagas. In March 1840, Bronson established a mission station at Namsang, a Nocte Naga village, in the Tirap district of present-day Arunachal Pradesh, but it was relinquished due to ill-health, together with the supposed mission prospect among the Assamese late in the same year (Downs 1971, 22–26; Philip 1983, 50; Puthenpurakal 1984, 52–53). Three decades later, the American Baptist Mission, through the initiatives of its missionary Edward W. Clark and an Assamese evangelist Godhula Brown, established the first Naga church (Baptist) at an Ao Naga village called Molungkimong (then called Dekahaimong) in the present Mokokchung district of Nagaland in December 1872 (Downs 1971, 65; Philip 1983, 53). In 1894, the mission station was moved to Impur for 158

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administrative convenience. Meanwhile, the American Baptist mission established mission stations at Kohima (1880), Wokha (1885), and Aizuto (1948) in Nagaland (then called Naga Hills) and gradually evangelized the Nagas of Nagaland through these stations (Downs 1971, 67–70, 153). Likewise, the Nagas in Manipur were mainly evangelized through the American Baptist mission stations at Ukhrul (1896) and Kangpokpi (1919) (Downs 1971, 160–61; Zeliang 2005a, 35). In due course, the Naga Baptists sent out missionaries to their fellow Nagas, both in India and in Myanmar. For instance, the Tangkhuls sent two evangelists to evangelize the fellow Nagas in Somra Tract in Myanmar (Downs 1971, 165), the Konyaks, Khiamniungan, and other tribes sent out missionaries to the Naga areas in Arunachal Pradesh in India and in Myanmar (Yamyap Konyak, telephone interview, July 6, 2021). In this way, most of the Nagas in India and in Myanmar are evangelized through the missionary activities of the Naga Christians from Nagaland and Manipur. In the course of time, other Christian denominations also entered the Naga areas. For instance, the Welsh Presbyterian mission started among the Zemes in Assam in 1810 (Zeliang 2014, 37). In the 1950s, the Roman Catholic churches were established among the Tangkhuls in Manipur and among the Angamis and Lothas in Nagaland, and gradually spread to other Naga areas (Syiemlieh 1990, 41–83; Pudussery 1993, 210–13; Puthenpurackal 1993, 225–28). In 1961, The Pentecostal Mission (TPM) and the Assemblies of God came and established a few churches in Nagaland. In the midst of the second revival movement, a revivalist group from the Baptists in Nagaland formed a new church in 1962 that is now called Nagaland Christian Revival Church (NCRC) (Paphino 2008, 7). Later, the Seventh Day Adventists, and other churches also entered the Naga areas (Philip 1983, 92). During the past 150 years, Christianity grew so much that about 80 percent of the Nagas have been Christianized today, of which the majority belong to the Baptist denomination. Baptist, being the first Christian denomination in the Naga areas, gradually grew to become the dominant Christian denomination among the Nagas.

Revival Movements Among the Nagas The Naga churches have experienced three revival movements with spiritual/charismatic gifts during the 1920s, the 1950s, and the 1970s. The three revival movements are briefly discussed here.

Revival Movement of the 1920s The revival movement of the 1920s was the first ever revival experienced by the Naga Christians. It was experienced by the first generation of Naga Christians (Baptists) in Manipur. As mentioned above, the British had annexed most of the Naga areas in India by the end of the nineteenth century. The British rule with army and police naturally introduced gradual change to the erstwhile Naga village polity. The introduction of a money-based economy through government service and the establishment of markets in the government headquarters challenged the traditional agrarian economy. The establishment of schools at the mission stations and public schools in the government headquarters produced a few native educated people, who might be called the first Naga elites. Being a part of the British empire, a good number of Nagas, along with others from the region, joined the Labour Corps and experienced the wider world. During the Kuki Rebellion of 1917–19, many Nagas in Manipur suffered under the armed Kukis (Reid 1983, 79–82; Kamei 2004, 132). By then, most of the Naga tribes were still practicing their indigenous religion. 159

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The American Baptist Mission in Manipur had only about 400 members until 1916. The mission, however, made big progress between 1916 and 1922, so that the membership rose to about 3,000 members from twenty-four churches (Downs 1971, 161). However, most of the then Christians were from the Kuki-Chin group, as the Naga Christians were mostly confined to the Tangkhuls, Zeliangrongs, and Anals (Zeliang 2005a, 2005b, 28; Zeliang 2014, 61–62). As the number of conversions increased, the non-Christians severely persecuted the Christians. Meanwhile, a charismatic revival entered Manipur from the adjoining state of Mizoram (then called Mizo Hills) in early 1922 through the Zo tribes (Mizos, Kukis, Hmars, Biates, and Chins), who were then experiencing the third revival (1919–1923). It should be mentioned that the Mizo Christians (Presbyterians and Baptists) had experienced the first revival during 1906–1907 (an extension of Welsh Revival, 1904–1905 through the missionaries and Khasi revival, 1905–1906) and the second revival during 1913–1914 (Lloyd 1991, 86–96; Kipgen 1997, 219–22, 234–42). As the revival entered Manipur, it first moved through the Kuki churches of Indo-Burma Pioneer Mission, reached a Kom village of Makokching in May 1922 (CHS Committee 2017, 8), and then reached the Tangkhul churches in the spring of 1923 (Downs 1971, 161). Somdal Baptist Church claims that the revival came to their village on May 7, 1923 and it still observes the day as “revival day” (Aping Kamrang, telephone interview, July 12, 2021). Concerning the revival, the then resident missionary William Pettigrew wrote: “The Lord has been dealing with Manipur in a peculiar manner during the year. In early March [of 1923] revival meetings broke out almost simultaneously in the North East area among the Tangkhul Nagas and in the Sadar area among the Kom Kukis. Six weeks later among the Thado [Thadou] Kukis in the North West area” (quoted in Zeliang 2005b, 85). Within a few months, the revival spread to all the churches of the American Baptist Mission in Manipur and continued through 1924. As the revival continued in the churches, it became ecstatic and emotional for which G.G. Crozier, one of the two resident missionaries in Manipur, reported the abuses in the revival in his letter of August 1925: The great revival of 1923 was a mixture of the Holy and of the unholy Spirit. There seems to have been a lot of genuine work of grace and of love, and considerable fraud and counterfeit … During the revival some of them said they had no further need for the Bible because they had the Holy Spirit. Quoted in Zeliang (2014, 69) Apparently, the resident missionaries became critical of the ecstatic movement and therefore it gradually declined in most areas by the end of 1924, except in a few western Tangkhul churches like Somdal BC, where it lasted until 1930 (Aping Kamrang, telephone interview, July 12, 2021). The revival was marked by experiences of spiritual gifts, ecstatic emotionalism, fasting and prayer, expectation of imminent return of the Lord, holding of conferences, and voluntary preaching tours. In his evangelistic report of 1923, Pettigrew described the nature of the revival as follows: These meetings among the Christians have been characterized by deep solemnity during the first stage accompanied by confession of sins … Later the joy of realized forgiveness of sins led to wonderful outburst of praise and thanksgiving accompanied with the beating of drum and dancing. Daily meetings for prayer and confession lasting for many hours, far into the night until dawn in many cases. Getting alone in the jungle and fasting for two or three days, with continual prayer for clean lives 160

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and power to withstand temptation. Waiting on the Lord for definite leading as to the next step they should take, led to the calling of conferences in the different areas where old and young came in from villages miles away and joined in meetings for prayer and praise, and exhortation. The near approach of the Lord’s coming as indicated in the dreams and visions related by many of each area, led to an earnest desire on the part of groups of young men and maidens forming themselves into parties, and sometimes one only would feel the call to go alone to a village or a group of villages and preach the Gospel of God’s grace. Conferences of this kind have numbered eleven so far, and how many parties have been formed voluntarily is not known. Many false Christians exposed, many backsliders restored, and many new converts. Quoted in Zeliang (2005b, 85) In the above report, Pettigrew did mention about the claimed dreams and visions of people but he did not mention about the gifts of speaking in tongues, prophecy, and healing. However, a veteran Naga church leader T. Luikham, in his book (1948) mentioned visions, prophecies, and dreams during the revival of 1923. He wrote: Suddenly like a wild fire the great revival swept over the hills of Manipur … This miraculous revival which as few parallels affected all the Christians. For a time they were filled with the Holy Spirit and even prophesied as in the day of Pentecost. By this the promise of the Spirit was fulfilled. The people saw visions and dreamt strange dreams ( Joel 2:28–32). Just as formerly there were unbelievers in the work of the Spirit, so then many people in Manipur called the Christians drunken and mad (Acts 2:17–18). Luikham (1948, 33–34) Likewise, the members of Kaikao (Sempang) BC informed the researcher in 2012 that some of their members received spiritual gifts such as speaking in unknown tongues, visions, dreams, and prophecies. Tinglangdinliu, one of the three girls who received the gift of prophecy and prophesied, sang a new Christian song while in trance in traditional tune, which is still sung by the people. A man who was vomiting blood was also said to have been healed after the church members prayed for his healing (Zeliang 2014, 65–66). Pettigrew’s report of intense fasting and prayer, singing and dancing at the beat of drums, revival meetings or conferences, expectation of the quick return of the Lord, and frequent voluntary preaching tours are very similar to the 1970s revival that I witnessed. Likewise, the claim of speaking in tongues, prophecy, and healing through prayer at Kaikao (Sempang) BC also resembles the later revivals.

Revival Movement of the 1950s Before we examine the revival movement of the 1950s, let us briefly discuss the then sociopolitical context of the Nagas. In 1918, a group of educated Nagas formed the Naga Club at Kohima. The Naga Club appealed to the Simon Commission in 1929, asking that the Nagas be protected from the majority Hindus and Muslims (Nuh 2002, 111–12). The Nagas also experienced the horror of World War II: the fierce fight between the British and Japanese troops in the region from March to July 1944. In 1945, the Naga Hills District Tribal Council (NHDTC) was formed in Nagaland (then Naga Hills). In the following 161

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year, 1946, the NHDTC was renamed the Naga National Council (NNC) (Iralu 2009, 47). Despite political negotiation, British India did not make any definite plan for the Nagas. Eventually, the Nagas declared independence on August 14, 1947, a day before India’s independence (Sema 1986, 86–90; Iralu 2009, 49–56). When the British left, the government of India (GOI) used force and occupied the Naga areas. In May 1951, the NNC conducted a plebiscite, with a 99 percent vote for total political freedom. As the GOI ignored the Nagas’ will, armed conflict began between the Naga Army and the Indian Army from 1954 and continued until the signing of a ceasefire on September 6, 1964. The Nagas as a whole experienced the brunt of the Indian army repressive operation during this period (Luithui and Haksar 1984, 194–97; Iralu 2009, 67–149). On the pretext of Naga political turbulence following the Indian independence from British rule in 1947, the GOI ordered the American Baptist missionaries to leave Nagaland. Accordingly, the last missionary couple R.F. Delano and his wife left Nagaland in March 1955 (Puthenpurakal 1984, 252), and the tribal Naga Baptist Associations were formed under the leadership of the native Christian leaders. The Ao Naga Baptist Association Platinum Jubilee celebration in January 1947 was followed by a longing and prayer for revival. C.E. Hunter, the then resident missionary of the Impur Mission Station (October 1947 to December 1950), led the prayer movement, which prepared for the coming revival movement. About 100 revival songs, including “Revive Us Again,” and “Oh Lord, send a Great Revival,” were translated into Ao Naga dialect. Meanwhile, bible study, prayer fellowships, and singing of revival songs became popular in the churches (Longkumer 1989, 27–29). In 1952, Rikum Ao, a recent graduate from Allahabad Bible Seminary, who claimed to have received the “baptism of the Holy Spirit” from the seminary, led the revival movement. Rikum conducted Bible study at his village Mangmetong BC and a revival broke out and soon it spread to Longkum BC (Zeliang 2014, 82–83). Members of these two churches received the gifts of vision, speaking in tongues, etc., cried and prayed in loud voices. As this revival was the first of its kind in Nagaland, the revival phenomena caused confusion and misunderstanding among the members of the churches. The leaders of Ao Baptist Arogo Mundang (ABAM), therefore, stopped Rikum from preaching about the revival and the revival movement gradually stopped in the Ao area (Longkumer 1989, 30; Maongkaba Lemtur, telephone interview, July 6, 2021). Although the revival declined in the Ao area, interestingly, it spread out to the churches of other neighboring Naga tribes. For instance, the revival reached Okotso BC in Lotha area in 1952 (Ezamo Murry, telephone interview, July 6, 2021; Dozo 1978, 58); Sukhalu church in Sümi area in March 1954 (Hokishe Yeptho, telephone interview, July 7, 2021; Chishi 2003, 46); Gariphema BC in Angami area in 1958 (Paphino 2008, 6); Khulazu Basa BC in Chakhesang area, March 24, 1958 (Dozo 1978, 58); and Sendenyu BC in Rengma area in February 1959 (Editorial Board 2009, 18–19). Gradually, many Baptist churches in the Lotha, Sümi, Angami, Chakhesang, and Rengma areas experienced the revival movement. It is interesting that most of the churches know the exact days/months of the revival experiences. Sendenyu BC, for example, celebrated the Revival Golden Jubilee in 2009 (Thong 2010). The revival, however, did not spread widely but was confined to certain tribes in Nagaland like the Lothas, Sumis, Angamis, Chakhesangs, and Rengmas. In the 1950s, some Tangkhul Baptist churches and Zeliangrong Baptist churches in Manipur were also said to have experienced evangelical revivals marked by intense prayer and repentance through Bible studies and singing of revival songs. Although the churches in Nagaland experienced miraculous spiritual gifts in the revival, the churches in Manipur did not experience such gifts in this revival (Zeliang 2014, 85–90; Jonah M. Solo, telephone interview, July 6, 2021). 162

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The revival movement of the 1950s in Nagaland was also marked by long hours of worship, speaking in tongues, seeing visions, prophecies, dreams, and experiencing divine healing. A veteran Naga Christian minister Phuveyi Dozo who experienced the revival provides an eyewitness account of the revival at Runguze BC in 1958. A revival began at Runguze BC when a Lotha revival preacher named Solomon and his group came to the church. Dozo wrote: Revival began, and every night a tarry-meeting was conducted. People were convicted of their sins, crying, weeping and confessing. Visions, speaking unknown tongues and ecstasy were common phenomenal experiences. The village was filled with revival songs and prayers (in all Christian homes). People rushed to church daily … Many non-Christians rushed to church to see what was going on … Every night many non-Christians used to slip into the church to join the Christians individually or in group. Dozo (1978, 59) Sendenyu BC that received the revival through the ministry of evangelist Pelhoutsü Angami in February 1959 provides interesting reports of their first revival experiences. The church members conducted a three-day period of fasting and prayer and, on the third day, they had miraculous experiences similar to that of the Pentecost in the New Testament: On the third day, when they were singing, praying and confessing their sins in tears, fire of the Holy Spirit descended from heaven like a rushing mighty wind, it fell on the pulpit table and shook the members like current with mighty sound and they were filled with the Holy Spirit of God. And suddenly some began to tremble and speak unknown tongues which the Spirit gave them utterance, some began to see visions and some prophesied. Editorial Board (2009, 19) People experienced signs and wonders in different places during the revival. For instance, in 1952, when members of Longkhum BC gathered at noontime, a strange rainbow appeared on a bright clear sky. As the members gazed at it in wonder, they heard a loud and clear voice saying, “This Revival will be spread all over Nagaland” (Paphino 2008, 29). It is also reported that in 1954 when the members of Phiro BC, in Lotha area of Nagaland, were praying in the church, “the church was lifted up from the ground about two to three feet. Even unbelievers saw this miracle and many repented from their sins” (Paphino 2008, 30). In 1959, Ronsenle Seb prophesied in a Sunday morning worship at Sendeny BC that if the people continued to disbelieve and murmur against the working of the Holy Spirit, hailstones would be poured down to undo their disbelief. “And as soon as Rosenle Seb finished speaking the prophesy then hailstones from heaven came crashing down on the C.G.I. sheet roofing of the church in a clear day light without a single drop of rain, when the Sunday morning service was in progress” (Editorial Board 2009, 20). These are just few examples of the many signs and wonders that the people experienced during this revival. As the revival progressed, disagreements on the revival phenomena came up among the members in some Baptist churches. While the ultra-revivalists insisted on following all the claimed divine directions through visions and prophecies, the moderate revivalists opted to maintain a balance between the Bible and the claimed divine directions. The disagreements in the Baptist churches over the revivals resulted in the split of some Baptist churches and, to some extent, the entry of Pentecostal denominations in Nagaland. For instance, in 1961, 163

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the extremist revivalists established the Assemblies of God church at Wokha in Nagaland. Likewise, the ultra-revivalists in the Angami, Sümi, and Chakhesang areas formed a new denomination called Nagaland Christian Revival Church (NCRC) in January 1962 (Paphino 2008, 7; Phuveyi Dozo, Email to the writer, July 9, 2021). Gradually, like-minded people from other tribes also joined the NCRC. Interestingly, the Rengma Baptist churches did not split as they, among others, accommodated the formulae of triple “Praise the Lord” at the beginning and end of prayers, which is practiced until today ( Joshua Lorin, telephone interview, July 6, 2021). In due course, the revival subsided in many Baptist churches but it continued in the Rengma Baptist churches, the AG churches, and the NCRC churches in Nagaland (Zhabu Terhuja, telephone interview, July 6, 2021; Ezamo Murry, telephone interview, July 6, 2021; Hokishe Yeptho, telephone interview, July 7, 2021).

Revival Movement of the 1970s According to the 1960 agreement between the GOI and the Naga People Convention (NPC), the then Naga Hills district of Assam obtained statehood with the name “Nagaland” on December 1, 1963 (Sema 1986, 95). The Federal Government of Nagaland (FGN), however, rejected outright the statehood of Nagaland and the conflict between the GOI and NNC continued. Meanwhile, the Nagaland Baptist Church Council (NBCC) Peace Mission (formed in 1958) (Linyü 2004, 150) mediated between the FGN and the GOI. Through the determined and relentless work of the NBCC Peace Mission, the leaders of the FGN and the GOI signed the Ceasefire Agreement in August 1964 and the ceasefire came into effect at midnight on September 6, 1964, which was extended periodically until 1972 (Nuh 2002, 242–45; Linyü 2004, 160–63). As many as ten rounds of Indo-Naga peace talks were held between 1964 and 1967 but the problem remained unresolved. Meanwhile, disagreement cropped up among the Naga armed cadres, which made the issue more complicated. There were many cases of violation of the ceasefire from both sides. Consequently, on August 31, 1972, the GOI ended the ceasefire and banned the NNC, the FGN, and the Naga Army as unlawful associations (Linyü 2004, 180–81). In the midst of terror and chaos, through the initiatives of the NBCC’s Peace Council, the representatives of the FGN and the GOI signed the so-called Shillong Accord on November 11, 1975, which temporarily eased the situation (Nuh 2002, 331). As not all the NNC leaders accepted the Accord, a new party called the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN) was formed in 1980, which unfortunately split again into two factions, namely the NSCN-IM (led by Isaac Swu and Th. Muivah) and NSCN-K (led by S.S. Khaplang) in 1988. In the course of time, more factions emerged among the Naga armed groups. Fortunately, the NSCN-IM entered into a ceasefire with the GOI in 1997 and gradually other factions also signed cease fire agreements with the GOI (Nuh 2002, 467–68). Numerous rounds of Indo-Naga peace talks have been held both abroad and in India, but the final solution is yet to be arrived at. This has been the socio-political context of the Nagas since the 1960s. As mentioned above, the revival phenomena of the 1950s continued in the AG, NCRC, and in some Baptist churches in Nagaland (Dozo 1978, 74–75). Meanwhile, a far-reaching wave of revival swept across the Naga areas beginning in 1976, remarkably in a more peaceful situation following the Shillong Accord in 1975. This revival was preceded by chain of prayers conducted by the Nagaland Missions Movement (est. 1960) from 1970 to 1977; the Ao Naga Baptist Centennial celebration at Impur from November 8 to 12, 1972; Billy Graham Evangelistic Crusade at Kohima from November 17 to 22, 1972; and the Nagaland Congress on World Evangelization at Dimapur in March 1975. Apparently, the Nagaland Congress was 164

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a direct influence of the First International Congress on World Evangelization in Lausanne, Switzerland ( July 1974) as some church leaders from Nagaland attended it (Zeliang 2014, 101–05). Just as the 1950s revival began from the Ao Baptists, the revival movement of the 1970s also started from the Ao Baptist church in Nagaland. The ABAM declared 1976 as “the Year of Revival” and an ABAM evangelist M.I. Luen, who studied theology at Eastern Theological College, Jorhat, and later completed a Bachelor of Theology degree from Berean Bible College, Bombay (1964) (Maongkaba Lemtur, WhatsApp message, July 20, 2022), conducted revival meetings in various ABAM churches. The new wave of revival started when M.I. Luen was conducting an “Hour of Revival” at Anaki BC from May 6 to 9, 1976. Concerning the first revival experience at Anaki BC, Luen observed: On Saturday, May 8 [1976], I along with the pastors and representatives … woke up early in the morning. We wanted to have a serious soul-searching prayer. There were fourteen of us present there. During the prayer, each of us felt the touch of the Holy Spirit in various ways … As we continued with the prayer session, some cried while others laughed aloud as they saw the heavens open up and saw angels rejoicing … Our joy knew no bounds and we felt the power of the Holy Spirit. It was not a joy of emotionalism, but a joy in the Lord … Our prayers, Bible study and preaching, were of such power that the people of Anaki village watched with bewilderment, because they had never seen such things before … That morning, we took a pledge that we would proclaim his power and carry this flame of Revival to all the people of Nagaland. Luen (2009, 23–25) Soon, the new wave of revival spread from Anaki to other Baptist churches in the Ao area. Surprisingly, the Ao Baptists who rejected the revival of the 1950s accepted the new wave of revival with similar phenomena with great enthusiasm. Perhaps, the revival experiences in the Baptist churches of some neighboring tribes and the NCRC, AG, and Pentecostal churches might have influenced the Ao Baptists to accept the revival. Possibly, the news of charismatic movement in the non-Pentecostal churches elsewhere might also have influenced the Aos to accept the revival. The enthusiasm for revival was such that three-day Revival Hour programs were conducted in twenty-three Ao Baptist churches between May and December 1976 (Luen 2009, 27–29). As the Ao Baptist churches experienced the new wave of revival, the Ao Baptists carried the new flame of revival to other tribes in Nagaland and the neighboring states in the region. The Ao Baptist churches in Kohima, Dimapur, and other district headquarters of Nagaland also played a major role in spreading the revival to other areas. The new wave of the revival not only strengthened the churches that experienced the 1950s revival but also spread out to other areas that never experienced revival before. Within three months after the Anaki experience, that is, in July 1976, Sowa Ao, Pastor of Nagaland Armed Police (NAP) brought the revival flame to the Zeliangrongs in Peren district of Nagaland (Zeliang 2014, 108). The Ao pastors and evangelists also spread the revival to the Eastern Naga tribes like the Konyaks, Changs, Phoms, Yimchungrü, and Sangtams (Yamyap Konyak, Maongkaba Lemtur, Imtiba Sangtam, telephone interviews, July 6, 2021). Having experienced the revival in their churches in Nagaland, individuals and churches spread the revival flame to their areas in Manipur, Assam, and Arunachal Pradesh. For instance, in 1977, the Rongmeis in Nagaland first brought the revival message to the Rongmei churches in Manipur. The big wave, however, spread with the revival crusade held at Tamenglong BC from April 4 to 9, 1978, led by Rev. Rikum Ao 165

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and his team (Pamei 1996, 70–71; Zeliang 2014, 117). In turn, the Zeliangrong Baptists from Manipur and Nagaland brought the revival flame to the Zeliangrongs in Assam. In this way, the revival of the 1970s spread to all the Naga areas in NEI. As in the previous revivals, many people received spiritual gifts even in the revival of the 1970s. The spiritual gifts include the gift of seeing visions, hearing, speaking in unknown tongues, prophecies, dreams, and healing. Luen reports that a paralyzed woman received instant healing at Wamaken through prayer on May 30, 1976; six persons from Tuli town received the gift of vision (mangdang in Ao) in July 1976; a few people received the gift of prophecy at Mokokchung Town Ao BC in October 1976; and some received the gift of singing in the Spirit at Molungyimsen in January 1977 (Luen 2009, 31–32). Besides healing, many people experienced other miracles during the peak of the revival, from 1976 to 1980. As in the previous revival, people experienced signs and wonders in this revival. For instance, Luen preached in Ao at Yaongyimsen BC on October 15, 1976 and Konyaks from four linguistic groups heard his preaching in their own dialects (Luen 2009, 33–34). An illiterate Along Kenn, a Zeliang multigifted charismatic healer, claimed to have once spoken in worship in English to the surprise of the listeners. The revival was also marked by singing of revival songs with the beating of drums, dancing, praying, long hours of continuous worship services, and occasional experience of long ecstatic experiences by some people. As a young boy, the writer had witnessed these revival phenomena both in his church and in the Zeliangrong area. It is reported that the worship service at Mongsenyimti BC lasted for thirty hours on August 14–15, 1976; Chuchuyimlang BC worship service lasted for twenty-six hours in September 1976 (Luen 2009, 37–38); and Peren Town BC worship service once lasted for about twelve hours in 1977 (Zeliang 2014, 122). Hungamang Daimei of Piulekluong BC in Manipur informed the writer that he had a five-day trance in July 1980 as his church members waited for him in the church (Zeliang 2014, 123). As stated above, many people received spiritual gifts during the revival. While most people claimed to have received only one or two gifts, some people claimed to have received multiple gifts. For instance, the well-known and multi-gifted man Along Kenn claimed to have received the gifts of visions, hearing, prophecy, tongues, and healing in 1977 (Zeliang 2014, 119). There are still several popular multi-gifted charismatics among the Nagas even today. By the early 1980s, the mass enthusiastic revival movement declined but the use of spiritual gifts continues in many Naga Baptist churches to date. For instance, many Baptist churches in the Zeliangrong areas still conduct revival services on Sunday evenings where they sing revival songs and freely practice the spiritual gifts such as speaking in tongues, vision, prophecy, and healing. Apparently, the NCRC, AG, and Pentecostal churches do practice spiritual gifts. While some people lost their gifts for whatever reason, most people continue to use their gifts. People keep receiving spiritual gifts for which visioners and healers are found in many Naga churches even today.

Evaluation of the Revival Movements in the Naga Churches The three revivals that the Naga churches experienced were preceded by socio-political turbulence and sincere prayers for revivals. As the revivals of the 1950s and 1970s in Nagaland transpired in the midst of political turmoil and the Indian army repression, a Naga scholar, Tezenlo Thong, describes the revivals as “symptom of traumatic disruption” (Thong 2010, 603–604). This view, however, may be true only partially as the revival of the 1950s was confined to only few tribes in central Nagaland, whereas the entire Naga area was under the same political unrest in the said period. Again, the more extensive revival of the 1970s occurred in a rather peaceful period after the ceasefire agreement in 1964 and the signing of the Shillong 166

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Accord in 1975. It is true that Christians intensified their prayer for peace and spiritual strength in the midst of persecution by non-Christians and political turmoil in the Naga areas. In this connection, O. Alem, former executive secretary of ABAM, wrote of the revival in the 1970s: “The Revival in 1970s in Ao Baptist churches was not an accident. It was a specific answer to the six-year chain of prayer by all the churches within ABAM” (Alem 2009, 11). Some people received spiritual gifts such as speaking in tongues, seeing visions, prophecy, dreams, and healing in all the three revivals that the Naga churches experienced. People not only received the spiritual gifts but also practiced their gifts. Although people received various kinds of spiritual gifts, those who have gifts are often called by the general term “visioner.” The Naga Baptists, the NCRC, and the Pentecostal churches have experienced revivals that resemble the Pentecostal-charismatic revivals elsewhere in the world (Hollenweger 1997; Anderson 2004, 39–165). Although the NCRC and the Pentecostals consider speaking in tongues as a sign of Spirit baptism (Paphino 2008, 51), the Baptists simply consider it as one of the gifts and do not insist on it. Insofar as the revival phenomena in the Naga churches resemble the wider Pentecostal-charismatic revivals elsewhere, the revivals in the Baptist churches may be also called a charismatic revival. In general, however, the Naga Baptists neither consider themselves as Pentecostals nor charismatics, but Baptists. This shows that the Naga Baptists have accepted or at least accommodated the spiritual gifts and use of the gifts so that the revival has become part of the Baptist tradition in most of the Naga areas. As mentioned above, the revival of the 1920s declined in about two years. Likewise, with few exceptions in the Rengma area, the revival of the 1950s also declined in most Baptist churches with the establishment of Assemblies of God churches and the NCRC in the early 1960s in Nagaland (Maongkaba Lemtur, telephone interview, July 6, 2021; Ezamo Murry, telephone interview, July 6, 2021; Hokishe Yeptho, telephone interview, July 7, 2021). While the general enthusiastic wave of the revival of 1970s also declined after some years, receiving spiritual gifts and the practice of the gifts continue to this day. Naturally, the AG, the NCRC, and the Pentecostal churches promote and practice spiritual gifts. Today, there are several prayer and healing centers in the Naga areas run by the Baptists, AG, and the NCRC. While some are run by individual visioners and healers, others are managed either by local churches or even by the association. In the pre-Christian society, religious functionaries especially shamans and tiger-men/tiger-women served the people as healers with their multi-gifts alongside the priests. The spiritual phenomena of vision, prophecy, dream, healing, and exorcism have similarities with the traditional practices save the belief in the triune God. As such, the charismatic form of Christianity is found to be contextual and effective due to the preChristian cultural and religious background of the Nagas (Zeliang 2015, 35–45).

Conclusion The Nagas first received Christianity from the American Baptist missionaries who began their mission in the Naga areas in the nineteenth century. By virtue of being the first mission to enter the Naga areas, Baptist denomination remain the dominant identification in the Naga areas, even with their charismatic practices. As discussed above, the churches in the Naga areas in the NEI have experienced three waves of revival movements, namely in the 1920s, the 1950s, and the 1970s. People received spiritual gifts and practiced the gifts in all the three revival movements. In addition, people also witnessed and experienced signs and wonders in the revivals. Since the second and third waves of the revival movement, the revival form of Christianity is being practiced in most Baptist churches, Assemblies of God churches, the NCRC, and Pentecostal churches in the Naga areas in NEI. 167

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References Alem, O. 2009. “Foreword.” In The Fire of Revival, edited by M.I. Luen, 11–12. Hyderabad: Authentic. Anderson, Allan. 2004. An Introduction to Pentecostalism: Global Charismatic Christianity. Cambridge: University Press. Chishi, Vikheshe. 2003. A Strategy for the Unification of the Sumi Baptist Church Through Understanding the Revival Movement and its Application. Dimapur: Inaho Kinnimi Memorial Trust. CHS Committee. 2017. Souvenir & History of the Makokching Baptist Church (KRBCA): 1917–2017. Makokching: Centenary History & Souvenir Committee. Downs, F.S. 1971. The Mighty Works of God. Gauhati: Christian Literature Centre. Dozo, Phuveyi. 1978. The Growth of the Baptist Church in Chakhesang Naga Tribe (India). Kohima: Nagaland Missionary Movement. Editorial Board. 2009. Sendenyu Baptist Church: Revival Golden Jubilee 1959–2009. Sendenyu: Sendenyu BC. Hollenweger, Walter J. 1997. Pentecostalism: Origins and Developments Worldwide. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers. Iralu, Kaka D. 2009. The Naga Saga, 3rd ed. Kohima: Published by the Author. Joshi, Vibha. 2004. “Human and Spiritual Agency in Angami Healing.” Anthropology & Medicine 11 (3): 269–91. Kamei, Chunkeirung. 2019. “Tingkao Ragwang Chapriak: The Nomenclature and its Genesis.” In Tingkao Ragwang Chapriak Phom: Souvenir, 80–93. Imphal: Souvenir Committee of the Silver Jubilee Celebration. Kamei, Gangmumei. 2004. The History of the Zeliangrong Nagas: From Makhel to Rani Gaidinliu. Guwahati/Delhi: Spectrum Publications. Kamson, Chaoba. 2019. “The Beginning Worship of Tingkao Ragwang.” In Tingkao Ragwang Chapriak Phom: Souvenir, 73–79. Imphal: Souvenir Committee of the Silver Jubilee Celebration. Kipgen, Mangkhosat. 1997. Christianity and Mizo Culture: The Encounter Between Christianity and Zo Culture in Mizoram. Aizawl: Mizo Theological Conference. Lanunungsang, A. 2000. “A Case Study of Tiger-Man: A Pilot Study.” Journal of Tribal Studies 4 (1): 32–46. Linyü, Keviyiekielie. 2004. Christian Movements in Nagaland. Kohima: Published by the author. Lloyd, J. Meirion. 1991. History of the Church in Mizoram. Aizawl: Synod Publication Board. Longchar, A. Wati. 2000. The Tribal Religious Traditions in North East India: An Introduction, revised edition. Jorhat: Published by the Author. Longkumer, Akümla. 1989. Revival in Nagaland: Fact or Fallacy? Aolijen: Published by the author. Longkumer, Arkotong. 2016. The Poetry of Resistance: The Heraka Movement of Northeast India. Guwahati: NESRC. Luen, M.I. 2009. The Fire of Revival. Hyderabad: Authentic, 2009. Luikham, T. 1948. A Short History of the Manipur Baptist Christian: Golden Jubilee. Ukhrul: NE Christian Association, 1948. Luithui, Luingam, and Nandita Haksar. 1984. Nagaland File: Question of Human Rights. New Delhi: Lancer International. Mackenzie, Alexander. 2017. The North-East Frontier of India, 1884, reprint. New Delhi: Mittal Publications. Nuh, V.K. 2002. The Naga Chronicle. New Delhi: Regency Publications. Pamei, Ramkhun. 1996. The Zeliangrong Nagas: A Study of Tribal Christianity. New Delhi: Uppal Publishing House, 1996. Paphino, Neikedozo. 2008. History of Revival Movement in Nagaland. Dimapur: Angami Christian Revival Church. Philip, P.T. 1983. The Growth of Baptist Churches in Nagaland, 2nd ed. Guwahati: Christian Literature Centre. Pudussery, Devassy. 1993. “Evangelization Among the Manipur Tribes.” In The Catholic Church in Northeast India 1890–1990, edited by Sebastian Karotemprel, 200–15. Shillong: Vendrame Institute. Puthenpurackal, Joseph. 1993. “Evangelization Among the Nagaland Tribes.” In The Catholic Church in Northeast India 1890–1990, edited by Sebastian Karotemprel, 216–38. Shillong: Vendrame Institute. Puthenpurakal, Joseph. 1984. Baptist Missions in Nagaland. Shillong: Vendrame Missiological Institute. Reid, Robert. 1983. History of the Frontier Areas Bordering on Assam: From 1883–1941, reprint. Delhi: Eastern Publishing House.

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PART III

Contextualizing Spirituality – Pentecostal Demonology and Inter-Religious Encounters

13 TOWARD A GLOBALLY CONTEXTUAL MODEL OF U.S. DEMONOLOGY AND DELIVERANCE Candy Gunther Brown Introduction The development of demonology and deliverance practices in the United States offers a revealing window onto the interaction of local and global influences in Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity. Previous scholarship has overemphasized U.S. distinctives, while obscuring multi-directional global cultural flows. Scholars have explained twentieth-century U.S. interest in demons primarily in terms of popular media, consumerism, therapeutic selfhelp, and conservative politics (Cuneo 2001; McCloud 2015). A fuller understanding requires contextualizing U.S. developments within the broader landscape of global Pentecostalism. This chapter begins by tracing the biblical foundations of modern U.S. theologies and practices related to demons. It next considers the contradictory impulses toward disenchanted and reenchanted modes of biblical reading as the Bible became a global text. Finally, the chapter examines processes through which U.S. Pentecostal, Charismatic, and Third Wave demonological beliefs and practices emerged through globally patterned and locally differentiated applications of the biblical text. The goal of this study is to develop a theoretical model that explains the processes through which U.S. demonology and deliverance practices emerged in a global context of multi-staged, cross-cultural interactions. Although any such generalizations necessarily flatten local variations, identifying patterns provides a template useful in accounting for exceptions and refining explanations. Thus, the case study of U.S. Pentecostal demonology and deliverance can inform studies of other local contexts.

Biblical Foundations The Christian practice of driving out demons can be traced to Jesus of Nazareth in firstcentury Palestine. There were other Jewish exorcists (Matthew 12:27), but observers expressed amazement at Jesus’ extraordinary successes (Mark 1:27). Critics did not accuse Jesus of failure or fraud, but instead charged him with drawing power from “Beelzebul, the prince of demons” (Matthew 12:24, NIV). Jesus rebutted that his success in driving out demons constituted evidence that the “kingdom of God has come upon you” (Matthew 12:28). In addition to reporting that Jesus healed “many who were demon-possessed” (Matthew 8:16), the gospels DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-17

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include seven separate stories of Jesus commanding demons to leave specific individuals (Mark 1:21–28, 3:22–27, 5:1–20, 7:24–30, 9:14–29; Luke 13:10–17; Matthew 9:32–34). Jesus gave his disciples “authority to drive out demons” (Mark 3:15). Not only the twelve disciples, but seventy-two others also reported that “even the demons submit to us in your name” (Luke 10:17). According to some biblical manuscripts, Jesus’ post-resurrection commission to future followers specified that “in my name they will drive out demons” (Mark 16:17). Canonization and dissemination of the Bible preserved Jesus’ teachings and facilitated emulation. Early church baptismal rites (ca. 210) incorporated anointing with the “Oil of Exorcism” and commanding evil spirits to depart (Skarsaune 1997). Church fathers such as Tertullian (ca. 165–220) taught that any Christian could exercise Jesus’ authority over demons (MacMullen 1984, 27). The historian Ramsay MacMullen explains the rapid growth of the early church as resulting primarily from power encounters with demons that simultaneously instilled faith in Jesus and destroyed faith in the pagan gods (1984, 108). Church growth ironically produced contradictory impulses of disenchanted and reenchanted reading of the biblical text.

Disenchanted Biblical Reading As Christianity became a majority religion in the Roman Empire, Christians continued to read the same Bible as did the early church, yet educated elites came to interpret biblical stories through a functionally naturalistic worldview. In the first stage of this development, the church institutionalized, with the result that exorcism became less common. By the third century, church leaders restricted driving out demons to a special order of exorcists. As the Roman Catholic Church developed its sacramental system, the conditions under which exorcists licitly transmitted spiritual power narrowed (MacNutt 2009, 136, 138). Even as the Protestant Reformers restored authority to read the Bible to ordinary Christians, they instilled disenchanted reading practices (Taylor 2007, 27; Gregory 2012, 6). Although Martin Luther (1483–1546) criticized aspects of Catholic sacramentalism as merely “human additions” to “God’s Word,” he retained exorcism in his own “Order of Baptism” of 1523 and 1526, and he personally confronted demons (Luther 1932, 206). By contrast, John Calvin (1509–1564) rejected sacramentalism and developed a cessationist mode of biblical interpretation that dismissed as superstition belief in ongoing spiritual incursions in the material world (Cameron 2010, 207). Among Western elites, eighteenth-century Enlightened rationalism further eroded belief in the relevance of the spiritual world, including demons. Educated elites grew more interested in understanding the natural laws that govern the material world, and correspondingly more skeptical of spiritual explanations for observed phenomena. Diseases and mental disturbances once attributed to demons came to be explained naturalistically in terms of germs or psychological disorders (Delbanco 1995, 14). Medieval and early modern witch hunts, which resulted in the deaths of thousands of accused witches, produced a backlash against belief in spiritual causation as not only superstitious but also dangerous (Cameron 2010, 288).

Reenchanted Biblical Reading The same modernizing, globalizing processes that bred disenchantment sowed the seeds of reenchanted biblical reading. As Luther’s German Pietist heirs devoted themselves to Bible study, they cultivated a lively sense of conflict between God’s and Satan’s kingdoms (Strom 2002, 540). German Pietist revivals spread internationally, for example, influencing 174

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John Wesley (1703–1791), who prayed for healing and drove out demons as he stirred up a Great Awakening and founded the Methodist movement (Dayton 1987, 118). As communication and travel networks developed, local successes in confronting demons became globally emulated models. There was demand for such models because the Bible provides scant instructions on how to drive out demons and because, elite skepticism notwithstanding, many ordinary people continued to feel attacked by evil spirits. For instance, in the 1840s, a young German Lutheran woman, Gottliebin Dittus, suffered from mysterious illnesses that fellow villagers attributed to her practice of sorcery. Dittus’ plight persuaded her pastor, Johann Christoph Blumhardt (1805–1880), that “something demonic was at work” (Zuendel 2002, 42), as “everything that had hitherto been reckoned under the most ridiculous popular superstition stepped over from the world of fairytales into reality” (trans. and qtd by Meyer 1999, 48). Following an eighteen-month “battle,” a preternatural voice “bellowed”: “Jesus is the Victor!” (Zuendel 1880: 42, 50). News of Dittus’ deliverance spread through word of mouth, a report written by Blumhardt in 1850 and translated into English in 1970 (Blumhardt 1970), and German and English biographies (Zuendel 1880; Carter 1883). People traveled from surrounding villages and other countries seeking freedom for themselves and instruction in how to help others. The anthropologist Birgit Meyer traces a “direct line” of influence from Blumhardt to German Pentecostalism in the twentieth century (Meyer 1999, 46). Influential Pentecostals who credit Blumhardt with teaching them about deliverance include the Dutch woman Corrie Ten Boom (1962), the German-American Mennonite Dean Hochstetler (Cuneo 202, 228), the U.S. Catholic Charismatic Francis MacNutt, and the U.S. Vineyard founder John Wimber (MacNutt 2008).

Reading the Bible in the Global South During Blumhardt’s lifetime, his influence extended internationally through his personal connections to a training center in Basel, Switzerland that sent Pietist missionaries overseas, including to Ghana. Blumhardt’s model reinforced a Pietist cosmology of battle between God’s and Satan’s kingdoms (Stanley 2021, 301). This cosmology predisposed missionaries to interpret African spirits as real, and demonic, rather than mere inventions of superstition. Nevertheless, most Pietist missionaries inherited such a strongly dualistic cosmology that they proved more reticent than Blumhardt – or their African converts – to confront demons. Pietist cosmology resonated with Ghanaians who perceived themselves to be engaged in a spiritual battle and who wanted more effective protection against evil spirits. Ghanaian Christians reinterpreted traditional spirits in terms of Christian demonology and read the Bible as a practical guidebook to exorcise them (Meyer 1999, 46, 83, 138, 109; Jenkins 2006, 4). As Christianity took root in Ghana, locally run churches of every denomination incorporated prayer for healing and deliverance from demons (Omenyo 2011, 232). Even as Europeans influenced Africans, Africans influenced Europeans. By the 1980s, Ghanaian migrants traveled to Germany in large numbers, infusing German Pentecostalism with fresh interest in deliverance (Währisch-Oblau 2011, 62). The modern missionary movement exemplified by the Basel Pietist mission to Ghana developed out of transnational revivalism and European colonialism. The evangelical revivals of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries encouraged activism in sharing the Bible (Bebbington 1988, 4). As European nation states competed to establish overseas colonies, Westerners became aware of the existence of peoples without vernacular language Bibles – which evangelical Protestants considered essential to salvation. As the British empire surpassed 175

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its rivals, the Church of England sent chaplains to minister to British colonists. Some of these chaplains, such as Henry Martyn (1781–1812), channeled their evangelistic sense of urgency into translating the Bible into local languages (Stanley 2019, 3). Although many Western missionaries read the Bible through a cessationist lens, they could not control the reading practices of Bible recipients. Globalization prepared colonized populations to read the Bible as offering this-worldly, as well as other-worldly, salvation, healing, and deliverance (Cox 1995, 109; Brown 2011, 3). Colonial and post-colonial economies exacerbated poverty and unemployment, and drove wedges among members of families and communities. In cultures that presume porous boundaries between the material and spiritual realms, people often attribute physical misfortunes to spiritual agents (Sanneh and Carpenter 2005, 7). In Tanzania, for example, where growing wealth inequality provoked new charges of witchcraft, churches attracted members through testimonies from former witchcraft victims (Hasu 2009, 419). The Bible proved adaptable to a variety of local spirit-rich cosmologies. Koreans who converted to Christianity through nineteenth-century Presbyterian missions reinterpreted local pantheons as demons. The Presbyterian Church in Korea officially renounced cessationism in 1923. As U.S. missionaries observed indigenous evangelists performs exorcisms, some missionaries became convinced of the reality of demons and wrote home describing their new theological perspective (Kim 2011, 268, 274, 270). Missionary reactions, in Korea and elsewhere, varied. In China, the Presbyterian missionary John Nevius (1829–1893) observed exorcisms and not only reassessed his own worldview, but also sought to convince an American audience by writing the book Demon Possession (1896). Nevius, moreover, drew parallels between sources of demonization in China and the United States – notably spiritualism, thereby implying that demonization was as much an American as a Chinese problem. Although Nevius’ short-term impact on U.S. demonology was modest (despite his major influence on missiology during his forty-year pioneering career), late twentieth-century U.S. deliverance leaders, such as Peter Wagner and Charles Kraft, cited Nevius (Monteith 2013, 4). Another Presbyterian missionary to China, Hugh White (1922), also witnessed indigenous exorcisms and also wrote a book for U.S. audiences: Demonism Verified and Analyzed (1922). White offered a disenchanted interpretation of exorcism as efficacious because it functioned much like psychoanalysis (De Arteaga 2015, 175). White’s daughter, Agnes – married named Sanford (1897–1982) – concurred with her father’s interpretation, until years later she encountered similar cases in the United States. At first discounting the problem of evil spirits as irrelevant to “civilized Americans,” phenomenological parallels of encounters in China and the United States led Sanford (1972, 156) to conclude that demons posed a universal concern, even if most problems were psychological and thus better addressed through “healing of the memories” or “inner healing”. The imperial context of modern missions created conditions for the emergence of culturally multi-lingual, highly educated, and globally influential elites who disseminated reenchanted biblicism globally (Woodhead 2011, 5). One of the most influential such individuals was Derek Prince (1915–2003). Born into a British military family in India, Prince grew up under the care of a Hindu nanny. At Cambridge University, Prince studied yoga – before it was popular in the West – alongside Greek and Latin philosophy, gravitating toward Plato’s view that forces in the “invisible realm” ultimately shape human destiny in the transitory “visible realm” (Stanley 2022, 408). Sent by the military to the Middle East during World War II, Prince had space for one book; he selected the Bible as a compact philosophical compendium. Prince read the Bible, converted to Christianity, and experienced what he described as baptism with the Holy Spirit and deliverance from an evil spirit of yoga 176

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(Prince 1998, 147). Prince spent five years as a missionary to Kenya (1957–1962), where he attributed rampant violence to “powerful satanic agents” (Stanley 2022, 401). When African evangelists described their personal encounters with demons, Prince put these stories in his “‘pending’ file” (1998, 43). It was not, however, until Prince was pastoring a U.S. church that he questioned a belief common among early Pentecostals – that Spirit-filled Christians cannot be demonized since they belong to God (Alexander 2006, 165). In 1963, a Christian congregant “let out a bloodcurdling shriek and collapsed just in front of my pulpit” (Prince 1998, 38, 9). Prince wielded his academic credentials to persuade U.S. Pentecostals of the danger demons posed to Spiritfilled Christians. In the 1980s, Prince’s influence extended globally through a daily radio program and the dissemination of books and inexpensive audio cassette tapes, which led to international invitations. Reactions to Prince’s teachings varied; for example, Ghanaian deliverance ministers often cited Prince as an authority (Gifford 2001, 70), whereas his teachings proved more controversial among Ethiopian Pentecostals, the majority of whom persisted in denying that Christians can be demonized (Haustein 2011, 540). Alongside cosmopolitan British elites like Prince, local elites also grew up influenced by their imperial and missionary contexts. One revealing example is Mahesh Chavda (1946–), a high-caste Indian Hindu raised in British Kenya. A Baptist missionary gave sixteen-year-old Chavda a Bible. Reading the Bible and then dreaming that he met Jesus, Chavda converted to Christianity. Funded by an American scholarship, Chavda attended a cessationist Christian college in the United States. Chavda renounced cessationism when his mother recovered from a terminal cancer diagnosis following his prayer. Likewise, Chavda began driving out demons when he was working in a home for children with severe disabilities and had depleted secular means of help (Chavda 1990, 21, 39, 55, 70, 131). Chavda’s Hindu upbringing may have predisposed him to accept the reality of spiritual healing and deliverance, but it was personal need that catalyzed his rereading of the Bible as a practical rather than historical book. Chavda became an itinerant evangelist whose ministry frequently took him back to Africa (sometimes alongside Derek Prince) to preach and pray for healing and deliverance.

Pentecostal, Charismatic, and Third Wave Demonologies in Global Context As Chavda’s experiences illustrate, spiritual healing and deliverance have fueled the growth of Pentecostal, Charismatic, and Third Wave Christianity as globally networked movements. At the turn of the twentieth century, Pentecostal revivals in Korea, Wales, India, Chile, Australia, and the United States – the influence of which multiplied through print and travel – fed a new wave of missionary activism (Curtis 2011, 30). The example of John G. Lake (1870– 1935) illustrates the multi-directional paths by which Pentecostalism spread. Lake grew up in Ontario, Canada reading with excitement about British missionary Dr. David Livingston’s (1813–1873) explorations in Africa (Burpeau 2004, 70). Several of Lake’s family members experienced healing after prayers from the Scottish-Australian missionary Alexander Dowie. Lake read about the 1904 Welsh revivals and visited the Azusa Street, California revivals of 1906–1909, where Lake received mentorship, including in healing and deliverance, from the African-American revivalist William Seymour. From 1908–1913, Lake served as a missionary in South Africa, where he worked alongside black and white local evangelists from whom Lake learned more about casting out demons. Returning to the United States, Lake operated store-front “healing rooms” in Spokane, Washington from 1914 to 1920, where sick people could receive prayer for healing and deliverance. In 1999, a Pentecostal layman, Cal Pierce, “reopened” Lake’s healing rooms and founded the International Association of Healing 177

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Rooms, with affiliates on every continent (Pierce 2001, 87). Notably, however, the new healing rooms movement encourages prayer for healing but pays scant attention to deliverance. Mid-twentieth-century developments heightened awareness of evil, yet also created conditions for growth of a middle class whose sense of decorum predisposed them to eschew demonic confrontations. World Wars convinced many Enlightenment-legacy Westerners that evil is more than privation of good; it is demonically inspired (Delbanco 1995, 235). For instance, Corrie Ten Boom, a Dutch woman imprisoned for sheltering Jews during World War II, attributed Nazi power to demons and reported experiences of “victory over the demons” in Nazi camps. After the war, Ten Boom traveled around Europe, teaching in churches and through publications, such as her book Defeated Enemies (1962). Postwar Pentecostal revivals (1947–1958) were exuberant affairs that prominently featured deliverance. One such revivalist, the half-Cherokee A.A. Allen (1910–1970) used tent meetings, radio, and television to counter U.S. skepticism – for instance, by disseminating recordings of a “screaming demon.” In similar fashion, Oral Roberts (1918–2009) publicly drove out demons during his postwar tent crusades. By the 1960s, however, Roberts increasingly sought to appeal to denominationally mainstream, middle-class audiences; this led him to downplay deliverance in favor of psychological wellbeing and financial prosperity (Harrell 1975, 7, 50, 157). Kathryn Kuhlman (1907–1976) likewise worked to gain mainstream acceptance for Charismatic healing by distancing her practices from presumed Pentecostal fanaticism; Kuhlman disallowed speaking in tongues and prophecy and, if demons ever manifested in her miracle services, she did not publicize it nor publicly exorcise them (Artman 2019, 19, 104). Charismatic healing evangelists like Roberts and Kuhlman countered the anti-medical reputation of Pentecostalism by forging alliances with medical doctors and accepting medical and psychological etiologies of physical and mental disease, with the corollary that deliverance seemed less necessary (Harrell 1985, 333). The significance of 1960s–1970s cultural ferment in catalyzing renewed interest in demons can scarcely be overstated. With passage of the U.S. Immigration Act of 1965, there was an influx of immigrants from cultures with spirit-rich cosmologies. Young people in particular questioned the authority of medical and religious institutions, while exploring Hindu and Buddhist beliefs and practices – increasingly including yoga and meditation, as well as experimenting with astrology, horoscopes, drugs, holistic healthcare, and new sexual mores. The Roman Catholic Church’s Second Vatican Council acknowledged truth in non-Christian religions, embraced Protestants as separated brethren, and welcomed the Charismatic Renewal (Eck 2001, 6; Jenkins 2002, 105). As ideas and people circulated with unprecedented rapidity, Western interest in the spiritual world exploded. From the perspective of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christians, so too did openings to demonization. Frank Hammond (1921–2005) credits Derek Prince with introducing him to deliverance and notes that military training during World War II helped him to envision confrontation with demons as “spiritual warfare.” Hammond, with his wife Ida Mae as co-author, wrote Pigs in the Parlor: A Practical Guide to Deliverance in 1973, a book that was translated into a dozen languages and sold 1.5 million copies worldwide. The Hammonds enumerated “open doors” that allow demons entrance – for instance, involvement in the occult, yoga, karate, and sex outside of marriage – practices that became more commonplace in the West beginning in the 1960s (Hammond and Hammond 2008, 21, 31, 33, 38). Media portrayals sensationalized deliverance and exorcism. Although based very loosely on an actual exorcism, the book and film The Exorcist (Friedkin and Blatty 1973) captured the popular imagination, while also making demonization seem rare, and exorcism seem dangerous if not ridiculous (Friedkin and Blatty 1973; Cuneo 2001, 7). Appealing to more 178

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intellectually sophisticated audiences, U.S. psychiatrists wrote popular books that simultaneously lent credibility to exorcism and also relegated it to extreme cases where psychiatry has reached its limits (Peck 1983, 188; Gallagher 2020, 198). Cross-fertilization of global deliverance teachings intensified through the Third Wave of the 1980s. Fuller Theological Seminary’s School of World Mission (now School of Intercultural Studies) in Pasadena, California played a pivotal role. Fuller employed experienced missionaries as faculty. Peter Wagner, with his wife Doris, had served in Nigeria, Charles Kraft in Bolivia, and Paul Hiebert in India; all three faculty members encountered deliverance as missionaries, yet struggled to reconcile their experiences with their cessationist reading of the Bible. Hiebert later concluded that Western preconceptions had blinded them to the “middle level of supernatural but this-worldly beings” that are better understood by Christians in the global South (1982, 43). At Fuller, faculty reassessed their past experiences and lens for interpreting the Bible as they interacted with global Christian leaders – and with an unchurched U.S. convert who read the Bible naively as a how-to guide to healing – John Wimber (1934–1997). At Wagner’s invitation, Wimber co-taught a Fuller course on “Signs, Wonders, & Church Growth” that incorporated “laboratory” sessions during which students practiced praying for healing. It was during this class that Kraft (2016, 16–17) had his first personal experience confronting a demon, a prelude to decades ministering, teaching, and publishing on deliverance in conjunction with psychologically informed approaches to “inner healing” of the emotions (2016, 16–17). Through books such as Breaking Strongholds in Your City (1993), Peter Wagner popularized teachings on “spiritual mapping” and “strategic-level spiritual warfare” that he learned from revivalists in Argentina, while Doris Wagner emphasized personal deliverance in her book How to Cast Out Demons (2000). Wimber disseminated his teachings internationally through “equipping seminars,” books such as Power Healing (Wimber and Springer 1984), and the Association of Vineyard Churches. Wimber mentored pastors of the Vineyard movement, among them Randy Clark (1952–), a St. Louis pastor whose visit reputedly catalyzed the Toronto Blessing (1994–2006). Shortly after, Clark received prayer from a South African missionary to the United States, Rodney Howard-Browne, and when Toronto Vineyard pastor John Arnott had returned from visiting Argentina to receive prayer from revivalist Claudio Freidzon, the Toronto revivals ignited (Brown 2011, 353). Clark, whose influence multiplied through founding of an itinerant ministry, Global Awakening, self-consciously borrows his teachings on deliverance from the Argentinian revivalist Carlos Annacondia and his Director of Deliverance Ministry, Pablo Bottari, author of Libres en Cristo (1999), translated into English as Free in Christ (2000). Clark (2002, M-1), who often leads healing conferences in Brazil and Mozambique, popularizes Bottari’s “ten-step model” of deliverance – mediated by translation from Spanish to English to Portuguese. Although Pentecostal missionaries arrived in Argentina in the 1940s, they did not emphasize deliverance due to controversies provoked by postwar revivalists like Allen (Marostica 2011, 209, 213–215). Revivalists like Annacondia drew selectively from U.S. resources, for instance, gaining inspiration from Kathryn Kuhlman’s Miracle Healing services while borrowing demonology from the popular U.S. film The Exorcist (1973). Rejecting the confrontational approach featured in the film and that sometimes characterized real-life U.S. practices, Bottari prioritized loving the person in need of deliverance; Bottari gently leads prayer recipients through “closing the doors” (for instance, through forgiveness and renunciation of the occult) that allowed demons entrance, after which the demons seem to leave quietly (2000, 125). 179

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As revivals in places like Argentina suggest, Pentecostal, Charismatic, and Third Wave Christianity has grown most rapidly in the global South. There are today by some estimates over 635 million Pentecostals, more than a quarter of the world’s 2.4 billion Christians ( Johnson and Zurlo 2020). Scholars seeking to explain the growth of global Pentecostalism cite healing and deliverance as major causal factors (Cox 1995, 257; Jenkins 2002, 105; Brown 2011). The Pew Forum (2006) reported that a majority of Pentecostals in seven of ten countries (Brazil, Chile, Guatemala, Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa, and the Philippines, with lower percentages in India, South Korea, and the United States) had personally experienced or witnessed evil spirits being driven out of a person; even in the United States, 34 percent of Pentecostals and 22 percent of Charismatics reported personal involvement in an exorcism. Although still less common in the United States than many other parts of the world, the U.S. interest in demons and demand for exorcism and deliverance has accelerated over the past half century (Cuneo 2001, 42; Gallagher 2020, 9). A 2020 poll indicates that fifty percent of all Americans believe that demons definitely or probably exist, suggesting that deliverance may prove a potent strategy for twenty-first-century U.S. Pentecostals to attract adherents (Ballard 2020).

Global Patterns and the U.S. Particularities in Deliverance Practices There are notable patterns in demonologies and deliverance practices worldwide. Christians everywhere continue to cite the Bible as their foundational text. Interpreting embodied behaviors through the lens of biblical narratives and prior personal experiences, well-traveled Christians comment on phenomenological similarities in demonization and deliverance. As Doris Wagner concludes, “the devil doesn’t seem to invent much new” (2000, 114). According to modern demonology, evil spirits usually gain access through occult involvement, unforgiveness, sexual immorality, addictions, generational sins, and trauma. When allowed to speak, demons do not “show much variety in what they say” (Hammond and Hammond 2008, 61); typically, they plead to be allowed to remain, insist that the demonized person wants them, and threaten to kill that person or the minister or to reveal secret sins. Manifestations attributed to demonic presence commonly include shaking, stiffness, falling and rolling on the ground, facial contortions, clawing, blasphemy, hissing, sensations of cold or heaviness, and pains that move from one part of the body to another (Bottari 2000, 96; Hammond and Hammond 2008, 57–62; MacNutt 2009, 24). Demons (as spirits or pneuma) often seem to depart through the breath: as a person coughs, yawns, retches, or screams; afterwards, prayer recipients often report sensing a presence leave or noticing that they feel “lighter” (MacNutt 2009, 178). Multi-directional, cross-cultural exchanges facilitated the development and dissemination of deliverance teachings. Francis MacNutt (1925–2020) exemplifies how this occurred. MacNutt was a U.S. Dominican priest introduced to Holy Spirit baptism and healing prayer at a Protestant Charismatic conference in 1967 (MacNutt 1974, 10). Although MacNutt heard Derek Prince teach at this conference, MacNutt did not immediately begin practicing deliverance. He did, however, start integrating healing prayer into retreats he led as he traveled extensively in Latin America, Africa, and Asia – in the process catalyzing a global Catholic Charismatic Renewal (Cleary 2011, 12), as well as influencing North American Protestant leaders such as John Wimber (Wimber 1988, ix). MacNutt’s deliverance ministry began in 1972 when he was in the United States praying for a Brazilian immigrant whose “father had consecrated her to an evil spirit in a satanic ritual in Brazil”; the woman reacted to his prayers in a manner that MacNutt attributed to demons. MacNutt discovered that belief in evil spirits was common in every part of the world he visited – except the United States and Europe. 180

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In 1974, U.S. Dominican missionaries invited MacNutt to Nigeria hoping that he would alleviate local fears of “witch doctor” curses. Instead, MacNutt observed behaviors that convinced him that the Nigerians, rather than the missionaries, had a more adequate worldview. Indeed, MacNutt’s observation of similar behaviors across cultures reinforced his growing belief that demonization is a universal, common problem, not a rare concern for official exorcists. MacNutt included a chapter on deliverance in his book Healing (1974) – which was translated into thirty languages and widely circulated globally – and wrote an entire book on Deliverance from Evil Spirits in 1995 (2009, 26, 57, 58–59). MacNutt also exemplifies a U.S. tendency to domesticate deliverance within increasingly popular psychotherapeutic approaches to mental health. Mentored by Agnes Sanford (whose experiences in China and the United States left her ambivalent about the relative roles of psychology and demons in mental afflictions) and later married to a psychotherapist, Judith Sewall, MacNutt encouraged the integration of deliverance with psychological approaches to “inner healing” (2009, 189–90). Indeed, although most deliverance ministers disavow “counseling” – since few are licenced, many U.S. deliverance sessions resemble psychotherapy in the emphasis on talking through childhood traumas and choosing to forgive (Wagner 2000, 60). Borrowing terminology from psychology, U.S. Pentecostals caution against attempting to cast out rather than integrate “dissociated identities” or, alternatively, suggest that each of multiple “alters” may require deliverance individually (Larson 2016, 96). A shared bank of ideas circulates globally through the media of books, periodicals, audio and video recordings, radio, satellite television, and the internet, as well as international travel to Pentecostal conferences, migrant churches, and so-called “reverse” missions (WährischOblau 2011, 64). Many of the most widely circulated and translated texts were written by U.S. authors, but Pentecostals on every continent produce as well as consume resources. As the anthropologists André Corten and Ruth Marshall (2001, 6) remind, Christians in the global South are “self-conscious agents” who selectively appropriate, reject, and elaborate on ideas encountered in U.S. resources. For instance, West African publications, which are extensive, address “water spirits” and “spirit marriage” – that have little place in U.S. teachings (Währisch-Oblau 2011, 66). Christians in the United States are similarly selective in drawing on global resources. Entire categories of spirits prevalent in cosmologies of the global South – for instance, spirits of mountains, trees, water, and fire, and restless spirits of departed ancestors – are virtually absent in U.S. sources (Cox 1995, 245; Kim 2011, 270). As U.S. Pentecostals seek to distance themselves from a history of witchcraft paranoia, they are relatively reticent to accuse other people of sending curses (Delbanco 1995, 73); most of the “generational curses” broken by U.S. Pentecostals relate to Freemasonry, which constitutes a safely distant target for many U.S. Christians because of its association with elites (Campbell 1999, 145). Ambivalence about the existence of demons or need to exorcise them persists in U.S. Pentecostalism. As media portrayals generated fascination, fear, and ridicule, and as some actual practitioners gained a reputation for chasing “demons behind every bush” (MacNutt 2009, 16), U.S. Christian critics protested. Such critics worry that attributing physical or mental health problems to demons is at best superstitious and at worst dangerous. Critics worry particularly that Christians will evade moral accountability and rigorous discipleship by hiding behind a catchphrase popularized in 1970s media: “the devil made me do it” (Larson 2016, 21). Many twenty-first-century U.S. Christian leaders affirm the reality of demons and the occasional need for deliverance, yet they continue to consider the strategy of confronting demons as a last resort, appropriate only after medicine, psychological counseling, and Christian discipleship have all proved inadequate. For instance, the bestselling evangelical author Neil Anderson (1990, 218) 181

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experimented with casting out demons but, worried about giving the demons too much credit while letting the people off too easily, reverted to exhorting counselees to take responsibility for their sins and exercise self-discipline. A deliverance handbook written by the United Methodist pastor Peter Bellini (2022, 78) proposes a “10 point checklist” for establishing eligibility; supplicants must first confess sin, fast from food, and visit medical doctors and psychotherapists. Christians in the United States continue to envision themselves as better insulated against demonic attacks than the rest of the world – a premise questioned by Christians in the global South. The Argentinian pastor Pablo Deiros reports having “seen more demonic work in believers in the United States than anywhere else in the world.” Such activity is less visible, according to Deiros, not because it is less present, but because “the devil is very comfortable in our churches and we have not bothered him” (Deiros and Bottari 1999, 111). It is uncommon for U.S. churches, particularly ones with largely white, middle-class memberships, to offer deliverance in public settings such as church services. A survey of U.S. Assemblies of God pastors found that, although 85 percent affirmed that Christians can be demonized, 37 percent had never included deliverance in a church service and 58 percent did so less than monthly (Poloma 1989, 200). The globally influential, Charismatic Bethel Church in Redding, California, despite its regular claims of miraculous healing, devotes conspicuously less attention to deliverance (Johnson 2003, 62). Although Randy Clark promotes Bottari’s ten-step model of deliverance, Clark does not himself often personally minister deliverance and typically invites guest speakers to teach the deliverance sessions in his “Schools of Healing and Impartation” (2002, M1–44). By contrast, the Indian American Mahesh Chavda does regularly confront demons in public ministry settings (1990, 112), as does the African American deliverance minister Kimberly Daniels (2005, 9). In general, deliverance is most commonly practiced in U.S. contexts where global influences are most pronounced.

Conclusion Examination of U.S. demonology and deliverance practices offers a revealing point of entry for examining the relationship between the local and the global in modern Pentecostalism. Scholars who have focused narrowly on the U.S. cultural context have produced a disproportionate picture of the sources and significance of U.S. theologies and practices. As the Bible became a global text, disenchanted and reenchanted modes of reading the Bible competed. Deliverance ministers in the U.S. Pentecostal, Charismatic, and Third Wave movements developed their demonologies and deliverance practices through multi-staged, cross-cultural interactions with the global South. Influential U.S. leaders tend to share several traits. Typically, international experiences exposed them to spirit-rich cosmologies; such experiences could, however, be dismissed as local rather than universal concerns. After experiencing Holy Spirit baptism, U.S. Christians began to pray for healing, during the course of which demons apparently manifested. When this occurred in the United States, it became harder to dismiss as a problem unique to less civilized cultures, provoking a reinterpretation of global experiences as universally relevant. Nevertheless, U.S. Christians continue to express ambivalence. Many practitioners feel more comfortable with low-key models that resemble psychological counseling or marginalize deliverance as a last resort, rather than a normative demonstration that the kingdom of heaven has come near. Pentecostal logic suggests that if demons are responsible for much illness, and if deliverance is sometimes necessary for healing, then minimization of deliverance could explain certain failures of healing and account for slower U.S. church growth as compared with the global South.

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References Alexander, Kimberly. 2006. Pentecostal Healing Models in Theology and Practice. Blandford Forum, UK: Deo. Anderson, Neil T. 1990. The Bondage Breaker: Overcoming Negative Thoughts, Irrational Feelings, Habitual Sins. Eugene, OR: Harvest House. Artman, Amy Collier. 2019. The Miracle Lady: Kathryn Kuhlman and the Transformation of Charismatic Christianity. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Ballard, Jamie. 2020. “About Half of Americans Believe Ghosts and Demons Exist.” YouGovAmerica. https://today.yougov.com/topics/lifestyle/articles-reports/2020/10/30/ghostsdemons-exist-poll-data. Bebbington, David. 1988. Evangelicalism in Modern Britain: A History from the 1730s to the 1980s. London: Routledge. Bellini, Peter J. 2022. The X-Manual: Exousia—A Comprehensive Handbook on Deliverance and Exorcism. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. Blumhardt, Johann Christoph. 1970. Blumhardt’s Battle: A Conflict with Satan, edited by Frank S. Boshold. New York, NY: Lowe. (Original work published in Germany in 1850). Bottari, Pablo. 2000. Free in Christ: Your Complete Handbook on the Ministry of Deliverance. Lake Mary, FL: Creation House. Brown, Candy Gunther. 2011. Global Pentecostal and Charismatic Healing. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Burpeau, Kemp Pendelton. 2004. God’s Showman: A Historical Study of John G. Lake and South African/ American Pentecostalism. Oslo: Refleks. Cameron, Euan. 2010. Enchanted Europe: Superstition, Reason and Religion, 1250–1750. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Campbell, Ron G. 1999. Free from Freemasonry: Understanding ‘the Craft’ and How It Affects Those You Love. Ventura, CA: Regal. Carter, Russell Kelso. 1883. Pastor Blumhardt: A Record of the Wonderful Spiritual and Physical Manifestations of God’s Power in Healing Souls and Bodies through the Prayers of his Servant, Christoph Blumhardt. Boston, MA: Willard Tract Repository. Chavda, Mahesh, with Blattner, John. 1990. Only Love Can Make a Miracle: The Mahesh Chavda Story. Ann Arbor, MI: Vine Books/Servant Publications. Clark, Randy. 2002. Ministry Team Training Manual. Harrisburg, PA: Global Awakening. Cleary, Edward L. 2011. The Rise of Charismatic Catholicism in Latin America. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Corten, André, and Marshall-Fratani, Ruth. 2001. Between Babel and Pentecost: Transnational Pentecostalism in Africa and Latin America, edited by André Corten, and Ruth Marshall-Fratani, 62–79. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Cox, Harvey. 1995. Fire from Heaven: The Rise of Pentecostal Spirituality and the Reshaping of Religion in the Twenty-first Century. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Cuneo, Michael. W. 2001. American Exorcism: Expelling Demons in the Land of Plenty. New York, NY: Doubleday. Curtis, Heather D. 2011. “The Global Character of Nineteenth-Century Divine Healing.” In Global Pentecostal and Charismatic Healing, edited by Candy Gunther Brown, 29–46. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Daniels, Kimberly. 2005. Delivered to Destiny: From Crack Addict to the Military’s Fastest Female Sprinter to Pastoring a Diverse and Multicultural Church. Lake Mary, FL: Charisma House. Dayton, Daniel. 1987. Theological Roots of Pentecostalism. Grand Rapids, MI: Francis Asbury. De Arteaga, William. 2015. Agnes Sanford and Her Companions: The Assault on Cessationism and the Coming of the Charismatic Renewal. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. Deiros, Pablo, and Bottari, Pablo. 1999. “Deliverance from Dark Strongholds.” In Power, Holiness and Evangelism, edited by Randy Clark, 109–18. Shippensburg, PA: Destiny Image. Delbanco, Andrew. 1995. The Death of Satan: How Americans have Lost the Sense of Evil. New York, NY: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux. Eck, Diana L. 2001. A New Religious America: How a ‘Christian Country” has Now Become the World’s Most Religiously Diverse Nation. San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco.

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Candy Gunther Brown Friedkin, William (Director), and William Peter, Blatty (Producer). 1973. The Exorcist. Burbank, CA: Warner Brothers. Gallagher, Richard. 2020. Demonic Foes: My Twenty-five Years as a Psychiatrist Investigating Possessions, Diabolic Attacks, and the Paranormal. San Francisco, CA: HarperOne. Gifford, Paul. 2001. “The Complex Provenance of Some Elements of African Pentecostal Theology.” In Between Babel and Pentecost, edited by André Corten, and Ruth Marshall-Fratani, 62–79. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Gregory, Brad S. 2012. The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hammond, Frank, and Hammond, Ida Mae. 2008. Pigs in the Parlor: The Practical Guide to Deliverance. Kirkwood, MO: Impact Christian Books. (Original work published 1973). Harrell, David Edwin. 1975. All Things Are Possible: The Healing and Charismatic Revivals in Modern America. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Harrell, David Edwin. 1985. Oral Roberts: An American Life. San Francisco, CA: Harper & Row. Hasu, Paivi. 2009. “Rescuing Zombies from the Hands of Witches—Pentecostal-Charismatic Christianity and Spiritual Warfare in the Plural Religious Setting of Coastal Tanzania.” Swedish Missiological Themes 97 (3): 417–40. Haustein, Jörg. 2011. “Embodying the Spirit(s): Pentecostal Demonology and Deliverance Discourse in Ethiopia.” Ethnos 76 (4): 534–52. Hiebert, Paul G. 1982. “The Flaw of the Excluded Middle.” Missiology: An International Review 10 (1): 35–47. Jenkins, Philip. 2002. The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Jenkins, Philip. 2006. The New Faces of Christianity: Believing the Bible in the Global South. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Johnson, Bill. 2003. When Heaven Invades Earth: A Practical Guide to a Life of Miracles. Shippensburg, PA: Treasure House. Johnson, Todd M., and Zurlo, Gina A. 2020. World Christian Encyclopedia Online. 3rd ed. Boston: Brill. https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/browse/world-christian-encyclopedia-online. Kim, Sean C. 2011. “Reenchanted: Divine Healing in Korean Protestantism.” In Global Pentecostal and Charismatic Healing, edited by Candy Gunther Brown, 267–86. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kraft, Charles H. 2016. Defeating Dark Angels: Breaking Demonic Oppression in the Believer’s Life. Grand Rapids, MI: Chosen. (Original work published in 1992). Larson, Bob. 2016. Dealing with Demons: An Introductory Guide to Exorcism & Discerning Evil Spirits. Shippensburg, PA: Destiny Image. Luther, Martin. 1932. Works of Martin Luther; with Introductions and Notes, edited by Paul Zeller Strodach, The Philadelphia Edition. Vol. 6. Philadelphia, PA: Muhlenberg Press. MacMullen, Ramsay. 1984. Christianizing the Roman Empire: A.D. 100–400. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. MacNutt, Francis. 1974. Healing. Notre Dame, IN: Ave Maria. MacNutt, Francis. 2008. Healing Line (April/May). Jacksonville, FL: Christian Healing Ministries. MacNutt, Francis. 2009. Deliverance from Evil Spirits: A Practical Manual. Grand Rapids, MI: Chosen. (Original work published 1995.) Marostica, Matthew. 2011. “Learning from the Master: Carlos Annacondia and the Standardization of Pentecostal Practices in and beyond Argentina.” In Global Pentecostal and Charismatic Healing, edited by Candy Gunther Brown, 207–86. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. McCloud, Sean. 2015. American Possessions: Fighting Demons in the Contemporary United States. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Meyer, Birgit. 1999. Translating the Devil: Religion and Modernity among the Ewe in Ghana. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Monteith, Andrew. 2013. “The Ghosts of the Past: Reflexivity in Missionary-Missionized Relationships and John Livingston Nevius’ Influence on Twentieth-Century Demonology.” Unpublished paper. Nevius, John. 1896. Demon Possession and Allied Themes: Being an Inductive Study of Phenomena of Our Own Times. Chicago, IL: Revell. Omenyo, Cephas. 2011. “New Wine in an Old Wine Bottle? Charismatic Healing in the Mainline Churches in Ghana.” In Global Pentecostal and Charismatic Healing, edited by Candy Gunther Brown, 231–50. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

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A Globally Contextual Model of U.S. Demonology and Deliverance Peck, M. Scott. 1983. People of the Lie: The Hope for Healing Human Evil. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Pew Research Center. 2006. Spirit and Power: A 10-Country Survey of Pentecostals. Washington, DC: Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. https://www.pewforum.org/2006/10/05/spirit-and-power/. Pierce, Cal. 2001. Preparing the Way: The Reopening of the John G. Lake Healing Rooms in Spokane, Washington. Hagerstown, MD: McDougal. Poloma, Margaret M. 1989. The Assemblies of God at the Crossroads: Charisma and Institutional Dilemmas. Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Press. Prince, Derek. 1998. They Shall Expel Demons. Grand Rapids, MI: Chosen. Sanford, Agnes Mary White. 1972. Sealed Orders: Autobiography of Agnes Sanford. Plainsfield, NJ: Logos International. Sanneh, Lamin, and Joel A. Carpenter. 2005. The Changing Face of Christianity: Africa, the West, and the World. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Skarsaune, Oscar. 1997. “Possession and Exorcism in the Literature of the Ancient Church and the New Testament.” Norsk Tidsskrift for Misjon 3: 157–71. In Deliver Us from Evil Consultation. Trans. Tormod Engelsviken. Ed. Frank DeCenso. Nairobi: Lausanne Committee for World Evangelization, 2000. https://lausanne.org/content/historical-overview-1. Stanley, Brian. 2019. “Three Cambridge Evangelicals and Their Significance for World Christianity: Henry Martyn, Joe Church, and Derek Prince.” Paper presented at Cambridge Centre for Christianity Worldwide Seminar. https://www.cccw.cam.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/ Three-Cambridge-Evangelicals-and-Their-Significance-for-World-Christianity.pdf. (Cited with permission of author.) Stanley, Brian. 2021. “The Evangelical Christian Mind in History and Global Context.” In Every Leaf, Line, and Letter: Evangelicals and the Bible from the 1730s to the Present, edited by Timothy Larsen, 276–301. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic. Stanley, Brian. 2022. “From Plato to Pentecostalism: Sickness and Deliverance in the Theology of Derek Prince.” Studies in Church History, Vol. 58: The Church in Sickness and in Health, edited by Charlotte Methuen. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Strom, Jonathan. 2002. “Problems and Promises of Pietism Research.” Church History 71 (3): 536–54. Taylor, Charles. 2007. A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ten Boom, Corrie. 1962. Defeated Enemies. Fort Washington, MD: Christian Literature Crusade. Wagner, C. Peter. 1993. Breaking Strongholds in Your City: How to Use Spiritual Mapping to Make Your Prayers More Strategic, Effective, and Targeted. Ventura, CA: Regal. Wagner, Doris. 2000. How to Cast Out Demons: A Guide to the Basics. Ventura, CA: Renew. Währisch-Oblau, Claudia. 2011. “Material Salvation: Healing, Deliverance, and ‘Breakthrough’ in African Migrant Churches in Germany.” In Global Pentecostal and Charismatic Healing, edited by Candy Gunther Brown, 61–80. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. White, Hugh Watt. 1922. Demonism Verified and Analyzed. Shanghai: Presbyterian Mission Press. Wimber, John. 1988. Foreword to Healing, edited by Francis MacNutt, ix–x. Altamonte Springs, FL: Creation House. Wimber, John, and Kevin Springer. 1984. Power Healing. Ventura, CA: Regal. Woodhead, Linda. 2011. “Spirituality and Christianity: The Unfolding of a Tangled Relationship.” In Religion, Spirituality and Everyday Practice, edited by Giuseppe Giordan, and William H. Swatos, Jr., 3–21. New York, NY: Springer. Zuendel, Friedrich. 2002. The Awakening: One Man’s Battle with Darkness. Farmington, PA: Bruderhof Foundation. (Original work published in Germany in 1880).

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14 THE HISTORICAL IMPLICATIONS OF WIMBER’S THEOLOGY OF HEALING AND DELIVERANCE Peter Althouse

Introduction The theology of John Wimber (1934–1997) and the Association of Vineyard Churches is one particularized version of global Pentecostalism. Wimber saw himself standing in the long tradition of evangelicalism that grounded theology in scripture, sought to evangelize the lost, and plant new churches. However, Wimber’s theology is also an innovation in evangelicalism as it looked to the New Evangelicalism of Fuller Theological Seminary and especially George Eldon Ladd’s theology of the kingdom to support a theology and practice of healing. At the same time, Wimber adopted some of the experiential practices associated with Pentecostalism. Different types of healing, including spiritual, bodily, emotional, and deliverance were anchored in Wimber’s reading of scripture, such as Jesus’ power to preach and demonstrate the gospel by healing the sick, casting out demons, and liberating the oppressed. After a brief overview of the life and place of Wimber in the Vineyard, I argue that Wimber saw himself standing in the long tradition of Protestant evangelicalism, while also including the more experiential forms of Pentecostalism in “signs and wonders.” I then argue that Wimber selectively appropriated Ladd’s theology to support a dualistic cosmology in which Wimber’s theology of healing is placed. However, Wimber’s theology of healing adapted therapeutic and expressive elements that were becoming more prominent in American culture in the latter half of the twentieth century. Finally, I argue that Wimber’s theology of the demonic and deliverance likewise is rooted in a dualistic cosmology, but that it is particularized in ways that distinguish it from C. Peter Wagner’s Third Wave or New Apostolic Reformation. In the end, deliverance is also therapeutic because it allows the recipient to gain some control over emotions that seem to be outside one’s control. This study of Wimber and the Vineyard functions as a theological case to explore the difficulty in defining evangelicalism and global Pentecostalism.

The Story of John Wimber and the Association of Vineyard Churches The historical origin of the Vineyard is a complex story. Although John Wimber is depicted as the undisputed face of the Vineyard, it was Kenn Gulliksen who in 1974 established the first Vineyard church (Higgins 2012). Gulliksen was ordained in 1971 with Chuck Smith’s 186

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Calvary Chapel and he spent several years ministering in El Paso, Texas before returning to Costa Mesa, California. Shortly after his return, Gulliksen founded his first Vineyard church that was separate from Calvary Chapel. Another half dozen Vineyard churches that were associated with Calvary Chapel were also started. Wimber, who is viewed as the spokesperson for the Vineyard, was a self-described “pagan” who enjoyed an early career as a semiprofessional musician, most notably a session player for the Righteous Brothers, and was converted to Christianity through the influence of Dick Heyling when John and his wife Carol were having marital problems. Wimber began attending an Evangelical Friends church in Yorba Linda, where he served as an adult Sunday school teacher and Bible study leader. He also held “afterglow” meetings in his home, but in 1976 the Quaker church deemed Wimber too charismatic and so he, along with his “afterglow” group, opened a church across the street. It was at this point that Wimber associated his new church with Calvary Chapel and the fledgling church became known as Calvary Chapel of Yorba Linda. As it turns out, Wimber’s use of charismatic signs and wonders was too controversial for Church Smith as well, who, despite his Pentecostal background in the Foursquare Church, deemphasized public displays of charisma. In a meeting between Smith, Wimber, and Gulliksen, it was decided that Wimber would separate from Calvary Chapel and associate with Gulliksen’s Vineyard Church (Miller 1997). Although Wimber started out as a cessationist, a theological position that relegates the charismatic gifts to the apostolic era but no longer available to the contemporary church, a series of events would eventually prod Wimber to shift his stance to incorporate more charismatic elements. One was an incident when his wife Carol was healed of cancer. Another was the so-called Mother’s Day Miracle at Calvary Chapel, Yorba Linda in 1980, when Lonnie Frisbee, a charismatic exemplar associated with the Jesus People Movement and a pastor at Chuck Smith’s mother church, was invited to speak. At the end of the service, Frisbee invited people under twenty-five years of age to come to the front of the church for prayer. Some began to fall to the ground. Others began to speak in tongues without prior experience. Later that year, Frisbee was part of a revival where people converted to Christianity, underwent dramatic healings, and experienced other spiritual phenomena. As a result, Calvary Chapel began to experience rapid growth. Frisbee’s Mother’s Day Miracle marked a watershed moment for Wimber and the Vineyard as he began to tie charismatic signs and wonders, especially healing, to church planting and evangelism ( Jackson 1999; Eskridge 2013; Bustraan 2014). Perhaps the most deep-seated influence that encouraged Wimber to shift from a cessationist position to signs and wonders was through his connections at Fuller Theological Seminary, an evangelical institution in Pasadena, California. People such as Pentecostals Russel Spittler, Donald Gee, and Michael Green, missionary scholars such as C. Peter Wagner and Charles Kraft, who had witnessed with charismatic gifts of healing and deliverance in their missionary contexts, and especially biblical theologian George Eldon Ladd would steer Wimber on a different path (Erickson 2015). In the latter half of the twentieth century, the United States witnessed seismic social and cultural shifts. There was a growing awareness of rapid secularization and its implications for Christianity. The church responded with various forms of evangelism, missions, and church planting, of which Wimber is one example. Social turmoil centered around the Civil Rights and Women’s Rights movements, exposing the failure of the American ideal of equality. Growing pluralism exposed Americans to other religions, especially Eastern religions that placed an emphasis on promoting self-improvement. The drug culture of the 1960s and 1970s in which pharmaceuticals, especially LSD, were used for both psychotherapeutic treatment and recreational purposes, produced a hippie culture that experimented with drugs to 187

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instigate spiritual experiences. The Jesus People Movement was one result in which young people adopted a countercultural ethos and used drugs to experience Jesus in a more “real” way. Calvary Chapel and the Vineyard were populated by these Jesus People, who gravitated to the experiential ethos of these new churches. Frisbee was an exemplar of the Jesus People Movement who provided a bridge to the new paradigm churches (Bustraan 2014). Finally, conservative forms of Christianity were particularly nervous over the perceived theological liberalization occurring in mainline denominations and sought ways to resist this trend through alternative educational institutions. Wimber’s ministry was situated in this context. Wimber is well known in conservative evangelical and Pentecostal circles for his popular but controversial course on healing at Fuller Theological Seminary. Fuller was established in 1947 as a bastion for the New Evangelicalism in the context of the perceived expansion of theological liberalism in American Protestant seminaries. Fuller attempted to ameliorate the dispensational theology, separatism, and anti-intellectualism of American fundamentalism through an engagement of modern scholarship and biblical criticism (Balmer 2004). Fuller was an irenic form of evangelicalism that attempted to ameliorate fundamentalism by looking back to nineteenth-century evangelicalism (Marsden 1987). Fundamentalists held Fuller in suspicion, however, for its perceived adoption of neo-orthodoxy and theological distance from biblical inerrancy. Some even accused Fuller of being liberal. For his part, Wimber already had a history at Fuller, having served as director of the Fuller Institute of Evangelism and Church Growth from 1975 to 1977 and occasionally lecturing in Wagner’s Doctor of Ministry Church Growth II course from 1978 to 1980. In 1982, Wagner invited Wimber to co-teach an experimental course MC510 for the School of Missions at Fuller. Originally named The Miraculous and Church Growth and later changed to Signs, Wonders, and Church Growth, Wagner served as the professor of record, while Wimber, who was not academically qualified to teach at the seminary, did most of the teaching. The course consisted of three hours of lecture, followed by an optional one-hour laboratory to practice praying with signs and wonders. MC510 gained notoriety when Christian Life Magazine published an entire issue on the course, later published in book form. The laboratory consisted of an opening invocation, followed by a “word of knowledge” or someone requesting prayer. Wimber developed a five-step prayer interview that would be used to diagnose the disease or spiritual problem and the possible remedies. He did not claim that people were healed but would at some point stop praying and advise petitioners to follow-up with their physicians. Students and some faculty claimed to have experience healing, including Wagner, who claimed to have been healed of hypertension. The course was controversial. The seminary received complaints from pastors whose student interns were too zealous in applying the principles of the course and faculty concerns with conducting healing in an academic setting. In 1985, the School of Theology at Fuller voted to deny its students course credit for MC510 and, in 1986, the School of World Mission voted to place a moratorium on the course. A task force of twelve faculty members was commissioned to review the course and, in the fall of 1986, a report was submitted that questioned the appropriateness of miraculous phenomena in an educational setting. Wimber’s stint at Fuller had ended but the course material was later replicated in the publication, Power Evangelism (Wimber and Springer 1986; Dawson 2012). From this point forward, Wimber began a ministry of evangelism, healing, and signs and wonders. He took what he developed teaching at Fuller Theological Seminary, repackaged the material in a series of publications, and applied the principles of signs and wonders to a healing ministry that would define the rest of his life. But what exactly was Wimber’s theology and practices of healing? Why does he stand out in a century defined by the proliferation 188

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of healing evangelists? What makes Wimber’s ministry distinctive that not only defined his generation but a generation to come as Wimber’s views expanded in networks such as Global Awakening and Catch the Fire (see Wilkinson and Althouse 2014)? Before answering these questions, we must turn to Wimber’s eschatology, a theology of the kingdom of God that undergirds Wimber’s theological system. He received this theology from Fuller Theological Seminary New Testament professor George Eldon Ladd.

Evangelicalism and the Kingdom of God Wimber’s theology of the kingdom represents a reevaluation of eschatology in the broader evangelical movement. Although Vineyard theologian Don Williams (2005) insists that in Wimber’s view evangelicalism is both the reorientation to the Word as the basis for theology and the evangelizing of the world, which can be seen in his concerns for church planting and church growth consultation, evangelicalism is a contested concept. David Bebbington’s (1989) well-known quadrilateral points to the common priorities of conversion, Bible, activism, and crucicentrism as the hallmarks of evangelicalism. Mark Noll (2018) notes the multiplicity of meanings applied to evangelicalism, including Good News of the Gospel, the Protestant Reformation and its return to scripture, Protestantism in general, Pietism, and Revivalism. Evangelicalism can also mean precision of doctrine, as in Calvinism, preaching and holy living, piety, and Christian teaching and practices. In the latter half of the twentieth century, evangelicalism has shifted in meaning again. Miller (2005) argues that the Vineyard is an innovation in evangelical Christianity, what he calls the new paradigm church. Evangelicals are now focused on an intimate, personal, and present God (Luhrmann 2012). This turn to intimacy and personalism is an accommodation to and an expression of expressive individualism that has been a part of American culture since the 1960s (Bellah et al. 1985). Although there is a wide range of people who come under the umbrella of evangelicalism, generally they are committed to the belief in a literal reading of Scripture, that one is saved through a personal relationship with Christ, and that they should share the gospel with others. Twentieth-century evangelicalism, and especially its fundamentalist forms, had developed a sophisticated understanding of premillennial dispensationalism articulated initially in the mid- to late-nineteenth century by John Nelson Darby. Dispensationalism, as it is often called, relegated the divine kingdom to a future time that was strictly partitioned from the current age of the church. According to dispensationalism, the history of salvation was divided into seven distinct eras (or dispensations) in which God’s method of salvation and judgment took on different forms. Miracles and supernatural manifestations were relegated to the age of the Hebrews but were no longer necessary or desired in the age of the church. Since the time of canonization in the fourth century, Scripture was now believed to be the only resource for faith. Officially known as cessationism – a theology that stretches back to the Reformation and its suspicion of extra-biblical sources found in Roman Catholic scholastics and mysticism; fundamentalism holds any miraculous claim with similar suspicion. Wimber characterized his theology as evangelical, meaning that he based his theological ideas and practices in what he understood as the biblical basis for theology. However, his understanding of evangelical stood in contradiction to American fundamentalism and its adoption of a dispensational understanding of church history and end-times speculation. Wimber’s evangelicalism also placed him in opposition to cessationist theology that viewed the extraordinary spiritual gifts as having ended with the canonization of scripture. Wimber’s use of the term evangelical was reminiscent of the root meaning of a return to a biblically based reading of theology. He did not believe that his movement was a distinct wave of 189

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broader Pentecostalism as articulated by C. Peter Wagner (1988) but a development within evangelicalism. He thought that his movement was a subset of evangelicalism that was experientially aligned with Pentecostalism but firmly retaining evangelical doctrine ( Jackson 1999, 120). However, it also took on a more intimate personalism, as noted by Luhrmann (2012). Wimber’s evangelicalism was defined in large part by his interaction with Fuller Theological Seminary as both student and teacher, and especially by Fuller professor George Eldon Ladd. Ladd was a biblical studies professor who thought the West Coast institution could be a place to foster conversative scholarship in such a way as to be respected by the guild, but also to challenge historical-critical biblical methods and liberal theology. His goal was for conservative evangelical scholarship to adopt rigorous methods and pursuits that liberal theologians would have to engage if they were to maintain their own credibility. The problem was that the fundamentalism of premillennial dispensationalism had become the dominant system among evangelicalism in the twentieth century (Bialecki 2017). The Gospel of the Kingdom (Ladd 1959) and Jesus and the Kingdom (Ladd 1964) defined Ladd’s theological program. He emphasized the foretaste or partial taste of the kingdom that could be experienced in the present. He argued that the Spirit was the “first fruits” as the promise of the coming age, but that promise could be experienced now as a possession of the kingdom. This rearticulation of New Testament eschatology changed the way that miracles could be perceived. Rather than seeing a miracle as a thing in itself, it could now be viewed as a pledge of the eschatological kingdom that would ultimately be fulfilled in the future glorification of the body (Bialecki 2017). This reinterpretation of miracle conveniently side-steps the modernist problem of supernaturalism and recasts miracle as a theological concept. Ladd’s challenge to dispensationalism was to shift focus from the book of Revelation to the Gospels and to investigate the paradoxical ways in which the kingdom of God was depicted as already present in the person of Jesus Christ and his demonstration of the divine kingdom, but still a future hope that is not yet here in its fullest form. Ladd had a profound influence on Wimber’s theology. After reading Ladd’s books, Wimber recounts: I realized that at the very heart of the gospel lies the kingdom of God and that power for effective evangelism and discipleship relates directly to our understanding and experiencing the Kingdom today. This revelation remains for me the most significant spiritual experience since my conversion in 1963. as cited by Dawson (2012, 156) Wimber used Ladd’s theology to justify the role of signs and wonders as the foretaste of the kingdom in the present. Wimber looked to the experiential nature of Pentecostalism, but in a way that allowed him to reject the Pentecostal belief in initial evidence – the belief that speaking in tongues was a phenomenological indicator of a post-conversion experience of the Spirit known as baptism in the Spirit. Wimber could do this by looking to Ladd as a prominent evangelical theologian, while also giving Wimber an apologetic to explain why miracles did not always occur even when praying for such. Sometimes, the Spirit just did not show up (Bialecki 2017). Thus, Wimber gained two insights from reading Ladd (Dawson 2012; Erickson 2015). One was that, with the turn to the Gospels, one sees that Jesus’ work of healing the sick and casting out demons was a prominent aspect of his preaching. Jesus is the presence of the kingdom; and his presence brings the kingdom into the world. Jesus’ power and authority was proclaimed and demonstrated by casting out demons, healing the sick, control over nature, and raising the dead. However, even though Jesus had inaugurated the kingdom, the present 190

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age was still under the rule of Satan, who would not be subdued until the second coming of Christ. Contemporary believers consequently live in the in-between of the already/not yet reign of God. This “prolepsis” also explains the presence and absence of the miraculous at any given moment. The second insight was the nature of the kingdom. Not only did Wimber reject premillennial dispensationalism, but he also rejected the restorationist eschatology of historic Pentecostalism, which argued that, although the charismatic gifts including the baptism of the Spirit with tongues disappeared after the apostolic period due to the church’s apostacy, they are now being restored to the church as the final outpouring of the Spirit (Dawson 2012). What Wimber’s theology added to the charismatic emphasis on the spiritual gifts was a democratization and distribution, so that “charisma” resided with congregants rather than restricted solely to a charismatic exemplar. Wimber’s theology raises the problem of definitions, especially as they pertain to evangelicalism and Pentecostalism. He does not simply subsume the New Evangelicalism emanating out of Fuller in toto, although it is included in his understanding. Wimber adopts present-day charismatic components that Ladd would not likely approve, but Wimber also distances himself from the restorationists and dispensationalism tendencies of historic Pentecostalism. As we shall see in the next section, Wimber also adopts a therapeutic perspective that muddies the waters even further when trying to define his form of evangelicalism, or even whether he fits into categories of Pentecostalism, neo-Pentecostalism, or Third Wave terminology. In other words, the complexity of Wimber’s theology and the way in which it plays out in the Vineyard is not easily placed into a category and, when it is, it is highly debatable (see McClymond 2021; Bergunder 2021a).

Kingdom Healing Wimber’s theology of healing is predicated on his selective appropriation of Ladd’s theology of the kingdom. What Wimber found in Ladd’s work was a means to justify charismatic elements as demonstrations of the presence of the kingdom spreading into the world, even if Wimber took Ladd’s theology in a direction different than that which Ladd would have been comfortable with. It is unlikely that Ladd adopted the dualistic cosmology that would come to define Wimber’s theology. Evangelism and church growth were believed to be made more effective through these demonstrations of signs and wonder. Healing was given a prominent place in Wimber’s theology, and he developed practices in support of his healing beliefs. But what exactly did Wimber’s theology and practices of healing look like? How was it similar to, or different from, healing theology in the twentieth century, or through the history of Christianity, for that matter? I would suggest that Wimber’s healing theology adopts therapeutic and emotional hues that were prominent in American culture in the later twentieth century. In the 1960s, Philip Rieff (1966) observed the cultural shift that privileged psychological and emotional traits in a heightened sense of individual expressiveness but criticized this shift for weakening social cohesion and institutional ties. Likewise, Bellah et al. (1985) observed that the rise of therapeutic culture coincided with an unrestrained sensual self that weakened social institutions. Since the 1960s, American evangelical Christianity has also become more therapeutic as well as it has accommodated to American culture (Williams 2013). Miller (1997), for instance, argues that Vineyard’s “new paradigm” approach is a transformation in traditional Protestant evangelicalism into “postmodern primitivism,” meaning that it utilizes aspects of postmodern culture but looks to the biblical tradition and primitive Christianity for a spirituality that undermines the fragmentation of postmodern thought. What makes new paradigm 191

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churches distinct is that they incorporate therapeutic, individualistic, and anti-establishment values while rejecting the narcissistic tendencies of contemporary American culture (also see Versteeg 2010). In other words, Wimber anchors his theology in the Gospel’s depiction of the kingdom of God, Jesus’ demonstration of the kingdom through signs and wonders, and the apostolic church’s continuation of Jesus’ mission, but also contextualizes this primitivism in American therapeutic culture and expressive individualism. Rather than explaining the faith in doctrinal positions, God is now about a relationship in which the faithful are convinced that they are loved and have purpose. Much of what occurs in the Vineyard, argues Luhrmann (2012), is akin to psychotherapy. Wimber’s version of Christian healing also reflected the concerns of pastoral care more so than the evangelistic styles of mid-twentieth century healers. Hejzlar (2010) offers two paradigms of healing: the healing evangelist and the healing pastor. The latter – which includes representative such as Agnes Sanford and Francis MacNutt – has likewise adopted therapeutic and emotional management techniques (Althouse 2017a; 2017b). Wimber, who acknowledges MacNutt’s influence, fits the paradigm of the healing pastor. Hejzlar (2010, 38–39) argues that MacNutt’s approach “is more relaxed when contrasted with the ‘all-or-nothing’ mentality of the early Pentecostalism, the post-WWII Healing Revival, the contemporary Word of Faith Movement, [and] there has been a natural kinship and mutual appreciation between MacNutt and the Vineyard leaders.” In the Foreword, Wimber (1988) praised MacNutt’s work as a classic on healing and claimed, despite its earlier distinctly Roman Catholic and sacramental focus (which was toned down in the Creation House edition), that MacNutt’s book had a “profound effect.” Wimber used MacNutt’s theology as a resource in writing Power Healing (Wimber and Springer 1987). Overall, Wimber’s theology of healing is holistic in that it addresses mind, body, and spirit, and its techniques are more akin to diagnostic, therapeutic, and pedagogical approaches than the performative healing evangelistic styles (Hejzlar 2010; Luhrmann 2012). In Power Healing (1987), Wimber outlines his position and advances various techniques for Christian healing. He proposes five types of healing: (1) healing of the spirit, (2) healing the effects of past hurts (otherwise known as inner or emotional healing), (3) healing the demonized and mental illness, (4) healing the body, and (5) healing the dying and the dead. Whole chapters are devoted to healing past hurts, healing the demonized, and healing the body, while brief sections in chapters are committed to the discussion of healing the spirit and healing the dying and the dead. Curiously, healing of relationships, which was a type discussed in MC510, is not included in the book. The syllabus for MC510 (1983) contained detailed notes of the subject matter, including sections on power evangelism, the kingdom of God, the miraculous, and, especially for our purposes, different healing personalities and an integrated approach to healing. (Later iterations of the course excluded the section on the integrated approach to healing.) He would begin a topic with a definition, provide examples from scripture to justify the type of healing (although as a form of proof-texting without exegetical or contextual awareness), followed by summary statements that occasionally included contemporary examples. Wimber identifies different approaches to healing, such as (1) the high-powered evangelist; (2) word faith; (3) inner healing; (4) deliverance; (5) the social gospel; (6) sacramental or liturgical forms; (7) medical, psychological, and psychiatric practices; and (8) naturalistic approaches such as diet and exercise. He claimed that both natural and supernatural sources for healing were of divine origin. Wimber then defines the different forms of healing. Healing of the human spirit is claimed to be the renewal and restoration of the spiritual life as one’s relationship to God. Healing of past hurts, or inner healing, is the healing of the emotional life from past painful memories, usually perpetuated on a person, that produce painful emotions that affect people to sin or make poor 192

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decisions. These hurts can lead to sin, depression, feelings of unworthiness, inferiority, inappropriate fear, anxiety, or psychosomatic illnesses. Wimber also included bloodline sins committed by parents (known in other charismatic circles as generational curses and generational healing). He claims that emotional healing can bring forgiveness and break habitual responses and behavior, allow the recipient to reinterpret their memories, break the power of the bloodline, break emotional dependency, renew the mind, and experience support and growth in a church community. Healing of the body means the changing and resolving of physical conditions that facilitate proper bodily function, a theology and practice commonly described as the divine cure (Opp 2005; Curtis 2007). Wimber notes that bodily healing is an experience that can sometimes be progressive and have spiritual, mental, emotional, and relational elements that contribute to the illness and that work in tandem to physical healing. Faith is released through prayer and may include techniques such as touching, speaking, or commanding, physical sensations of divine power, acts of faith, or prayer tokens, e.g., handkerchiefs. Wimber also mentions that physical healing works together with secular practices such as medicine, diet, and exercise. Healing of the demonized is defined as the expulsion of demonic influences that cause sickness, but the discussion is not very well defined. After presenting biblical cases as a kind of evidentiary claim, Wimber explains the role of discernment and the differences between being demonized, possessed, or controlled. He states outright that a Christian cannot be demon possessed, but that there is a range of demonization such as affliction, possession, bondage, and “stronghold.” He then talks about how to bring about healing for the demonized by use of confession, repentance, and through commands for the demon to identify itself. He also cautions for the deliverer not to engage or negotiate with the demon. Finally, he exhorts the newly healed person to develop a support system. Healing of relationships is briefly mentioned and comes through forgiveness and reapplication of biblical precepts, e.g., love one another and comfort one another, to bring about harmonious interpersonal relationships that contribute to the health of the whole community. Finally, healing of the dying is defined as bringing people through the experience of death. This type of healing includes praying for the person dying as well as the family and friends who grieve the dying and death of their loved one. Wimber claims that death is the ultimate healing. Of importance here is that this discussion includes extensive use of therapist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ work in Death and Dying (1969) on the process of grief and grieving. He concludes the section by saying, “If it is a person’s time to die, we should release them to God. Through prayerful listening, we should as far as possible help the person who faces death. Grieving is an important part of adjusting for the bereaved. We should be sensitive, compassionate, and a good listener. ‘Healing of the dying’ is not very common, however, we should know how to help those in need if the situation presents itself ” (Wimber 1983, 201). Wimber also includes healing of the dead, but his discussion centers on biblical examples without contemporary examples. Wimber and Springer (1987) developed an interview procedure to discern how to pray for healing. Although he recommended an intuitive approach where one remained open and sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit, the process was similar to the open-ended questioning of the therapeutic interview. Rejecting the dramatic performances of the healing evangelist, Wimber had a laid-back style (Shibley 1995) that is pedagogical and diagnostic. He developed a five-step interview procedure that included: 1. The Interview: Questions asked include “Where does it hurt?” or “What would you like prayer for?” 2. The Diagnostic Decision: Identifying and clarify what is the root cause of the problem asking the question, “Why does this person have this condition?” 193

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3. The Prayer Selection: Probing the question “What kind of prayer will help this person?” 4. The Prayer Engagement: Prayer that includes “laying on of hands” (or healing touch) and further interviewing. This stage may include phenomena such as shaking, trembling, falling over, laughing, sobbing, imitations of inebriation (or “drunk in the Spirit”), or most commonly calm feelings. There may also be bodily writhing and distortions, which Wimber claims suggested an inner conflict over sin, or even demonization. 5. Post-Prayer Directions: Seeks to determine “what should this person do to remain healed”? or “What should this person do if he or she was not healed?” What I hope is becoming obvious is that many of the techniques used in these different approaches to healing show similarity to, or outright borrowing from, therapeutic approaches in the broader culture. Charismatic Christianity has become increasingly more therapeutic in style, and Wimber’s theology and practices have adapted these techniques. This is not to say that Wimber is a trained therapist and brings this therapy into his ministry, but rather that he accommodates to an American popular culture that is replete with therapeutic and self-help materials. Of note is that these types of healing coincide with therapeutic and emotional regulation. Healing of past hurts and healing of the dying are the most obvious in which Wimber addresses emotional concerns and grief. Physical healing, while perhaps not connected to the therapeutic on its own, is linked to the other types suggesting that physical healing comes after addressing other emotional needs. Wimber specifically links healing of the demonized to the healing of mental illness, which may seem odd except that over the last two centuries psychology has reinterpreted religious views of demonic possession through the therapeutic lens (see Mellor and Shilling 1997). What I hope to demonstrate momentarily is that even spiritual warfare and deliverance from demonic influence is a therapeutic response to emotional concerns. The healing interview shows similarity to the therapeutic interview with its open-ended questions and diagnostic approach. The emphasis on inner healing, or healing of past hurts align with the therapeutic approaches to align the emotions (Althouse 2017a). The most obvious appropriation of the therapeutic is Wimber’s use of Kubler Ross’ work on the process of grief, a major therapeutic work. As we will show below, even deliverance as a form of healing comes down to the management of the emotions, again a concern of therapeutic approaches.

Healing the Demonized One of the more controversial innovations in Wimber’s theology of healing was healing as a form of spiritual warfare. Belief in the cosmic battle between the angels of God and the demonic realm and demonic possession has been a part of conservative Christianity, although more as an abstract belief than an experiential one. Kydd (1998) argues that of the different models of healing throughout Christian history, Wimber best fits in a confrontational model of healing. Wimber worked from a dualistic worldview of the confrontation between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Satan, in which healing and deliverance were empowered by the authority of Christ and his reign. Healing points to the present inbreaking of that reign in demonstrations of supernatural power, vis á vis Ladd. However, fundamentalists who adopted a premillennial position claimed that the supernatural activity and demonic possession was no longer an active component in contemporary Christianity (Bialecki 2011, 254). For Wimber, Satan is not a prototype who counters God’s demonstration of power, but an incarnate, tangible person like Jesus. Percy (1996) discerns a contraction

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in Wimber theology. In Power Healing (1987), Wimber argues that people have nothing to fear from Satan, since he is subordinate to God. Yet in Power Points (Wimber and Springer 1991), the powers and capacities ascribed to Satan are amplified. What made Wimber’s theology controversial is that he argued that the Christian believer could be demonized, something that conservative evangelicals and historic Pentecostals rejected. There is also some question about whether the demonic powers are territorial, a view propagated by the Third Wave of the Spirit and later the New Apostolic Reformation of C. Peter Wagner. For his part, Wimber decoupled and ultimately rejected the burgeoning apostolic movement associated with Wagner. In fact, Vineyard believers are unsettled by the New Apostolic Reformation, to the point of occasionally finding it “creepy” (Bialecki 2016). Nevertheless, in Power Points (1991), Wimber and Springer wrote about “strongholds” (knowledge and pretensions that contradict knowledge of God) and territorial spirits (powerful fallen spirits who exercise influence over cities, regions, nations, and cultures), but he cautions that it is through Christ’s work of the cross that God has disarmed the “powers and principalities” and that God, not Christians, is the one who engages in spiritual battle. By implication, Wimber does not claim that Christian’s should engage in spiritual warfare to oppose demonic influences and advises to leave this engagement to God. Wimber’s discussion of the demon spirits is quite different in Power Healing and Power Evangelism. As noted, these works focus almost exclusively on the role of demonic influence on a person, whether a believer or non-believer, and the role that a person engaged in healing prayer has on binding the demon so that healing can occur. Reading Vineyard literature gives the impression, however, that deliverance ministry is something of an embarrassment. Don William’s (2005) overview of Vineyard theology barely mentions deliverance except in a stylized reference to Luke 4:16–21. Vineyard types are more likely to use terms such as the radical middle and empowered evangelicals than Wagner’s Third Wave or New Apostolic Reformation (Bialecki 2015). That being said, Bialecki’s (2017) observations of the Vineyard discovered a continuum of demonization rituals, from minor issues such as family squabbles or spiritual problems to outright displays of unregulated bodily behavior. The most extreme demonization was recognized by violent, abusive, or obscene reactions to Christian culture, but these were rare. More commonly, “quiet deliverances” (Bialecki 2011) were modest and quick ritual acts that were hardly noticeable as such. They appeared to be expressions of everyday, charismatic prayer that were evoked to deal with feelings such as anger, shame, or fear, and were expected to bring emotional relief. Often people being prayed for did not even know that they were being delivered. It was believed that demons influenced, or latched onto, a person through “entry points,” moments, events, traumas, or sin (McNutt 1974; Wimber and Springer 1986; Percy 1996). Trauma, argues Bialecki (2011), created compulsions that anesthetize a person from the original injury. Yet these demonic influences suggested a psychological or therapeutic component. The cause of demonization is trauma and this trauma is understood in the same sense as by most Americans as an “experience, or set of experiences, so laden with a painful affective charge that it becomes at once inassimilable and unforgettable: charred aspect of the self that preclude growth and warp behaviors, creating either phobic counter-reactions or odd compulsions to repeat the experience in a way that appears to lack self-control” (Bialecki 2017, 156). Both demonization and the psychological are co-analysis explanations that explain difficult experiences that require deliverance and counseling working together for resolution. Deliverance also has a strong emotional component that circles back on the emotional release found in inner healing. Feelings and desires are thought to be an internal state that one has difficulty controlling, yet there is still the expectation of taking responsibility for

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those feelings and managing them appropriately. Banishing unwanted emotions such as anger or shame through deliverance prayer still leaves a person with a sense of judicial guilt for having those feelings. Moreover, the need for divine expiation for those emotions highlights the lack of agency. “By presenting the emotions as alien agents themselves [i.e., demons], one stays true to the phenomenology of emotion as outside conscious control. However, by seeing it as an intrusive force that is turned away by an agentive agent [i.e., God], not only is the responsibility for the emotions removed, but to a degree agency is restored.” (Bialecki 2011, 269). Thus, even deliverance from the spirits is a form of healing that has therapeutic rapport in that a person is now able to regulate emotions over which they previously had little control.

Conclusion At the beginning of this chapter, I claimed that Wimber’s theology and that of the Vineyard was one particularized version of global Pentecostalism. However, that version was predominantly defined by Wimber’s positioning within evangelicalism. One of the issues that emerged throughout has been the problem of definition. Defining categories and their boundary markers are continuously contested and debated by both insiders and outsiders, including the scholars that attempt to give explanation. Wimber was shaped by the irenic, New Evangelicalism emanating out of Fuller Theological Seminary, an institution that rejected, or at least ameliorated, the separatist, dispensational, and anti-intellectualism tendencies of fundamentalism. Ladd’s theology was especially important in this regard. Wimber’s theology was also shaped by the growing influence of the therapeutic culture that was permeating American religion more generally. His theology of healing adapted therapeutic and emotional elements that was distinct from earlier versions of the divine cure. To put it bluntly, Wimber appropriated and contributed to a therapeutic form of evangelicalism. But can one claim that Wimber and the Vineyard was Pentecostal? His experiential theology of healing, deliverance, and signs and wonders seem to suggest this, but Wimber rejected the restorationist tendencies of historic Pentecostalism, as well as evidentiary tongues claimed by historic Pentecostals. Wagner (1988; 2002), for his part, lumped the Vineyard into an iteration of the Third Wave, and later the New Apostolic Reformation, but this designation is highly fluid, unstable, and contested with little empirical justification (Bustraan 2011; McClymond 2015; 2021). Third Wave is a catch-all category that lumps together diverse and unrelated forms of Pentecostalism in a way that is “overused, clichéd, and totally inappropriate” (Anderson 2010, 23). The problem is that both Pentecostalism and evangelicalism have explained and unexplained elements that make precise definition difficult for scholars (Maltese, Bachmann, and Rakow 2019). Definitions of Pentecostalism, or evangelicalism for that matter, are either along essentialist and normative lines and therefore too narrow, or theoretically vague and therefore too broad, which Bergunder identifies as Pentecostalism 1 and Pentecostalism 2, respectively (Bergunder 2021a, 2021b). Thus, scholars need to pay more attention to how Pentecostalism and evangelicalism is conceptualized as it negotiates and becomes entangled in local and global discourses in order to make sense out of how it oscillates between Pentecostal and evangelical identities (Maltese, Bachmann, and Rakow 2019; Wilkinson 2021). So where does this leave us? Future studies need to pay closer attention to how global Pentecostalism, evangelicalism, and other categories are defined and provide justifications for their definition, while refraining from accepting and merely replicating overused categories that have little or no justification.

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References Althouse, Peter. 2017a. “Emotional Regimes in the Embodiment of Charismatic Prayer.” In Pentecostals and the Body, edited by Michael Wilkinson, and Peter Althouse, 36–54. Leiden: Brill. Althouse, Peter. 2017b. “Women Praying for Women: Christian Healing Ministries and the Embodiment of Charismatic Prayer.” In Women in Pentecostal and Charismatic Ministry: Informing a Dialogue on Gender, Church, and Ministry, edited by Margaret English De Alminana, and Lois E. Olen, 370–83. Leiden: Brill. Anderson, Allan. 2010. “Varieties, Taxonomies, and Definitions.” In Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods, edited by Allan Anderson, Michael Bergunder, André Droogers, and Cornelis van der Laan, 13–29. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Balmer, Randall Herbert. 2004. Encyclopedia of Evangelicalism. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Bebbington, David W. 1989. Evangelicalism in Modern Britain: A History from the 1730s to the 1980s. London: Unwin Hyman. Bellah, Robert N., Madsen, Richard, Sullivan, William M., Swidler, Ann, and Tipton, Steven M. 1985. Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in America. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Bergunder, Michael. 2021a. “Definitions.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd M. Johnson, 174–177. Leiden: Brill. Bergunder, Michael. 2021b. “History.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd M. Johnson, 297–299. Leiden: Brill. Bialecki, Jon. 2011. “Quiet Deliverance.” In Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians, edited by Martin Lindhardt, 249–76. Oxford: Berghahn Press. Bialecki, Jon. 2015. “The Third Wave and the Third World: C. Peter Wagner, John Wimber, and the Pedagogy of Global Renewal in the Late Twentieth Century.” Pneuma: The Journal of the Society for Pentecostal Studies 37: 177–200. Bialecki, Jon. 2016. “Apostolic Networks in the Third Wave of the Spirit,” Pneuma: The Journal of the Society for Pentecostal Studies 38: 23–32. Bialecki, Jon. 2017. A Diagram for Fire: Miracles and Variation in an American Charismatic Movement. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Bustraan, Richard. 2011. “The Jesus People Movement and the Charismatic Movement: A Case for Inclusion.” PentecoStudies 10 (1): 29–49. Bustraan, Richard. 2014. The Jesus People Movement: A Story of Spiritual Revolution among the Hippies. Eugene, OR: Pickwick. Curtis, Heather D. 2007. Faith in the Great Physician: Suffering and Divine Healing in American Culture, 1860-1900. Baltimore, MD: The John Hopkins University Press. Dawson, Connie. 2012. “John Wimber: A Biographical Sketch of his Life and Ministry in America.” PhD diss. Regent University. Erickson, Douglas R. 2015. “The Kingdom of God and the Holy Spirit: Eschatology and Pneumatology in the Vineyard Movement.” PhD diss. Marquette University. Eskridge, Larry. 2013. God’s Forever Family: The Jesus People Movement in America. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hejzlar, Pavel. 2010. Two Paradigms for Divine Healing: Fred F. Bosworth, Kenneth E. Hagin, Agnes Sanford, and Francis MacNutt in Dialogue. Leiden: Brill. Higgins, Thomas W. 2012. “Kenn Gulliksen, John Wimber, and the Founding of the Vineyard Movement.” Pneuma: The Journal of the Society for Pentecostal Studies 34: 208–28. Jackson, Bill. 1999. The Quest for the Radical Middle: A History of the Vineyard. Cape Town: Vineyard International Publishing. (Appendix on Lonnie Frisbee by David DiSabitino). Jackson, Bill. 2005. “A Short History of the Association of Vineyard Churches.” In Church, Identity and Change, edited by D. Roozen, and J. Nieman, 132–40. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kübler-Ross, Elisabeth. 1969. On Death and Dying. New York, NY: MacMillan Publishing Company. Kydd, Ronald A.N. 1998. Healing through the Centuries: Models for Understanding. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishing. Ladd, George Eldon. 1964. Jesus and the Kingdom: The Eschatology of Biblical Realism. New York, NY: Harper & Row, Publishers.

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Peter Althouse Ladd, George Eldon. 1959. The Gospel of the Kingdom: Popular Expositions on the Kingdom of God. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. Luhrmann, T.M. 2012. When God Talks Back: Understanding the American Evangelical Relationship with God. New York, NY: Vintage Books. MacNutt, Francis. 1974. Healing. New York, NY: Bantam Books. [reprint/revised 1988. Altamonte Springs, FL: Creation House]. Maltese, Giovanni, Bachmann, Judith, and Rakow, Katja. 2019. “Negotiating Evangelicalism and Pentecostalism: Global Entanglements, Identity Politics and the Future of Pentecostal Studies.” PentecoStudies 18 (1): 7–19. Marsden, George. 1987. Reforming Fundamentalism: Fuller Theological Seminary and the New Evangelicalism. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdman’s Publishing Co. McClymond, Michael. 2015. “‘I Will Pour Out of My Spirit upon All Flesh’: An Historical and Theological Meditation on Pentecostal Origins.” Pneuma: The Journal of the Society for Pentecostal Studies 37: 356–74. McClymond, Michael. 2021. “Neo-Pentecostalism.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd M. Johnson, 449–452. Leiden: Brill. Mellor, Philip A., and Shilling, Chris. 1997. Reforming the Body: Religion, Community and Modernity. London: Sage. Miller, Donald E. 1997. Reinventing American Pentecostalism: Christianity in the New Millennium. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Miller, Donald E. 2005. “Routinizing Charisma: The Vineyard Christian Fellowship in the PostWimber Era.” In Church, Identity and Change, edited by D. Roozen, and J. Nieman, 141–62. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Noll, Mark. 2018. The Rise of Evangelicalism: The Age of Edwards, Whitefield and the Wesleys. Westmont, IL: IVP. Opp, James. 2005. The Lord for the Body: Religion, Medicine, & Protestant Faith Healing in Canada, 18801930. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queens University Press. Percy, Martyn. 1996. Words, Wonders and Power: Understanding Contemporary Christian Fundamentalism and Revivalism. London: SPCK. Rieff, Philip. 1966. The Triumph of the Therapeutic: Uses of Faith after Freud. New York, NY: Harper & Row. Shibley, Mark A. 1995. “The Californication of American Evangelicalism: Deviance and Cultural Accommodation in a Midwest Vineyard Congregation.” Religion and Social Order 5: 57–78. Versteeg, Peter. 2010. The Ethnography of a Dutch Pentecostal Church. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press. Wagner, C.P. 1988. “Third Wave.” In Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, Edited by Stanley M. Burgess, Gary B. McGee, and Patrick H. Alexander, 843–44. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Wagner, C.P. 2002. “Third Wave.” In The New International Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, edited by Stanley M. Burgess, and M. Van der Mass, 1141. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Wilkinson, Michael. 2021. “Introduction.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd M. Johnson, vii–xii. Leiden: Brill. Wilkinson, Michael, and Althouse, Peter. 2014. Catch the Fire: Soaking Prayer and Charismatic Renewal. Dekalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press. Williams, Don. 2005. “Theological Perspective and Reflection on the Vineyard Christian Fellowship.” In Church, Identity and Change, edited by D. Roozen, and J. Nieman, 162–87. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Williams, Joseph. W. 2013. Spirit Cure: A History of Pentecostal Healing. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wimber, John. 1983. Healing Ministry and Church Growth Syllabus. MC510. Fuller Theological Seminary. Wimber, John. 1988. “Foreword.” In Healing, edited by Francis MacNutt. Altamonte Springs, FL: Creation House. Wimber, John, and Springer, Kevin. 1986. Power Evangelism. New York, NY: Harper & Row Publishers. Wimber, John, and Springer, Kevin. 1987. Power Healing. New York, NY: HarperOne. Wimber, John, and Springer, Kevin. 1991. Power Points. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers.

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15 THE CONTEXTUALITY OF A PENTECOSTAL WITCHCRAFT THEOLOGY IN NIGERIA Judith Bachmann Introduction The contextuality of Pentecostal theology has been said to be central to the global success of Pentecostalism. Researchers focused on the ways in which Pentecostal theology adapted to different local contexts. Especially for African contexts, research on adaption and change of Pentecostal ideas proliferated. And nowhere did the idea of contextuality seem to be more meaningful than with witchcraft, spirits, and the devil. Yet, what is context actually? Ogbu Kalu (2002) argued that Pentecostalism is so successful in Africa because its theology is very similar to the African worldview. The idea of a continuity between traditional ideas and Pentecostal theology remains very popular (Gifford 2016; Tokunbo 2019; Nel 2020). However, as Allan Anderson stated recently, “[c]ontextualization is dynamic and not static, because it allows for constant change” (2017, 33). Joseph Bosco Bangura discussed the term critical contextualization, saying that this model “does not pre-judge which aspects of human cultures are considered useful” by people (2020, 64). The adaption processes of Pentecostalism are still ongoing. However, that also means that, in a few locations, Pentecostalism has become its own context. There is not just a contextualization; there is also a Pentecostalization of Christianity and of society (Larkin and Meyer 2006; Janson, 2016; Witte 2018; Anderson 2019; Janson 2020). In Nigeria, as Stanley Burgess (2017) and Anthony Nkwoka (2010) have pointed out, this means among other things that so-called mission churches adopt a Pentecostal style of worship and praying. They also undertake so-called crusades aiming to evangelize “non-believers.” So, as Pentecostal churches and ministries have adapted to their local contexts, their contexts have also changed with their presence. It gets even more complicated if we include the multi-religious settings that Pentecostals are often part of (Larkin and Meyer 2006; Janson and Meyer 2016; Larkin 2016; Peel 2016; Obadare 2018; Witte 2018; Janson 2020). Is “context” in an African setting just so-called traditional shrines and healing practices? Or does context also include Muslim theologies and other Christian theologies? I have already written about how difficult it is to differentiate Pentecostals from their context in Nigeria, especially when taking into account that they are not the only Christian denominations in the country (Bachmann 2019). Based on this DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-19

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insight, I propose to reconceptualize the contextuality of Pentecostal theology as a complex web of competing and overlapping theologies that, in the case of this chapter, all focus on witchcraft. If we look at another theological question, this field may rearrange itself anew, with different alliances and competitions. The analysis is based on field research that was conducted over seven months between 2015 and 2017 in a neighborhood of Ibadan. Ibadan is a city of approximately three to five million inhabitants and provides a multi-religious setting with Christians, Muslims, and self-identified traditionalists or traditional healers of various orientations. Research consisted of participant observation in several churches and mosques with over 70 interviews. The churches were mainline (e.g., Anglican), white garment1 (e.g., Celestial Church of Christ), and Charismatic-Pentecostal (e.g., Redeemed Christian Church of God); mosques were more “traditional,” as well as Reformist. Witchcraft in this specific Yoruba-speaking context is expressed with the word àjé. Àjé is imagined as invisible powers, entities, or even persons, often perceived as harmful. Social anthropologists have pointed out that, traditionally, àjé remains ambivalent, perceived as neutral or even positive by some (see Hallen and Sodipo 1986; Apter 2013). My approach to witchcraft in the field was guided by perspectives from cultural and postcolonial studies that regard “society” and “culture” not as innocent facts but as politicized and contested arenas of hegemonic negotiation (Hall 1990, 2017). For me, this meant to taking people’s practices seriously in their positionalities toward each other. The following sections focus on the divine role and rule over witchcraft, the times, places, and regularity of deliverance and healing, the materiality of witchcraft especially as demonstrated within deliverance, and, finally, the sex and gender of the spirits declared responsible – each section exploring the different positions people took in the field.

God’s Role and Rule In, Through, and Against Witchcraft This section will discuss what role God played for witchcraft ideas as God was commonly referred to across the multi-religious spectrum in the field to explain what witchcraft – or more specifically àjé – is. Two positions were very common: God was either thought to command witches as well as other spiritual beings to do positive or negative things or as being opposed to witchcraft entirely. The second position was shared among all Christians and thus, it was hard to differentiate a distinct Pentecostal theology in this regard. To learn more about this second position under which we also find Christians in the Pentecostal-Charismatic spectrum, we have to look at the first position and by whom it was held. It was almost exclusively Muslims who propagated the idea of God’s omnipotence in this regard. This idea of God’s omnipotence relegated witchcraft to a matter of non-existence for some Muslims. Aminah, a woman educated at a Reformist madrasa nearby, said: There is nothing we can call àjé … It is only about the destiny of man, so if anything happened it can be traced to destiny [qadara] than one believing and linking it with the work of àjé, this can damage one’s faith [imani] but one should believe that what happens to oneself at a particular time is from what God has destined one to become.2 Like others, she saw it as dangerous to associate a cause of something with any spiritual power other than God. However, like others, she was not opposed to pray for healing for those afflicted (see the following section). For some, the idea of God’s omnipotence also allowed for witches to have a positive function in society, if only to punish the ones deserving of punishment. During my stays in Nigeria, corruption took center stage in this regard. Muhammadu Buhari had just won the 200

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presidential election of 2015. One of his central election promises was to take up measures against and thus finally eradicate corruption in Nigeria. The deputy imam of a very popular neighborhood mosque, also a teacher at a local school, said: No one disputes the existence of àjé, they are just like police for somebody who is a sinner. The person who sins against God, God sends them to them for punishment and for torment … If someone is good, God will command àjé to protect them and guide them. But if it is a person that is not straight forward or the type that embezzles money, they will be disturbing such person or their children, or can be spending money on incurable sickness on their most lovely child. Notably, in the explanation of the deputy imam, a lot of sins were mentioned for which God will send the witches, but indeed the worst seems to be the embezzlement of money. It is also interesting that the deputy imam sees the witches as protection for people who do good in contrast. Although this was not exactly a popular idea in the Ibadan neighborhood, this sentiment was shared by a few healers as well. Thus, in the extreme, witches and the divine had one mind and shared one purpose, good and bad. For Muslim healers, the idea of God’s omnipotence and the divine command of the àjé was also especially attractive to account for the failure of healing. Alfa Yunus, a Muslim healer, explained the healing process as follows: “I will beg them [the àjé] on behalf of that person and prepare something for them; if they collect it, I am free to treat that person. If not so, they will punish the person.” He said that he was reliant on the compliance of the witches. Only if they took his sacrifice could his healing practices work on his customers. Although he did not explain why the àjé might not take the sacrifice, later in the same interview he contended, similarly to what the deputy imam had said, that God used the àjé to “punish the disobedient.” The idea of God’s command to punish thus also enabled him to legitimate a possible failure of healing. Now to the second position mentioned above. To Christians across the spectrum, God and witchcraft were antagonists. Prophet Samuel, the rector of the Ibadan Christ Apostolic Church Theological Seminary, stated: And we know witchcraft is from demons … It’s a devilish spirit. It is not of God. We have God and the devil. You know, any spirit that is operating in a destructive way is of the devil. God doesn’t operate in a destructive way. The Catholic priest Father Gabriel was even more vocal when it came to how witchcraft was to be seen in the battle between God and the devil over the (yet to be) believers: They are negative spirits, opposite forces, they are like principalities and powers which are negative to that of Christ … So, he [the devil] wants to do things that will make you fall on to his side but those things, light and darkness, do not go together. You are either for Christ or you are not for Christ. The priest thus expressed a theological position often equated with Pentecostalism. In the field, however, there were many, not just Father Gabriel, who shared the idea that Christians participated in a cosmic battle against the devil and that witchcraft was one of the devil’s means within this battle. Starting in the 1970s and 1980s, this idea permeated Nigerian society through printed and recorded testimonies that are very popular today (Eni 1987; Meyer 1995; Marshall 2009, 245–64). 201

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As we see, God played a significant role in locating witchcraft. However, the role of God was not fixed. Especially among Muslims, a wide spectrum presented itself: from God’s rule in and even through àjé (e.g., punishment of the perceived sinners) to God’s rule against it as evil forces. Christians presented a much more consolidated position of clear antagonism in comparison. Thus, the issue of God’s role and rule still seemed to leave little room to distinguish oneself from the vast competition of healing services. What followed from the idea of God’s opposition to – as well as God’s omnipotence over – àjé was some sort of deliverance or healing practices across the board. Thus, healing and deliverance practices were even more contested places where the necessity of distinct theologies took hold.

Healing and Deliverance: Why, When, Where? This section will investigate the questions following on from the concrete necessity to deal with witchcraft afflictions (whether God’s rule through or against) and the increasing need for differentiation arising from this competitive situation. There is a long-standing discussion among Pentecostals whether born-again Christians can be possessed or not (Hunt 1995; Haustein 2011). So-called classical positions usually contend that it is impossible for a true born-again Christian to be possessed by demons. The thought behind that is that the believer is saved once and for all and that their body is now exclusively occupied by God. The battle for the believer is won, once and for all. Although this idea was held by most Christians in the field, a person’s status was really only tested by demonic possession. Thus, a nominal Christian could be possessed multiple times. This idea applied to mainline churches, as well as churches and preachers that stressed the act of being born again in contrast with being brought up in the respective religion. Thus, most pastors offered repetitive sessions of deliverance, even though in mainline churches these sessions were not conducted routinely and only when spirits acutely manifested. Prophet Victor, pastor of a small independent ministry, who laid great emphasis on the decision of being born again, framed these repetitive sessions as a war, stating about his own church members: Most of them are possessed. You know they have been initiated into this spiritual something before their conversion. So, covenants still haunt their life, what they have eaten with Satan, what they have been drinking with Satan. If it is not flushed, it will be disturbing their Christian life … Devil will be telling God that “Ah, this one belongs to me, on so-so-so day was initiated.” Then God will now say “Yes, he has confessed me as Christ, so I have forgiven him.” But the devil will say “No!” So, it becomes a war. To Victor, satanic covenants were the reason that even believers were subjects to reoccurring deliverance. It was necessary to flush out the objects that initiated the covenant with the evil. Until that happened, it was like a battle over the saved. They were saved as they had professed Christ. However, the devil was not ready to release them quite yet. Being saved and born again thus became a contested process as a person might be living as a Christian but, when they became possessed, this very status was called into question. This battle over one’s spiritual occupation was also real to Christians’ experiences, when it came to witchcraft. A female teacher, member of a Christ Apostolic Church, told me that she was fighting witches in her dreams. However, this battle was the extension of conflicts in real life as well: Misunderstanding in the daylight, then, she came to me in my dream. It was in my dream when we were fighting. She said then to disfigure me entirely. But to the 202

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glory of God, you know I will not rest, we keep on fighting with the Holy Spirit because we have been told that our warfare is not physically. So that is where I dealt with them. And to the glory of God, many of them have surrendered. They have just come to me to say they are sorry. The theology of spiritual warfare is supported with verses from the Old Testament, like Exodus 22:18, calling not to “allow a witch to live.” In his sermons, Victor often laid emphasis on these kinds of verses to lead his congregation in a prayer battle against witches and other spiritual forces. This emphasis on battle, however, was not shared. In mainline churches where deliverance was only conducted when considered necessary, the New Testament was specifically cited in opposition to this idea of battle. The Anglican pastor Dr. Akande stressed that, through Jesus’ healing and deliverance ministry, it was possible to choose reintegration over aggression, especially against so-called confessions: And you find this one who will [confess] and, people will say “No … and the Bible says the witches and wizards shall not live” – that was in Old Testament, not like in New Testament where Jesus Christ cast out demons from people … What the people were ready to do, was instant judgement, just to kill them. But nowadays, because of what Christ did, you can do exorcism, you can cast it out. Yet, this theology of non-antagonizing reintegration was not exactly shared among the members. When it came to prayer, even in the Anglican church, the prayer that the congregation participated in the loudest was the one “against the enemies,” implying a battle cry against adverse spiritual forces like witchcraft. Thus, even though Dr. Akande disregarded the use of the Old Testament verse, the practice of prayer battle and selfdeliverance through tacit spiritual warfare practices seemed to be known within the Anglican church as well. Most important, however, was the idea that deliverance could only work in the right settings and mindsets. This idea was especially applied to distinguish Christian and Muslim practices from traditional healing – or whatever was thought as being similar to traditional healing. Prophet Victor referred to seeking advice or healing from “shrine priests” and the like “to use devil to fight devil.” Dr. Akande of the Anglican church saw it as a problem to go to traditional or Muslim healers as well. Even the so-called white garment churches, to him, were places where humans became possessed rather than being freed from possession. A Reformist imam, Abdullah, shared their sentiments and alleged that Muslim healers were acting against Islam and in accordance with the jinn that he thought the reasons behind afflictions called àjé. Just like the Christian pastors and prophets, Imam Abdullah had prayed ruqiah, a healing and deliverance prayer, for possessed Muslims. Facing so-called traditional healing practices that also had their excuses for failure to heal, none of them could reasonably offer a onefor-all-times solution. What they offered was thus very similar to the healing practices they opposed. Unless it was a prayer battle and self-deliverance, deliverance and ruqiah were done in private with only family members present. Thus, deliverance from àjé was seen as a repetitive process in most cases in churches and mosques, as well as in traditional healing settings. It was seen as a longer battle over the bodies of persons who could be known as Christians and Muslims, even though their status as “proper” Christians and Muslims was often called into question by the diagnosed demonic possession. This idea was not seen as controversial in this context. 203

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Yet, the framing of that process was different. Whereas in Pentecostal settings the martial language of the Old Testament was used and recontextualized as prayer warfare, in the established churches the Old Testament setting was rejected as backward oriented, antagonizing, and marginalizing.

The Materiality and Bodies of Witchcraft: What Does What Do? The materiality of witchcraft played a very important role in deliverance practices across divides. Only the Anglican pastor stressed that he did “just pray” for deliverance, implying that he did not use any objects. Yet, by this very emphasis, he acknowledged the relevance of the supposed (im)materiality of healing. Many others did allude explicitly to materials used: Bible (or Qur’an), holy water, holy oil, holy soap, the crucifix, and the hand bell. However, so that these objects or happenings could emerge as signifying a demonic presence or absence, the scene of deliverance had to be properly set. Only specific objects and practices were allowed. These objects were legitimized with how the demons seemed to react to them and with theological anti-fetishism. The Catholic priest explained his choice of objects thus: In the Catholic Church, there is no other strength you have than the blessed sacraments, we don’t use fetish things. It is either the Holy Eucharist or the oils that you bless … or the crucifix that you have or the bible that we use … and the holy water. I discovered that by the time I started praying for her, to the crucifix you know, there is a resistance of the devil to seeing the crucifix … Light and darkness, they don’t go together. Setting the scene meant to have the proper objects right at hand. The reaction of the possessed was read to mean that the demons were afraid of holy water, that it was a representation of divine power, “light” against “darkness.” But many pastors stressed that it was not the objects that worked the healing but God did. The pastor of a white garment church, suspected by Pentecostal Christians to be very similar to traditional healing, told us of the deliverance of the wife of a Pentecostal pastor. He asked the woman first whether she believed that “power belongs to God.” Only after that check and her following affirmation of God’s power did he mention the holy water they would use for the deliverance. The prophetess of another white garment church stressed that yes, she did use soap like traditional healers for her deliverance practices, but it was white soap, not black, like the one traditional healers were known to use. Prophet Victor also stressed anti-fetishism, he explained the workings of the holy oil, which he used, with the power of the word of God: You know, it is not the oil that works. It is the word of God in the oil that works. The oil is just a kind of point of contact. It’s like when Moses was told to stretch his staff … You know when Jesus took from the ground, mix it with clay, touch the eye of the blind and say: “Go and take your bath!” So, it’s not the clay or something but His words. He also encouraged his congregation regularly to recite Bible verses as a sign of being “filled by the Holy Spirit” and stated that it would drive the devil away. This was a view also held by imam Abdullah. In ruqiah, the healing practice that he used with the possessed, he cited Qur’anic verses and his own conviction was that jinns ran away once they heard the Qur’an: “I don’t fear àjé, I don’t fear jinn. So, Qur’an is there. When I read it, they run away 204

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from me! … They will live in fear, they will not like to stay with you.” In the Redeemed Christian Church of God, the assistant pastor, a former Christ Apostolic church member, also said that the act of praising God as expressed in the usage of the hand bell would “scare” the witches away. With these divine materials and practices, the scene was then set for the materiality of witchcraft to erupt. Vomiting was often mentioned as a sign of deliverance. Father Gabriel mentioned that it was a sign that the àjé might have “given the person something to eat,” a sort of spiritual poisoning. A Christ Apostolic Church member told me that the fear of this kind of poisoning was also the reason why children were discouraged from taking food or other gifts, even from fellow children. It might initiate them. Prophet Victor likened that to a material connection that the àjé then had to exude power over the initiated or rather possessed. This meant that the witches had control over somebody’s will, that their own will was disabled. He then showed us objects that he counted as proof of that terrible connection. One of them was a now worthless kobo coin: It’s not in use anymore. It’s expired. As long as this thing remains in her body, she can never lay hand upon anything in life and can succeed. Give her twenty million for a business and give her six months, the money will vanish [claps] and she will not give an account on how she spent the money. According to that idea, the objects ejected from the body of the possessed also explained which kind of witchcraft, which kind of demon had hindered the possessed. Even though we did not meet the possessed herself, Victor was able to “prove” to us that it really did happen and he was also able to recount the exact circumstances and the ailment of the person now seemingly delivered. It served as a left-over object meant to show us that the deliverance really did happen. Even though none of the other pastors showed us such left-over objects, some did allude to them. The pastor of a white garment church mentioned a “live grasshopper” (“live?” – “yes, live!”) and a “live snake” having been vomited out by the possessed. His point, however, seemed to be slightly different. He seemingly focused on the astonishment that he could provoke in me and my research assistant, stressing how great and beyond human reason divine deliverance was. The bodies of the possessed also played a great role in the descriptions of deliverance. I will expand on one central feature – the sex and gender of demons and the possessed – in the next section. What I want to focus on before I go into the gender dynamics, is the body of the delivered. The body of the delivered was at the same time a “normal body” and a different, a “marked body.” A teacher who mentioned having fought with àjé in her dreams stressed that she bore markings on her body as proof of that fight and, at the same time, of her survival and of her overcoming. Prophet Victor explained of a delivered woman who, due to her possession, lived in promiscuous relationships with men, and that she was “now back to normal body.” Her demonic connection was cut – in Jesus’s words: “They found nothing in me.” Yet, that normal body had to prove itself in specific actions of the delivered. Victor stated: “If any man talks to her now, she will say ‘Please, go to hell, leave me, please!’ because she is now back to normal body.” The normal body was really a normalized body reined in by specific actions and expectations. To conclude this section, we can acknowledge that deliverance and healing were framed as material, empirically observable processes – immateriality (“just prayer”) had to be specified and explained as well as the usage of different objects. “Fetish,” as supposedly used in traditional healing, was to be rejected and materials had to be abstracted in the sense that God’s 205

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working through these things had to be emphasized. The absence of the demons – as the last section also showed – was ultimately at stake: how did one know they were gone? Left-over objects and the “normal body” point us to the fragility of this very knowledge.

The Sex and Gender of Witchcraft: Who Is the Demon, Who Is the Possessed? Just like the materials and the delivered bodies were reliant on the actions framing them, rather than being self-explanatory, the demons of witchcraft were also in need of more specific identity – at least in the settings where the “personality” of demons was inquired about in the deliverance and healing process. This practice of more specific demon identification was not just particular to Pentecostals but was shared with Reformist Muslims as well. This practice was located within a specific gender dynamic. Although àjé as possession or possessed persons were seen as female, the demons of witchcraft were often thought of as distinctly male, drawing on the idea of ogun òru (night terror) and oko òru (spirit/night husband). The argument goes that dreams of a marriage ceremony were dangerous for younger women as it might mean that a spirit marriage was formed, a marriage to a demon that prevented women from getting married or experiencing trouble in their “real” marriage. Dreams of sex were also dangerous for younger women as the àjé were thought of as injecting magic sperm that prevented a woman from conceiving in real life. The oko òru and its connection to the witchcraft discourse was noted by psychiatrists in the late 2000s (Aina and Famuyiwa 2007). They saw ogun òru as a traditional explanation for “neuropsychiatric disturbances.” Yet, among their experts were not just traditional healers but also pastors of independent churches, which would mean Pentecostal as well. Thus, it does not come as a surprise that, during the course of this research, Prophet Victor, pastor of an independent church, was the only Christian pastor that clearly alluded to the idea of spirit marriage, whereas traditional healers never brought up this specific topic. However, the idea also seemed to be known among Muslims as the wife of the Reformist imam Abdullah mentioned an àjé-related incidence that she heard about from a cassette or CD. Reportedly, a single woman was possessed by a jinn. When the sheikh conversed with the jinn, it was revealed that the jinn took possession of her mother when she was pregnant. Thus, the jinn thought of himself as married to the woman from before birth. The sheikh explained that, according to the imam’s wife: “You are a jinn. You are supposed to marry to a jinn. You are not supposed to marry a human being.” Imam Abdullah also stated that the real digression of jinns was to have any connections with humans instead of exclusively relating with “their own kind.” Yet, how did anybody know of the male jinn, the spirit husband? The idea has gained notoriety in recent years – and not just in Nigeria (Rey 2013). The aforementioned psychiatrists stated that the idea of a spirit husband was not confined to Nigeria but was “also a widespread belief in Africa” (Aina and Famuyiwa 2007, 51). According to them, it was based on the African worldview that the material and immaterial world are intertwined. This idea has already spread with the Nigerian diaspora worldwide and is available in recent self-published, fairly inexpensive books available through Amazon and other online delivery services (King 2020). On the Muslim Reformist side, this seems to have sprung also from fairly recent debates. For example, Egyptian Sufi sheikhs supposedly gained strength through their intimate connection with a (female) jinn (Hentschel 1997, 72–76). In the 1980s, the Al-Azhar university addressed this idea of spiritual strength through spirit marriage, deeming it haram, forbidden. The Al-Azhar university has been a prominent place of Muslim learning for Nigerians so it is likely that Yoruba Muslims picked up and recontextualized these theological ideas (Reichmuth 1996, 1998; Thurston 2016, 78). The “African” spirit spouse 206

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and its contested legitimacy for men and women might already be a hybridized and global debate rather than one exclusive to the Sub-Saharan continent. This is also tangible in the psychiatrists’ article. Although they deem the idea of a spirit husband “traditional,” among their experts were in fact pastors of independent (Pentecostal) churches. Thus, the question about who is possessed and who is the demon leads us into different global religious contexts that have been entangled for a while through migration and educational exchanges. Are women the bodies whose behaviors can then be determined any which way healers, pastors, and imams like and who are thus doubly oppressed – by their perceived sex as more susceptible to demons and by the perceived maleness of the possessing demons? Do they have any agency in the process of their deliverance? On the one hand, the healer or exorcist interrogates and determines for the audience who the jinn or demon is. On the other hand, this interpretation has to seem plausible. The women who are perceived as being possessed also have to “play along” or behave in a way that can be interpreted like that. Having met with women who underwent deliverance – as they said – willingly, I am inclined to say yes, they do have agency. They gain freedom at times because they can point to the deliverance as having been freed from a demon. Thus, their supposedly “bad behavior” is explained and, at the same time, becomes a thing of the past. They may also be policed more and stand under the pressure to prove their deliverance through future success in their private and professional lives, by living up to expectations of “normal bodies.” Yet, to say that they play no part in their own deliverance presupposes their oppression, even though whether they were oppressed or chose freely, is still up for their own grasp, a decision still under negotiation. These women may have different views on what happened during their deliverance depending on how their lives go on after it. I am not saying that their agency is one of total self-determination, as Candy Gunther Brown writes about deliverance practices: “Because divine healing practices are experienced as powerful on multiple levels – physical, emotional, spiritual, social, and political – they have the potential both to empower and disempower. Like all healers and medicines, they can heal or harm” (2014, 55). The urgent question remains: Who should decide whether deliverance practices empower or disempower? In a discourse that mostly makes women the bodies of demons, I think researchers should not reinforce this position but shed a light on the ways in which women also influence the perception of their own and others’ deliverances (Bachmann 2022). After all, it is often their word of mouth that makes some pastor’s or imam’s or healer’s practice popular and lends their acclaimed powers credence. This section has shown that even though the identification of “male” demons as the causes of witchcraft possession was practiced in Nigerian Pentecostal churches, this practice was read as “African,” as “contextual.” Yet, on closer examination, neither was this practice exclusively Pentecostal (but also Reformist) nor was it particular to the Sub-Saharan context. Rather, it may point to a global hybridization of theological discourses. Women as the bodies on whom this identification was practiced are difficult to interpret for researchers. But because the “outcome” of the deliverance is to be (dis)proven by future events and behaviors, I suggest including the delivered women as active, even though not totally autonomous parties in the negotiation of what “will have happened” in the deliverance.

Conclusion To conclude, this chapter should not be misunderstood as striving to go beyond the specific, multi-religious context in Ibadan. I do not want to abandon the rhetoric of contextuality or contextualization within Pentecostal studies. It has been an important argument against the hegemony of U.S. Pentecostalism as the origin and the exclusive place of global legitimization. 207

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But as African theologians have pointed out, Christianity in general is contextual. This was meant as criticism of the idea that Christianity was European or “Western,” and African Christianity was somehow less Christian. It was also a thoroughly theological inspiration, giving focus to incarnation, the idea that “God became flesh.” Thus, adaption to context was not an add-on but the very core of Christianity (Sanneh 1989; Bediako 1997). And as Marilyn Robinson Waldman responded to Lamin Sanneh’s comparison of “adaptable Christianity” and “inadaptable Islam,” Islam is also contextual (Waldman, Yai, and Sanneh 1992, 162). Muslim scriptures have been translated over and over again as well as the Bible and Islam’s “success” also depends on its ability to provide people answers to their specific local questions (see also Anderson 2017, 33). The ongoing processes of adaption meant in consequence that Christianity and Islam become their own contexts. Where would general Christianity begin and where would local, “contextual” Christianity end? Does this kind of comparison not encourage the privilege already given to a “Western” Christianity? So, rather than making a comparison just between traditional and Pentecostal ideas, when we look at the contextuality of Pentecostal theology, I think we also need to take into consideration other Christian denominations and other religions that are popular in the places we look at. Otherwise, we may fall into the danger of reaffirming through the back door that U.S. Pentecostalism is not contextual because we still covertly use it as point of comparison for other Pentecostal movements. As the last section has pointed out, context may also include global debates. It means that U.S. Pentecostalism’s context has also been changing with its growing ties to Pentecostalism elsewhere. If we look at context as “dynamic, not static,” as Anderson has called for, context becomes ever so elusive. It depends on where researchers look (perspective) and what they want to criticize (research interest, Erkenntnisinteresse). Looking at Nigerian contextuality, what appears to be a clear-cut “indigenous” context vanishes. Many theologies and practices interact and react toward each other and overlap because of it. Thus, “real indigeneity” or “syncretism” are rather claims made about selves or others than objective descriptions. They are positions that are the effect of self-demarcations rather than their origin (Bachmann 2019). Witchcraft theology in context is competition over relatively established practices – neither totally new nor old – that are theologically charged and only because they are theologically determined anew, they make sense to the actors, if only for the occurrence of the very next deliverance.

Notes 1 I refer to the Celestial Church of Christ and the Cherubim and Seraphim churches as “white garment churches” because they were demarcated in the field as such; see also Bachmann (2019). 2 All material is from interviews conducted during fieldwork in Ibadan, 2015–2017.

References Aina, O.F., and O.O. Famuyiwa. 2007. “Ogun Oru: A Traditional Explanation for Nocturnal Neuropsychiatric Disturbances Among the Yoruba of Southwest Nigeria.” Transcultural Psychiatry 44 (1): 44–54. Anderson, Allan Heaton. 2017. “Contextualization in Pentecostalism: A Multicultural Perspective.” International Bulletin of Mission Research 41 (1): 29–40. Anderson, Allan Heaton. 2019. “Charismatic Churches and the Pentecostalization of African Christianity.” In The Oxford History of Protestant Dissenting Traditions, Volume IV, edited by Jehu J. Hanciles, 52–72. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Apter, Andrew. 2013. “The Blood of Mothers: Women, Money, and Markets in Yoruba-Atlantic Perspective.” Journal of African American History 98 (1): 72–98.

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The Contextuality of a Pentecostal Witchcraft Theology in Nigeria Bachmann, Judith. 2019. “Pentecostal or Born Again: The Relevance of Demarcation Practices for the Study of Nigerian Christianity.” PentecoStudies 18 (1): 58–78. Bachmann, Judith. 2022. “Witchcraft and its Implications for Women Reconsidered: Violence, Gender and Religion Among the Yoruba.” Religion and Gender 12 (1): 29–51. Bangura, Joseph Bosco. 2020. Pentecostalism in Sierra Leone: Contextual Theologies, Theological Education and Public Engagements. Studien zu Interkultureller Theologie an der Missionsakademie 19. Hamburg: Missionshilfe Verlag. Bediako, Kwame. 1997. Christianity in Africa: The Renewal of a Non-Western Religion. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Brown, Candy Gunther. 2014. “Pentecostal Power: The Politics of Divine Healing Practices.” PentecoStudies 13 (1): 35–57. Burgess, Richard. 2017. “Nigeria.” In Growth and Decline in the Anglican Communion: 1980 to the Present, edited by David Goodhew. 1st ed., 77–97. Routledge contemporary ecclesiology. Abingdon [England]; New York, NY: Routledge. Eni, Emmanuel. 1987. Delivered from the Powers of Darkness. Ibadan: Scripture Union. Gifford, Paul. 2016. Christianity, Development and Modernity in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hall, Stuart. 1990. “The Emergence of Cultural Studies and the Crisis of the Humanities.” The Humanities as Social Technology 53: 11–23. Hall, Stuart. 2017. The Fateful Triangle: Race, Ethnicity, Nation. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hallen, Barry, and John Olubi Sodipo. 1986. Knowledge, Belief & Witchcraft: Analytic Experiments in African Philosophy. London: Ethnographica. Haustein, Jörg. 2011. “Embodying the Spirit(S): Pentecostal Demonology and Deliverance Discourse in Ethiopia.” Ethnos 76 (4): 534–52. Hentschel, Kornelius. 1997. Geister, Magier Und Muslime: Dämonenwelt Und Geisteraustreibung Im Islam. München: Eugen Diederichs Verlag. Hunt, Stephen. 1995. “Deliverance: The Evolution of a Doctrine.” Themelios 21 (1): 10–13. Janson, Marloes. 2016. “Unity Through Diversity: A Case Study of Chrislam in Lagos.” Africa 86 (4): 646–72. Janson, Marloes. 2020. “Crossing Borders: The Case of NASFAT or ‘Pentecostal Islam’ in Southwest Nigeria.” Social Anthropology 28 (2): 418–33. Janson, Marloes, and Birgit Meyer. 2016. “Introduction: Towards a Framework for the Study of Christian-Muslim Encounters in Africa.” Africa 86 (04): 615–19. Kalu, Ogbu U. 2002. “Preserving a Worldview: Pentecostalism in the African Maps of the Universe.” Pneuma 24 (2): 110–37. King, Rev Ezekiel. 2020. Total Deliverance from Spiritual Husband and Spiritual Wife (Succubus and Incubus Demons): A Divine and Practical Solution Against Spiritual Marriage and All Sex Demons of the Night. Kingreads. Larkin, Brian. 2016. “Entangled Religions: Response to J. D. Y. Peel.” Africa 86 (4): 633–39. Larkin, Brian, and Birgit Meyer. 2006. “Pentecostalism, Islam & Culture.” In Themes in West Africa’s History, edited by Emmanuel K. Akyeapong, 286–312. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Marshall, Ruth. 2009. Political Spiritualities: The Pentecostal Revolution in Nigeria. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Meyer, Birgit. 1995. “‘Delivered from the Powers of Darkness’: Confessions of Satanic Riches in Christian Ghana.” Africa 65 (2): 236–55. Nel, Marius. 2020. “African Pentecostal Spirituality as a Mystical Tradition: How Regaining its Roots Could Benefit Pentecostals.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 76 (4): 201. Nkwoka, A.O. 2010. “Interrogating the Form and the Spirit: Pentecostalism and the Anglican Communion in Nigeria.” In Creativity and Change in Nigerian Christianity, edited by David O. Ogungbile, and Akintunde E. Akinade, 79–94. Lagos: Malthouse Press. Obadare, Ebenezer. 2018. Pentecostal Republic: Religion and the Struggle for State Power in Nigeria. African arguments. London: Zed. Peel, John D.Y. 2016. Christianity, Islam and Orisa Religion. Three Traditions in Comparison and Interaction. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Reichmuth, Stefan. 1996. “Education and the Growth of Religious Associations Among Yoruba Muslims: The Ansar-Ud-Deen Society of Nigeria.” Journal of Religion in Africa 26 (4): 365–405. Reichmuth, Stefan. 1998. Islamische Bildung Und Soziale Integration in Ilorin (Nigeria) Seit 1800. Beiträge zur Afrikaforschung 13. Münster: Lit.

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Judith Bachmann Rey, Jeanne. 2013. “Mermaids and Spirit Spouses: Rituals as Technologies of Gender in Transnational African Pentecostal Spaces.” Religion and Gender 3 (1): 60–75. Sanneh, Lamin. 1989. Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact of Culture. American Society of Missiology Series 13. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Thurston, Alexander. 2016. Salafism in Nigeria: Islam, Preaching, and Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tokunbo, Bankole. 2019. “’African Factors’ in the Metamorphosis of Indigenous Pentecostalism in Ekitiland, Nigeria.” Black Theology 17 (2): 150–62. Waldman, Marilyn Robinson, Olabiyi Babalola Yai, and Lamin Sanneh. 1992. “Translatability: A Discussion.” Journal of Religion in Africa 22 (2): 159–72. Witte, Marleen de. 2018. “Pentecostal Forms Across Religious Divides: Media, Publicity, and the Limits of an Anthropology of Global Pentecostalism.” Religions 9 (7): 217.

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16 IT TAKES TWO TO TANGLE? A COMPARATIVE APPROACH TO PENTECOSTAL MISSION(S) IN MUSLIM ZANZIBAR Hans Olsson Introduction The two-hour service at the small Pentecostal church in the Tomodo suburb of Zanzibar City had just ended. The thirty people who had gathered vanished into the surrounding alleys of residential houses while I remained talking to one of the members of the congregation, where today the preaching touched on the subject of cultural sensitivity. The speaker had filled the void of a pastor who recently left the congregation to start his own branch. Yet, the lack of leadership was not the member’s concern. He worried about the general inability of Christians to reach out to Muslims on the Zanzibar archipelago: “These people, which you saw in the church, they bring their local customs from the [African] mainland, shouting and dancing ngoma. It does not work here.”1 The informal leader of the small congregation was not the only Christian voicing the need for cultural sensitivity in Zanzibar. Contextualization was a reoccurring issue in talks with Protestant pastors and missionaries during stays in Zanzibar (2010–2012) and included ideas from building churches that resembled mosques to the use of Taraab music2 (instead of East African Gospel) during services. Yet, contextualizing the Christian message to the aesthetics of the Muslim majority was not just an issue for the (in)ability of Christians to attract Muslims to Jesus. It also reflected intra-Christian tensions over the role of missionaries (often coming to Zanzibar from mainland Africa) in Muslim-Christian animosities and how their longing for evangelization were conflated with a cultural mission. As one long-time missionary framed the matter, “to these churches to be Christian equals being a mainlander.”3 Mission is one of the major themes and characteristics in the contemporary story of Pentecostal expansion (Anderson 2004; Kärkkäinen 2018) that points to the dynamics at play between universal traits and local specifies within contemporary World Christianity (Cabrita, Maxwell, and Wild-Wood 2017). In Africa, Pentecostal expansion into Muslim-dominated territories has gradually gained attention (Cooper 2006; Drønen 2013; Olsson 2019) with assessments ranging from the socio-political ramifications of aggressive evangelization in contexts marked by religious pluralism (Ojo 2007; Imo 2008; Nolte, Ogen, and Jones 2017) to issues of lived religion in the everyday practices of Pentecostal-Muslim encounters (Ukah 2009; 2013). DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-20

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This chapter addresses Pentecostal approaches to Islam and Muslims through the lens of mission. Drawing on the life stories of two Tanzanian Christian missionaries, both working under the Tanzania Assemblies of God in Zanzibar, the aim is to explore the diverse emic approaches at play within a single Pentecostal denomination and how the issue of contextualization forces Pentecostals to address questions of Muslim cultural forms and its (lack of) meaning in relation to what it means to be a Christian. Juxtaposing how Pentecostals attempt to detach form (materiality, culture, religion) from content (matter, belief) (Keane 2007, Meyer 2010) with the aesthetical forms promoted in the everyday practice of a born-again life, draws attention to how culture serves as both a tool and a potential problem for how Christianity could be embodied (Pelkmans 2007). As representatives of two modes of being Christian in Zanzibar, one promoting Christianity through Zanzibari culture, the other largely in opposition to it, they nonetheless point to deep-seated respect for Zanzibari Muslim ways of life. In this, Pentecostal perceptions of Muslim piety and disciplined life styles connected to Islam allow for assessing articulations of Pentecostal modes of being and its entanglement with other religious configurations. Seeing mission through the lens of interreligious encounters speaks to the need for theorizing on comparative approaches for understanding religious configurations in Africa (Janson 2021), something that also moved beyond seeing Muslim-Christian encounters in terms of either conflicts or harmony, by observing its mutual influence (Soares 2006; Janson and Meyer 2016). While maintaining that differences matter in the way in which religious traditions become relationally articulated, the chapter moreover nuances the emphasis placed on the public role of religion (Englund 2011) by highlighting how Pentecostal conversion discourses are diffracted along positions of secrecy and publicity in the encounter with the Zanzibar society. The chapter draws on data primarily produced in Zanzibar between 2010 and 2012 (in total seven months, including Swahili studies and ethnographic fieldwork as a PhD candidate). In what follows, I will first situate the relationship of Pentecostalism to embodied forms of cultural production while highlighting tendencies to detach materiality from matter, before turning to situate Pentecostal mission in the context of Zanzibar. Presenting the comparative case of two missionaries and their approaches to Islam, Muslims, and Zanzibari culture, the analysis places their life stories in the social context of their respective ministries. The chapter ends with a discussion on how forms of Muslim piety and constructions of Muslim ways of life influence the missionaries’ production of born-again ways of life.

Pentecostal Mission, Religion, and Culture Pentecostals’ relationship to, as well as production of, culture have been viewed as highly dynamic. On the one hand, Pentecostalism has been characterized as flexible and spontaneous, traits that enabled Pentecostal expressions moving into new contexts to tap into already present cultural and religious traditions (Cartledge 2010). A wide body of anthropological literature has from an etic perspective likewise stressed Pentecostals’ ability to work within local ontologies, highlighting Pentecostal configurations as “part-cultures” or “duplex cultures,” manifested through, and in opposition to, local cultures (Coleman 2006; Robbins 2010). On the other hand, Pentecostals’ ability to build on what is already there have from an emic Pentecostal perspective at times contained anxiety where the boundaries between belief and culture are (or should be) drawn (van Engen, Whiteman, and Woodberry 2008). As the Pentecostal theologian Amos Yong highlights in the context of mission, Pentecostal outreach has often maintained a tension on how to translate the message of salvation in new cultural contexts, somethingthat has manifested in both outright rejection, as well as (yet often cautious) approaches to contextualization (Yong 2010, 177). Within the latter, internal debates surrounding “insider movements” 212

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where followers of Christ remain within their previous socio-religious milieu have not only created new mission paradigms (e.g., Coleman 2011; Talman and Travis 2015; see also Dyrness 2016; Anderson 2020) but have also been challenged by emerging hybrid forms such as Chrislam (Williams 2019; Janson 2020). In Muslim majority contexts – where Islamic devotional and aesthetical forms often overlap with cultural and ethno-national configurations – the issue of contextualization and Christianity’s boundaries have often centered around the extent to which the message of salvation is compatible with Muslim forms and practices.4 Anthropologist Mathjis Pelkman’s (2007) work on long-term evangelical missions in post-Soviet Kyrgyzstan addresses attempts to contextualize Christianity where ties between Muslim belonging and Kyrgyz identity remained prevalent. To transcend such boundaries, missionaries, in a classical Protestant fashion, addressed ties between Islam and Kyrgyzness by separating between the outer form of Islam and culture and inner content of belief connected to the Christian message (Meyer 2010, 752; see also Keane 2007). By objectifying Kyrgyz culture as a primordial form present prior to Islam’s arrival, it not only served to untangle links between Muslim belonging and Kyrgyzness, but also enabled missionaries to use culture as a tool for contextualizing Christianity as an authentic Kyrgyz form. Drawing on Kyrgyz cultural customs (such as circumcision rites) to transmit the content of biblical messages also reordered ties between belief, religion, and ethno-national identities (Pelkmans 2007, 885). Instead of dissolving ties between religion and culture, the case reveals that, when faith turns into practice (manifested as culture), faith is not only a matter of belief for the individual but also materialized in the social context and linked to ideas of belonging (Pelkmans 2007, 896). The ability of individual converts to practice their faith and position themselves in the wider social context recaptures some of the issues raised in the vignette, namely contestations around the embodied aspects of Pentecostalism as a lived religion captured in styles of music, dance, and wider aesthetics, what Birgit Meyer might also have called sensational forms (Meyer 2010). Tensions around Pentecostals’ (in)ability to contextualize the Christian message points to internal debates in relation to Pentecostal cultural production in general and, as we shall see, in Zanzibar in particular. It brings the relationship between the outer form and the inner content of Pentecostalism as a missionary movement to the fore. If culture is a tool to spread the Christian message (while reduced to mere form and materiality), it also raises questions about where the boundaries of faith-as-practice are drawn (content). Could a born-again Christian be overtly Muslim in the public and still live a full Christian life? As Pelkmans (2007) also highlights in the Kyrgyz context, the materiality of cultural forms carries a risk of missionaries “going native” as boundaries between form and content are dissolved rather than properly reassembled. I will soon return to these questions in the life stories below. But first, Pentecostal mission endeavors need to be situated in the context of Zanzibar more widely.

Zanzibar, Islam, and Christian Inroads Islam is the main religious tradition on the semi-autonomous Zanzibar archipelago. Ninetyseven percent of the 1.7 million population adhere to different Muslim denominations with Sunni Islam and the Shafi’i school of jurisprudence, the dominant strand. Over centuries, diverse Muslim trajectories have influenced ways of life on the archipelago, including the development of an urban cosmopolitan ethos of civilization (ustaarabu) as well as cultural forms, style and taste. Conversion to Islam has (at least nominally) been the means through which points of inclusion and exclusion have been negotiated (Pouwels 1987, 2). The Muslim hegemony permeating the socio-cultural sphere has made Zanzibar a place where Christian mission endeavors have struggled to evangelize. Roman Catholic and Anglican missions entering Zanzibar from 213

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the mid-1800s failed to convince Muslims about the Christian message. Missions focused on diaconal work formed Christian communities in relation to anti-slave campaigns and liberated slaves with origins in mainland Africa (Liebst 2021). Addressing the Roman Catholic mission along the coast and Zanzibar in the mid-nineteen Century, Paul Kollman points to how Spiritan missionaries dreamed of a future shift to mainland Africa, “away from the coast where mosques and Islamic population [that] impeded evangelization” (Kollman 2009, 54). Mission activities soon shifted to mainland Africa, leaving a small Anglican and Roman Catholic presence that over time developed in relation to the Muslim majority. Spiritans’ view of Zanzibar as a difficult context for evangelization is still shared by contemporary Christians in Zanzibar and, while Muslims occasionally turn to Christianity, it remains more common that it is Christians that convert to Islam (Langås 2019, 85). Images of Zanzibar as an impenetrable mission field has not stopped Christians from trying. The islands are a significant frontier marked by high risk but also potentially high gain. As one of my Pentecostal interlocutors stressed, “to make it in Zanzibar as a missionary remains a feather in the hat.” Pentecostal inroads to Zanzibar have followed the economic liberalization and opening of the public sphere since the mid-1980s onward, a context in which both Muslim and Christian reform movements emerged alongside each other. Pentecostal outreach activities included open-air preaching, handing out Bibles, and social work, the latter, often with the explicit aim to convince Muslims to become Christians. Largely failing to attract Muslims to the Christian message, Pentecostal churches have nonetheless grown in numbers, primarily in connection to labor migration from mainland Tanzania drawn to Zanzibar by the economic prospects of a booming tourist industry (Olsson 2020). Moreover, since the introduction of multiparty politics in 1992, Islam has reemerged as a factor in political tensions. Within growing identity politics on the islands, Pentecostal/Charismatic Christian inroads, expressed in publicly visible aesthetical forms (e.g., open air preaching, construction of new Churches, styles of worship, clothing and so on) have become symbols of non-Zanzibari sites of belonging.5 Pentecostalism remains part of a small, but growing, Christian minority in Zanzibar. It is dynamic, including both African as well as Western initiated missions,6 split across more than seventy congregations and twenty different denominations.7 The two individuals I will now turn to are working within one of the largest branches, the Tanzania Assemblies of God (TAG). TAG emerged from the classical North American Pentecostal Church, the Assemblies of God, whose roots in Tanzania could be traced back to American missionaries entering Tanganyika from Malawi (then Nyasaland) in the 1950s (Tambila and Sivalon 2006, 229–32). Present in Zanzibar since the 1990s, TAG is one of the fastest growing Christian denominations on the islands, with the two pastors both playing important roles in the expansion.

Two Pentecostal Mission(arie)s in Zanzibar The calling to go out into the world to evangelize is often part of a story where details of an individual’s past serve to frame current motivations, agency, as well as relation to particular places (Engberg 2019). Life-story narratives not only capture Pentecostal extension in Zanzibar from emic positions but also serve as lenses to how the Christian message becomes contextualized. The material I draw on here are the narrative representations of the two pastors, both in terms of how they present themselves as protagonists in the stories they tell, as well as from my part as an interpretive voice and co-producer in these stories. The two pastors, who today each run their own ministries, have a close personal relation. Paolo,8 a Muslim turned born-again evangelist, in many ways serves as the spiritual father of Dickson, 214

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who was a member of one of Paolo’s first cell groups set up at the army barracks in Zanzibar City in the early 1990s. Yet, as will unfold, they have developed two different paths when it comes to approaching mission, Muslims, and Zanzibar society.

“I Don’t Want to go Against Culture” Paolo meets me with a standard repertoire of Swahili greetings by the Daladala (bus) stop located at the main road from Zanzibar City and the northern parts of Unguja. A short car ride later, we arrive at Paolo’s mission station/congregation. Walking me through the property where a small church is located at the center of a lush garden, Paolo explains that this was once an abandoned land that he was able to purchase for a small sum of money as it was perceived to be haunted by malevolent spirits (majini) connected to its the previous Arab owners. Paolo has been evangelizing in Zanzibar since 1991. However, his calling started two decades earlier in Dar es Salaam, when he as a “strong Muslim” was “saved” in an intervention attempting to force his born-again Christian sister back to Islam. Recollecting the event, Paolo explained how he went from “ready to kill” to be a born-again Christian through the intercessory prayers of his sister. His wife, a Muslim with family ties in Zanzibar and Yemen, soon followed Paolo to Christianity, causing great anger among their families. It was a time of fear and repeated threats. Yet, the couple felt protected in their new faith and soon received a calling to share the gospel to other Muslims. Initially struggling with accepting the call, the couple eventually embarked on a journey, planting churches in the Muslim-dominated areas of Morogoro and Mikumi in mainland Tanzania, before settling in Unguja, Zanzibar. Unguja was a hard place to evangelize but Paolo was able to gather a small group of converts. His first cell group soon grew into four, and eventually developed into independent congregations in and around Zanzibar City. In 1997, he and his wife started to focus on preparing missionaries to start cell groups and small house churches (called Omega courses) in Yemen, the Comoro Islands, and Oman, all of which are seen as a harder challenge than Unguja. To Paolo, mission among Muslims requires patience, respect, and care for where Muslims are coming from: I care because they are my brothers … I respect them. They are God seekers. If you coming from a nominal Christian background, Muslims are dangerous. I think different. I respect their zeal. I meet a man that is searching God, and from there I start something new to him … It is a very different approach; you cannot come and just say ‘Come to Jesus.’ They have a zeal; they go to the mosque five times a day. That it is not a joke. You need to go with something in your hand. Paolo’s approach suggests that the Christian message needs to be “translated” through the daily rhythm of Muslim prayers and pious longings to come closer to God, not against it. He supported his position by drawing on biblical narratives of the first apostles,9 as well as on his own experiences as a Muslim converting to Christianity. Paolo never liked being called out as a Christian in public and still remembers the fear he experienced from his family in relation to his conversion. To avoid stirring up social tensions, he thus openly encouraged born-again Christians with a Muslim background to hide their new faith and maintain an overtly Muslim look in the public. While stressing the transformation in individuals’ hearts, not their outer appearances, his ministry centered on mentoring converts in private spaces over long periods of time until they felt ready to come out as Christians in the public. In his consideration of the hegemonic role of Islam in Zanzibar including tensions surrounding conversion, Paolo largely follows a classical Protestant approach in separating 215

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form (religion and culture) from content (faith) (Meyer 2010). Moreover, Paolo was not concerned with how many converts that he was able to bring to his church. His mission (and interpretation of his calling) was to reach Muslims with the message of the gospel, not to build (and expand) churches as spatial manifestations of Christianity. In this also dwelled a stern critique of Western Christian missions and the focus on form (inclination toward constructing buildings, and imposing certain aesthetics from abroad, etc.). Paolo was pragmatic in his approach to not “go against culture,” advocating that men could wear kanzo and kofia, and women buibui and still be Christians in their hearts.10 In this dwelled a tension that on the one hand devaluated culture and Islam (as a legalistic system of rituals) to mere form, while on the other hand reassembled Zanzibari cultural traits (and Muslim forms of commitment) as a means of not alienating his ministry from the wider society. In his congregation, this materialized in distinct ways, encouraging his worship team to use a Taarab-style music during services to let his congregants dance and sing “to the Lord” through their own “culture.” He also advocated the use floor carpets (often used in social gatherings across Zanzibar) instead of benches in the church. Paolo’s ministry exemplifies processes of both untangling materiality (form) from matter (content) in order to reassemble them in new ways (Pelkmans 2007). Yet Paolo raised no concern about the risk of using “Muslim forms.” His Muslim background made him an embodiment of such processes of separation and assemblage.

“We Are Here to Transform Lives” One of Paolo’s adepts, Pastor Dickson,11 runs one of Zanzibar’s fastest growing congregations, the Zanzibar International Christian Center (ZICC, until 2018, then named the City Christian Center). Developed from one of the cell groups started by Paolo in the 1990s, ZICC is located on what used to be an old Anglican cemetery in the urban center of Zanzibar City. Since its first permanent structure in 1998, ZICC has expanded several times – including in 2018 into the shape of a two-story church building with a capacity to host more than two 2,000 visitors. Dickson comes from inland Tanzania, where he was raised in a family with his father being a traditional healer (mganga wa kienyeji). From an early age, exposed to a potent spiritual world, Dickson arrived in Zanzibar in the 1980s while serving in the army. Coming to Zanzibar was a new experience. Impressed by the piety and commitment of the island’s Muslim community, Dickson thought he would eventually become a Muslim himself. Meeting Paolo in 1991, Dickson instead became a committed Christian and soon received his own calling to evangelize among Muslims. Due to the difficulties of maintaining a Christian life in Zanzibar and growing a successful Christian ministry, Dickson views his rather successful work as signifying God’s work unfolding. With growth of the ZICC connected to mobility and labor migration from mainland Tanzania, Dickson’s congregation has a strong mainland feel, with aesthetical forms (architecture, seating, infrastructure) resembling Pentecostal churches in mainland Tanzania. Praise and worship sessions – accompanied by electric guitars, bass, and drums – drew on East African Jazz and popular gospel culture and were at times wild (resembling rock concerts). Located in the island’s urban center, ZICC is known to both Muslim Zanzibari and other Christians as a new development in the wider soundscape of the society.12 In a conversation with Dickson in 2010, I asked about his views on contextualization based on the calls for cultural sensitivity I heard expressed by a number of other Pentecostal Christians on the archipelago. Apparently well versed about the discussion of contextualization, Dickson’s answer was short and concise: “the church is the church … we did not come here to establish religion, so people could continue like they did before: we are here 216

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to transform lives.”13 He could not see how having “carpets on the floor” would contribute to attracting Muslims. Instead, Dickson emphasized that Zanzibari Muslims were not stupid and would see through attempts of dressing the Christian message in the garment of Zanzibar culture. Ideas of conflating the content of the Bible with Muslim forms were, in the eyes of Dickson, connected to Western missionaries and interfaith programs, reflected in his naïve Christian positions with limited experience of dealing with Muslims. In the wider context of contextualization, Dickson saw transformation as more than just a change of heart. A life as a born-again Christian signified being, living and acting different in relation to Muslim society, experienced in Dickson own life as he over the years had been both threatened and physically attacked. Change was not only a matter of the heart but also something that materialized in the everyday lives of being a born-again Christian, which points to the public role and material form of Christian faith. Against this, Zanzibari culture cannot be a “tool” for mission as it potentially undermined the boundaries between what was viewed as Christian and what was not. The local context was something hazardous for the group of mainland Tanzanians that primarily made up Dickson’s church, placing Dickson’s responsibility and mission to guide Christians through life on the islands. Addressing Pentecostal/Charismatic cultural production in the predominant Christian city of Iringa in mainland Tanzania, Lindhardt stresses that while Islam might be seen as “a potent and potentially dangerous spiritual other,” Pentecostalism was mainly produced in contrast to mainline Christian and traditional practices (Lindhardt 2017, 40). Lindhardt’s observation nonetheless captures the salience of Islam as the treacherous other when mainland Christians in Zanzibar alter the context through which Pentecostal culture is produced. Zanzibar actualizes Islam as the dangerous other, something that also placed Christians at the frontier of an ongoing battle between good and evil forces. As I have argued elsewhere (Olsson 2019), incorporating the vivid spiritual world of the local culture while interpreting it as spiritually dangerous excluded Zanzibari culture as a tool for mission that would alienate the base of Dickson’s expanding ministry fighting to maintain Christian ways of life. The form (the aesthetics and cultural make-up) of the church rather reflected the context of a spiritual war, with deliverance and warfare practices ensuring the church as a safe haven, mediating God’s presence through sensory experiences such as dancing to the rhythms and soundscapes connected to a mainland home. As an embodied material culture, Dickson’s ministry points to a mission embedded in ongoing constructions of Christian and non-Christian cultural forms. Seen from this perspective, church buildings indexed resistance, places where Pentecostal practices and sensational forms (here deeply entangled with mainland mobility and migratory trajectories) were enacted to articulate belonging (Meyer 2010, 758). Drawing on his own journey in Zanzibar as a model for others to imitate Dickson’s ministry encouraged people to stand up against pressure to convert and not hide their faith in public.

Mission Encounters in Comparison The two approaches presented above signify two different but not unique trajectories within contemporary Pentecostal evangelization: one public and confrontational; the other, hidden and culturally accommodative. Dickson’s visual and audible presence has increased with each physical expansion of his church. ZICC activities are also eagerly shared through their public Facebook page and YouTube channels,14 where services, musical performances, and Dickson’s sermons are staged against a frond of American, Israeli, and the Tanzanian flags.15 These flags connect the church to external political forces that play into contestations surrounding Zanzibar’s 217

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national autonomy (Tanzania), as well as the island’s connection with the wider Muslim umma (Israel’s oppression of Palestinian Muslims, as well as the United States’ continuing war on terror). There is no indication of playing with Zanzibari cultural images in ZICC as advocated by Paolo. Paolo’s ministry has consciously kept a low public profile with no social media presence. His work was instead carried out in the shadows of the public sphere, not attracting attention while aiming to save his “Muslim brothers and sisters.” The difference in approach, considering the long history of the two pastors, is peculiar. They shared tremendous respect for each other and never criticized each other’s respective ministry. Rather, their respective critique of Christian mission paradigms (be it for or against contextual readings) are discursively placed against (Western) Christian mission endeavors. Central here is a discourse that stresses other Christian missionaries and their inability to comprehend the situation. As such, Paolo and Dickson could be seen as representing two mission approaches along a spectrum ranging from exclusivist to more inclusive trends: Dickson’s church-planting approach places emphasis on Christian forms in contrast to Islam; Paolo advocates Christian faith as independent on cultural forms. The latter touches on missiological debates in relation to the role of “insider movements” and followers of Christ/Jesus within other religious traditions (Miller and Johnstone 2015; Dyrness 2016; Anderson 2020).16 Yet, Paolo’s emphasis on Muslim converts who hide their Christian faith entails hope that they will eventually be able to profess their faith in public (and become part of a larger Christian community). This might indicate a conscious division of labor within TAG’s mission activities in Zanzibar, with Dickson’s focus on mainland migrants thriving on Christian distinctions vis-à-vis Zanzibari culture, while Paolo’s emphasis is on retaining “Muslim” appearances in the public, enabling Muslims to come to Jesus without breaking with their community. Moreover, their respective analyses touch upon two wide strands in the study of MuslimChristian encounters in Africa more widely: one that remains focused on tension and conflict; the other directed toward accommodation, inter-religious cooperation and dialogue ( Janson 2020, 419). While arguing for more comparative approaches for understanding religious interactions across boundaries, Marloes Janson (2020) has urged for analyzing religious traditions as entangled and influenced by each other (see also Janson and Meyer 2016). Paolo’s and Dickson’s ministries are both produced in close relationship to Islam in Zanzibar – which despite different positions vis-à-vis the role of religious practice, and framed by a deep-seated respect for Muslim piety and sincerity open ways for exploring how Muslim forms influence the way in which Christian mission takes form. In the case of Paolo, his own Muslim background influenced his view of Muslims as God seekers. In separating the individual Muslim from Islam as a system, his mission centered on guiding already pious individuals toward a deeper understanding of God. While facilitating processes of inner transformation, such journeys unfolded in continuity with the rhythm and cultural aesthetics of the society at large. From an etic position, converts remained both overtly Muslim and covertly Christian, a position that observes conversion in the wider context of negotiating religious plurality and the presence of multiple as well as shifting positions of religious belonging in the context of Eastern Africa more generally (cf. Lambek 1993; Faulkner 2005; Premawardhana 2018). Paolo would certainly oppose the thought of multiple religious belongings, stressing the importance of a change of heart. Yet in comparison to Dickson, he did not oppose a covert public appearance as problematic or blurring the boundaries between what is Christian and what is not. Dickson’s emphasis on born-again Christians, as distinguished from Muslims, nevertheless draws on ideas of Muslim piety with Muslims serving as models, or perhaps 218

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better, mirrors for what it takes to stand up for Jesus. Muslim commitment was not only something that he himself once admired, but also served to convey to his mainland congregants what was required to be a Christian. To maintain what it means to be a Christian in Zanzibar was not easy, but a battle, which demanded that Christians rise to the occasion. In contrast, Paolo did not promote a spiritual warfare rhetoric in relation to his mission endeavor, even though he implicitly pointed to the Christian faith’s ability to rehabilitate spiritually charged locations (such as the premises of his church). Paolo’s and Dickson’s ministries nonetheless point to Pentecostal practices as produced in the encounter with Islam. In these encounters, Islam was devalued to mere form (a legal system of rituals and tradition stalling people from experiencing liberation) but also revalued as a form through (in Dickson’s case, one that was against) which belief (content) becomes materialized as practice. In their respective approaches, Muslim ways of life, and Islamic piety were held in higher esteem when compared to other Christians in Zanzibar. As sincere, God-seeking practitioners, Muslims (while seen to be located on the wrong side in a cosmic war between good and evil forces) served to sharpen Pentecostal missionary responsibilities, commitment, and practice. Without reducing the aspect of difference at play here, the two cases reveal examples of how contexts of religious diversity influence the way in which Pentecostal Christian forms are articulated and manifested.

Conclusion Looking at Pentecostal approaches to Islam and Muslims in Zanzibar through the lens of life stories and “calling” narratives point to a diversity but also a commonality. First, the cases reveal that contemporary Pentecostal missions remain placed within tensions surrounding the issue of contextualization that accompanied modes of Christian outreach throughout history and more recently in Pentecostal Charismatic forms of evangelization. What the relationship between Christianity and culture should look like (Niebuhr 2001) when Christians dance and sing “to the Lord” remains an ongoing tense theological and practical issue. Second, the emic positions presented here direct attention to diverse perspectives of what it means to be a Christian in public (Gifford 2009; Englund 2011). Deeply embedded in individual Christians’ ongoing journeys toward spiritual maturity, questions surrounding Christians’ overt or covert public appearances, points to how religious belonging remains worked out in relation to an individual’s social location within the society. Third, this direct attention to the role of migration and how the influence of mainland Tanzanian Pentecostal/Charismatic Christianity develops in relation to contextualization. Mission work in Zanzibar is not merely about pushing frontiers forward by convincing Muslims to become Christians, but captures dimensions of Christian expansion entangled in “protecting” mainland Christians (from different regions and Christian denominational backgrounds) from negative socio-religious influence. These defensive features help nuance Pentecostal mission encounters with Islam by revealing religious configurations and entanglements with other social and ethno-national constructions of belonging. In comparison to other Muslim majority contexts, where long-term evangelical missions have challenged connections between religion and cultural identities in attempts to contextualize Christianity as an authentic cultural form predating Islam’s arrival (Pelkmans 2007), this chapter points to Pentecostal missions as framed in relation to perceptions of a static, largely impenetrable and dangerous setting permeated by vivid spiritual forces connected to a Muslim hegemony. A potentially dangerous setting for Christians to be, regardless of their religious or cultural background, Muslim Zanzibar 219

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nonetheless served as a place of admiration and respect. Muslims were not only sincere in their religion but were also sincere opponents located on the other side of a spiritual battle. In the construction of a society shaped by piety and commitment (to Islam but also against Christianity), Zanzibar served as a significant form influencing the overt manifestation of born again belonging. While not stating that Paolo’s or Dickson’s respective position remains outside a wider Pentecostal mission paradigm, debates over contextualization and spiritual warfare practices with Pentecostalism show the importance of life stories in understanding Pentecostal approaches to contextualizing the Christian message in Zanzibar. The two pastors highlight how their stories are also models for a Christian life in Zanzibar. Situated in the way in which the gospel materializes in everyday life, they also reveal how faith is embodied and danced to as well as interpretatively danced with as a means of navigating and consolidating a bornagain Christians’ presence on the islands. In articulating these dances, the rhythms of Muslim Zanzibar remain an important partner.

Notes 1 Fieldnotes 2010-11-07. Ngoma literally means both drum and music in Swahili. 2 Taarab is a style of music widely played in festivities and at weddings in Zanzibar. For Taarab’s historical and cultural meaning in Zanzibar, see Fargion (2014). 3 Fieldnotes 2012-02-14. 4 For a concrete examples of an emic Christian approach to insider movements among Muslims in Kenya, see Naja (2013a, 2013b). 5 There is no room here to go deep into all the contextual circumstances surrounding the emerging political climate in Zanzibar since the 1990s onward and the role of religious agents in the politics of belonging at play. For more on this, see, for instance, Poncian (2014), Loimeier (2011), and Olsson (2019). For an assessment of inter-religious cooperation and religious leaders work for peace in light of the political climate, see also Langås (2019). 6 International mission agencies and individual missionaries often work in close cooperation with a Tanzanian Pentecostal branch with specific western roots. I ran into both Swedish and Finnish missionaries during my time in Zanzibar that were working with the Free Pentecostal Church of Tanzania and its offspring, the Pentecostal Church of Tanzania, who both trace their roots back to Swedish and Finish Pentecostal missions in the 1930s. 7 This is based on the situation in 2012 and the number of Pentecostal congregations probably increasing over the past ten years. 8 Paolo is a pseudonym due to the sensitivity of his mission activities. He still goes under his Muslim name. The life-story below is based on half a day spent at Paolo’s ministry that included an over two-hour long interview conducted in English 2012-11-07. 9 Paolo made explicit reference to the story of Nicodemus in John 3:1–21 and how the first apostles spread the gospel into new cultural contexts (1 Cor 9:19–23). 10 Kanzo is the male, often white, garment used by men in Zanzibar together with kofia (a hat). The combination is a standard dress code during weddings and religious festivities and signals civilized manners. Buibui is the female garment that some women wear to cover the whole body in public. Wearing garments that are connected to “civilized” manners were also widely used by early Christian missionaries who dressed in kofia and kanzo as a means to negotiate their position in the late 1800s and 1900s in Zanzibar (see Liebst 2021). 11 The below presented are based on fieldwork in Dickson’s congregation and include three recorded interviews with Dickson 2010-12-01, 2012-02-01, 2012-09-13. For a comprehensive case study of the church, see also Olsson (2019). 12 A Pentecostal pastor from another denomination pointed to the ZICC’s popularity as connected to the music sessions performed at the church. The female head of the Zanzibari Muslim household where I stayed during Swahili studies frequently teased me for my interest in Pentecostal churches, which she perceived as places (wakristo wanalia sana). 13 Dickson 2010-12-01.

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Pentecostal Mission(s) in Muslim Zanzibar 14 For the ZICC’s facebook page and YouTube channel, see https://www.facebook.com/Zanzibar InternationalChristianCenter/ (accessed 2021-07-07) and https://www.youtube.com/channel/ UCGguoLELTKoJJo0Srr9Mhdw (accessed 2021-07-07). In October 2021, the ZICC also launched their own TV channel, Joy Gospel TV, produced in the church’s own studio and that covers broadcasting services, gospel music, and Bible studies, as well as a specific fitness channel. See https://www.youtube.com/c/JOYGOSPELTV/featured (accessed 2022-04-08). 15 Looking through the services since the name change and latest expansion of the church, the flags have been a present feature (see ZICC’s Facebook page footnote 12). However, during the periods spent in Zanzibar, I did not encounter such symbolic manifestations, which indicate that discourses of differentiation might be increasing. 16 Neither Paolo nor Dickson seem to be influenced by the insider movement paradigm and especially Muslims being called to Jesus within the context of Islam as highlighted in the context of Kenya (Naja 2013a, 2013b, Dyrness 2016).

References Anderson, Allan. 2004. An Introduction to Pentecostalism: Global Charismatic Christianity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Anderson, Christian J. 2020. “World Christianity, ‘World Religions’ and the Challenge of Insider Movements.” Studies in World Christianity 26 (1): 84–103. Cabrita, Joel, David Maxwell, and Emma Wild-Wood, eds. 2017. Relocating World Christianity, Interdisciplinary Studies in Universal and Local Expressions of the Christian Faith. Leiden: Brill. Cartledge, Mark J. 2010. Testimony in the Spirit: Rescripting Ordinary Pentecostal Theology. London, UK: Routledge. Coleman, Doug. 2011. A Theological Analysis of the Insider Movement Paradigm from Four Perspectives. Pasadena, CA: WCIU Press. Coleman, Simon. 2006. “Studying Global Pentecostalism: Tensions, Representations and Opportunities.” PentecoStudies 5 (1): 1–17. Cooper, Barbara MacGowen. 2006. Evangelical Christians in the Muslim Sahel. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Drønen, Tomas Sundnes. 2013. Pentecostalism, Globalisation, and Islam in Northern Cameroon: Megachurches in the Making? Leiden: Brill. Dyrness, William A. 2016. Insider Jesus: Theological Reflections on New Christian Movements. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic. Engberg, Aron. 2019. Walking on the Pages of the Word of God: Self, Land, and Text Among Evangelical Volunteers in Jerusalem. Leiden: Brill. Englund, Harri, ed. 2011. Christianity and Public Culture in Africa. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Fargion, Janet Topp. 2014. Taarab Music in Zanzibar in the Twentieth Century: A Story of ‘Old is Gold’ and Flying Spirits. Farnham: Ashgate. Faulkner, Mark R.J. 2005. Overtly Muslim, Covertly Boni: Competing Calls of Religious Allegiance on the Kenyan Coast. Leiden: Brill. Gifford, Paul. 2009. Christianity, Politics and Public Life in Kenya. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Imo, Cyril. 2008. “Evangelicals, Muslims, and Democracy: With Particular Reference to the Declaration of Sharia in Northern Nigeria.” In Evangelical Christianity and Democracy in Africa, edited by T.O. Ranger, 37–66. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Janson, Marloes. 2020. “Crossing Borders: The Case of NASFAT or ‘Pentecostal Islam’ in Southwest Nigeria.” Social Anthropology 28 (2): 418–33. Janson, Marloes. 2021. Crossing Religious Boundaries: Islam, Christianity and ‘Yoruba Religion’ in Lagos, Nigeria, The International African Library. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Janson, Marloes, and Birgit Meyer. 2016. “Introduction: Towards a Framework for the Study of Christian-Muslim Encounters in Africa.” Africa 86 (4): 615–19. Kärkkäinen, Veli-Matti. 2018. “Mission in Pentecostal Theology.” International Review of Mission 107 (1): 5–22. Keane, Webb. 2007. Christian Moderns: Freedom and Fetish in the Mission Encounter. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Kollman, Paul. 2009. “Evangelization of Slaves: A Moral Misstep?” Spiritan Horizons 4 (4): 51–65.

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Hans Olsson Lambek, Michael. 1993. Knowledge and Practice in Mayotte: Local Discourses of Islam, Sorcery and Spirit Possession. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Langås, Arngeir. 2019. Peace in Zanzibar: Proceedings of the Joint Committee of Religious Leaders in Zanzibar, 2005–2013. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Liebst, Michelle. 2021. Labour and Christianity in the Mission: African Workers in Tanganyika and Zanzibar, 1864–1926. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. Lindhardt, Martin. 2017. “Pentecostalism and the Encounter with Traditional Religion in Tanzania: Combat, Congruence and Confusion.” PentecoStudies 16 (1): 35–58. Loimeier, Roman. 2011. “Zanzibar’s Geography of Evil: The Moral Discourse of the Anṣā r al-sunna in Contemporary Zanzibar.” Journal for Islamic Studies 31: 4–28. Meyer, Birgit. 2010. “Aesthetics of Persuasion: Global Christianity and Pentecostalism’s Sensational Forms.” South Atlantic Quarterly 109 (4): 741–63. Miller, Duane Alexander, and Patrick Johnstone. 2015. “Believers in Christ from a Muslim Background: A Global Census.” Interdisciplinary Journal of Research on Religion 11 (10): 3–19. Naja, Ben. 2013a. “A Jesus Movement Among Muslims: Research from Eastern Africa.” International Journal of Frontier Missiology 30 (1): 27–29. Naja, Ben. 2013b. “Sixteen Features of Belief and Practice in Two Movements Among Muslims in Eastern Africa: What Does the Data Say?” International Journal of Frontier Missiology 30 (4): 155–60. Niebuhr, H. Richard. 2001. Christ and Culture. San Francisco, CA: Harper. Nolte, Insa, Olukoya Ogen, and Rebecca Jones. 2017. Beyond Religious Tolerance: Muslim, Christian & Traditionalist Encounters in an African Town. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. Ojo, Matthews A. 2007. “Pentecostal Movements, Islam and the Contest for Public Space in Northern Nigeria.” Islam and Christian–Muslim Relations 18 (2): 175–88. Olsson, Hans. 2019. Jesus for Zanzibar: Narratives of Pentecostal (Non-)Belonging, Islam and Nation. Leiden: Brill. Olsson, Hans. 2020. “Chasing Money: Tourist-Induced Labor Migration and Pentecostal Teachings of Success in Zanzibar.” Exchange 49 (1): 3–30. Pelkmans, Mathijs. 2007. “‘Culture’ as a Tool and an Obstacle: Missionary Encounters in Post-Soviet Kyrgyzstan.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 13 (4): 881–99. Poncian, Japhace. 2014. “Fifty Years of the Union: The Relevance of Religion in the Union and Zanzibar Statehood Debate.” African Review 41 (1): 161–81. Pouwels, Randall L. 1987. Horn and Crescent: Cultural Change and Traditional Islam on the East African Coast, 800–1900. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Premawardhana, Devaka. 2018. Faith in Flux: Pentecostalism and Mobility in Rural Mozambique. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Robbins, Joel. 2010. “Anthropology of Religion.” In Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods, edited by Allan Anderson, Michael Bergunder, A.F. Droogers, Cornelis van der Laan, and Cecil M. Robeck, 156–78. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Soares, Benjamin F. 2006. “Introduction: Muslim-Christian Encounters in Africa.” In Muslim-Christian Encounters in Africa, edited by Benjamin F. Soares, 1–16. Leiden: Brill. Talman, Harley, and John Jay Travis, eds. 2015. Understanding Insider Movements: Disciples of Jesus within Diverse Religious Communities. Pasadena, CA: William Carey Library. Tambila, I. Kapepwa, and John Sivalon. 2006. “Intra-Denominational Conflict in Tanzania’s Christian Churches.” In Justice, Rights and Worship: Religion and Politics in Tanzania, edited by Rwekaza S. Mukandala, S. Yahya-Othman, S.S. Mushi, and L. Ndumbaro, 220–45. Dar es Salaam: E & D Limited. Ukah, Asonzeh F.K. 2009. “Contesting God: Nigerian Pentecostals and Their Relations with Islam and Muslims.” In Global Pentecostalism: Encounters with Other Religious Traditions, edited by David Westerlund, 93–114. London: IB Tauris. Ukah, Asonzeh F.K. 2013. “Born-Again Muslims: The Ambivalence of Pentecostal Response to Islam in Nigeria.” In Fractured Spectrum: Perspectives on Christian-Muslim Encounters in Nigeria, edited by Akintunde E. Akinade, 43–62. New York, NY: Peter Lang. van Engen, Charles Edward, Darrell L. Whiteman, and John Dudley Woodberry, eds. 2008. Paradigm Shifts in Christian Witness: Insights from Anthropology, Communication, and Spiritual Power: Essays in Honor of Charles H. Kraft. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Williams, Corey L. 2019. “Chrislam, Accommodation and the Politics of Religious Bricolage in Nigeria.” Studies in World Christianity 25 (1): 5–28. Yong, Amos. 2010. In the Days of Caesar: Pentecostalism and Political Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.

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17 CONVERSION AND (DIS) CONTINUITY AMONG THE BHIL PENTECOSTALS OF RAJASTHAN, INDIA Sarbeswar Sahoo Introduction On December 26, 2021, several newspapers reported the disruption of Christmas celebrations in different parts of India.1 The media reported that some rightwing groups set an effigy of Santa Claus on fire in the middle of a street in Agra, while shouting “Santa Claus Murdabad” (death to Santa Claus).2 In another case, on Christmas night, two unidentified miscreants tore down a statue of Jesus Christ in the British-era Holy Redeemer Church premises in Ambala Cantonment.3 Similarly, in various other cities, local rightwing groups also disrupted Christmas celebrations and prayer meetings. The United Christian Front pointed out that 2021 has been the “most violent” year for Christians in India as 486 incidents of violence against the community were reported in the country.4 A few days before Christmas, the New York Times had reported the rising persecution of India’s Christians and highlighted issues of arrests, beatings, and secret prayers.5 Given this, one may ask why violence against Christians is increasing in India? A review of the literature and a survey of newspaper reports suggest that there is a rising “Christianophobia” in India (Shortt 2012; Bauman 2020). Most Indians, especially Hindu conservatives, find conversion a problem: “[r]elations between religious communities are a zero-sum game, in which one community’s gain inevitably involves another’s loss” (Shortt 2012, 154). As Gauri Viswanathan (1998, xi) has noted, “[n]ot only does conversion alter the demographic equation within a society and produce numerical imbalances but it also challenges an established community’s assent to religious doctrines and practices.” Most importantly, in India, the supporters of Hindu nationalism view conversion as a threat to the (Hindu) nation/culture, as it demands converts to “make a complete break” (Meyer 1998, 316) with their traditional cultures, customs, and cosmologies. The rapid Christianizing of many low-caste and tribal communities and the necessitated “cultural discontinuity” that the missionaries advocate, leads to Hindu nationalist fear that will not only reduce the number of Hindus (van der Veer 1996) but may make them “a dying race”6 (Shortt 2012, 153; Bauman 2015, 48). As a Hindu nationalist activist pointed out, “[w]e are not disrespecting Christians, but I will say to the next generation [Hindus]. . . follow the rules. . . do not go to any religion from greed or Indian [read, Hindu] culture will be destroyed. You need to take resolution DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-21

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to protect it.” 7 The Hindu nationalist thinking is similar to Joel Robbins’ (2014) example of the Urapmin conversion, where the older religious traditions and cultures of the Urapmin of Papua New Guinea have been entirely displaced/replaced by Christianity. In the Indian context, while it is true that the missionaries strongly advocate “cultural discontinuity” in conversion, the question is whether they have been successful in attaining it. My fieldwork with the Bhil Pentecostal converts in the northwestern state of Rajasthan suggests that, although Pentecostal conversion has given the Bhil people a new identity and introduced them to various aspects of Pentecostal ideology and milieu, it has not been able to “make a complete break” with the Bhil cultural and ethnic past. In this chapter, I will argue that, while Pentecostalism has insisted on and achieved “discontinuity” in many aspects of everyday social life, social contexts in which the converts are located have often required Pentecostal churches to also support some aspects of “continuity.” Such strategic decision to support both “discontinuity” as well as “continuity” has transformed the nature of Pentecostalism in India and made it a successful and empowering religious movement in India’s social, political, and geographical margins.

The Growth of Pentecostalism Among the Bhil People The Bhils are one of the largest indigenous communities of India, classified by the state as the Scheduled Tribes (STs). In southern Rajasthan, especially in the district of Udaipur where I conducted my fieldwork, almost 40 percent of the population are Bhils and in some blocks the concentration of Bhils is as high as 90 percent (Sahoo 2013, 4). The primary sources of their livelihood are shifting cultivation, hunting, and collection of forest produce. During the feudal rule, the Bhils were heavily exploited as bonded laborers and, with the arrival of the British, they were classified as “criminal tribes,” which categorized the Bhils as born criminals; hence their movement was constantly monitored. In order to reform Bhil social behavior and practices, to socialize them into Christian morality and to spread the colonial “civilizing mission,” the first Christian missionary to work among the Bhils was James Shepherd of the Scottish Presbyterian Church. Shepherd arrived in Udaipur in 1877 when cholera broke out in the tribal-dominated hill regions; he provided medical care to the tribals and, in the process, he used colonial medicine as a tool to spread the gospel and civilize the tribals. Although Christianity first came to Udaipur in 1877, its major growth, however, did not occur until the early postcolonial period. It was only in the 1960s, particularly with the arrival of the Pentecostal missionary Thomas Mathews from Kerala that Christianity, especially Pentecostalism, began to spread among the Bhils. In contrast to the narrative that Pentecostalism is an “American phenomenon”8 and that foreign missionaries have played a major role in spreading it in the global South, in Rajasthan (India), it is observed that the indigenous (Kerala) missionaries have played a vital role. While it is true that the Azusa Street Revival is widely accepted as the first major modern Pentecostal revival,9 recent scholarship has emphasized “polygenesis” (Wilkinson 2016), “historical plurality” (Haustein 2013), or a “polycentric” origin of Pentecostalism ( Jones 2009; Bauman 2015). According to Edwin Orr, between 1900 and 1910, five Pentecostal revivals occurred in different parts of the world and, of these, two occurred in India, such as the Khasi Hill revival in northeast India in March 1905 and the Mukti Mission revival in Pune in June 1905 (McGee 1999; Jones 2009).10 Scholars have also noted that the earliest recorded Pentecostal-like revival in Asia was associated with the Tamil Anglican evangelist John Christian Aroolappen in Tirunelveli (Tamil Nadu) in 1860–61, when many charismatic gifts were reported, followed by another in Travancore (Kerala) in 1874–1875 (Anderson 2004, 124; Bergunder 2008).11 224

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Mathews arrived in Udaipur (Rajasthan) in April 1963. After his arrival in Udaipur, he worked hard and cycled to the remote tribal villages to spread the Pentecostal message. Because of his cycle visits, local Bhils often referred to him and his associates as “bicycle missionaries.” Mathews believed in “cross-cultural mission” in north India when he entered into Christian service (Lukose 2009, 120). However, the Bhils initially did not accept him. As religion was a sensitive issue, local Bhils viewed him with suspicion. Mathews faced several problems and had very little success in spreading the Pentecostal message. Realizing this, Mathews changed his strategy and advocated for “contextual mission.” As Lukose (2009, 119) notes, “Mathews realized over the years that he had to translate himself to the particular north Indian context for an effective Christian mission.” He thus made necessary changes in his life and social behavior, particularly food habits and language. He started conversing in Hindi and adopted eating chapatti [Indian flat bread] by giving up his south Indian rice-eating habits. “Give up rice and accept chapatti and Hindi instead,” (Chaval aur Malayalam [language] chodo, chapatti aur Hindi apnavo) became his advice for other south Indian missionaries (Lukose 2009, 119). Besides self-transformation, Mathews also recognized the importance of natives in spreading the gospel. He found that “native missionaries are more effective, fruitful and acceptable in north India” (Lukose 2009, 120), and hence formed the Native Missionary Movement (NMM) in 1964, which played a major role in spreading Pentecostalism not just in Rajasthan but also in the neighboring states. In order to provide theological training to the native missionaries, Mathews founded Filadelphia Bible College. He emphasized and contributed to “church planting as he advocated producing worshipping, caring and witnessing churches in every village of north India” (Lukose 2009, 119). To support the church-planting mission, Mathews also advocated for the development of communities and thus established schools, orphanages, hostels, and vocational training centers at various places. During the forty-two years of his ministry, Mathews established more than 1,000 churches in thirteen states in north India, which means that at least two new churches were formed every month (Lukose 2009, 119–20). Considering Mathews’ “outstanding ministry of evangelism and church-planting among the unreached people groups in north India,” he was given the William Carrey Award in 2002 (Lukose 2009, 119). Thus, because of Mathews’ contextual missiological approach, Pentecostalism spread rapidly among the Bhils and emerged as a “tribal religious movement” in Rajasthan.

Conversion, Continuity, and Discontinuity Existing literature on conversion in India suggests multiple possibilities in the convert’s journey for religious change. While some studies have pointed out that conversion may result in “oscillation” (Sahay 1968), “hybridization,” or “synthesis” (Bayly 2004) of old and new identities, the major debate has centered on the question of continuity and discontinuity or rupture. Scholars like Fuller (1976) and Mosse (2012) have shown that there is continuity or “persistence of past” (Keane 2007, 115) cultural identities, even after conversion. Writing about the Indian caste system, Fuller and Mosse note that colonial missionaries criticized the hierarchical and exploitative nature of Hindu caste system and argued that conversion to Christianity will not only bring equality for the low caste and tribal populations of India but will also result in the end of the caste system. However, over time, instead of eradicating caste, Christianity has incorporated/accommodated caste into its social structure, which continues to persist and govern the social and cultural life of Indian Christians (Fuller 1976; Mosse 2012). In contrast to Fuller and Mosse, scholars like Vitebsky (2008, 255) have shown how the newly converted Sora, an “aboriginal tribe” in Orissa [eastern India], are “forgetting” or 225

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“terminating their relationship altogether” with their past. According to Vitebsky (2008, 244), for centuries the Sora have lived on the margins of the Hindu world with their own shamanistic “ancestor worship.” The older generation Sora used shamans in trance to have a dialogue with their dead. The dialogue between the living and the dead, states Vitebsk, is reflected as something shared for the possibility of redemption: In repeated dialogues over the following months and years, living and dead speakers [will] persuade, cajole, tease, remind, and deceive in their attempts to uncover each other’s state of mind – and to change it. As ambivalences and resentments between them are negotiated, the dead are progressively liberated from the pain of their death, just as the living are freed from grief and guilt”. (2008, 244) However, over the last few decades, younger Sora are abandoning their parents’ and grandparent’s religion for Baptist Christianity, which requires them to forget their dead and to “discontinue” with ancestor worship. As a consequence, the newly converted “Baptist children refuse to talk to the dead or feed them, leaving their parents afraid to die for fear of neglect” (Vitebsky 2008, 243). This shows that conversion has resulted in “rupture” and denied the Sora the ability to continue with their older cosmologies. In the global context, scholars like Engelke (2004), Robbins (2014), and Meyer (1998) have also highlighted rupture or discontinuity in Pentecostal conversion. For example, using conversion narratives, Engelke (2004) has highlighted the discourse of discontinuity among converts in Zimbabwe. Converts advocate that “an African must never appeal to the ancestors because salvation lies with the Holy Spirit” (Engelke 2004, 93). For them, “even the good traditional healers want to take people back in time … with an emphasis on respecting the ancestors. [But Pentecostal churches like] weChishanu wants people to look forward. WeChishanu are interested in past only inasmuch as it will allow them to move beyond it” (Engelke 2004, 89). Such narratives, argues Engelke, help us understand not only the Church’s interest in discontinuity but also the convert’s “urge to become new” that drives a great number of African Christians (Engelke 2004, 87). Similarly, Robbins (2014, 3–4) also shows how the Urapmin of Papua New Guinea have actively dissociated themselves from a religious tradition that previously shaped their lives. According to Robbins, although the ancestral religion shaped the way the Urapmin led their lives, it was completely forgotten soon after the Urapmin converted to a charismatic form of Christianity during a Holy Spirit revival movement in the late 1970s. Today, the Urapmin claim that they are now all Christians and ancestral religion has no role to play in their lives. For the Urapmin, it is Christianity’s newness, its absolute difference from their traditional religion, which made them give up their traditional religion. Particularly, Robbins (2014, 6) points out three processes that contributed to the dismantling or end of Urapmin religion: (1) a recognition of the growing social difficulty of ancestral religious practice; (2) material erasure of ancestral religion; and (3) the replacement and displacement of the concepts and practices of the ancestral religion by those of Christianity. Furthermore, in the context of Ghana, Meyer (1998, 316) also argues that the notion of rupture or “making a complete break with the past” is central to understanding Pentecostal conversion. According to Meyer, the born-again believers are expected to break away from local traditions and sever their familial and kinship ties. In this regard, the Ewe converts portrayed their local gods and spirits as agents of Satan and used exorcism, deliverance rituals, and healing ceremonies as ways to break away from the past. For Meyer (1998), while it is true 226

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that Pentecostalism has sought to create rupture from a “tradition” or “past,” the believers were not always successful in achieving this. As a consequence, the Ewe Pentecostals often oscillated back and forth between tradition and modernity, past and present, us and them, and, of course, God and the Devil (Meyer 1998, 317). In the context of Rajasthan also, we have seen, while Pentecostalism has used deliverance rituals to break away from the Satanic past, some aspects of continuity remain. Before discussing those aspects of continuity, it is important to discuss first the discontinuities in Bhil conversion to Pentecostalism in Rajasthan.

Bhil Pentecostalism and Aspects of Discontinuity Over the last few decades, a large number of Bhils have converted to Pentecostal Christianity in south Rajasthan. While in the United States the commonplace generalization that “Pentecostalism is a religion of the poor” has been successfully defied (Jones 2009, 508), in the Indian context: “Pentecostalism has developed as a religion of the poor and continues to appeal the lower castes, tribes and other marginalized groups and communities, even though it includes people from other social strata” (Sahoo 2019, 10). In Rajasthan, Lukose (2009) and Sahoo (2018) have shown how Pentecostalism has emerged as a “tribal religious movement.” While for Lukose Pentecostal conversion has created a new, empowering identity for the Bhils, Sahoo shows how conversion experience, divine healing and miracles, changing spousal relations, and economic improvements within the family have played a major role in Bhil conversion to Pentecostalism. I argue that it is through the process of conversion that we can understand how Pentecostal churches have introduced discontinuities into the believer’s life. In the following, I discuss briefly aspects of Pentecostal discontinuity among Bhil converts in south Rajasthan.

Discontinuity through Deliverance The indigenous Bhil cosmology believes in the spirit world. According to them, there are “good” spirits and “evil” spirits. While the good spirits bring prosperity and peace, the evil spirits trouble people and cause immense pain. Particularly, when the Bhils fall sick or experience any troubles in their lives, they believe this to be the work of evil spirits (dushtatma). In order to be healed, the Bhils visit the village shamans or spirit mediums, locally known as bhopa. The bhopas explain that the reason behind their suffering is that some spirits are angry and they need to be made happy or satisfied. Depending on the nature of the disease or illness, the bhopas demand the sacrifice of a chicken and/or a goat. Often, a large amount of money and clothes are also demanded to perform the shamanic rituals. Despite spending heavily, the Bhils in the end do not get cured. In such contexts, when the Pentecostal missionaries help the Bhils get healed, the Bhils do not hesitate to break away from the past. Thus, deliverance acts not only as a powerful strategy to “turn away from the power of the Devil and his agents” but also to facilitate Pentecostal conversion among the Bhils (Meyer 1998, 319).12 My interaction with Poorvi Bai confirms this. As she testifies: Previously I had a lot of problems, a lot of pain in my neck. Satan had completely taken over my life; I was finished. My family members took me to the galeghot baba (a saint specialized in treating neck problems). I went there for almost one and half years but there was no improvement in my health. One day I had gone to visit my sister in a nearby village and someone suggested that if I become a believer [of Christ] I would be cured. Soon after I started going to the church and prayed; in two weeks, my neck was cured; I became a believer in 2002 and since there is no turning back. Sahoo (2018, 101) 227

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Similarly, Ratu Bai’s narrative also shows how deliverance from demonic control and influence caused her family to break with the past. As she states: When I was a believer of Hinduism, I was unhappy; we used to visit the bhopas; there were lots of troubles in life. We had buffaloes but calves used to die; we practiced agriculture but the harvest was bad; there was no peace. For eleven years, we visited so many bhopas. Then, my only daughter-in-law suffered from vaginal bleeding for two years. The Satan had controlled her life; someone had fed her something through bread. I took her to the bhopas and sacrificed eleven goats, five roosters and two hens over a few years. I went to many doctors also; they gave medicines, but nothing worked. I was troubled; I had four daughters and one son; I managed the family by selling wood. One day, Udhaba [a local pastor in the nearby village] came to my house and said if you believe in Ishu Masih, this bleeding will be stopped. I did not believe him. I asked him, who is your Lord? I have been going to the bhopas for the last eleven years, but did not get peace; is your Lord a different one? He said that there is a living God called Jesus; you just believe in Him. I doubted, but Panna Baba [an old man who was present there] said, “If you get cured, believe in Him; if you don’t get cured, then don’t follow Him.” Udhaba began the prayers; the dakan [the witch, through the daughter-in-law] opened, caught Udhaba’s hair; Udhaba also caught her hair and continued praying. The dakan said, “I have controlled her life and I will finish her.” Udhaba replied that “this female belongs to Ishu Masih and you cannot do anything to her.” After fifteen minutes of continuous prayers, the dakan pleaded with Udhaba to let her go. The dakan promised to let the woman go and never return. After the prayer, my daughter-in-law felt a little pain in her stomach and went to the toilet. Through her stool, a flesh-like thing came out and immediately after that the bleeding stopped. Since that day, I believed in Ishu Masih and my daughter-in-law found peace. Sahoo (2018, 102) According to Bauman (2015, 103), “[i]n the healing market, Christ does well, and even many non-Christian Indians consider him a specialist of sorts in physical and spiritual healing.” However, the Bhils believe that it is not the Catholics or the mainline Protestants, but predominantly Pentecostals who are effective in casting away evil. As a Bhil convert noted, it is because “[t]he Catholics and the CNI [Protestants – Church of North India] people drink alcohol; they do not have strong faith; the Pentecostals are so strong in faith that when they pray, the evil spirit goes away” (Sahoo 2018, 104). Thus, the above two narratives clearly demonstrate how Pentecostal churches fostered discontinuity and facilitated conversion through deliverance rituals. Deliverance from dushtatma (evil spirit) is conceptualized as a “spiritual fight” between God and Satan and such deliverance rituals are considered important to end demonic influences in converts’ lives and help them make a break with their past.

Discontinuity through Disciplining Pentecostal theology places a heavy emphasis on Christian piety and moral discipline. During prayer meetings and church gatherings, pastors constantly remind believers to lead a “good Christian” life. For them, there are significant differences between a “nominal Christian” and a “good Christian.” While the former are Christians by birth, they do not follow Christian values and morals in their life. In contrast, the latter live their lives according to the Bible. 228

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The Pentecostal converts also distinguish themselves from their Hindu neighbors. According to them, the Hindu neighbors live a sinful life; both men and women believe in superstition and worship evil spirits. Particularly, the male members consume alcohol and tobacco heavily, and practice polygamy, extra-marital affairs, and domestic violence. Prior to their own conversion, the Bhil men pointed out that they also lived a sinful life. Since the Bhils live in the dry mountains, there is little scope for agriculture. The male members travel to the city every morning to look for daily wage work and, while returning in the evening, they spend half or sometimes all their wages on alcohol and tobacco consumption. They return home drunk, demand food, and often abuse their partner and children. Besides alcoholism, Bhil men also practiced polygamy and maintained extra-marital affairs. Such behavior not only intensified conflict between husband and wife but also worsened the economic conditions of the family. Given this, Christians in the village suggested Bhil women visit the church and pointed out that many of these problems in their lives are due to the presence of Satan in their lives. Once they believe in Christ, Satan will not be able to influence their lives. Many tribal women thus visited the church to find solace. What particularly attracted them are the strict rules of Pentecostal piety and morality. To their pleasant surprise, they found that the Pentecostal churches followed a very strict and rigid set of rules about alcohol and tobacco consumption, polygamy, extra-marital sexuality, and violence. Knowing that these rules will not only help reform their husband’s behavior but also improve the socio-economic conditions of their family, the Bhil women continued to visit the church. After some time, they also brought their husbands to the church. The church particularly targeted what it considered the satanic and sinful habits of the male members and strictly prohibited them from drinking, smoking, chewing tobacco, gambling, and prostitution. As Hefner (2013, 10) notes, “[s]ome of the most subjectively demanding prohibitions take aim at men; their pre-conversion privileges are represented as sins and misdeeds indulged at the expense of their female partner and children.” The man is “morally disciplined” not only by his wife but also by the church and is required to “maintain a state of inner purity necessary to receive empowerment from the Holy Spirit” (Sahoo 2018, 109). Testimonials from my fieldwork show that a majority of Bhil men have become disciplined and have discontinued their past behavior. For example, Sima Bai said: her husband does not drink alcohol and is not involved in any kind of bad activities; he behaves responsibly toward the family. He loves and cares for her and the children; also, he is very supportive of her visiting the church. Since he goes every day to the city to work, he often misses the church services, but he comes to Sunday prayers and sometimes to the evening prayer meetings. Sahoo (2018, 108) Because of this moral disciplining, which Hefner (2013, 9) refers to as an “ethical subject formation” process, I found that a large majority of Bhil Pentecostal men have discontinued with so-called satanic and sinful practices such as drinking and other habits. As a consequence, the economic conditions and the male–female relationship within the family has drastically improved. Despite this, it should also be noted that all Bhil male converts have not been able to successfully “make a break” with their pre-conversion practices; sometimes they return to alcohol consumption and other habits. This shows that, while in a large majority of cases the Pentecostals have achieved discontinuity through moral discipline, in some cases, the converts have failed to break with previous practices and belief system, which Meyer (1998, 318) refers to as “sliding back” or “relapsing into heathendom.” 229

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Discontinuity through Erasure, Replacement, and Displacement Writing about discontinuity and how the Urapmin through their conversion to Christianity discarded traditional religion, Robbins (2014) discusses three important processes, such as the growing social difficulty of practicing traditional religion, the material erasure of ancestral religion, and replacement and displacement of tradition. Some of the above discussions on the influence of evil spirits and sinful practices offer insight into the growing social difficulty that Bhils face in practicing traditional religion. In this section, I will briefly highlight some aspects of material erasure, and replacements and displacements. By material erasure, Robbins (2014, 7) refers to “the careful, frequently almost ritualized, abandonment of material supports of traditional religious practice.” He particularly discusses how the Urapmin set aside the ancestors and carefully tested the strength of the Christian God. Like the Urapmin, the Bhils also discarded ancestor worship and gave up visiting the village shaman. Particularly, the Bhil peoples’ faith in the Christian God deepened during their illnesses. As mentioned above, the Bhils visited the church only as a last resort. When their ancestral Gods/spirits (or even modern medicines) were not able to heal them of their diseases, it was then that the Bhils visited the church. The pastor at the church prayed for them and asked for the blessings of Christ, which brought many miracles. Severe illnesses were cured and peace returned to their lives and families, which strengthened their faith not only in the church but also in the Christian God. Such blessings and miracles were taken “as proof that Christ is real, and that their old gods are not” (Roberts 2012, 284). The converts thus began to see Christ as more powerful than the Hindu/tribal gods and goddesses.13 Considering this, the Bhil converts stopped worshipping the ancestors (as was also seen in the case of Sora of Orissa), abandoned idols of Hindu gods and goddesses, stopped celebrating Hindu festivals, and gave up visiting the bhopas. Besides material erasure, Robbins (2014) also discusses the processes of “replacement” and “displacement” of tradition. According to him: [r]eplacement refers to those cases in which Christian understandings and practices substitute for traditional ones but aim to realize the same goals. Displacement, by contrast, covers those cases in which Christian practices do not simply substitute for traditional ones, but more than this takes an explicit position on the need to reject their goals. Robbins (2014, 9) Just like the Urapmin, the Bhil converts also replaced ancestral worship and spirit worship by the worship of the Holy Spirit. The Pentecostals emphasized that indigenous spirits are representatives of evil and that there is an ongoing spiritual warfare between the evil and the good spirit (Robbins 2004, 124). Given this, Pentecostal theology cleverly linked the “good spirit” with the “Holy Spirit” and advocated that the Bhils “no longer need to appease a whole pantheon of spirits through magic means but ‘only one spirit,’ the Holy Spirit” (Miller and Yamamori 2007, 25; Sahoo 2018, 36–37). Some of the other replacement practices included: (a) celebrating Christmas instead of Hindu festivals like Holi or Diwali; (b) greeting people with Jai Masih rather than Ram-Ram; (c) burying the dead instead of burning their dead bodies; and (d) replacing the photos of Hindu gods and goddesses in their houses with the picture of Ishu Masih. Compared to replacement, displacement is more radical. Just as the Urapmin described Afek and other ancestors as simply “normal human beings,” the Bhil converts often denigrated and 230

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mocked Hindu/tribal gods and goddess as mere stones, incapable of performing miracles. The Pentecostal conversion required Bhils to displace their pre-conversion practice of idol worship and visit the temples of Ambe Mata, Ganeshji, Bheruji, and Ramji. The converts left their paramparik biswas (traditional faith) and stopped following ancestral rites and rituals, for which the Hindu Bhils have labeled them as traitors, weak-hearted, and morally degraded people. As one Hindu pointed out, “[t]he converts do not consider their own father as father but consider other’s father as their own” (Sahoo 2018, 84). Added to this, the converts have also modified their everyday social life and displaced several practices, such as taking brides or grooms from the Hindu Bhil community and believing in bhopas and superstitions. Furthermore, the male members are barred from putting tilak (vermilion mark) on their forehead and the female members are forbidden from using bindi (forehead dot), sindur (vermilion), or jewelry; renouncing these practices “signals a break with [their] previous sinful lifestyle and [their] dedication to sanctification” (Suneson 2021, 185).14 It is thus clear from the above discussion that Bhil Pentecostals have used processes like erasure, replacement, and displacement to discontinue with their pre-conversion beliefs and practices. The question, however, is: have the Bhil converts managed to “make a complete break” with their past? While it is clear that they have achieved discontinuity in many aspects, I show in the following section that the Bhil converts have deliberately decided to continue with some aspects of their past identity and the Pentecostal churches have supported them in this effort.

Continuity with the Past Identity and Crypto Christianity While the 2001 census data suggest that Rajasthan’s Udaipur district has 6,424 Christians, discussions with local pastors and missionaries reveal that the actual number could be more than 100,000. In order to understand why the census has not been able to capture these data, it is imperative to understand the politics of conversion in India. During my fieldwork, I came across two groups of Bhil Christians: (a) legal converts; and (b) believers or followers. “Legal converts are those who have completed the civil as well as the religious procedure (baptism) and converted to Christianity. By contrast, believers or followers are those who may or may not have taken baptism but visit the church regularly, offer prayers, and believe in the power of Jesus Christ” (Sahoo 2021, 273). While the former is included in the census data, the latter is not. I found during my fieldwork that the majority of Bhil Pentecostals do not convert legally; they remain believers/followers because of the fear of persecution, but most importantly to access the government’s affirmative action benefits (known in India as “reservation”). Since the Scheduled Castes (SCs) and Scheduled Tribes (STs) have historically been discriminated against (because of the Hindu caste system), the Constitution has made provisions to “reserve” a certain percentage of seats for them in government jobs and educational institutions. The government’s reservation policies are primarily based on one’s caste or ethnic identity. However, since Christianity is casteless, legal conversion to Christianity prohibits a large group of converts from accessing the reservation benefits. Considering this, a majority of the converts do not convert legally to Christianity and continue holding on to their past caste and ethnic identities. This has resulted in the rise of undocumented “Crypto” Christians in India (Kent 2011), who lead a dual life. The census of India classifies tribes as Hindus by default. When the Bhil converts do not go through a legal conversion, they remain Hindu in the census data. The Hindu nationalists have opposed this and argued that this has kept the number of Christians “artificially low” and the Christian converts are taking benefits that were originally meant for Hindu castes 231

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and tribes. In India, although the reservation policy allows STs to have reservation, it denies the same to SCs after they have gone through religious conversion. However, in the case of STs, it requires the continuation of their ethnic identity manifested through their names. Adoption of Christian names and surnames make it difficult for the tribal converts to prove their ethnic identity as tribals, and often face difficulties at the local government offices. As a result, many converts prefer not to convert officially or take Christian names or surnames after conversion. The Hindu nationalists refer to these tribal converts as phasali (trapped/crypto) Christians and they have lower status compared to Kerala Christians who are referred to as asli (pure/original) Christians. Furthermore, Hindu nationalists argue that, even after their conversion, caste and tribal identities have not left them; they are not accepted as equal members within the church. Sections of Christians have also opposed reservation and argued that Christianity is essentially an egalitarian belief system and allowing reservation would mean recognizing caste and tribal hierarchies within Christianity. The Pentecostals have strongly disagreed with this and argued that “in India, reservation is based on jaat (caste), not dharma (religion). In the case of tribal converts, their jaat (tribal ethnic identity) never changes; it persists even when one becomes Christian” (Sahoo 2018, 45). It is observed that, although the converts have abandoned the ritualistic and cultural aspects of caste/tribe after their conversion, they continue to hold on to it as a marker of (political) identity to access government welfare benefits. As Mosse (2012) has argued, in colonial times Christianity denied caste its religious and cultural significance and practiced it only as a civil, secular institution; in particular, the secularization of caste allowed converts to retain their caste identities. The Pentecostals thus do not see it as a contradiction or failure when low caste and tribal converts continue with their caste identities. In fact, they have actively supported caste-based affirmative action for Dalit Christian converts. In a sense, one could argue that conversion has universalized the caste system in India; it has overcome religious boundaries and is now a reality in other communities like Christians and Muslims. Despite all efforts, the Bhil converts continue to face problems with regard to their identity. As Emmanuel Bhil (pseudonym) pointed out, his father had converted to Christianity and had changed all their names and surnames in the official records. Instead of Bhil, Emmanuel had adopted Masih as his surname. When Emmanuel wanted to contest a local election, he was disqualified because the constituency was reserved for STs. Emmanuel did not qualify as an ethnic tribal as his name and surname were Christian. Since then, Emmanuel has started using his Bhil surname but notes that he does not have any official proof for this. Recognizing that Bhil converts face such problems in their everyday interaction with the state and bureaucracy, the Pentecostal churches do not insist on official or legal conversion. For them, conversion is not about dharma parivartan (change of religion) but about jeevan parivartan (transformation of life) – accepting Christ as the savior, believing in his power, and seeking his blessing are the most important aspects of Pentecostal conversion in India. As a leading member of a Pentecostal church emphasized, “[i]f a Katara or a Kher or a Damor (different tribal ethnic groups) comes to our church, they remain as Katara or Kher or Damor. There is no change of religion but they certainly go through jeevan parivartan, leave all their bad habits and experience a completely different life.” One may ask: why does Pentecostal conversion in India emphasize jeevan parivartan and not dharma parivartan? I argue that a major reason for this is the fear of persecution. Religious minorities of India have been subjected to discrimination, marginalization, persecution, and violence. Data suggest that number of Hindu-Christian conflicts in India have increased over the years, especially since the 1990s. A 2012 study by Bauman and Leach suggested that India 232

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has experienced, on average, more than 200 instances of Hindu-Christian conflict every year (Bauman and Leech 2012, 2195). The recent USCIRF (2022) has also expressed concerns about the increasing number of communal conflicts and declining religious freedom in India.15 Despite constitutional provisions for religious freedom, several Indian states have enacted the Freedom of Religions Act that prohibits conversion and poses a threat for minorities. In particular, it has been used to intimidate, harass, and coerce minorities. The state of Rajasthan passed the Religious Freedom Bill in March 2008, which makes provision for stricter punishment for conversion. Specifically, in the case of the offence committed in respect of a minor, a woman or a person belonging to an SC or ST community, the minimum punishment will be two years’ imprisonment, which could be extended to five years and a fine up to 50,000 rupees (Sahoo 2020, 240). Since the passing of the Bill, intimidation and physical attacks on priests, burning of the Bible, bans on missionary schools, destruction of Christian properties and institutions, and attacks on Christian meetings/fellowships have become regular events in Rajasthan (Sahoo 2020, 237). Thus, given this prevalent socio-political context, the Pentecostals have refrained from changing people’s religion; instead, they have focused on bringing people closer to Christ by transforming their lives. As some Pentecostal leaders have noted, “[t]here are many Christians who are Christian by name only, but do not follow Christian values and morals; all that matters is accepting Christ as one’s savior and leading life as per the principles of the Bible.” Thus, for them, conversion is about “self-transcendence”; it is an experience of “change of heart” (Washburn and Reinhart 2007, xi) and such changes occur, argues a leading member of a Pentecostal church, not through inducements or coercion (as some critics have accused the missionaries of ), but mainly through prayer, fellowship, and teachings of the Holy Bible. The converts also believe that the Lord has blessed their lives and, as a consequence, the evil spirits that tormented their lives until their conversion have disappeared. This shows that the Pentecostals have adapted themselves to the demands of the local context and allowed some aspects of continuity with the past by the Bhil converts.

Conclusion The above discussion has shown that Pentecostalism is rapidly growing among the Bhil people of Rajasthan and, in the process, it has been transformed into a tribal religious movement. It has brought many significant changes in Bhil society. In particular, Pentecostal theology and morality have introduced several types of schism in everyday Bhil social life. This chapter has specifically highlighted three aspects of discontinuity: (a) discontinuity through deliverance; (b) discontinuity through moral discipline; and (c) discontinuity through erasure, replacement, and displacement. In the case of deliverance, the Pentecostal churches labeled the indigenous and ancestral spirit world as the realm of the devil or Satan who make the Bhils suffer. The Pentecostals introduced the “Holy Spirit,” who is all-powerful and able to protect the Bhil people from satanic forces. Deliverance from satanic forces was characterized as a spiritual warfare between God and Satan and such deliverance rituals were considered necessary for converts to make a complete break with the past. In case of moral discipline, Bhil women have found Pentecostalism attractive, particularly because the strict and rigid rules of the Pentecostal churches helped reform the behavior of their husbands. As discussed above, a large majority of Bhil males suffered from alcoholism and were involved in polygamy and extra-marital affairs. They also abused their partners and children and spent their income on unnecessary expenses. In this context, the church specifically targeted the sinful habits of the male members and strictly prohibited them from 233

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drinking, smoking, and prostitution. Fear of God and termination of church membership were also used as a disciplining strategy to modify the behaviors of male converts positively. As a consequence, many converts have discontinued with their past bad habits and reformed their behavior. Finally, with regard to erasure, replacement, and displacement, the Bhil converts have stopped worshipping the ancestors and spirits. For them, Christ is real and has brought many miracles in their lives. As a consequence, they have not only replaced some old practices by new ones such as celebrating Christmas or greeting people with Jai Masih but also displaced some practices altogether like believing in the power of bhopas and superstitions, wearing Hindu jewelry, or taking brides/grooms from Hindu Bhils. Despite these discontinuities, the chapter has shown that the Bhil converts have continued to identify themselves with some aspects of the past, in particular, the persistence of caste and ethnic identities to access the benefits of reservation. As reservation in India is given on the basis of one’s caste and tribal status, legal conversion to Christianity will deny the converts of such benefits. Moreover, the fear of persecution has compelled Pentecostals to refrain from advocating legal conversion. Considering this, the Bhil converts to Pentecostalism have decided not to convert legally but remain as believers by following Christ as their savior and participating regularly in prayer meetings. The church also supports this. This shows that the compulsions of the local (political) context have ensured that Pentecostals do not insist on a radical break away from tradition but will allow the continuation of some aspects of the past cultures and identities. Such a strategic decision to support both “discontinuity” as well as “continuity” has not only transformed the nature of Pentecostalism but has also made it an empowering religious movement on the margins.

Notes 1 I would like to thank NWO and the Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Groningen (NL), especially, my host, Peter Berger, for the visiting fellowship, which provided me with the much-needed time to write and revise this chapter. 2 https://thewire.in/communalism/seven-incidents-across-india-where-the-hindutva-brigadedisrupted-christmas-celebrations; accessed February 15, 2022. 3 https://thewire.in/communalism/seven-incidents-across-india-where-the-hindutva-brigadedisrupted-christmas-celebrations; accessed February 15, 2022. 4 https://www.hindustantimes.com/india-news/486-incidents-of-violence-against-christiancommunity-in-2021-says-united-christian-front-101640976709445.html; accessed February 15, 2022. 5 https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/22/world/asia/india-christians-attacked.html; accessed February 15, 2022. 6 Taking the spread of Islam and Christianity into account and the resultant political and demographic changes, many Hindu nationalist advocates noted that these religions pose serious threats to Hinduism in India. In 1909, U.N. Mukherji published a book titled Hindus: A Dying Race, which predicted the long-term decline of Hindus in India. 7 https://thewire.in/communalism/seven-incidents-across-india-where-the-hindutva-brigadedisrupted-christmas-celebrations; accessed February 15, 2022. 8 Wilkinson (2016, 374) has provided a strong critique of the view that “Pentecostalism is an American Phenomenon” and has its roots in the Azusa Street Revival. 9 Alfred and Lillian Garr, who were active participants of the Azusa Street Revival, had arrived in Calcutta in 1907, believing that they spoke Bengali. However, they soon discovered that they did not, as they had originally believed in Los Angeles ( Jones 2009). 10 The other three global revivals are: Keswick, the Torrey and Alexander evangelical ministry; the Welsh revival; and the Korean revival. In the Indian context, Anderson (2004) and Bergunder (2008) argue that Pentecostalism has a much longer history. According to them, the earliest recorded Pentecostal revival is associated with the Tamil Anglican evangelist John Christian Aroolappen in

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Conversion and (Dis)Continuity Among Pentecostals in India Tirunelveli (Tamil Nadu) in 1860–1861. This was followed by another revival Travancore (Kerala) in 1874–1875 (Sahoo 2018, 28). 11 While these events played a significant role, the history of Pentecostalism is nevertheless complex and multifaceted. As Bergunder (2005, 186) argues, “neither a creed, an institution nor a place was the beginning of Pentecostalism but a vast and vague international network.” In particular, for Bergunder, understanding the history of Pentecostalism requires not just an understanding of the contextual theology, but its relationship with forces like colonialism and global networks. 12 According to Meyer (1998, 323–29), who discussed several areas in which deliverance is relevant. Some of them are: deliverance from the immediate past, deliverance from ancestral past, deliverance from occultic bondages, and deliverance from demonic control and influence. 13 The bhopas were also considered frauds. As a recent convert, whose father is a bhopa, said, “[b]hopa looks for diseases as flies look for wounds” (Sahoo 2018, 78). 14 For an excellent discussion on the use of bindi, clothing, and jewellery among south Indian Pentecostals, see Suneson (2021). Writing about the lived religious practices of middle-class women in Bangalore, Suneson compares a Mega Assemblies of God church with the holinessoriented The Pentecostal Mission. In particular, she discusses the differing mandates of these two churches on clothing and jewellery, and how members follow, defy, or negotiate with such directives. 15 Considering the worsening of religious freedom conditions, the USCIRF (2022) has designated India as a “country of particular concern.” However, the government of India has rejected the allegations of USCIRF and referred to it as an “organization of particular concern.”

References Anderson, A. 2004. An Introduction to Pentecostalism: Global Charismatic Christianity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bauman, C.M. 2015. Pentecostals, Proselytization, and Anti-Christian Violence in Contemporary India. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Bauman, C.M. 2020. Anti-Christian Violence in India. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Bauman, C.M., and T. Leech 2012. “Political Competition, Relative Deprivation, and Perceived Threat: A Research Note on Anti-Christian Violence in India.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 35 (12): 2195–216. Bayly, S. 2004. Saints, Goddesses and Kings: Muslims and Christians in South Indian Society 1700-1900. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bergunder, M. 2005. “Constructing Indian Pentecostalism: On Issues of Methodology and Presentation.” In Asia and Pentecostal: The Charismatic Face of Christianity in Asia, edited by A. Anderson, and E. Tang, 177–213. Oxford: Regnum. Bergunder, M. 2008. The South Indian Pentecostal Movement in the Twentieth Century. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdemans. Engelke, M. 2004. “Discontinuity and the Discourse of Conversion.” Journal of Religion in Africa 32 (1–2): 82–109. Fuller, C.J. 1976. “Kerala Christians and the Caste System.” Man 11 (1): 53–70. Haustein, J. 2013. “Historical Epistemology and Pentecostal Origins: History and Historiography in Ethiopian Pentecostalism.” Pneuma 35 (3): 345–65. Hefner, R.W. (2013) “Introduction.” In Global Pentecostalism in the Twenty-First Century, edited by R.W. Hefner, 1–36. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Jones, A.W. 2009. “Faces of Pentecostalism in North India Today.” Society 46 (6) 504–09. Keane, W. 2007. Christian Moderns: Freedom and Fetish in the Mission Encounter. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Kent, E.F. 2011. “Secret Christians of Sivakashi: Gender, Syncretism and Crypto Religion in Early Twentieth Century South India.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 79 (3): 676–705. Lukose, W. 2009. “A Contextual Missiology of the Spirit: A Study of Pentecostalism in Rajasthan, India.” A PhD Thesis Submitted to School of Philosophy, Theology and Religion, University of Birmingham. McGee, G.B. 1999. “‘Latter Rain’ Falling in the East: Early Pentecostalism in India and the Debate over Speaking in Tongues.” Church History 68 (3): 648–65. Meyer, B. 1998. “‘Make a Complete Break with the Past’: Memory and Post-Colonial Modernity in Ghanaian Pentecostalist Discourse.” Journal of Religion in Africa 28 (3): 316–49.

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Sarbeswar Sahoo Miller, D.E., and T. Yamamori. 2007. Global Pentecostalism: The New Face of Christian Social Engagement. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Mosse, D. 2012. The Saint in the Banyan Tree: Christianity and Caste Society in India. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Robbins, J. 2004. “The Globalization of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity.” Annual Review of Anthropology 33: 117–43. Robbins, J. 2014. “How do Religions End? Theorizing Religious Traditions from the Point of View of How They Disappear.” Cambridge Anthropology 32 (2): 2–15. Roberts, N. 2012. “Is Conversion a Colonization of Consciousness?” Anthropological Theory 12 (3): 271–94. Sahay, K.N. 1968. “Impact of Christianity on the Uraon of the Chainpur Belt in Chotanagpur: An Analysis of its Cultural Processes.” American Anthropologist 70 (5): 923–42. Sahoo, S. 2013. Civil Society and Democratisation in India: Institutions, Ideologies and Interests. London: Routledge. Sahoo, S. 2018. Pentecostalism and Politics of Conversion in India. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press. Sahoo, S. 2019. “Caste, Conversion and Care: Toward an Anthropology of Christianity in India.” Journal of Hindu-Christian Studies 32 (3): 9–19. Sahoo, S. 2020. “Reservation and Religious Freedom: Understanding Conversion and Hindu-Christian Conflict in Odisha and Rajasthan.” In Godroads: Modalities of Conversion in India, edited by P. Berger, and S. Sahoo, 222–45. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press. Sahoo, S. 2021. “At the Margins of the State: Pentecostalism and Citizenship among the Bhils of Rajasthan, India.” Social Science and Missions 34 (3–4): 259–87. Shortt, R. 2012. Christianophobia: A Faith under Attack. London: Rider Books. Suneson, A.Y. 2021. “The Contextual Significance of Clothes and Jewellery: Lived Religion among Pentecostals in South India.” PentecoStudies 20 (2): 173–94. USCIRF. 2022. Annual Report. Washington, DC: USCIRF Publications. Van der Veer, P. 1996. “Introduction.” In Conversion to Modernities: The Globalization of Christianity, edited by P. van der Veer, 1–21. New York, NY: Routledge. Viswanathan, G. 1998. Outside the Fold: Conversion, Modernity, and Belief. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Vitebsky, P. 2008. “Loving and Forgetting: Moments of Inarticulacy in Tribal India.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 14 (2): 243–61. Washburn, D., and K.A. Reinhart. 2007. “Introduction.” In Converting Cultures, edited by D. Washburn, and K.A. Reinhart, ix–xxii. Leiden: Brill. Wilkinson, M. 2016. “Pentecostals and the World: Theoretical and Methodological Issues for Studying Global Pentecostalism.” Pneuma 38 (4): 373–93.

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18 THE CATHOLIC CHARISMATIC RENEWAL IN LATIN AMERICA Between Church Institution and Popular Religion Jakob Egeris Thorsen Introduction Professor Edward L. Cleary, O.P. (1929–2011) was a lifetime observer of religious change in Latin America and in one of his last books he described the Catholic Charismatic Renewal (CCR) as the “invisible giant” in the religious landscape of the continent (Cleary 2009, 66). While a number of books and articles about the CCR in Latin America have been published during the last decades, the description to some degree still rings true. While, for example, both the rise of liberation theology and the explosive growth of Pentecostal churches are well-studied phenomena when addressing religious change in the region, still few are familiar with the fact that over 100 million Catholics identify and practice their faith as Charismatics. Numerically, they come close to the number of Latin American Pentecostals and Charismatic Protestants, but since they remain within the fold of the Roman Catholic Church, relatively little scholarly attention has fallen on them (Boudewijnse 1991; Chesnut 2003; Várguez 2008; Cleary 2011; Gooren 2012; Thorsen 2015). That is unfortunate, first, because the CCR is by far the most influential lay movement in the Catholic Church in all of Latin America, and, second, because the encounter between (mostly) lay Charismatic-Pentecostal practices and spirituality, a highly hierarchical church and popular Catholic tradition is offering a plethora of opportunities to study religious change, contextualization, and negotiations of practice and authority between different actors in Latin American Catholicism. In this chapter, I will provide a brief introduction to the CCR and a concentrated overview of the extension of the movement in Latin America based on existing literature. I will then address two central questions. First, I will analyze the relationship between and mutual influence of church institution and renewal movement. Second, I will examine examples of how charismatic practices are contextualized in indigenous popular Catholic milieus. I will approach these general questions through the local example of the CCR in Guatemala, where I have conducted fieldwork at various times during the last fifteen years. I hence rely on my own empirical material, the analysis of church documents, and the studies of other scholars.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-22

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The Catholic Charismatic Renewal and Its Growth in Latin America Throughout the history of the Catholic Church, enthusiastic movements have emerged and, although they have most often been met with skepticism, and sometimes outright hostility, by the church authorities, they have also energized the church and equipped it for new historical situations and changed social contexts. The emergence of the Franciscan friars and the mendicant movement is a prime example (Alberoni 1984, 134). The rise of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal (CCR) was made possible by the changes of the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), which opened the Catholic Church to new expressions of the faith and emphasized the importance of lay movements for church life. The official history of the CCR ascribes its origin to a retreat held in February 1967, where several faculty members and students at the Catholic Duquesne University (Pittsburgh, USA) experienced Spirit baptism and speaking-in-tongues. From there, the movement rapidly spread in the United States (Cleary 2011, 8–9). However, there might have been more than one center, as reports of similar events happening around the same time in a Catholic group in Bogotá, Colombia, were reported (ibid., 10). The CCR came to Latin America in the late 1960s and early 1970s mainly through a handful of North American priests and religious sisters who had personally experienced the Charismatic Renewal in the United States or Canada. They would tour Latin American countries and hold retreats for selected priests, sisters, and lay people. In this period, hundreds of priests and sisters from Europe and North America served in the institutionally weak Catholic Church in Latin America and through their networks the Charismatic Renewal could spread with relative ease. It rapidly became a lay dominated movement, in the beginning primarily composed of people from the urban middle classes (Chesnut 2003, 67–69; Cleary 2011, 30). In Colombia, the Charismatic Renewal would have multiple beginnings. Apart from the local eruption mentioned above, the Catholic social missionary housing project and media outreach Minuto de Dios would gradually become a Charismatic stronghold after its leading priest Fr. García-Herreros developed a friendship with the MexicanAmerican Baptist Samuel Ballasteros, who introduced him to baptism in the Spirit and other Charismatic expressions in 1967 (Cleary 2011, 61). From the middle classes, the CCR gradually spread to the popular classes and to most ethnicities. Today it is present in almost every corner of the continent, albeit with considerable and interesting national variations. Numbers and statistics regarding religious affiliation and attendance in Latin America are always connected with some uncertainty and this is the case for the Catholic Charismatic Renewal as well. A census carried out by the Catholic Charismatic Renewal just before the year 2000 indicated that 16 percent of the baptized Catholics had attended or continued to attend Charismatic prayer meetings or events, which would very roughly amount to 70 million people (Barrett et al. 2001, 275–78). Numbers may, however, be even higher, since Charismatic practices (forms of prayer, glossolalia, songs, and music) have spread from the CCR to other lay groups, movements, and, to some degree, to regular Catholic church life, making it very difficult to draw an exact line between what is renewal movement and what is not. According to a survey by the Pew Forum from 2006, 57 percent of Brazilian Catholics have adopted Charismatic practices, and, in another survey from 2014, high percentages of Catholics throughout the continent selfidentify as Charismatics (Pew Forum 2006, 76–80; 2014, 64). While baptism in the Spirit and speaking-in-tongues are found in prayer groups with an explicit Charismatic identity, Charismatic ways of praying, singing, swaying, and preaching are now found widely across the Catholic Church in Latin America and are thus no longer necessarily identified 238

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as Charismatic (Thorsen 2015, 99). Together with my colleague Andrea Althoff, I have elsewhere collected the different statistics into a single table, which is reproduced below (Althoff and Thorsen 2018, 151).

Country Latin America (total) Brazil Mexico Colombia Argentina Peru Venezuela Chile Ecuador Guatemala Bolivia

Barrett et al. (2001)1

Pew Forum (2006)2

Pew Forum (2014)3

CCR-census, percentage of Catholics who are Charismatic

Charismatic practices, in percentage

Self-identify as Charismatic, in percentage

16 22 10 28 14 10 14 14 10  9 12

No data 57 No data No data No data No data No data 26 No data 62 No data

No data 58 27 24 20 32 38 23 40 38 30

The figures in the table indicate that, although we cannot know the exact number of participants in Charismatic prayer groups nor the precise extension of Charismatic practices within the Catholic Church, the Charismatic Renewal has had a profound impact on the Catholic Church since its beginnings fifty years ago.4 The rise of the CCR within the church is one example of the substantial changes within the Catholic Church, which mirror the general tectonic displacements that have occurred within Latin America’s religious geography since the mid-twentieth century. These are well known and well described, and consist first and foremost in the massive growth of Pentecostal, Neo-Pentecostal, and Evangelical churches, which have created a pluralization of the religious field and an intense competition between the different confessional actors (e.g., Martin 1990; Stoll 1990; Cleary and Steward-Gambino 1992; Lehmann 1996; Chesnut 2003; Steigenga and Cleary 2007). Today, around 20 percent of Latin America’s population is Protestant, and in countries like Brazil and Guatemala, the numbers are nearly as high as 25–40 percent (Pew Forum 2014). While Protestantism had been present since the establishment of liberal constitutions in the nineteenth century, its numbers had been insignificant until the 1950s, when Pentecostal and Evangelical churches began to grow among the lower classes in the outskirts of the growing cities (Lalive d´Epinay 1969). Today, most existing Protestant confessions are present in Latin America, but (Neo-)Pentecostals and Charismatics constitute the vast majority (73 percent) of all Protestants ( Johnson and Zurlo 2021). While the growth of Protestantism and the conversion of many baptized Catholics to Pentecostal churches is the main factor in the pluralization of the religious landscape, other tendencies are visible as well. In the big cities, especially, there is a growth of a secularized and non-affiliated or non-practicing middle classes, who are visible, for example, in their challenging of traditional Catholic and Evangelical positions on abortion and same-sex marriage (Torres 2014; Pecheny et al. 2016; Esquivel 2017). Other expressions are the self-confident public reemergence and development of Afro-Caribbean and pre-Columbian religious traditions, the visible presence of so-called pseudo-Christian 239

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groups (Church of the Latter-Day Saints and Jehovah’s Witnesses), as well as the growth of esoteric and New Age-oriented groups (Gooren 2013; Torre et al. 2016; Lawson et al. 2020). While the Catholic Church had a quasi-monopoly until the middle of the twentieth century, it was institutionally weak and had been so since the liberal revolutions of the nineteenth century, which had stripped it of most property and expelled foreign clergy and many religious orders. Popular Catholicism, however, was strong and deeply embedded in local traditions. When population growth exploded in the 1950s and migration of impoverished people from the rural areas resulted in rapid urbanization, the institutional church was unprepared to meet the material and spiritual needs of the masses. Uprooted from their local milieu, they were less likely to adhere to their baptismal faith and more willing to join other Christian communities with a local presence. These were typically Pentecostal and Evangelical churches, which actively built churches and conducted mission work in the new, poor urban neighborhoods. In the churches, Pentecostal converts found new networks of mutual support and strategies for coping with poverty, for example, a strong work ethic, a strict self-discipline, and an emphasis on sobriety and male responsibility within the nuclear family (Willems 1967; Lalive d´Epinay 1969). Additionally, Pentecostal enchanted worldviews and the emphasis on physical and spiritual healing provided important points of resonance with the existing folk religiosity (Sepúlveda 1996, 307–308). In Pentecostal churches, people with little education and a low social status could occupy leadership positions and come to see themselves as belonging to a spiritually privileged and exclusive people of God (Willems 1967; Lalive d´Epinay 1969; Garrard-Burnett 1998; 2000; Lindhardt 2012). The rapid growth of Pentecostalism in tandem with rapid social change would break up a religious landscape characterized by the creative tension between and mutual dependence on a hierarchical church institution and the popular Catholicism of the masses. As we shall see below, both Pentecostalism and Charismatic Catholicism can be understood as new forms of popular religion. Within the Catholic Church, the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) was, as mentioned above, of paramount importance for the church in Latin America to be able to react to the new social and political situation, as well as the emerging religious pluralism and competition. The council enabled the nascent movement of liberation theology to gain foothold and institutional influence. It was a modernizing movement oriented toward the theological, social, and political development of the faithful in a region plagued by endemic poverty and political repression. It had little sympathy and understanding of popular religion, which was regarded as alienating, fatalistic, and other-worldly. Much of the ecclesial establishment would make the same accusation of other-worldliness and socio-political quietism against Pentecostals and Catholic Charismatics. Therefore, during the 1970s and 1980s the CCR would receive much hostility and little support from many bishops, especially in Brazil (Cleary 2007, 168). In the 1990s, the Catholic Church had become aware of the massive exodus of baptized Catholics to Protestant churches and refocused its efforts more narrowly on strengthening its own catechesis programs and supporting diverse lay movements in order to increase drastically the general level of lay engagement and formation, thereby strengthening its resilience against the tireless Protestant missionary efforts. Suddenly many bishops came to regard the CCR as a natural ally in the “New Evangelization” since it was a doctrinally conservative movement, which they hoped could function as a wall of contention against Pentecostalism, since it offered much of the same spiritual practice. Furthermore, the CCR was becoming increasingly loyal to the church’s hierarchy. In the 1970s, the movement had been both antiauthoritarian and hostile toward traditional Catholic piety such as the cult of the saints. Prayer groups facing adversity would break off from the church and form independent communities 240

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outside the control of the clergy. This changed when Pope John Paul II had publicly endorsed the movement and, during the 1980s, the CCR would emphasize its Catholic identity and stress its loyalty to the pope. The different national bishops’ conferences, on their part, would cautiously endorse the movement, however, never without demanding obedience and fealty to church authorities (Chesnut 2003, 71; Cleary 2011). When this shift in attitude of both the CCR and the hierarchy occurred, a process of mutual adaption was already well under way, which will be addressed below.

Charismatic Lay Movement and Church Institution At a first glance, Charismatic Catholicism may seem like a contradiction in terms. Charismatics stress individual religious experience, the charismatic authority of gifted lay preachers and healers, the priesthood of all believers, individual bible reading, and interpretation. The movement is emphatically “low church” with prayer groups and lay ministries springing forth with the same entrepreneurial and independent spirit as within the (neo-) Pentecostal landscape. The Catholic Church, on the other hand, is a strictly hierarchical organization, which stresses the delegated sacramental authority of the clergy, formal theological training, and a well-ordered liturgical life centered on the celebration of the mass and church-sanctioned devotional practices. The relation between the two can be viewed as a Weberian clash between prophetic and priestly authority (Weber 1976, 260), and since it takes place within the same religious body, I find the Weberinspired Italian sociologist Francesco Alberoni’s work about the relationship and continuous dialectic between “Movement and Institution” helpful for understanding the CCR (Alberoni 1984). Alberoni suggests that at certain points in history, primarily in times of structural change, the institutionalized state of society or a religious community is challenged by a phase of discontinuity, which he calls the nascent state (ibid., 20). The nascent state is characterized by a certain anomaly, a sense of the known being “dismantled and reshaped,” and an experience of liberation from “prohibitions, rules and repression, … which … are overthrown and removed” (ibid., 53). But the nascent state is temporary. The movement of renewal born in the nascent state will – depending on how it is received by the institution – either be eliminated, expelled, or integrated. In either of the two last cases, it will enter a process of institutionalization wherein the original charisma is ordered and pacified. Alberoni has this general analysis: If the institution is strong, therefore, the nascent state is forced to define its attitude toward it immediately and the movement’s design must take its reaction into account. The two extreme cases are, on the one hand, that in which the nascent state is transformed into a design that recognizes and accepts the institution while obtaining a measure of autonomy – that is, it becomes part of the institution, albeit in a special way – and on the other, that in which it does not recognize its legitimacy and breaks away from it. In the history of the Catholic Church the former has given rise to orders and the latter to heretical sects. (1984, 286) When the CCR was born in the United States in the late 1960s it represented a vibrant liberation from the existing pious forms of Catholicism and a new focus on individually experienced forms of authenticity that would challenge the priest and the church’s traditional roles as mediators. Despite a turbulent decade in the 1970s, the CCR was gradually integrated into the church in Latin America and elsewhere. The question is thus how the renewal movement and the church institution have managed their mutual 241

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relationship without creating schisms and how they have adapted to each other in that process. I will examine that by using the case of a lower middle-class parish in Guatemala City and, from that starting point, move up to a diocesan, a national, and a continental Latin American level. At the time of my research (2009), around 6,000 Catholics belonged to the parish and there were around twenty lay groups with between 25 and 150 members, who met in the parish assembly hall each week for prayer, bible study, choir practice, and lay preaching. At least two-thirds of the groups were Charismatic, either full-scale with glossolalia, prayer-forhealing, and resting-in-the-Spirit, or “semi-Charismatic” using only enthusiastic Charismatic styles of singing, swaying, preaching, and praying.5 However, none of these groups were formally attached to the CCR, which shows how, during the last five decades, Charismatic practices have spread far beyond the CCR (Thorsen 2015, 7).6 Despite the pervasiveness of Charismatic practices and expressions, renewal movement and the regular church life of daily and dominical masses did not simply conflate. Full-scale practices were kept within the ritual room and the seclusion of the prayer group: doors were closed when sessions of healing and exorcism took place. They would have been unthinkable in the church room. Likewise, the much more widespread semi-Charismatic features would seldom find expression during mass or other priest-led activities. Yet since most of the active laity serving as catechists, choir singers, and extraordinary ministers of communion would be members of Charismatic prayer groups, semi-Charismatic practices and expressions would flow into lay-led parish activities such as first communion and confirmation classes, and the obligatory pre-baptismal courses for parents and godparents, as well as pre-matrimonial courses for soon-to-be-wed couples (Thorsen 2015, 99). The integration of the Charismatic Renewal into the church institution can be viewed as a by-the-book example of the process of institutionalization described by Alberoni. The Charismatics have retained a degree of autonomy and have been granted a space within the church. In return for that, parish-based groups are supervised by the parish priest and other groups, communities and lay ministries must have a clerical advisor in the diocese. The latter, however, operate with a very high degree of autonomy since the sheer amount of groups and ministries complicates a close supervision.7 The institutional church has de facto accepted the development of parallel ecclesial structures with lay ministries serving lay prayer groups and the rise of a new group of gifted lay preachers, who uphold an (often additional) income by preaching. 8 This modus vivendi has benefits for the institution as well. Charismatic members are kept within the church, where they typically are very active and dedicated. When countering the mission initiatives of Evangelical and (neo-)Pentecostal churches, Charismatic Catholics have played a central role in creating local missionary initiatives, festive Catholic mega-events, health care missions, and Catholic radio and TV stations. Furthermore, Charismatic prayer groups and mega-events generate some income for the parishes and dioceses through their collections. In Guatemala, the schism between the institutional church and a Charismatic parish priest and his mostly indigenous followers in the Western highlands provides a warning example for the hierarchy. In 2006, the priest Eduardo Aguirre Oestmann and his Catholic Charismatic movement broke away from the church, and what began as an independent Catholic Charismatic Church today has around 400,000 members, who are no longer in communion with Rome. Seeking apostolic legitimacy, the priest in 2013 let his church incorporate in the Syriac-Orthodox Church of Antioch, where he has now become a bishop (MacKenzie 2009; Hager 2020, 221).

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But it is not only a question of a Catholic hierarchy merely tolerating and regulating the Catholic Charismatic Renewal in order to avoid them from splitting off. The institutional church itself has been marked by the five decades of Charismatic revivalism in its midst. In Guatemala, as elsewhere in Latin America, notable priests and some bishops have been or are attached to the movement, and in the light of the religious pluralism and competition, the language and style of the CCR is manifest in the missionary reorientation and communication of the institutional church. A prime example is the concluding document of the fifth general conference of the Conference of Latin American bishop’s (CELAM) held in Aparecida, Brazil in 2007. The Aparecida document, which among its main redactors counted the then archbishop of Buenos Aires, Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio, launched a “Continental Mission” for Latin America in order to reach out to the baptized masses. The bishops made the diagnosis that tradition would not be enough to transmit the Catholic faith to new generations (CELAM V 2007, 12) and therefore they prayed for a new Pentecost that would enable the church to transform its ecclesial structures from “a ministry of mere conservation to a decidedly missionary pastoral ministry” (ibid, 365, 370). The aim was to awaken passive, cultural Catholics through a “personal encounter with Jesus Christ,” explained as “a profound and intense religious experience,” in order to promote a new self-understanding of being “disciples and missionaries” (ibid., 226). Many observers have identified this revival discourse as a very notable influence of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal in the Aparecida document (Arntz 2008, 56; Libanio 2008, 44; Suess 2008, 72; Thorsen 2015, 155). The document had, however, also other strains than the revivalist and focused very much on human dignity, development, and the church’s role in promoting an “integral” human formation, thereby holding fast to the Latin American church’s long tradition of social action. In the years following Aparecida, national bishops’ conferences and dioceses throughout Latin America received the document in order to develop pastoral plans that would transform CELAM’s intentions into action. I have elsewhere described how the Guatemalan bishops’ conference (CEG), the Archdiocese of Guatemala, and the local parish where I conducted the fieldwork incorporated the impetus of Aparecida (Thorsen 2015, 162). In general, the pamphlets and study group material on Aparecida published by an official diocesan commission would emphasize the “integral” aspect of the CELAM document and read it in continuation with the church’s tradition of social development and justice. The same would be true of diocesan meetings and the third national missionary congress (COMGUA 3) held in November 2009, where the “Continental Mission” was officially launched in Guatemala. When, however, reception events and material was arranged by the laity, the tone and emphasis would be different. At both the Fiesta Misionera (November 2009) arranged by the archdiocesan council of the laity and the Peace Vigil in the national football stadium (an annual Catholic Charismatic alternative to Halloween on October 31), lay preachers and Charismatic clerics would – in the midst of fervent prayer and worship – joyfully emphasize how the bishops of Latin America had now reoriented the whole church toward a proactive missionary outreach. No dedicated Catholic layman or woman could anymore excuse him or herself from participating (Thorsen 2015, 164). The same was true of the reception and implementation of the Continental Mission in the parish, where lay groups would take very seriously the episcopal call to action and dedicate weeks of prayer meetings to the study of the diocesan Aparecidamaterials and to the preaching about the urge of missionary action. They too would emphasize the call to individual conversion and restauration, to welcoming Jesus into one’s life, to leave vices and licentious behavior behind, and to live a life in the Spirit, illuminated by daily scripture reading and in continuous reception of the sacraments (ibid., 172).

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Charismatic Catholicism in a Popular Religious Indigenous Context As we have seen, the Charismatic faith and practices have become an influential popular factor in Latin American Catholicism, especially among the laity organized in prayer groups and movements. This section explores the complex relationship of the CCR with popular indigenous Catholicism. Like the more intellectual and clerical movement surrounding liberation theology, Charismatic Catholicism is highly skeptical and challenging of many forms of popular Catholicism, albeit for different reasons. Although liberationists looked down on popular religion for its other-worldly orientation and the fatalistic traits that would hold back the faithful from engaging proactively in social change, Charismatic Catholics challenge popular Catholicism on its supposedly erroneous and quasi-syncretistic religious assumptions and what are perceived to be flawed practices and moral standards. Nevertheless, Charismatics share the enchanted worldview of popular Catholicism; however, this view is shared in a way where the spiritual forces have been rearranged and the possibilities of human maneuvering altered. I will again take as my starting point an empirical example from Guatemala, this time from the Lake Atitlán in the Western highlands, where the vast majority of the population is indigenous Maya. The town of Santiago, where I conducted fieldwork in 2014–2015, has a vibrant public religious life with three major and partly overlapping groups being the fulcra of activities and competition. The smallest group is the oldest and, until fifty years ago, dominating groups of traditionalists who are baptized Catholics, and whose hybrid Maya-Catholic costumbre (custom) is practiced at the side altars of the parish church and in the private houses where one of the around ten religious brotherhoods (cofradías) reside. The rituals and feasts are intertwined with the Catholic calendar throughout the year, sometimes including a clerical participation, but at the same time harboring distinctively pre-Columbian Mayan elements. The second and largest group in town are the mainstream orthodox Catholics, who have gradually become dominant after the return of residing priests after 300 years of absence, where the cofradías had been in charge of church and religious life. The priests and catechists now want church life to be “by the book” and in line with global mainstream Catholicism. They therefore oppose the traditionalists for being unorthodox (accusing them of witchcraft), backward, and morally flawed due to ritual alcohol consumption connected with feasts and rituals (Madigan 1976; Carlsen 1997, 25, 123–25; Early 2006, 75; Thorsen 2017, 310). Around 10 percent of the mainstream Catholics belong to the Charismatic Renewal. Contrary to the case of the archdiocese, where the CCR was approved and embraced relatively rapidly by the institutional church, in Santiago – as in many other indigenous areas in Guatemala – there have been tensions between church and Renewal until recently (see, e.g., MacKenzie 2009). The CCR therefore has its own compound of worship with many daily activities. The third group are the Evangelicals, most of whom are Pentecostal or neo-Pentecostal. Protestantism arrived to the lake area with North American missionaries in the 1930s, but their growth sky-rocketed in the 1980s during the civil war. Today, Evangelicals comprise around 40 percent of the population and were the first to offer a radical alternative to the all-encompassing religious system of traditionalism (Carlsen 1997, 127; Thorsen 2017, 304). The Catholic Charismatics in Santiago would, on the one hand, be independent and selfgoverning, but on the other hand understand themselves as part of the Catholic community. After agreement with the parish priest, they would conduct their own pre-baptismal, first communion, and pre-matrimonial classes, but the sacraments were celebrated in the parish church. They had their own chapel with a tabernacle for (very loud and often tearful) adoration of the consecrated host, but groups of the CCR would also take scheduled turns 244

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in the perpetual adoration in the parish church. Likewise, they provided manpower for all the other tasks in the church that all groups in the parish would share, for example, cleaning. They did, however, not take part in the planning of processions of saints, nor the huge Easter processions, in which both traditionalists and “mainstream” Catholics invest considerable time and energy. While they would engage in some Marian devotions, they did not engage in the cult of the saints, although they acknowledged a healthy veneration of the saints to be legitimate. As I noted above, the relationship between the renewal movement and the parish church had not always been that harmonious and, for many years, there had been no dialogue or interaction, because the then parish priest would not accept the degree of independence of the CCR group. CCR members would attend the masses in the parish on an individual level, but the movement had no recognition by the parish. Yet, the relationship had not been as severe as in the nearby diocese of Huehuetenango, where Charismatics were excommunicated for more than a decade due to bad relations with the bishop there.9 In the following, I will compare selected aspects of Charismatic and the indigenous popular Catholicism (traditionalism) in order to explore how the former represents a break and/or a continuity with the later in Santiago Atitlán. Here, like everywhere in Latin America, the changes in the religious landscape are intimately linked with the processes of social change and modernization. The general churching of the masses into institutionalized orthodox Christianity (Evangelical, Catholic, and Catholic-Charismatic) has happened at the expense of popular Catholicism and folk religion from which it represents both a walkout while at the same time being in deep continuity (Stark and Smith 2012). Both Charles Taylor and David Martin have described how Charismatic Christianity (especially Pentecostalism) functions as a disciplining force in poor Latin Americans’ transition into modern monetary economy of wage labor, cash crop farming, and business (Martin 2002, 14–15, 41; Taylor 2007, 493, 552). Organized Christianity in the region thus has many of the features that characterize religion in what Taylor termed the “age of mobilization” (in the West from around 1800 to 1960), where churches “recruited and mobilized people on an impressive scale” and organized their members’ lives, attempting to discipline the faithful to an ordered and sober lifestyle (Taylor 2007, 471). Apart from the strong ethical focus, the mobilized religion suppresses the carnivalesque, ecstatic, and chaotic elements of (popular) religion. Furthermore, modern religion is characterized by a more disenchanted and teleological worldview in which the attainment of freedom and the domestication of fate are the goals. The self is no longer experienced as porous (and hence exposed to spells and spiritual forces), but becomes more and more “buffered” and clearly separated individual (ibid., 609). How does Taylor’s description of mobilizing religion fit the CCR in Santiago Atitlán and the way it differentiates itself from traditionalism? At a first glance, it fits very well. On the one hand, my older Charismatic informants in Santiago had consciously taken a step away from traditionalism, leaving behind the old ways of their parents and grandparents: a cyclical mythological worldview, where the highly communal feasts of rituals and sacrifices for the gods and saints keep the cosmos in balance (Early 2006, 62–67). Like converts to evangelical churches, their own narrative of conversion was one of liberation from a nebulous and wrong understanding of the world. Instead, they had embraced what they understood to be a transparent Christian and biblical worldview and the proper accompanying lifestyle. For the men, this had most often happened as part of a process, where they gave up excessive (ritual) drinking and where the nuclear family would receive attention and care. Like among Protestants and non-Charismatic mainstream Catholics, there are organized weekly prayer meetings, classes, and charity activities for men, women, teenagers, and children that systematically socialize the members into the Christian ways. 245

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On the other hand, the Charismatics of Santiago seemed to challenge Taylor’s description of modern mobilizing religion as one with rational and anti-festive traits: the charismatic worldview is not disenchanted, but inhabited by angelic and demonic forces, and the festive and ecstatic element is very much at the core of the Charismatic experience, albeit in a noncarnivalesque way. Nevertheless, there is a significant difference between the character of enchantment in the worldviews of traditionalism and of Charismatic Catholicism. In the first, the world as such is attributed divinity and holiness (emanative pantheism), whereas in the second, there is a clear boundary between the created, real world (extended in time and space) and the transcendent spiritual realm (Early 2006, 84). While angels and demons may operate in this world, there is no holiness attributed to the earth, the sky, nature, or the planets as such. Likewise, there is a considerable difference in the perception of human agency. In traditionalism, the individual is to a certain degree exposed to the spiritual entities’ capricious play of forces, although a dutiful performance of the ritual requirements is considered to have a beneficial effect on one’s well-being and faring in life. In Charismatic Catholicism – as well as the other mobilized Christian groups – there is a change in practice and conduct due to the adoption of a more teleological worldview, in which one has freedom and responsibility to manage one’s fate according to more or less transparent rules (Thorsen 2017, 425). Charismatic converts would, on the one hand, reject many of the traditionalists’ myths as tall tales but, on the other hand, they were still very uneasy about the effects of black magic, and they ascribed demonic power to the indigenous spiritual forces, which one should and could protect oneself against by having received the Holy Spirit and remaining faithfully in it. In an oversimplifying manner, one could say that for the converts becoming a Charismatic meant that the enchanted cosmovision became more transparent and manageable. The self remained porous, but strategies for fencing it off against evil forces resulted in a degree of “buffering,” which rendered the self less vulnerable to these forces. Having been converted and baptized in the Spirit, however, did not give complete and once-and-for-all protection from evil forces. Charismatic believers had to be on constant guard in order not to give evil an opportunity for “entry,” for example, by neglecting religious duties or by lowering the morale. Forming part of a community, however, gave them the tools and the moral support to such spiritual attacks. The example from the Lake Atitlán in Guatemala is of course very specific, but I think it can serve us in our efforts to understand why Charismatic Christianity has had such an appeal so that, today, an astonishing 50 percent of all Latin Americans say that speaking-in-tongues, praying for miraculous healing, or prophesying are common practices where they worship (Pew Forum 2014, 17). Having laid to rest the old Western assumption that modernization will automatically lead to secularization, we are faced with the need for new understandings of how modernization and religious transformation are linked together in Latin America. Prominent scholars speak convincingly about how there are “multiple modernities” and that processes of modernization may very well go hand in hand with religious awakening, since religion – among others – can be a major resource for handling the processes of change (Eisenstadt 2013; Parker 2015). The Mexican anthropologist Luis Várguez (2007) points out the similarities between the Catholic Charismatic Renewal and the characteristics of magic and shamanism in “primitive” religion, described by Max Weber. He concludes that the CCR is a magic version of Catholicism with a much broader popular appeal than traditional dogmatic Catholicism (Várguez 2007, 81). In continuation of Várguez’s argument, I have elsewhere made the claim that the true success of the CCR (and Charismatic Christianity in general) is not 246

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only its transforming embrace of the magic of popular religion, but that it combines this embrace with a prophetic break and walkout from the same (Thorsen 2012). According to Francesco Alberoni and Pierre Bourdieu, it is a characteristic of prophetic forms of religion that thrive in times of rapid change that call for a religious adaption (Alberoni 1984, 71; Bourdieu 2006, 128). The massive growth of the Pentecostal and Evangelical churches was the rise of a formidable and powerful exterior prophetic challenger to the Catholic Church and Catholic folk culture in Latin America. Today, almost 20 percent of Latin Americans identify as evangélicos (Pew Forum 2014). The Catholic Charismatic Renewal, however, is an internal prophetic voice. In its first decade (the 1970s), Latin American bishops saw it as Trojan horse of Pentecostalism and a steppingstone out of the Catholic fold. After a mutual approximation between movement and church institution, the bishops came to regard the CCR as a contention wall against a further exodus of baptized Catholics and a cornerstone in the programmatic “New Evangelization” in Latin America. Following Alberoni and Bourdieu, the Catholic Church, by institutionalizing the CCR, allowed the prophetic and “magic” powers of the Renewal inside the church to make it competitive with the Evangelical and Pentecostal challengers (Thorsen 2012). Like its Protestant counterparts, the Catholic Charismatic Renewal is a mushrooming and self-propelling movement with lay preachers, lay ministries, and private radio and television stations, which is not easily controlled by the institutional church. The price for the embrace of the CCR has thus been the hierarchy’s relative loss of “the monopoly of the legitimate exercise of the power to modify, in a deep and lasting fashion, the practice and world-view of lay people” (Bourdieu 2006, 126; Thorsen 2012; 2015, 179).

Conclusion Why is Charismatic Christianity in general – and in this particular case of Charismatic Catholicism – so exceptionally successful in attracting large portions of the baptized masses in Latin America? The answer revolves around the following observations. First, the CCR combines a prophetic break with a popular religion that is ill-suited for a modern, hypercomplex, and neo-liberal society and, second, it offers an empowerment for its followers that provides them with the tools (religious, moral, educational) to manage their lives in the new social context. At the same time, the Charismatic movement contains an enchanted worldview and central practices of the same popular religion that it opposes. It is preoccupied with healing from physical illness and mental distress. It likewise strives for the experience of the numinous and ecstatic, and it provides a social and religious framework that is trustworthy for securing the necessary material flourishing amidst fragile life conditions. It could therefore be described as a highly mobilizing and disciplining transformation of traditional popular religion in Latin America. From an Alberonian perspective on the relationship between movement and institution, the church in Latin America has – with some exceptions – acted wisely in managing to keep the CCR within its boundaries and yet also benefits from its missionary zeal and energy. However, this too has happened at the expense of full hierarchical control over the church.

Notes 1 Barrett et al. 2001, 275–78. 2 Pew Forum 2006, 76–80. 3 Pew Forum 2014, 64.

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Jakob Egeris Thorsen 4 The 2001 numbers are based on local censuses of participants in CCR groups in the different countries, whereas the 2006 and 2014 numbers are based on surveys. The 2001 numbers nevertheless seem inflated to some observers (e.g., Gooren 2014), since it is very inclusive regarding people, who only participate very seldom. Another weakness of the 2001 census is that it only includes those Charismatic Catholics who have participated in CCR organized groups and events, and not those outside who have adopted Charismatic practices. The 2001 numbers will mainly include “full scale Charismatics,” who self-identify as Charismatics and have experienced baptism in the Spirit. The 2006 and 2014 numbers will include both “full scale” and “soft” Charismatics, the latter having only adopted few Charismatic expressions, for example, songs and prayer expressions. All the numbers are nevertheless impressive and show the degree to which Charismatic practices have permeated the religious lives of Catholics in Latin America. 5 In order to describe the complexity of Catholic Charismatic field, I distinguish between the “fullscale” Charismatic expressions, which are the classic Pentecostal signs, and the “softer” semiCharismatic expressions – enthusiastic styles of preaching, praying, singing, and swaying – that have spread from the CCR (and probably also directly from Pentecostal churches and media) to wider circles of Catholic church life (Thorsen 2015, 98, 108). 6 The CCR officially has around 1,000 prayer groups in the 138 parishes of the Archdiocese of Guatemala. 7 When the then newly appointed archbishop of Guatemala City, Óscar Julio Vian Morales, SDB (1947–2018) assumed office in December 2010, he had no exact idea of the number of self-declared lay preachers, and he therefore called in all preachers for a meeting in mid-October 2011. Expecting around 500, he was astonished when between 2,000 and 3,000 lay preachers showed up at the meeting. Here, the preachers were informed that during 2012 they would have to participate in the obligatory courses in order to receive a preaching permission and a preacher ID-card, without which preaching in the archdiocese would be forbidden in the future – a good example of the institution trying to gain control over the charisma of the renewal movement (Thorsen 2015, 39). 8 At each prayer meeting, there is a collection. It is common practice to divide the collection in three: one-third for the parish or diocese, one-third for the invited preacher, and one-third for the costs of the group (coffee/refreshments, electronic equipment, rent, etc.). 9 The diocesan relationship normalized, when the bishop retired in 2012.

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The Catholic Charismatic Renewal in Latin America Cleary, E.L. 2007. “The Catholic Charismatic Renewal: Revitalization Movements and Conversion.” In Conversion of a Continent, edited by T. Steigenga, and E.L. Cleary, 153–73. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Cleary, E.L. 2009, How Latin America Saved the Soul of the Catholic Church. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press. Cleary, E.L. 2011. The Rise of Charismatic Catholicism in Latin America. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Early, J.D. 2006. The Maya and Catholicism – An Encounter of Worldviews. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Eisenstadt, S.N. 2013. “Latin America and the Problem of Multiple Modernities.” In Shifting Frontiers of Citizenship: The Latin American Experience. International Comparative Social Studies, edited by M. Sznajder, L. Roniger, and C. Forment, 43-54. Leiden, Netherlands: Brill. Esquivel, J. 2017. “Transformations of Religious Affiliation in Contemporary Latin America: An Approach from Quantitative Data.” International Journal of Latin American Religions 1: 5–23. Garrard-Burnett, V. 1998. Protestantism in Guatemala: Living in the New Jerusalem. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Garrard-Burnett, V. 2000. On Earth as it is in Heaven: Religion in Modern Latin America. Wilmington, DL: Scholarly Resources. Gooren, H. 2012. “The Catholic Charismatic Renewal in Latin America.” Pneuma 34 (2): 185–207. Gooren, H. 2013. “Comparing Mormon and Adventist growth patterns in Latin America: The Chilean case.” Dialogue 46 (3): 45–77 Hager, E. 2020. “When Ephrem meets the Maya – Defining and Adapting the Syriac Orthodox Tradition in Guatemala.” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 23 (2): 215–62. Johnson, T.M., and G.A. Zurlo. 2021. World Christian Database. Leiden: Brill. Lalive d´Epinay, C. 1969. Haven of the Masses: A Study of the Pentecostal Movement in Chile. London: Lutterworth. Lawson, R.K., Kenneth Xydias, and R.T. Cragun. 2020. “Alternative Christianities: Mormons, Seventh-day Adventists, and Jehovah’s Witnesses.” In The Oxford Handbook of Latin American Christianity, edited by D.T. Orique, S. Fitzpatrick-Behrens, and V. Garrard, 411–29. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lehmann D. 1996. Struggle for the Spirit Religious Transformation and Popular Culture in Brazil and Latin America, Cambridge: Polity Press. Libanio, J.B. 2008. “Conferencia de Aparecida. Documento Final.” Revista Iberoamericana de Teología 6 (enero-junio): 23–46. Lindhardt, Martin. 2012. Power in Powerlessness. A Study of Pentecostal Life Worlds in Urban Chile. Leiden: Brill. MacKenzie, C.J. 2009. “To Endure or Ignore? Two Priests’ Responses to Hierarchical Discipline in a Guatemalan Religious Field.” Postscripts 5 (3): 317–36. Madigan, D.G. 1976. “Santiago Atitlán: A Socioeconomic and Demographic History.” PhD Dissertation. University of Pittsburgh. Martin, D. 1990. Tongues of Fire: The Explosion of Protestantism in Latin America. Oxford: Blackwell. Martin, D. 2002. Pentecostalism. The World Their Parish. Oxford: Blackwell. Parker, C.G. 2015. Popular Religion and Modernization in Latin America: A Different Logic. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. Pecheny, M., D. Jones, and L. Ariza. 2016. “Sexual Politics and Religious Actors in Argentina.” Religion & Gender 6 (2): 205–25. Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life. 2014. Religion in Latin America. Washington, DC. Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. 2006. Spirit and Power: A 10-Country Survey of Pentecostals. Washington, DC. Sepúlveda, J. 1996. “Reinterpreting Chilean Pentecostalism.” Social Compass 43 (3): 299–318. Stark, Rodney, and Buster G. Smith. 2012. “Pluralism and the Churching of Latin America.” Latin American Politics and Society 54 (2): 35–50. Steigenga, T.J., and E.L. Cleary. 2007. Conversion of a Continent: Contemporary Religious Change in Latin America. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Stoll, D. 1990. Is Latin America Turning Protestant: The Politics of Evangelical Growth. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Suess, P. 2008. “Die missionarische Synthese nach Aparecida.” Zeitschrift Für Missionswissenschaft Und Religionswissenschaft 92 (1–2): 68–83.

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PART IV

Problematizing Ethics Gender, Sexuality, and Race in Pentecostal Fragmentation

19 YOU PREACH LIKE A MAN Beyond the Typical Gender Roles of Canadian Pentecostalism Linda M. Ambrose

Introduction The roles of women in global Pentecostalism are varied and, in some places, hotly debated (Attanasi 2013; Klingorová and Havlicek 2015; Perales and Bouma 2019). When the Reverend Bernice Gerard (1923–2008) looked back on her life of ministry, she confessed that “for many years I have done what some say is a ‘man’s job only’” (Gerard 1988, 142). Reflecting on the mixed reactions generated from her career as a Vancouver-based Pentecostal leader with an international reach, Gerard revealed that she often encountered people who were convinced she was transgressing gender lines. Astonished listeners often told her “You preach like a man!” While Gerard did sing as a baritone and her low voice commanded attention in the pulpit (McColl-Gerard Trio c.1950), it was not the sound alone that caused people to notice her oratory skills. A religion writer from the Vancouver Sun declared in 2000 that Gerard was the most influential spiritual leader in British Columbia during the twentieth century (Todd 2000), a designation that points far beyond superficial characteristics like the pitch of her voice to the impact of her ministry work. Even though Pentecostals across the globe have a history of welcoming women to their pulpits, Gerard stood out among her North American peers. Her ministry career, which began in the 1940s, was long and varied, including the roles of: itinerant evangelist, radio broadcaster, musician, preacher, university chaplain, protester, municipal politician, international travel guide, and local pastor. Her sharp intellect, unflinching confidence, and relentless energy meant that some people found her endearing, while others reacted to her with disdain (Gerard 1956; 1988). Gerard used her distinctive voice to express some paradoxical convictions when, for example, she remained a lifelong opponent of abortion but also claimed to be a feminist (Ambrose 2016). The coexistence of some Pentecostals’ progressive egalitarian views on women in ministry, coupled with fierce public defense of social conservativism, is an intriguing ambiguity that puzzles secular feminists and conservative Christians alike (Ambrose 2022a). Gerard’s complex life was framed by gendered assumptions and an analysis of her own experiences offers insights not only into women’s roles in Canadian Pentecostalism, but also about how masculinity was constructed and reinforced in Pentecostal circles. Historian Barbara Tuchman has argued that well-crafted biographies shine a light through the prism of history, resulting in intriguing refractions (Tuchman 1985). Looking at Gerard’s life through the DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-24

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prism of history yields important refractions about how gender operated in twentieth-century North American Pentecostalism. Gerard’s admirers in her denomination, the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC), like to hold her up as a model and proof of their long-held assertion that women are welcome in leadership roles (Wells 2009). This chapter does not echo the idea that Gerard’s professional life is a ministry model to be emulated. Indeed, Gerard was unique in her level of influence and I have argued elsewhere that, although the PAOC’s own apologists claim that they are committed to gender equity, that claim is not substantiated by history or current realities (Ambrose 2022b). Instead of dwelling on that debate here, I focus on Gerard’s experiences as a Pentecostal woman in ministry to demonstrate how she negotiated conservative gender norms and patriarchal hierarchies within the PAOC. Her experiences exposed flashpoints and sparked controversy when she challenged the church’s twentieth-century gender norms. Comparing her case to others in the Pentecostal world, readers will undoubtedly see similarities and differences between Gerard and other strong women. Many aspects of Gerard’s life made her atypical: she remained single throughout her life; she was the founding pastor of a local church in Vancouver even before the PAOC was ordaining women; she entered local politics as an elected official; she held audiences spellbound with her provocative radio broadcasts; she made early ecumenical overtures to other charismatics long before PAOC was open to the emerging movement; and she had a life-long female ministry partner, Velma McColl Chapman. All those aspects of her life served to make Gerard an atypical Canadian Pentecostal woman. Yet her experiences did align with other women when she faced challenges in ministry because of her sex, and when she encountered Pentecostal men who held power over their colleagues and congregants, illustrating how social constructions of masculinity functioned within Canadian Pentecostal groups. In this chapter, I use Gerard’s accounts of her experiences to consider three things. First, in a section on preaching, I revisit gendered debates about the appropriateness of women as ordained ministers and the roles that men occupied as gatekeepers to determine which preachers should be welcomed into the preaching guild. Second, I explore how the exercise of spiritual gifts within Pentecostal ministry circles is gendered and how Gerard questioned male measures of success. Finally, I consider politics and governance with attention to the gendered issues of leadership on local church boards and within denominational structures. All of these issues continue to surface in various iterations among Canadian and American Pentecostals and, by considering the case of Bernice Gerard, we can ponder how her experiences resonate with or differ from those of Pentecostals in other times and places.

Women Preachers and Male Gatekeepers Bernice Gerard published an autobiography in 1988, shortly after the PAOC had taken the divisive decision to grant full ordination to women and while they were debating the place of women in church governance. Because of her long career in ministry as one of the founding pastors of a Vancouver church in the late 1960s, Gerard regularly found herself defending the legitimacy of women’s leadership in the local church. She understood her critics to be saying, “It’s a man’s job, so get out of the pulpit” (Gerard 1988, 142). Such overt objections are not difficult to interpret because they present clear examples of what gender theorists label as “hostile sexism” (Glick and Fiske 1996). That attitude about women pastors was widely shared among late-twentieth-century conservative Christians, including some Pentecostals, who were persuaded that binary gender roles were God-ordained. Female evangelists might be acceptable in Pentecostal circles, but pastoring was men’s work. Gerard was also struck 254

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by other reactions to her ministry, especially more positive ones. She was bemused when listeners who appreciated her communication skills expressed their genuine surprise that she was so good at preaching. It was these folks who told her, “You preach like a man” (Gerard 1988, 142). Gerard reasoned that people who offered these comments were “attempting a compliment, … [as] in another context, they might say ‘You drive real good, just like a man’” (Gerard 1988, 142). Gerard pondered this feedback, noting that she found it curious. These “compliments” that Gerard received offer classic examples of what gender theorists call “benevolent sexism,” where comments denoting “expressions of sexism are often quite subtle, and can be positive in tone, … because they are presented as jokes, or as a form of flattery” (Glick and Fiske 1996; 1997; Barreto and Ellemers 2005). Peter Glick and Susan T. Fiske developed measures for identifying hostile and benevolent sexism, and they playfully invoked the acronym “BS” as they coded their data for incidents of benevolent sexism. They expressed a hope “that our analysis of the structural underpinnings of sexist attitudes inspires new ways of thinking about the complexities of gender relations, especially the perils of ‘positive’ prejudice toward women, as well as the ambivalences involved in other prejudices” (Glick and Fiske 2011). Because North American Pentecostalism continues to express positive prejudices toward women in the pulpit, and because that veneer of positivity disguises significant patriarchal structural underpinnings, benevolent sexism is a useful tool for exploring how gender was at work in the movement. People who praised Gerard for preaching like a man (an example of BS), operated with the assumption that preaching is male work, and only exceptional women could perform the task effectively. Gerard’s confidence and forcefulness in the pulpit caused people to make this comparison when they observed that she was well-informed about world affairs, conversant in theological complexities, and skilled in hermeneutical techniques: just like a man, in the minds of some audiences. Her authoritative oratory was jarring for conservative listeners who were accustomed to women speaking with a softer tone, offering words of nurture and encouragement, and appealing to emotions rather than logic. Attributing these essentialist qualities to men and women is one of the hallmarks of complementarian views about the differences between the sexes (Murray 2021, Table 2.1, 72). The fact that Gerard received this kind of feedback serves as an example of how binary notions of male/female characteristics were widely shared in Canadian Pentecostalism. The extent to which these ideas frame global Pentecostal women’s experiences varies according to broader cultural norms. Benevolent sexism’s positivity acts in subtle and covert ways to reassert gendered hierarchies about what is appropriate male and female behavior. For Pentecostals, the idea that a woman might be exceptionally gifted as a speaker and teacher/preacher is commonly couched in discourse about “spiritual gifts” and a reassertion that the Spirit moves where the Spirit wills. Indeed, when women preachers are accepted, it is often with a note of surprise and delight, a sure sign that God must be at work to make the woman so effective. Yet, remarks framed with the idea that “God can use anybody,” or references to Balaam in the Hebrew scriptures where “even a donkey can proclaim God’s truth” serve to further diminish the personhood and abilities that women exhibit. This framing reinforces the cultural norm that privileges male authority, cloaking it in providential language, while explaining the effectiveness of exceptional women like Gerard. At the same time, such discourse belies its own inherent sexism by invoking misogynist humor to equate women with animals. When this kind of BS is directed at a woman, the recipient filters what she hears. In Gerard’s case, she was both impatient and resigned to the fact that others misunderstood her calling and the way she used her gifts in ministry. 255

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The idea that the roles of preacher and local church leader are commonly gendered as men’s work is a deeply engrained opinion in many evangelical church circles, including Pentecostal ones (Archer and Archer 2019; Murray 2021). Officially, denominations like the PAOC consider themselves to be egalitarian organizations, building on nostalgic historical discourses that, from the earliest days of their movement, women preachers were ubiquitous (Alexander 2013; Ambrose 2019). The logic follows that, when Gerard ministered as a local church pastor for twenty years in Vancouver and before that when she traveled internationally for many years as an itinerant evangelist, she was simply part of a long legacy of Pentecostal women preachers. Highlighting examples of outstanding women, the PAOC uses its published denominational histories to celebrate individuals like Gerard, even though she was hardly typical (Wells 2009). Nelson Rogers argues in his 1992 thesis that women in the PAOC made minor gains with their fight to achieve ordination, and that the impetus for doing so was based on the dominant Canadian ideology of rights within civil society. Rogers concludes that while the PAOC provides an interesting case study as PAOC women fought for equal recognition, their gains were small and incremental, not posing a serious challenge to the dominant male power structures in the organization. Rogers concedes that the majority of changes that PAOC women saw were only “passive revolutions” and he predicted that real progress for women within the PAOC would come slowly, if at all (Rogers 1992). Doubts about whether PAOC women would see substantial gains in their status are wellfounded because while the denomination asserts that women are welcome and equal players in all roles of church ministry and leadership, the PAOC’s own statistical reports about leadership patterns do not bear that out. In 2018, women represented only about 6 percent of all PAOC senior pastors. Two years later, that number had declined slightly to 5.4 percent as the PAOC reported fifty-two women serving as senior pastors, out of 964 total senior pastors (PAOC 2018a, 2020). In 2018 the Rev. David Wells, PAOC General Superintendent, reminded delegates at the national convention about PAOC’s official position was an egalitarian one: “we affirm women in ministry because Acts reminds us that Jesus pours out the Spirit on both sons and daughters” (PAOC 2018b). Despite these repeated confessions of longstanding commitment to egalitarianism, the PAOC General Superintendent admits that there is “a gap between our official position and our lived reality” (PAOC 2018b). Scholars concur that the PAOC is not alone in this; Pentecostalism’s relationship to women in leadership is, at best, a paradox (Martin 2003), or what one PAOC insider calls a mix of “ambiguity and affirmation” (Gabriel n.d.). Gerard’s case illustrates how that paradox plays out, and no doubt echoes of this mixed reaction abound worldwide. That ambiguous and paradoxical position of Pentecostal women in ministry is something Gerard experienced firsthand: sometimes men blocked her ministry efforts, and sometimes they affirmed her calling. In the late 1940s, while preaching in Florida as part of an allfemale ministry trio, Gerard’s orthodoxy was called into question. She and her female traveling companions, Jean and Velma McColl, were drawing large crowds to their evangelistic meetings when a local pastor from the Assemblies of God, the largest Pentecostal denomination in the United States, expressed concern that these independent, unaffiliated women might be “off-brand Pentecostals” who were probably teaching outside the boundaries of acceptable Pentecostal orthodoxy (Gerard 1988, 96). The suspicion arose in part because Gerard’s ministry partners, Jean and Velma McColl, were originally from Saskatchewan, where the 1940s Latter Rain Controversy began (Wilkinson and Ambrose 2020, 78–84). It is impossible to know if that male pastor was most worried about accurate theology or the competition that these women presented for limited donor dollars but, nevertheless, the effect was devastating for Gerard and her coworkers. The impact of the “negative gossip” 256

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that dominated Pentecostal rumor mills in the region had immediate effects: attendance at their meetings dropped off immediately, and so did the offerings they depended on for their livelihoods. Given their accuser’s influence, the McColl-Gerard trio could not secure any future bookings across the state, and they were forced to return home to Canada to regroup (Gerard 1988, 96–7). The incident illustrates that, although Pentecostals were open to the idea of women preachers and evangelists, those gifted women were precarious workers, subject to the approval of men, especially established pastors within national organizations. However, the same gendered hierarchy where men could silence the women whom they found threatening, could sometimes work in reverse. Men also had the power to promote women who gained their trust. This was also the case for Gerard and the McColl sisters. Upon their return to Canada, the women preached at different meetings in Quebec and Ontario. They won the trust of the Rev. J.H. Blair, an influential Ontario Pentecostal who founded one of the most popular Canadian Pentecostal camps: Braeside, in Paris, Ontario. As Gerard recounted in her autobiography, Blair was hospitable to them during the camp meetings, “even eager to use us in the large public services and youth leadership” (Gerard 1988, 97). The language of being “used” by Blair speaks volumes about the gendered dynamics of Pentecostal ministry, and how women had to work to establish and maintain positive reputations that could be leveraged if they won the trust of powerful men. Blair used his cross-border connections to open doors for these female preachers in midwestern American churches affiliated with the Assemblies of God and provide them with the security of long-term speaking engagements and a reliable income. He wrote letters of introduction and offered his personal endorsement in gestures that opened doors for Gerard and her team. With his encouragement and his connections paving their way, Bernice Gerard and Jean and Velma McColl sought and received ordination credentials from the Assemblies of God (AG). Ironically, it was an AG pastor in Florida who had blocked her ministry efforts a few years earlier, reminding us that it is impossible to generalize about these matters, even within one denomination (Qualls 2018). Gerard continued to hold and renew that ordination over many decades from the late 1940s onward. This explains how Bernice and Velma could take their place as co-pastors of a new Vancouver church in the 1960s, performing all the sacramental and business matters of the church, decades before the PAOC officially granted full ordination status to women. PAOC congregations enjoy local autonomy, and this gave Gerard and McColl-Chapman freedom to minister, although technically they still answered to the men who served as district officials, another example of the structural hierarchy that privileged male gatekeepers. Gerard navigated her way through a ministry career where male decisionmakers, both critics and supporters, were a constant consideration. When Gerard reflected on this in her autobiography, she did not analyze the larger gender politics. Instead, she expressed the incidents in relational terms, with gratitude for all that Blair had done, calling him “a very special person in our lives,” who taught her the importance of attaining and maintaining well-established credentials (Gerard 1988, 98–9). At the same time, she had not absolved the Florida pastor who blocked her preaching, but she was resolved never to make the mistake that he had made, when his hasty judgment calls blocked the work of fellow ministry leaders. His rumors ended the McCollGerard’s successful run of evangelistic meetings and the lesson Gerard took from that episode was “never to hastily reject a person or ministry simply because they belonged to a different denominational group” (Gerard 1988, 99). She turned her experience of rejection into a tendency toward curiosity about how the Spirit worked, an impulse that nudged her toward early acceptance of the charismatic movement when it emerged in the 1960s. Gerard recognized that males held tremendous power over her ministry career, wielding the power to stifle or endorse her work as they exercised the institutional authority of boundary-making (Edgell 2012). 257

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Gerard continued to express surprise about male chauvinism to the end of her life. When she reflected on her long and varied ministry efforts, she remarked on how disappointing it was that the most negative reactions she faced came from within church circles. She had fully expected opposition from secular sources when she served as a municipal politician with a reputation for taking conservative stands on social issues and moral questions. But to constantly battle against fellow believers on matters about gender came as both a surprise and a disappointment to her. She reflected, “It is no secret that women have had to struggle for recognition of their full personhood; what is surprising is that the church with all its respectability is in so many areas the last bastion for male chauvinism” (Gerard 1988, 142). When Gerard used that strong language to call out sexism in churches, decades before the recent #metoo and #churchtoo movements, she was not pointing only to traditional Christian denominations. She lamented that these attitudes were pervasive in her own beloved Pentecostal circles, and she offered numerous incidents of this sexism, including the 1980s debate at PAOC conferences about women’s ordination. As one of Canada’s leading pastors said on a conference floor … when the ordination of women was being discussed, ‘If women insist on being pastors, it is on their conscience.’ But the message conveyed by this influential male pastor sounded as though for a woman to preach and minister the gospel as one called by God is the equivalent of her stealing or living promiscuously. In his view, she ought to have trouble with her conscience, because she is going against God’s will. Gerard (1988, 145) Gerard dismissed such anti-woman sentiment asserting, “I have no time for debate with those who raise the subject of women’s ministries with the intent to silence or harass women. There is a lot of meanness in people that finds ready expression in targeting persecuted minorities” (Gerard 1988, 145). The meanness took many forms. Grouping women with other “persecuted minorities” one assumes that Gerard’s reference here was to racial discrimination, and that was an issue for denominations like the PAOC with their policies opposing biracial marriages for credential holders (Wilkinson and Ambrose 2020, 158). When Gerard invoked the discourse of minorities being persecuted by church authorities, it is clear that she was interpreting the blocks that women faced, like racism, as an issue of patriarchal power and boundary-making. Gerard made that segue from her thoughts on women’s secondary status in the PAOC to inequities of other kinds and this begs the question about how intersectionality, gender, and power are deeply entwined in Pentecostal church structures and how they operate in various global contexts.

Male Measures of Success Gerard’s critiques about male power continued as she considered how some male colleagues measured success in their congregations. For Gerard, ministry success could not be measured by financial growth or impressive real estate (although she did manage very successful media ministry with sizeable offerings and building projects that served to expand the Fraserview Church). In her view, ministry success was less tangible. Her background as an itinerant evangelist taught Gerard to constantly assess whether spiritual gifts were in evidence during meetings, and whether people were responding to the spirit’s prompting through transformed lives. In this way, she was aligned with reports from early in the Pentecostal movement’s history, where monthly newsletters included reports of camp meetings and evangelistic meetings, 258

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marked by embodied expression of supernatural presence: physical movement, enthusiastic loud singing, marching, falling down at the altar, crying, and upraised hands (Mittelstadt and Courtney 2021). These embodied expressions were typical of a “good meeting” when “the Spirit fell,” and to Gerard, such Pentecostal rituals (Lindhardt 2011) were far more important than metrics of material prosperity. Gerard’s wide experience with Pentecostal meetings that welcomed the Spirit to fall, led her to be suspicious of men who tried to assert control in these settings. She was particularly critical when men took it upon themselves to assert control over women under the influence of the Spirit. She cited the example of a Pentecostal pastor who stifled the women of his church when he “had, in a moment of folly, silenced the women of his congregation, on the grounds that in spontaneous utterances of prophecy which came from the general congregation, more men should be heard from” (Gerard 1988, 145). The idea that particular spiritual gifts are a coveted form of social capital among Pentecostals led this pastor to fear that women were displacing men in that competition, an example of how deeply gendered Pentecostal rituals can be (Ramirez 2017). Gerard objected because, while she agreed that men should be encouraged to express their spiritual gifts too, this should not come at the expense of women, and, more importantly, at the expense of the spirit’s moving. Would it be preferable for more men to demonstrate the gift of prophecy, she mused? “Maybe so, but what has that to do with the role of women in the church family and why must their gifts be suppressed?” (Gerard 1988, 145) According to her logic, when the scriptures had predicted that both men and women would prophesy, there was no quota requiring that the gifts would be demonstrated equally by women and men in each meeting. So, if more women were operating in their spiritual gifts, Gerard maintained, so be it! It ran contrary to her Pentecostal convictions to suppress the women while waiting for men to catch up. Gerard offered her reflections based on what the Apostle Paul instructed the Corinthians about spiritual gifts: prophesy was a coveted gift, and all should seek it. But the fact that more women than men were operating in that gift within a particular church did not give the local pastor license to silence them. He may have wished for more men to do the work of prophetic utterances, but the fact that they were not doing so and therefore the women should also be silenced was preposterous to Gerard. In her mind, a successful Pentecostal meeting was one where the Spirit moved as the Spirit willed, and those who blocked the move of the Spirit were on dangerous ground. Gender politics had no place in the operation of spiritual gifts, according to Gerard. And yet, clearly, gender politics do shape Pentecostal practices, locally and globally. There is a tension among Pentecostals about welcoming these extraordinary expressions and maintaining a sense of order and decency (Wilkinson and Ambrose 2020, 53, 56–67). A longstanding debate continues about how much Pentecostals should give control over to the Spirit, no matter the unusual behaviors that might result, versus maintaining a sense of decorum and respectability, following the scriptural instruction that everything should be done “decently and in order.” These two principles are contradictory, and it could be argued that they are also highly gendered: women were typically the ones weeping at the altar, overcome by emotion, while men surveyed the room, “caught” the worshippers who were “slain in the Spirit,” and guarded against unwelcome intruders or hecklers who might try to disrupt the meetings. This aligns with gender analyses of Pentecostal testimonies, where women typically report their submission to the Spirit, while men report their greater capacity for self-control. Indeed, Pentecostal men typically testified that Spirit empowerment often manifested in their enhanced success in business and personal affairs (Brusco 1995; van Klinken 2012; Lindhardt 2015; Ambrose 2022b). 259

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While Gerard would rejoice with men who reported deeper levels of spiritual encounter, she had no patience for clergymen who used materialistic markers to measure success in ministry. She asserted that “the “brick and mortar mentality” (how many churches have you built?), “the denominational drive” (how many new members this year?), and the competitive, often schismatic spirit (my church against your church) that has pulled down so many spiritual endeavours has no part in our unique inheritance” (Gerard 1971, 3). She observed that rivalries over metrics seemed to appeal to men’s competitive nature. Dismissing such measures as manmade and worldly, Gerard had no time for the kind of petty competitions she observed among many of her male colleagues. She was not alone in this caution as some men also warned that falling into the trap of measuring success in material terms was a distraction of the devil to divert attention away from the heart of Pentecostal experience (Ambrose 2019). Gerard called men out on these issues and the gender injustices that attended them. While she appreciated the merits of a well-run church with proper business procedures, audited financial statements, and efficient committees, she did not mistake those operational practices for ministry success. Business models had their place, but not if their end was only to massage male egos and stifle women’s participation. If the Spirit was being stifled and women were not allowed to exercise their spiritual gifts, then surely that was not success. Nor, she maintained, was it Pentecostal. In many global contexts, practices that are deemed to be biblically based and Spirit-led bear a curiously close alignment with the gender norms of the broader society.

Making Rules, Governing, and Guarding Power in Governance Structures Governance structures that privileged men over women were another area where Gerard objected by raising the issue of human structures interfering with the spirit’s leading (Bartelink 2020). When it came to politics and governance, Gerard knew of what she spoke: not only was she an experienced traveler and speaker who participated in international Pentecostal organizations, but she also served as a municipal politician in Vancouver for several years (Gerard 1988, 177–204). Therefore, her political skills were sharp, and she could not agree with churchmen who tried to argue that church governance was and should remain, an all-male preserve (van Klinken 2016). She received resistance on this question from PAOC colleagues. “One pastor in my own denomination, which is generally open to women’s ministries and even to women’s ordination, said to me in surprise, ‘You are not chairman of the board, are you?’” (Gerard 1988). Again, Gerard revealed that she was used to this kind of objection, as she wearily reported “I have been endlessly challenged, questioned, cajoled, condemned and alternately complimented and commended.” Tired of defending herself and the roles she had occupied in ministry, in 1988 Gerard explained that she was not being belligerent on the subject of women’s equal leadership in the church, but rather, “I am bored,” she explained. “Bored as a black person is bored with discussing what’s wrong with apartheid” (Gerard 1988, 144). The gender segregation that seemed to be a default position for Canadian Pentecostals was a disappointment to Gerard in her senior years as she reflected on a rich and varied career in public life. The fact that questions about gender continued to surface was discouraging to her because she was convinced that Jesus was a feminist, and she lived by the adage that “in Christ there is neither male nor female.” Therefore, she found it wearying that gendered power structures continued to privilege men in the church. When she challenged the idea that church governance was exclusively a male preserve, she touched a nerve among many who read the scriptures literally to conclude that only men would ever be called to roles of governance. The PAOC debated this question continuously at 260

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their general conferences from the mid-1980s through the 1990s until they finally determined that women could be allowed to serve on the national executive. For Gerard, it seemed logical to apply the Pentecostal understanding that justified women in preaching and prophesy to governance as well, on the basis that if God gave special gifts to women making them suited for a particular role, then they should serve in those roles. If some could preach, she reasoned, why could women not also govern? The spiritual gifts of administration, discernment, and wisdom were not exclusive male preserves. She knew this from her own experience of running the affairs of her local church where she pastored with another woman, leading an international broadcast ministry (with the same woman as her partner), and serving as a municipal politician where she worked alongside other city councilors of both sexes. Gerard translated those experiences into her work with the PAOC’s Social Concerns Department, helping to coordinate national efforts as defenders of morality and warriors for righteousness. Bernice Gerard lent strong leadership to that group on the basis of her track record as a vocal anti-abortionist and a moral crusader in municipal politics. (Wilkinson and Ambrose 2020, 118–22). In doing so, Gerard once again defied typical gender mores. She was by no means a silent partner or mere helpmate in ministry work at the national and international levels, and yet male colleagues in the PAOC expressed shock that as a woman, she would dare to act as chair of her local church board. In the realm of politics and church governance Gerard’s deep competencies and wide experience provide another example of how she defied typical Canadian Pentecostal gender practices and interrogated man-made structures.

Conclusion Bernice Gerard was not a compliant woman ready to submit to denominational or patriarchal norms. Her accounts of personal experience as a Pentecostal woman in ministry highlight the various roadblocks she faced. But her life writing also points to several key observations about men and masculinity in Pentecostal circles that are provocative for considering other national and global contexts. First, she had direct experience with denominational structures that privileged male authority and power as all-important endorsements and credentials were offered or denied on a case-by-case basis. Second, when assessing the success of Pentecostal meetings and congregations, she saw that male business models led to contests fueled by male egos concerning material assets and financial resources as marks of successful ministry. She critiqued this kind of measure as worldly and patriarchal, an unfortunate male game of competition that distracted Pentecostals from more meaningful measures of spirituality. Finally, she observed that paternalistic structures could easily become exclusionary tactics to preserve male power and reinforce gendered boundaries, particularly in the realm of church governance and wider political involvements. After working as a pastor and university chaplain, building her reputation as a vocal protestor and elected official, she was incredulous when Pentecostal men suggested her gender should prevent her from a simple act of governance like chairing church board meetings. When Bernice Gerard highlighted the limitations placed on Pentecostal women through the structures created by men, she was exposing the ways in which gender was operative in Pentecostal circles in Canada and the United States. But her case is useful for thinking about how gender operates elsewhere too. Many of her observations and experiences reinforce what gender theorists suggest about the ways in which gender relations between men and women are social constructs entwined with issues of power (Ambrose 2020). Those constructs, reinforcing female submission and male control clashed with Gerard’s experiences as a woman in ministry. 261

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The norms of the Canadian Pentecostal subculture meant that Gerard was continually negotiating her behavior with a mix of compliance and resistance toward those highly gendered expectations. Women in other national contexts would echo that same reality. Gerard’s narratives expose how the PAOC was infused with normative expectations about gender hierarchies and she questioned whether these were compatible with a Pentecostal world view. The case of Bernice Gerard offers the opportunity to deepen our understanding about gender relations and Pentecostalism, particularly by reflecting on how Pentecostal men performed their masculinity. Although it is impossible to generalize from one Canadian woman’s ministry experiences in the second half of the twentieth century, the case of Bernice Gerard raises familiar questions for scholars of gender as we explore how gender operates in powerful ways among Pentecostals around the world. The case of Bernice Gerard is provocative, inviting scholars of Pentecostalism to consider how gender operates in other places and times. What Pentecostals perceive as spiritled empowerment is always deeply entwined with culturally-based gender norms. As Gerard’s case illustrates, Pentecostal women are continuously negotiating how they will defy or comply with those cultural expectations. Attention to gendered realities can help to expose how systems of power operate within various global Pentecostal contexts.

References Alexander, Estrelda. 2013. “Beautiful Feet: Women Leaders and the Shaping of Global Pentecostalism.” In Spirit and Power: The Growth and Global Impact of Pentecostalism, edited by Donald E. Miller, Kimon H. Sargeant, and Richard Flory, 225–41. Oxford: Oxford Scholarship Online. Ambrose, Linda M. 2016. “Canadian Pentecostal Women in Ministry: The Case of Bernice Gerard and Feminist Ideologies.” In Women in Pentecostal and Charismatic Ministry: Informing a Dialogue on Gender, Church, and Ministry, edited by Margaret English de Alminana, and Lois Olena, 229–46. Leiden: Brill. Ambrose, Linda M. 2019. “Pentecostal Historiography in Canada: The History Behind the Histories.” Canadian Journal of Pentecostal Charismatic Christianity 10: 15–36. Ambrose, Linda M. 2020. “Gender.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism Online, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Conny Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd M. Johnson. Leiden: Brill. Ambrose, Linda M. 2022a. “A Messy Mix: Religion, Feminism, and Pentecostals.” Gender & History 34 (2): 369–83. Ambrose, Linda M. 2022b. “‘Shaming the Men into “Keeping Up with the Ladies’: Constructing Pentecostal Masculinities.” In Sisters, Mothers, Daughters: Pentecostal Perspectives on Violence Against Women, edited by Kimberly Ervin Alexander, Melissa L. Archer, Mark J. Cartledge, and Michael D. Palmer, 69–85. Leiden: Brill. Archer, Melissa, and Kenneth J. Archer. 2019.“Complementarianism and Egalitarianism – Whose Side Are You Leaning On? A Pentecostal Reading of Ephesians 5:21-33.” Pneuma 41 (1): 66–90. Attanasi, Katherine. 2013. “Constructing Gender Within Global Pentecostalism: Contrasting Case Studies in Colombia and South Africa.” In Spirit and Power: The Growth and Global Impact of Pentecostalism, edited by Donald E. Miller, Kimon H. Sargeant, and Richard Flory, 242–58. Oxford: Oxford Scholarship Online. Barreto, Mauela, and Naomi Ellemers. 2005. “The Burden of Benevolent Sexism: How it Contributes to the Maintenance of Gender Inequalities.” European Journal of Social Psychology 35: 633–42. Bartelink, Brenda. 2020. “The Personal is Political: Pentecostal Approaches to Governance and Security.” The Review of Faith & International Affairs 18 (3): 69–75. Brusco, Elizabeth. 1995. The Reformation of Machismo: Evangelical Conversion and Gender in Columbia. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Edgell, Penny. 2012. “A Cultural Sociology of Religion: New Directions.” Annual Review of Sociology 38: 247–65. Gabriel, Andrew K. (n.d.) “Pentecostal Women in Ministry: Ambiguity and Affirmation in the PAOC,” Blog post, https://www.andrewkgabriel.com/2018/05/14/pentecostal-women-ministrypaoc/ (Accessed March 2, 2021).

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Beyond Typical Gender Roles of Canadian Pentecostalism Gerard, Bernice. 1956. Converted in the Country: The Life of Bernice Gerard. Jacksonville, FL: McCollGerard Publications. Gerard, Bernice. 1971. “Bringing Christ on Campus.” Speaking notes for Gerard’s talk on Campus Evangelism at the Pentecostal Fellowship of North America, Des Moines, Iowa. Summit Pacific Library Archives. Bernice Gerard Papers. Gerard, Bernice. 1988. Bernice Gerard Today and for Life. Vancouver: Sunday Line Communications. Glick, Peter, and S.T. Fiske. 1997. “Hostile and Benevolent Sexism: Measuring Ambivalent Sexist Attitudes Toward Women.” Psychology of Women Quarterly 21: 119–35. Glick, Peter, and Susan T. Fiske. 1996. “The Ambivalent Sexism Inventory: Differentiating Between Hostile and Benevolent Sexism.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 70: 491–512. Glick, Peter, and Susan T. Fiske. 2011. “Ambivalent Sexism Revisited.” Psychology of Women Quarterly 35 (3): 530–35. Klingorová, Kamila, and Thomas Havlicek. 2015. “Religion and Gender Inequality: The status of Women in the Societies of World Religions.” Moravian Geographical Reports 23 (2): 1–11. Lindhardt, Martin, ed. 2011. Practicing the Faith: The Ritual Life of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christians. New York, NY: Oxford Berghahn Books. Lindhardt, Martin. 2015. “Men of God: Neo-Pentecostalism and Masculinities in Urban Tanzania.” Religion 45 (2): 252–72. Martin, Bernice. 2003. “The Pentecostal Gender Paradox: A Cautionary Tale for the Sociology of Religion.” In The Blackwell Companion to Sociology of Religion, edited by Richard K. Fenn, 52–66. Oxford: Blackwell. McColl-Gerard Trio. c.1950. “I’ve Been with Jesus” Revivalaires Sacred Series Label. Recording MG-1005A. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnTH6s1h-T0 (Accessed July 26, 2021). Mittelstadt, Martin W., and Courtney, and Caleb H. 2021. Canadian Pentecostal Reader: The First Generation of Pentecostal Voices in Canada (1907–1925). Cleveland, TN: CPT Press. Murray, Alison. 2021. “Building Biblical Manhood and Womanhood: White American Evangelical Complementarian Theology, 1970-2010.” Unpublished PhD thesis, Emmanuel College, University of Toronto. Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. 2018a. “Fellowship Statistics as at January 10, 2018.” https://paoc. org/services/fellowship-statistics (Accessed April 22, 2020). Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. 2018b. Statement. Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. “PAOC Statement of Affirmation Regarding the Equality of Women and Men in Leadership,” June 2018. http://paoc.org (Accessed January 10, 2020). Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. 2020. “Fellowship Statistics as at January 9, 2020.” https://paoc.org/ services/fellowship-statistics (Accessed April 22, 2020). Perales, Franciso, and Gary Bouma. 2019. “Religion, Religiosity and Patriarchal Gender Beliefs: Understanding the Australian Experience.” Journal of Sociology 55 (2): 323–41. Qualls, Joy E.A. 2018. God Forgive Us For Being Women: Rhetoric, Theology, and the Pentecostal Tradition. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Ramirez, Erica M. 2017. “Contra-Deprivation: A Bourdieusian Analysis of the Production of Glossolalia as a Competitive Form of Religious Capital.” In Pentecostals and the Body, edited by Michael Wilkinson, and Peter Althouse, 307–30. Leiden: Brill. Rogers, Nelson. 1992. “And Shall Your Daughters Prophesy? The Impact of the Dominant Ideology of Canadian Society on the Role of Women in the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada.” Unpublished Masters of Social Work thesis, Carleton University, Ottawa. Todd, Douglas. 2000. “British Columbia’s 25 Most Influential Spiritual Leaders.” Vancouver Sun 21 April 2000. Tuchman, Barbara. 1985. “Biography as a Prism of History.” In Telling Lives: The Biographer’s Art, edited by Marc Pachter, 133–47. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania. van Klinken, A.S. 2012. “Men in the Remaking: Conversion Narratives and Born-Again Masculinities in Zambia.” Journal of Religion in Africa 42 (3): 215–39. van Klinken, Adriann. 2016. “Pentecostalism, Political Masculinity and Citizenship: The Born-Again Male Subject as Key to Zambia’s National Redemption.” Journal of Religion in Africa 46 (2/3): 129–57. Wells, Susan. 2009. “Against All Odds: Bernice Gerard’s Rich and Vibrant Life.” Testimony 90 (3): 11. Wilkinson, Michael, and Linda M. Ambrose. 2020. After the Revival: Pentecostalism and the Making of a Canadian Church. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

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20 QUEERING BLACK PENTECOSTALISM IN THE UNITED STATES Keri Day

Introduction Black Pentecostalism in the United States has been interpreted as exclusionary and often intolerant of gender and sexual diversity. Black Pentecostal denominations such as the Church of God in Christ (COGIC) have a reputation for restrictive practices surrounding gender and sexuality. Over the last couple of decades, the United States has had sustained conversations about the rights of LGBTQ persons, and the U.S. Supreme Court even addressed whether same-sex marriage could be a right extended to queer people. Many Black Pentecostal and charismatic denominations and churches were vocal about their disapproval of LGBTQ rights. Many of these churches even committed to campaigning against laws that would legalize LGBTQ marriage. As a result, Black American Pentecostalism tends to be interpreted as theologically orthodox and socially conservative, particularly on matters of gender and sexuality. This is partially true. I want to challenge this ultraorthodox trope associated with Black Pentecostalism in the U.S. Black Pentecostal theology and identity are not fixed. This chapter explores one U.S. Black Pentecostal movement, The Fellowship for Affirming Ministries (TFAM), and how its radical practices of religious and social inclusion complicate any neat interpretation of U.S. Black Pentecostalism. I argue that TFAM queers Pentecostal theology and practice. When I speak of queering, I am not only referring to a radical embrace of diverse sexual orientations and identities but also what deviates from the theologically orthodox center. TFAM articulates Christian theological positions and practices of social inclusion that contest the normative U.S. Pentecostal center, demonstrating that Pentecostal theology and identity can be oriented toward plurality, multivocality, and radical love.

U.S. Black Pentecostalism: An Orthodox View I want to offer a note on the origins of Black Pentecostal denominations in the U.S. Black Pentecostal denominations such as COGIC trace their heritage and tradition back to the Azusa Street Revival of 1906 in Los Angeles, California. The Apostolic Faith Mission was a church that started as a Bible study in the home of Ruth and Richard Asberry on Bonnie Brae

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Street in Los Angeles. A small group of janitors and washerwomen, along with itinerant evangelist William Seymour, would gather to pray and study the Bible in the kitchen and parlor of this home. Most spectacularly, they would gather on the porch of this home to sing, shout, and dance, often drawing crowds of people to view what was transpiring. In the beginning, a few black residents gathered in the home and around the porch to witness to the odd yet intriguing activity transpiring. Eventually, whites and Mexicans began coming, desiring to also witness to what was described as a powerful spiritual movement. The crowds soon became too large for the Asberry’s home. The group of leaders decided to rent a small abandoned stable nearby Azusa Street that they would convert into a church, what they would call the Apostolic Faith Mission. They appointed Seymour as the pastor. Within its initial years, this church would reach thousands of people and would birth a movement known as the Azusa Street Revival (Cox 1995, 46–47). This Bible study was an unlikely beginning of what would become a global Pentecostal revival. Alongside acts of healing and tongue talking, the Azusa community also understood Christian faith to be enacted and lived out through transgressing and subverting the racist and sexist context of American culture and economy at the dawn of the twentieth century. A number of religious and theological scholars such as Amos Yong, David Daniels, Cheryl Sanders, Walter Hollenweger, Iain MacRoberts, Nimi Wariboko, and Estrelda Alexander have already captured how Azusa challenged the racism, sexism, and classism of churches and broader society. In terms of Azusa’s interracial vision, it was Seymour that led and pastored thousands of white Christians in a nationally segregated atmosphere. This revival was seen as subversive to the dominant racial reasoning of the day. One white Pentecostal minister, Charles Parham, would say that he found white women in the arms of “salivating black men” at the altar when he arrived at Azusa – a disturbing scene for him. Black men could get lynched for even looking at a white woman – but Azusa was a context in which black men laid hands on white women to receive the Spirit, a scandalous practice for this era (Robeck 2006, 25). In terms of emancipatory gender norms, when the congregation organized itself, the twelve elders comprised five men and seven women. The barriers of gender were very briefly overcome at Azusa, which contrasted to much of Baptist and Methodist traditions. Womanist scholar Cheryl Gilkes notes that many Baptist and Methodist women left their denominations and joined holiness and Pentecostal communities that participated or came out of the Azusa movement because of Azusa’s equal treatment of women as legitimate preachers and pastors (Gilkes 2000, 76–81). To be fair in describing the founding of Azusa, I would argue that black women guide and birth Seymour’s religious experience of the Spirit, making them equal co-founders of Azusa with him. Although the institutionalization of the Azusa revival gave way to a number of Pentecostal denominations that over time re-inscribed patriarchal logics (i.e., not ordaining women), the early Azusa congregation was egalitarian in its approach to leadership, allowing women to lead in record numbers. Given the inclusive practices of Azusa during a deeply segregationist and patriarchal U.S. culture, contemporary Black Pentecostal communities and their exclusionary practices seem contradictory. Consider that the Church of God in Christ (COGIC) has not yet agreed to ordain women as preachers and pastors. Founded and led by Bishop Charles Harrison Mason, COGIC’s historical roots can be traced to the Azusa revival. As a Baptist pastor, Mason traveled to Azusa, anticipating a new experience of the Spirit. While at Azusa, he not only became Pentecostal but also developed a close friendship and mentorship with Seymour (Clemmons 1996, 46–50). Mason undeniably saw Seymour affirm women as preachers and pastors at Azusa. However, when the polity of COGIC was established, Mason and his leadership

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decided to deny women positions in ordained ministry. This unequal gender practice has continued in COGIC. While other black denominations have embraced women at the toptier levels of ministry, COGIC continues to deny women entrance into the pastorate and other ordained ministries. Currently, no real conversation is transpiring concerning women’s ordination within COGIC. In relation to sexuality, COGIC’s disapproval of same-gender loving relationships, identity, and marriage is revealing. While Azusa did not overtly affirm LGBTQ people, one could make the argument that the Azusa community’s radically inclusive vision of race, gender, and class was seen as scandalous, a break from most religious and social hierarchies of that era. It could lead one to ask whether this community’s inclusive view would have extended to sexual identity. While we may never be able to answer that question, I do think this community’s freedom in the Spirit, which embraced social transformation along unpopular lines, could offer an argument in favor of their egalitarian vision being extended to sexuality. As I will argue later, Azusa can be read in a queer register: as a community that deviated from the norm in order to embody a way of life not beholden to human hierarchies of division, one being divisions over sexuality. As I will demonstrate later, I think Seymour’s radically inclusive vision is precisely what motivated progressive Pentecostal communities to offer a vision of embrace surrounding sexual identity. Despite this link between Azusa and a radical vision of inclusion and acceptance, COGIC maintains its exclusionary practices surrounding sexuality. This is most notably seen in the General Assembly’s “Proclamation on Marriage” that COGIC passed in 2014, which rejected homosexuality and same-sex marriage. Found on COGIC’s website, this proclamation argues that marriage between a man and woman is the only biblical basis for marriage. In terms of COGIC’s ideal of marriage, the proclamation states, Although marriage, in a civil context, is recognized by legal authorities, we hold that God established rules governing marriage long before government began regulating the institution. As such, this sacred, God-ordained institution is to be a life-long, sexually exclusive relationship and divine covenant between one man and one woman. COGIC (2021a) This proclamation appeals to theological ideas such as complementarianism and natural order. It states, “Men and women are designed to complement each other so they may be capable of satisfying each other’s emotional, spiritual and sexual needs and desires.” Complementarianism is the theological view that men and women have different yet complementary roles in marriage, family life, religious leadership, and broader culture. Some Christian communities such as COGIC believe that the Bible prescribes complementarianism, which means women should be excluded from certain roles in leadership. This view tends to assign to men the lead role, known as headship, while women offer more supporting roles to men. The primary idea of complementarianism is that, while women may participate in decision-making in family and church life, the ultimate authority rests with men. Complementarian communities such as COGIC argue that, although men and women’s roles are different, this should not mean that women are subordinate. In addition, COGIC sees complementarianism as evident within nature, part of God’s providence and natural order. Yet, one wonders how complementarianism can be seen as not subordinating women. As many women in Pentecostal traditions have attested to (such as women in COGIC), this view does not allow women to be seen as equals and co-partners with men in family, ministry, 266

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and society. As already discussed, a major debate that continues to persist in COGIC is over women’s ordination. More women within COGIC desire to be ordained in order to preach and pastor but are met with COGIC’s exclusionary ordination policy. These women do not consider COGIC’s complementarian views to be in their spiritual or social interests. For these women, this theological view subordinates and devalues women and the leadership gifts they bring to church and society. COGIC’s position on women and LGBTQ persons is rooted in its theology. Consider these words about the Bible in COGIC’s belief statement on its website: We believe that the Bible is the Word of God and contains one harmonious and sufficiently complete system of doctrine. We believe in the full inspiration of the Word of God. We hold the Word of God to be the only authority in all matters and assert that no doctrine can be true or essential, if it does not find a place in this Word. COGIC (2021b) In this statement, one immediately notices COGIC’s subtle gesture toward the doctrine of biblical infallibility. For this Christian organization, the Bible is God breathed. This means that all of the written biblical record is harmonious and true, as if God spoke the words himself to be written down. As a result, any affirmations and prohibitions expressed in scripture are seen as absolute and applicable across time, place, and space. Likewise, there are no contradictions or ambiguities in scripture, which causes COGIC to disavow theological deviations from expressed rules and principles located in scripture. COGIC does not embrace the cultural dimensions that condition scripture itself. It simply affirms that doctrinal interpretation already sits in the text. As the statement asserts, the Christian scripture reflects a complete system of doctrine. However, even Swiss Pentecostal theologian Walter Hollenweger reminds one that from biblical times onward, Christian faith is not about the definition, but the description; not about the statement, but the story; not about the doctrine, but the testimony (Hollenweger 1971, 332–33). The Bible does not express doctrine – we create doctrine out of the many different stories, descriptions and testimonies located in the Bible. Dominant ways of reading scripture are a culturally biased form in which the Western Christian tends to interpret scripture through doctrinal categories that come centuries after the codification of biblical stories and testimonies. I readily concede that COGIC’s conservative theological positions and social practices around gender and sexuality warrants images of the black Pentecostal as theologically orthodox and socially conservative. Many of black Pentecostalism’s theological ideas are absolutist and fixed, which resists new theological frameworks. Consequently, their social practices exclude both women and samegender loving people. Images of black Pentecostals as archaic, backward, and irrelevant abound. Yet, black Pentecostalism is not a monolith. There are emerging black Pentecostalisms in the United States that challenge this stereotypical image. These black Pentecostal communities seek to not only re-envision Christian practices of inclusion across race, class, gender, and sex lines but also reformulate what Pentecost means and how a transformed idea of Pentecost rejects theologies of exclusion. It is to these new movements I now turn.

A Case Study: The Fellowship of Affirming Ministries (TFAM) This brief history on the constricting beliefs and practices of some black Pentecostal communities does not capture the entire black Pentecostal view on these matters in the United States. As already stated, black Pentecostalism is not a monolith. It is constituted by diversity and 267

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a plurality of theological and social viewpoints. I now turn to one such reformation that enables one to witness the multivocality of black Pentecostalism. The Fellowship for Affirming Ministries (TFAM) is a multidenominational fellowship of primarily black churches that interpret the Christian gospel as a theology of radical inclusion and belonging. Most churches that join tend to be independent churches with a charismatic or neo-Pentecostal orientation. TFAM has an episcopal structure in which bishops oversee the work of the denomination in various regional areas. Although it has an episcopal structure, churches still possess the full range of freedoms to shape their community as they see fit (of course, in line with the views of radical inclusion). Moreover, TFAM generates theological and political resources for churches so that their theological ideas and political practices reflect radical inclusion. TFAM does not see the theological and political as separate or antithetical to each other. Because the political and theological are intertwined, they also help pastors to connect how their theologies open to political advocacy of the most vulnerable. For TFAM, a theology of radical inclusion undergirds their theological ideas and practices. This movement challenges exclusionary theology that guides so many Christian denominations with their insider/outsider logic or “us vs them” notions. Many churches assert that being Christian means other religious traditions, other theological ways of knowing, and different social practices (from their own) are outside of God’s will and redemptive plan. Any other theological worldview from their orthodox view is simply labeled as heretical. In response to this impoverished way of viewing Christian faith (as well as Pentecostal faith), TFAM seeks to rethink the true meanings of the gospel away from such dogmatic interpretations of Christian life. TFAM allows the Christian Pentecostal to re-examine absolutist theological ideas that attempt to exclude others from the life of God. In order to grasp and understand more fully TFAM and its theology of radical inclusion, one must turn to its founder and Presiding Bishop, Yvette Flunder. Flunder was born and raised in COGIC and also has deep intergenerational roots in Black Pentecostalism. She was a gospel singer with the famed Walter Hawkins for many years before receiving her call to the pastorate. In 1991, she founded the City of Refuge Church in San Francisco, under the denominational umbrella of United Church of Christ. She describes the City of Refuge as her attempt to “create a spiritual community that will embrace our collective cultures, faith paths, gender expressions, and sexual/affectional orientations while simultaneously freeing us from oppressive theologies that subjugate women, denigrate the LGBT community, and disconnect us from justice issues locally and globally” (Flunder 2014, 116–17). Through her church ministry, she established the first transgender choir in the United States and was a central voice when the AIDS epidemic transpired beginning in the 1980s. For Flunder, to be Christian is to be Pentecostal. But she speaks about Pentecost under different terms than most mainstream Black Pentecostal denominations in the United States. In her text Where the Edge Gathers: Building a Community of Radical Inclusion, she offers a fresh interpretation of Pentecost, showing how this interpretation points to a “village table” theology in which we should not merely acknowledge those on the edges of society but gather them in. She offers theological and pastoral reflections on how religious leaders can create and cultivate practices of gathering. Through her written sermons and essays, she appeals to the ways in which Jesus was constantly gathering unlikely people and redefining what was possible for human community. Flunder clarifies what she means by practices of inclusion. She does not seek to include the marginalized within already violent, dehumanizing forms of community among dominant groups. This is not the inclusion she seeks. Instead, she imagines that those on the edges of society will form their own communities on the peripheries, communities 268

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that are wildly welcoming and inclusive. These communities on the edges of society establish practices of reconciling love, solidarity, and justice within their own spaces. As they model what is possible, dominant communities that often occupy the “center” will begin to take note of the powerful, radically inclusive formations of community on the edges of society and may be compelled to migrate out to these edges to “taste and see.” Flunder imagines a revolutionary Christian faith being embodied on the edges of society as people are gathered to witness a God that welcomes all regardless of religious belief or social identity. It is at the edges of society where Pentecost is found, as ancient Pentecost for Flunder was about the gathering of marginalized people (on the edges of Roman society) from around the world to witness the inauguration of a new community of radical inclusion and belonging. For her this is the heart of Pentecost. Pentecost is not simply spiritual gifts like speaking in tongues or acts of healing but also about practices of gathering to perceive God’s inbreaking of radical love. Moreover, these practices of gathering are not just about acknowledging the excluded but are also about giving people from diverse backgrounds and orientations a seat at the central meeting place or at the welcoming table (Flunder 2005, x). One might interject by asking whether anyone might have a seat at the welcoming table. Flunder offers a qualification here. She is clear that Christian leaders must draw categorical lines on where they stand in relationship to issues of justice and belonging. When she speaks of inviting all to the welcoming table, she is envisioning a world where a new humanity is possible, where people can gather and no longer be driven by fear and distrust of each other. But conversion must happen, particularly among oppressors, if one desires to be at the welcoming table. She maintains that conversion is possible for a community of healing and belonging to emerge. Flunder dreams of an eschatological promise of a new creation. Her dreaming is not a naïve fantasy but a hopeful promise of community grounded in the life of the Spirit. This community of healing and belonging between oppressed and oppressors is the promise of Pentecost for Flunder. She reminds us that Jesus’ proclamation of the “good news” as well as the promise of Pentecost are not just about advocating justice for those who are silenced but are also about the possibility of radical embrace among warring groups. Another way of existing is possible away from old patterns of violence, distrust, and trauma. Healing and another way of being are at the heart of Pentecost. Flunder’s sermon “The Conversion of the Pharisee,” is an example of Flunder’s theological commitments to radical conversion, healing and belonging across warring groups. This sermon discusses the familiar conversion experience of Saul, a member of the religious elite who persecuted early Christians in order to preserve tradition and the status quo. This sermon asks of the reader: Do we really believe that conversion is possible of one who has done gross harm, and that those who have been traumatized can open their hearts to such a person? Yet, doesn’t this possibility put the burden on the marginalized to live into this possibility? This is a fair question. Perhaps this is why some of Jesus’ disciples like Peter were deeply suspicious of Saul-turned-Paul, a religious leader who persecuted the early Christian communities. Or similar to Paul, a Roman officer Cornelius, sought Peter and stood before him as a potential acolyte. The scene is both disturbing and deeply complex, as Cornelius was a soldier who made possible the occupation of the Jews. It says that Cornelius was a good man, although he was still a supporter of empire. Despite this reality, he stood there with a desire for conversion. Acts 10 says that Cornelius’ conversion required something of him: turning away from the imperial project of Rome to be with and for this new community. Cornelius’ conversion costed him everything – he could not continue to support the sinful, unjust 269

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structures of Rome if he desired to become part of this new radical community. Amazingly, Peter also has a spiritual encounter that opened up his heart to the possibility of Cornelius being part of this community. For Flunder this is what it means to gather unlikely persons. This possibility is radical and risky, and this possibility is deeply Pentecostal. This is the impossible possibility of the gospel. Jesus gathers and widens the community of faith and contemporary Christians are called to widen their theological understandings and practices of community. As Flunder and TFAM remind other Christian (and Pentecostal) communities, we need theologies that gather the edges of society, that center the marginalized and suffering and make room for those who have harmed but experience true conversion. These radical theologies cannot be tribal, myopic, and violent. They must be open to a fuller, more inclusive vision of human community. This is what Flunder means when she asserts that to be Christian is to be Pentecostal. Being Christian means establishing radical communities at the edges of society by listening and privileging their experiences and voices of being Christian and human more broadly. Flunder and TFAM desire to revolutionize what we mean when we speak of Pentecostalism. Being Pentecostal is about the humanizing of our communities. It is about rejecting orthodox and fundamentalist ideas that privilege principles instead of people. Being Pentecostal is a theological and ethical way of life that celebrates diversity in all kinds of ways – theological, gender, sexual, and more. Her theological perspective of gathering then allows one to see that welcoming women and LGBTQ persons into the community of God is the ethical implication of her theology of radical inclusion. Pentecostalism is about holding a radical theology of inclusion which reshapes how one views issues related to gender and sexuality. TFAM has cultivated Christian communities of inclusion in the United States and around the world. While TFAM has a plethora of U.S. church-based affiliates, it also has sponsored a global movement of community building, particularly in Africa. A description of TFAM’s program, known as the Fellowship Global, is found on its website. This program is a “catalyst for a Pan-African faith community, connecting the radically inclusive Christian movement led by African Americans and our allies to communities in Africa and throughout the diaspora” (TFAM 2021), TFAM not only offers resources and leadership to African Christian communities to become an open and affirming church but also provides pastoral care for LGBTQI persons within the African context. TFAM is aware that queer persons encounter harsh violence for their sexual identity in many African nations. Consequently, the Fellowship Global works collaboratively with networks on the ground to help these communities deal with authorities in relation to their shifting theological ideas and practices of inclusion. TFAM also engages communities in Asia, Mexico, and the Caribbean. One can see that Black Pentecostalism in the United States is not one thing. It cannot be interpreted in monolithic ways. Instead, Black Pentecostalism has plural theological perspectives and social practices. While COGIC’s theological ideas tend to be orthodox and absolutist, TFAM’s theology is unorthodox, broader, and inclusive of varying theological and social commitments. One can see that employing the orthodox trope when speaking of Black Pentecostalism is inaccurate and untrue, especially when contrasting COGIC and TFAM. Unlike COGIC, TFAM offers a theology and sociality that is undogmatic and open to ongoing theological and social becoming. What would it mean to speak of Black Pentecostalism as an open theology that orients itself toward endless becoming and transformations? What might it mean to speak of Pentecostalism as a queer practice? 270

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Queering U.S. Black Pentecostalism: Toward a Theology and Praxis of Radical Love Black Pentecostalism in the United States might take its cue from TFAM and Flunder, who queer Black Pentecostalism. Yet, what do I mean by “queering”? I take my cue from queer theologian Linn Tonstad, who suggests that the term “queer” moves in and beyond questions of sexual identity, orientation, expression, and inclusion. For Tonstad, queer more broadly refers to “visions of socio-political transformation that alter harmful practices aimed at marginalized and vulnerable populations, which include gender and sexual minorities but [is] not reduced to these groups (2018, 3). Tonstad describes as queer “whatever is at odds with the normal, the legitimate, the dominant” (2018, 64). Queer is distance from the normative, a refusal of the normative (2018, 64). This refusal of the center may be about sexual normativity but it is not required to be about such issues. Refusal of the normative can be about rejecting orthodox and doctrinal beliefs that are exclusionary and symbolically violent, which often disallow other theological voices and commitments to enter the fray. A refusal of the normative could be about confronting norms of whiteness which legitimate so many racist ideas in society such as Eurocentric concepts of beauty, academic success, social etiquette and more. This refusal of the normative could involve refusing racial conceptions of patriotism in which the patriot is one who does not protest or tell the truth about the violence of the nation. Queering is about distance from what is seen as absolute and fixed. It is about rejecting whatever represses the moral and social richness of life. While this understanding of queer broadens the scope of queer ideas and practices, it in no way underplays the importance of how the term queer has taken up specific questions of sexual identity and expression. Queer in relation to sexuality remains an important and privileged association. Yet, Tostad’s insistence in opening up this category also demonstrates that queering is also about reconfiguring social life through deeper, more humane visions of love and justice. Queering is not only against the norm but also is oriented toward an ongoing vision of human flourishing. Queer is not just at odds with dominant norms but is also a sociality that offers a vision of human life in all of its plurality and diversity. This is important to state: the practice of queering involves envisioning new forms of human life together marked by radical openness to love, care, and compassion. Ashon Crawley (2016) engages this broader understanding of queer in arguing that Black Pentecostalism might be understood in a queer register. For instance, Crawley privileges the Azusa Street Revival of 1906 in his discussion of black pentecostal aesthetic practices. However, he offers a de-colonial reading of Azusa. Azusa is not another instantiation of Western Christian pneumatology. Instead, he interprets Azusa as offering a performative imaginary that “thinks” new modalities of thought through the body, as Azusa is about how the Spirit moves in and, although Black flesh (and all flesh) in enacting an egalitarian, queer sociality that is unbounded, liberative, “bluesy,” and desirous of being with and for others who are radically different from oneself. In 1906, Azusa and its Black aesthetic practices were labeled by many white ministers as “animal-spiritist,” wild, and non-Christian. These aesthetic practices were labeled demonic because these practices were carried in black flesh. However, Crawley’s text announces how the celebration of Black flesh through aesthetic and sonic practices enunciates an expanded sociality and a queer way of life that disrupts and ruptures the epistemologies and temporalities of philosophy and Christian theology in the West. I take it that Crawley is interested in demonstrating the queerness of Azusa through its aesthetic practices, how such practices deviated from the norm in embodied ways of being 271

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that could not be absorbed into dominant Christian categories and habits of being. Although I must admit that Crawly ultimately advances an atheological account of Black flourishing. Crawley mirrors Tonstad and Campt’s expanded view of queer as refusal of the normative and he asserts that early Black Pentecostalism did precisely this through its sonic and aesthetic practices. I take my cue from Crawley and interpret TFAM in a queer register by turning to its theological ideas and practices of radical inclusion. While Crawley focuses on Black Pentecostalism, there are theologians that make more comprehensive arguments, namely that Christian faith itself might be interpreted as queer. Queer theologian Patrick Cheng (2011) argues that “Christian faith is itself essentially queer because it was and is engaged in the breaking of boundaries and deviating from religious orthodoxies” (Cheng 2011, x–xi). Similar to Flunder, Cheng asserts that radical love is at the heart of Jesus’ message and ministry, which means our theologies must always be grounded in such love (Cheng 2011, 70). But what does Cheng mean by radical love? Theologically speaking, radical love is the breaking down of boundaries between the human and divine as well as among differing and warring identities. Radical love is the act of giving and receiving love across separations and divisions (of belief and identity). For Cheng, Jesus Christ is the embodiment of radical love in the sense that God became flesh, crossing the binary distinction of human and divine. God gives of Godself through becoming human in order to express radical love. The doctrine of God can be understood as the sending forth of radical love in the human form of Jesus. God’s love as seen in the flesh of Jesus Christ was so extreme that it dissolved the boundaries of human and divine. The incarnation and even miracles can be seen as crossing of the divine into the human realm. On the other hand, the resurrection and ascension can be understood as the crossing of the human back into the realm of the divine (Cheng 2011, 79). In this account of boundary crossing, God and humanity are not mutually exclusive categories. In Jesus, both categories come together, the God-human in the person of Jesus. The simultaneity of Jesus as human and divine demonstrates that God transcends and even rejects the certitude of binary distinctions and categorical notions of identity. Moreover, Jesus’ earthly ministry shows how love and boundary crossing lay at the heart of his message. Jesus constantly confronts and dissolves the religious and social boundaries of his time. He ate with prostitutes, tax collectors, and other non-desirables. He touched “unclean” outcasts such as lepers and bleeding women (Cheng 2011, 79). He affirms Samaritans who were seen as religious heretics by the Jewish community. Jesus dissolves the boundaries between holy and profane, clean and unclean, sinner and righteous person. Queer theologian Marcella Althaus Reid echoes Cheng here that Jesus’ earthly ministry was about boundary crossing and the rejection of hierarchal and binary thinking, although her idea of the Bi/Christ. For Reid, bisexuality is not a matter of physical acts but instead a way of thinking. She is not making a claim that Jesus was bisexual. Instead, she is interested in how “bisexuality rejects hierarchical, binary constructivist organized thought” (AlthausReid 2001, 114). In this sense, bisexuality is contrasted to heterosexuality, which reinforces hierarchies and binaries instead of challenging them. The Bi/Christ challenges this way of either/or thinking. Again, we theologically see this in God’s revelation of God self in Jesus Christ, dissolving the divine/human binary. We also see this in the work and ministry of Jesus who refused binary ways of thinking (such as insider/outsider logic). Jesus not only spoke with religious leaders but also with labeled heretics. He refused hierarchies and opted for practices of deep solidarity with the outcast and marginalized. When I speak of queering Black Pentecostalism then, I am referring to thinking of Black Pentecostalism as a religious movement that deviates from the normative center 272

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of dominant Christianity. Much of Black Pentecostalism in the United States adheres to Christian orthodoxy. I am suggesting that black Pentecostalism begin to question such blind theological devotion, especially when such doctrinal positions harm. Questioning the orthodox center will allow black Pentecostalism to be open to other ways of interpreting the gospel message that is in keeping with radical inclusion and belonging, which will have implications for how it morally assesses issues like gender and sexuality. Flunder and Cheng provide important theological resources for Black Pentecostal communities like COGIC in embracing a queer theology and praxis. Finally, what are the implications of my argument for Pentecostal theology and ethics in the academic context? As suggested, Pentecostal theology and ethics need to be queered. How might it be? First, Pentecostal theology within academia might continue exploring its own theological construction at the site of lived religious experiences rather than a preoccupation with systematics. Over the last several decades, Pentecostal scholars such as Douglas Jacobsen and Christopher Stephenson have formulated Pentecostal theology as a systematic theology in efforts to render it theologically legitimate to field. In my estimation, this endeavor has been about a politics of respectability, aimed at silencing, domesticating, and disciplining the radical strands of early Pentecostalism such as slave religious practices, which marked the Azusa revival. I admit that it might be fair to characterize these systematic endeavors as being aimed at disrupting White evangelical theology through Pentecostal contributions, even if articulated through systematics and exegesis. Moreover, scholars who engage systematic endeavors worry that Pentecostal experience has been seen as sensory, emotive, and non-intellectual. They have tried to demonstrate that Pentecostal theology has its own internally coherent set of doctrines and dogmas out of which such communities rationalize and profess their faith. But there are consequences to this approach, even if unintended. Because scholars have been preoccupied with legitimating Pentecostal theology to a broader white academy through framing it as a systematic theology, the numinous quality of Pentecostal religious experience is repressed and silenced. Some scholars such as Cheryl Sanders and David Daniels have attempted to reclaim Pentecostal experience at the site of lived religious experience in order to retain its ineffable quality, which cannot be reduced to or contained in the rational and analytic language often associated with systematic theology. Describing black Pentecostalism at the site of lived religious experience instead of primarily through systematic theological language would enable Pentecostal theology to challenge the normative center of Christian orthodoxy, as Pentecostal religious experience escapes neat theological categorizations and adherence to dominant doctrinal positions. Moreover, black Pentecostal theologies might be framed as theologies of multiplicity. Womanist process theologian Monica Coleman commends forms of spirituality that are multiply religious. Although Coleman theorizes postmodern theologies that are located outside of Christian paradigms and toward religious pluralism, Pentecostal theology might take seriously Coleman’s invitation to be a theology that embraces multiple forms of religious knowing and experience. As discussed, Black Pentecostal groups such as COGIC are grounded in absolutist, fixed theological claims, which often lead them to be dogmatic about ethical issues. Such absolutism is challenged through a theology of multiplicity. Instead of simply embracing orthodoxy, Pentecostal theology might embrace polydoxy – which is about multiple forms of right belief (Keller and Schnieder 2010). Pentecostal theology could be rethought as devoted to polydoxy, as well as multiple experiences of faith. In my estimation, theologies of multiplicity are indeed queer as they veer from the normative theological center, which often worships one theological point of view. 273

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One might queer Pentecostal theology by rejecting the seduction of grasping itself through systematic theological language, as well as seeing itself as a theology of multiplicity, making room for radical love, inclusion, and belonging. Pentecostal theology can be released into more liberative futures through becoming queer in all of its theological and ethical pronouncements and practices.

Conclusion Black Pentecostalism ought not be associated with the ultraorthodox trope. There are many black Pentecostalisms, which include non-doctrinal, unorthodox accounts of being Pentecostal. I believe that TFAM offers a roadmap for Black Pentecostalism on how it might lean into theologies and practices of radical love and inclusion. Most importantly, queering Black Pentecostalism is about envisioning Pentecostal theology as a theology of multiplicity. Queering Black Pentecostalism means seeing that central to God’s story is the story of radical love, dissolving all hierarchies, binaries, and false divisions.

References Althaus-Reid, Marcella. 2001. Indecent Theology: Theological Perversions in Sex, Gender, and Politics. New York, NY: Routledge. Cheng, Patrick. 2011. Radical Love: Introduction to Queer Theology. New York, NY: Seabury Books. COGIC. 2021a. “General Assembly Passes Resolution on Same-Sex Marriage.” Church of God in Christ website, https://www.cogic.org/publicpolicy/2014/11/11/general-assembly-passes-resolutionon-same-sex-marriage/. Accessed July 21, 2021. COGIC. 2021b. “What We Believe.” Church of God in Christ website, https://www.cogic.org/aboutcompany/what-we-believe/. Accessed July 21, 2021. Clemmons, Ithiel. 1996. Bishop C.H. Mason and the Roots of the Church of God in Christ. Largo, MD: Christian Living Books. Cox, Harvey. 1995. Fire from Heaven: The Rise of Pentecostal Spirituality and the Reshaping of Religion in the Twenty-First Century. Boston, MA: Da Capo Press. Crawley, Ashon. 2016. Blackpentecostal Breath: The Aesthetics of Possibility. New York, NY: Fordham Press. TFAM. 2021. “The Fellowship Global.” The Fellowship for Affirming Ministries website, https:// www.radicallyinclusive.org/global. Accessed July 19, 2021. Flunder, Yvette. 2005. Where the Edge Gathers: Building a Community of Radical Inclusion. Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press. Flunder, Yvette. 2014. “Healing Oppression Sickness.” In Queer Christianities: Lived Religion in Transgressive Forms, edited by Kathleen Talvacchia, Mark Larrimore, and Michael Pettinger, 115–24. New York, NY: New York Press. Gilkes, Cheryl. 2000. If It Wasn’t for the Women: Black Women’s Experience and Womanist Culture in Church and Community. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Hollenweger, Walter. 1971. “Charisma and Oikumene: The Pentecostal Contribution to the Church Universal.” One in Christ 7: 332–34. Keller, Catherine and Laura Schnieder. 2010. Polydoxy: Theology of Multiplicity and Relation. New York City, NY: Routledge. Robeck, Cecil. 2006. The Azusa Street Mission and Revival: The Birth of the Global Pentecostal Movement. Nashville, TN: Nelson Publishers. Tonstad, Linn. 2018. Queer Theology. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books.

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21 EARLY BLACK-LED PENTECOSTAL INTERRACIALITY AS A SITE FOR THEORIZING RACE David D. Daniels, III

Introduction Pentecostalism is a site to theorize race, since race has played a different role in this movement than in other sectors of conservative American Protestantism which embraced racial segregation and reproduced the racial order marked by White governance and Black subordination. Black-led Pentecostal interracialism is one of Pentecostalism’s most significant contributions to the theological and public discourse on race. It offers new perspectives on how to explore the ways that religion and race interact. It demonstrates that a segment within Pentecostalism possessed the capacity to counter the dominant racial order of White supremacy and Black subordination. While segments within American Pentecostalism adopted segregationist and bi-racial models of race relations, key segments within the movement launched Black-led Pentecostal interracialism. How was race constructed by these “subversive” Pentecostals? The participants in Black-led Pentecostal interracialism offered a critique of dominant racial order of their era, erecting alternative communities. Their ecclesial efforts gestured toward post-racist realities, problematizing the politics of race in U.S. Pentecostalism and society. While much of the scholarship on religion and race has focused on how progressive White Christians included African Americans and reactionary ones excluded them, studies on Blackled Pentecostal interracialism focus on how African American Christians received Whites into their communities, creating interracial enclaves. This shift in the focus from the long study of White-led interracialism takes the spotlight off the power garnered by Whites and the adjustments these Whites make or fail to make to include African Americans into their White-led institutions. The shift in focus provides opportunities to interrogate the inclusionary practices of African Americans over against the background of a reigning racial order of White dominance and Black subordination. Which ecclesial forms did Black-led interracial Pentecostalism take during the pioneer generation of Pentecostalism? Were there denominations? Did White clergy join or just laypeople? Were there all-White congregations? If there were White congregations in Black-led interracial Pentecostal organizations, how should scholars categorize this phenomenon? We lack a vocabulary to register it. The black church as a term signals a denomination of all-Black congregations. “A predominately Black denomination” is not a term as commonly understood DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-26

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as “a predominately White denomination.” What do you term a Black-led denomination which includes Black, White, and Latinx congregations, for instance? In addition to “naming” the phenomenon, do these particular Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations act subversively within the dominant racial order? Do they instead erect counterstructures outside the racial order? Do they possess the ability not to replicate White hegemony? Do they offer insight into how an expression of religion, specifically Blackled Pentecostal interracialism, constructs race differently than the dominant constructions of race? Do these denominations experiment with innovative ways of governing by African American Christians that might be deemed as post-racist?

Historical Construction of Black-Led Interracial Pentecostal Denominations The ecclesial life within Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations took on various organizational forms. Interracial congregations existed within denominations such as the Church of God in Christ, Holy Nazarene Church of the Apostolic Faith, United Pentecostal Council of the Assemblies of God, Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, and All Nations Pentecostal Assembly; Holy Nazarene and All Nations were headed by Black women bishops. In some denominations, there were White congregations that co-existed with African American and Latinx ones, such as in the Church of God in Christ. The African American Pentecostal leaders who welcomed White congregations and pastors into their denominations included Bishop Charles Harrison Mason of the Church of God in Christ, Bishop Garfield Haywood of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, and Bishop Robert C. Lawson of the Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ of the Apostolic Faith. Interracial congregations that belonged to Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations between 1914 and 1940 were located in Western, Mid-West, and Northeastern states. These states included Oregon, California, Arizona, Kansas, Indiana, Illinois, Arkansas, Michigan, Ohio, New York, and Massachusetts. Prior to 1914, there were a few interracial congregations in these denominations in Mississippi and Arkansas (Coffey 1926, 128). Among the White male clergy belonging to Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations between 1914 and 1940 were Leonard P. Adams of Memphis (TN), William Holt of Los Angeles (CA), August D. Feick of Indianapolis (IN), Thomas B. O’Reilly of Detroit (MI), E. A. Adams of Jackson (MI), William Bell of Detroit (MI), Arthur Belanger of Detroit (MI), John Dorrance of Elizabeth (IL), Joseph Love of Michigan City (IN), August Hammond of Los Angeles (CA), John Stafford of Attleboro (MA), Elmer Warner of Keokuk (IA), Harold Cornish of Detroit (MI), Lester Morford of Pontiac (MI), A. J. Minuck of Pontiac (MI), Romulus Reed of Pontiac (MI), John Weber of Detroit (MI), J. J. Dinkins of Little Rock (AK), J. W. McMasters of Iuka (MS), and James Logan Delk of Pall Mall (TN). White women leaders within these denominations included Florence Knowles of Des Moines (IA), Florence Moore of Detroit (MI), Marie Webber of Detroit (MI), and Etta Dinkins of Little Rock (AR) (Coffey 1926, 128). A group of the pastors had transferred their membership from the predominately White Assemblies of God into the Church of God in Christ during the mid-1910s and mid-1920s. In two of these denominations, the overseers/bishops included Blacks and Whites. In the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, for instance, during the early 1930s, of the seven bishops, three were White. In the Church of God in Christ, there were three White overseers prior to 1930. The secular occupations of White overseers included at least one lawyer and former sheriff. In the Church of God in Christ between the mid-1920s and early 1930s, White congregations and clergy could choose to join area judicatories as African American congregations did or 276

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they could opt to join an “all-White” national judicatory that included members in states such as Massachusetts, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, California, and Arkansas; the denomination granted them the right to select a majority African American area judicatory or national “all-White” one. Within the Church of the Lord Jesus Christ of the Apostolic Faith, there were two White congregations in New York City (Coffey 1926, 128). The interracial vision of COGIC changed during the early 1930s. One explanation for the change could be that the interracial vision of the Azusa Street Revival seized the imagination of a segment of the pioneer generation of Pentecostals – Black, White, Latinx, Asian American, and First People. For about twenty-five years, this vision was a factor in the organizational life of Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations, while White clergy and laypeople would continue to join the Church of God in Christ and the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, albeit in smaller numbers than prior to the early 1930s. Only in the Pentecostal Assemblies of World did all-White congregations still continue into the 1940s. Both denominations along with a couple of others would have interracial congregations. The entrenchment of racial segregation, de jure and de facto, resulted in Black-led interracialism having to struggle against societal currents during the era of the pioneer generation and its subsequent generation. In the United States between 1914 and 1940, legalized segregation was the law in the South rather than the North, Mid-West, or West. To accommodate segregation laws, the Church of God in Christ during the 1920s designated a “White-only” section within its National Tabernacle for its national meetings in Memphis. In the 1930s, a White COGIC clergyperson in Memphis during a national meeting was arrested for “fraternizing” with African Americans. However, the police did not fine or close down the meeting for being in violation of segregation laws.

Interracial Conflicts Within Black-Led Interracial Pentecostalism While black-led interracial Pentecostalism was promoted denominational leaders such as Mason and Haywood as noted above, interracial conflicts did arise within these denominations. For instance, until 1924 COGIC defined the boundaries of its jurisdictions geographically, often corresponding them to state boundaries. To accommodate White congregations and clergy, COGIC introduced in 1924 a racial jurisdiction for the White membership that overlapped with the established boundaries of the existing jurisdictions. The White COGIC clergy and congregations were located in seven states: Arkansas, California, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Massachusetts, and Michigan. Included in the ministerial list were four women evangelistic helpers. The formation of the national jurisdiction did attract new Whites into COGIC, such as the August Feick and the Indianapolis congregation of Maria Woodworth-Etter that he assumed as pastor after her death in 1924. Thomas O’Reilly occupied the office of the overseer for the White COGIC community in Michigan and August Feick joined William B. Holt in the position of general superintendent of “The White Churches of God in Christ,” a body incorporated in February of 1924 (Daniels 2002, 264–69). The new national interracial COGIC structure seemingly progressed until it was undermined by internal crises. In 1928, Thomas O’Reilly was removed as overseer in Michigan because of teaching a doctrine alien to COGIC; the minutes did not record the issues of the doctrinal dispute. William B. Holt, however, supported the removal. During the General Assembly in 1931, two questions were raised regarding the interracial experiment within COGIC. The first issue related to the separation of the White COGIC congregations into a national jurisdiction with a White overseer. The question was whether there should be “a White overseer over White people of Church of God in Christ?” The 277

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second issue regarded interracial worship: “whether White and colored should worship together or be separated?” The two issues were prompted by previous interracial COGIC congregations separating racially to constitute new White congregations for the White COGIC jurisdiction. In Mason’s reply, he articulated his support of voluntary racial separation by Whites on a practical ground, ethical principle, and biblical precedent. The practical issue related to the common good of the congregation. Mason contended that “when conditions became such that a separation is for the peace and welfare of the congregation” the separation was justified; the ethical principle advocated freedom of association. Mason stated that “if it [separation] is desired by the Whites for their freedom it is alright.” Mason also noted the biblical precedent of the early church having distinct missionary strategies based on race. Mason surmised that “as St. Paul was sent to the Gentiles and St. Peter to the Jews” it was appropriate for Blacks and Whites to have different leaders. However, Mason demanded that a notion of civility prevail. Mason denounced what he identified as “the Spirit of division through strife” (Daniels 2002, 264). In 1933, Feick resigned as pastor of his Indianapolis congregation. The congregation withdrew from COGIC and joined the Assemblies of God under the pastorate of Thomas Paino, Sr. During the same year, William B. Holt was unseated from his national office as Field Secretary. The grounds of dismissal were unclear. However, he responded to the change in the political situation, by sending an angry letter outlining his displeasure, as well as denouncing what he deemed as racial prejudice and discrimination. In the letter he mentioned a conspiracy against him. He considered himself to have been dealt with unfairly. He accused the denomination of failing “to bestow proper honor upon him.” The council summoned Holt and interviewed him about his accusations. To clarify the larger issues of the interracial COGIC experiment guidelines were established regarding “how White ministers and members are dealt with in the Church of God in Christ” (Daniels 2002, 264). The COGIC experiment with an interracial structure ended in failure after almost twentyfive years. The last fifteen years of this experiment appear to have revolved around the relationship between Mason and Holt. However, even with Holt’s leadership among Whites, COGIC had difficulty retaining White congregations for more than a decade. The reasons for the retention problem could range from congregational crises related to transitions in pastoral leadership such as in Adam’s congregation, Grace and Truth, to leadership crises within the White hierarchy such as the O’Reilly controversy, to structural issues within COGIC itself.

Distinguishing Forms of Interracialism Interracialism led by Whites and interracialism led by African Americans differ profoundly; they do not mirror each other; nor are they counterpart to the other. In a sense, they are really opposites in the way that they engage the racial order of the United States. Historically, White-led interracialism has either retained the racial logic of White dominance and Black subordination or the racial logic of White governance and Black tokenism; both logics reproduce the racial order, albeit without the anti-Black terrorism of Whites directed at African Americans. Often in White-led interracialism, Whites define the parameters, set the agenda, delegate authority, navigate with the “White frame,” and keep their interest as primary. In these contexts, Whites govern “with the consent of African Americans. African Americans are asked to acknowledge Whites’ dominant status as legitimate and affirm (if only passively) the culture and structures that sustain” White hegemony as a “form of rule” (Edwards 2008, 122). Organizations such as the early National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) reflect the White-led interracial model. As a predominately White-led 278

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organization, it offered African Americans like WEB DuBois a role prescribed by the White power structure. In White-led interracial organizations, African Americans were invited to join as leaders or members who possess limited or no real authority or power. The roles available to African Americans were to defer to the White structure or be defiant against it, knowing defiance rarely changed the power dynamics. However, another role available was to collaborate with White allies, negotiating within structure, possibly reforming it by occasionally enacting changes which modified the racial order but, rarely, replaced it. Keeping the racial order intact, whether tightly or loosely, legitimated and reproduced the racial order. Black-led Pentecostal interracialism, possibly then, was more radical than even the leading White-led interracial civil rights organizations of the early twentieth century because it escaped reproducing the racial order which the early NAACP as an organization did not. Black-led Pentecostal interracialism emerged against the backdrop of White-led bi-racial Protestantism, including White-led bi-racial Pentecostalism, which squarely replicated Black subordination with its array of “Negro” conferences and judicatories. Whites erected racial barriers to African Americans pastoring majority White congregations or being the supervisor whether bishop, moderator, or president over White clergy and congregations. White-led bi-racial Pentecostal denominations clearly reproduced the racial order of White dominance and Black subordination. Black-led Pentecostal interracialism offered an alternative (Daniels 2001, 265–92). While Black-led Pentecostal interracialism discursively dismantled the dominant racial order, by focusing on change in the religious sphere it differed from civil rights activism worked on changing the political economic, and broader civic sphere. Civil rights activism struggled to replace the segregationist racial order of White dominance and Black subordination with racial integration by securing civil rights for African Americans through fighting for racial equality through protest, boycotts, judicial rulings, and legislation. Since religion, however, often legitimizes the dominant order, sanctions power structures, racial privileges, and racial inequalities, the importance of the development of Black-led Pentecostal interracial in creating alternative space as well as approach composing theological interpretations and explanations that challenged the racial order should not be underestimated (Cristi 2001, 79). The Black-led Pentecostal interracialism was a movement and more than a set of pronouncements, or even denunciations. More than an aspiration, it was an historical achievement. It produced a form of ecclesial government that was practiced. The movement was constituted by at least six Black-led “interracial” Pentecostal denominations: Church of God in Christ, Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, the United Pentecostal Council of the Assemblies of God, the Holy Nazarene Church of the Apostolic Faith, Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ of the Apostolic Faith, and All Nations Pentecostal Assembly. This movement challenged the racial order from 1906 to at least the early 1940s. Different interracial ventures were experimented with in which Blacks and Whites co-led these organizations to varying degrees (Daniels 2002, 264–69; 2011, 43–62).

Countering Racialized Polities: A Black-Led Pentecostal Interracial Alternative Many denominations have made distinctions between their colored and White members. Some advised that they elect colored officials to preside over colored assemblies, while others have refused to elevate any colored elder to the episcopacy or any other office corresponding to it having equal power with White bishops. This has led to many misunderstandings and has caused the organizing of many separate 279

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colored denominations. The Church of God in Christ recognizes the fact that all believers are one in Christ Jesus and all its members have equal rights. Its Overseers, both colored and White, have equal power and authority in the church. Holt (1917, 9) Publishing this statement in 1917, the Church of God in Christ registered its recognition that the politics of race determined the polities of American Pentecostalism and created racial divisions within denominations. It also argued that the Church of God in Christ casted itself as erecting an ecclesial structure as an alternative to the racialized politics, anticipating a post-racist church and society. In the statement, the Church of God in Christ delegitimized particular racialized polities and sanctioned a “post-racist” one with its reading of Scripture. It is an ecclesial statement with social and political commentary (Holt 1917, 9). First, the polities are racialized. The statement noted that racial distinctions were made in many bi-racial denominations; Black and White members were treated differently with White possessing more authority. Racial inequality, then, was enshrined in the polities. The roles in these denominations were determined by race. Second, there were two racialized polities. Both polities are an executive leadership system of racial subordination wherein Whites supervised Blacks either directly or indirectly. If African Americans can occupy an episcopal role, they can only be elected as bishops to govern African American ecclesial jurisdictions or judicatories within these White-led bi-racial denominations; African Americans can be bishops of only their own race. The other polity denies African Americans the right to be bishops or their equivalent; the bishopric is prescribed by race; only Whites can be bishops. These two racialized options reproduced the racial logic of White governance and Black subordination because African Americans were not to assume “any office corresponding to it having equal power with White bishops.” At issue was that the power of White bishops was to be unparalleled. An African American bishop would not share “equal power with White bishops.” To achieve this distinction, some denominations consecrated African Americans as suffragan bishops with restricted authority and Whites as bishops with full constitutional authority. Consequently, Whites govern the bi-racial denomination totally or permitted African Americans to govern themselves on the judicatory level in a national structure governed by Whites. According the 1917 statement, the power that African Americans had to change this polity of White rule was to resign from the denomination. They lacked the power to restructure the polity. The document could be read as identifying the development of these racial polities in Pentecostalism as a primary reason for the collapse of the “interracial” moment within segments of White-led Pentecostal movement, sparking the formation of “many separate colored denominations.” Grounded in racial inequality and exclusionary practices in ecclesial leadership based on race, these racialized polities reproduced the racial order of White governance and Black subordination, racialized polities in which African American’s objections were misunderstood and to which resignation from these polities was only African American option besides “accepting” the inequality until Black-led Pentecostal interracialism re-emerges during the late 1910s. What were the “many misunderstandings” that “caused the organizing of many separate colored denominations?” While the 1917 statement unfortunately appears silent on this question, it does spotlight some areas. While Whites and Blacks serving together against all-White denominations is not applauded, Whites and Blacks serving together with African Americans in subordinate roles to Whites is deemed problematic socially and theologically. 280

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It could be argued that equality and not mere co-existence is the focus since the word equal is explicitly employed three times within five sentences and that the concept of equality frames the whole paragraph. Equality, specifically being “equal power and authority,” is the focus of the statement and the polity to which the statement refers. More than a proposition, the 1917 statement refers to an actual practiced form of interracial governance. While negative racial emotions of prejudice or hatred might be factors in the “distinctions between” the “colored and White members” of a denomination, the statement declines to identify racial emotions as the issue. Instead of emotions, the focus on equality as being “equal power and authority” shifts the attention to governance. How can ecclesial governance not be determined by race? The “post-racist” polity of the Church of God in Christ illustrates one of the trajectories in the resurgence of Black-led Pentecostal interracialism in which its bishops, “both colored and White, have equal power and authority in the church.” The statement identifies racial equality as a hallmark of this “post-racist” polity in contrast to the noted racialized polities. The discourse of the 1917 statement reflects a commitment to “equal rights” and “equal power and authority” shared by African Americans and Whites. Interracialism as a subject in this trajectory relates to an interracial bishopric that was more than an aspiration; it was an actual historical achievement. The commitment to “equal power and authority” being shared by African Americans and Whites is also more than a vision; it is a set of ecclesial practice. The consequences of these practices challenge the dominant racial order with its logic of White governance and Black subordination. As an ecclesial text, the 1917 statement employs “equal rights” language in addition to equality language. The “equal rights” language possibly echoes the language of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments of the U.S. Constitution which were passed in 1868 and 1870, respectively. As these federal constitutional amendments ruled against slavery as a racial regime of White dominance and Black subordination, granting the formerly enslaved the full equal rights of citizenship in the society, it could be argued that the COGIC 1917 statement is performing the same task within the church. As a political text, the 1917 statement sides with the “interracial democracy” of the Reconstruction era over against the disenfranchisement and subordination of African Americans under legalized racial segregation after the collapse of Reconstruction (Foner 2014). Undergirding this “post-racist” polity as an alternative to racialized polities is an embedded Pentecostal theology of equal rights and racial equality that shapes the 1917 statement under discussion. More than a political statement, it is a theological statement. The statement is a pronouncement on Christian unity. The pronouncement articulates a robust vision of Christian unity in these terms: “Many denominations have made distinctions between their colored and White members … The Church of God in Christ recognizes the fact that all believers are one in Christ Jesus and all its members have equal rights. Its Overseers, both colored and White, have equal power and authority in the church” (Daniels 2012, 142). The maxim, “all believers are one in Christ Jesus,” echoes Galatians 3:28c: “for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” This is lodged with the pericope of Galatians 3:27–28 (NRSV): “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” In the context of Galatians 3:27–28, the “all of you” refers to those who are “no longer Jew or Greek…slave or free…male and female.” As distinctions of ethnicity or race (Jew or Greek), social location (slave or free), and gender (male and female) were to “no longer” determine who would be Christian, neither should the distinction of race determine leadership in the church. Being “one in Christ Jesus” transcends the racial distinctions. 281

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The 1917 statement, then, is framed by a COGIC reading of Galatians 3:26–28 with an emphasis on Christian unity transcending racial distinctions. Key to this reading is how certain socially prescribed roles no longer apply to the church; these roles undermine Christian unity. In this case, Christian unity is about erecting a structure in which certain socially prescribed roles are nullified; in the COGIC framework, race cannot determine the contours nor the context of Christian unity. According to COGIC in light of this interpretation, Christian unity, specifically Pentecostal Christian unity, must be constituted by “all its members have equal rights” since “all believers are one in Christ Jesus.” Christian unity in this COGIC interpretation entails “all believer” possessing “equal rights.” Rights are protected through structures and enforcement. Thus, Christian unity requires in this case interracial structures. It is more than Christian friendship, fellowship, and worship. It is structural. The COGIC 1917 statement baptizes the language of equality and rights and contextualizes it as integral to unity in Christ defined by Galatians 3. Racial equality becomes a theological term that provides content to Christian unity of Galatians 3, working toward the full participation of both races in the life of the church without racial qualifications. The rights language reenforces this theological maneuver by placing into practice a form of ecclesial governance in which all believers exercise equal rights, rights given to each member by Christ in the COGIC reading of Galatians 3. Since Galatians has been called by some scholars as the “magna carta of Christian freedom,” maybe the COGIC 1917 statement might be called a Pentecostal Magna Carta of Christian freedom (e.g., Simmons 1972). As noted above, Christian unity in this trajectory of Black-led Pentecostal interracialism is more than Christian friendship, fellowship, or worship. Christian unity in this case possesses structural dimensions. It is predicated on a form of governance, interracial governance to be precise. It counters, then, institutional racism rather than just racial prejudice or bigotry. Interracial structures are required for this form of Christian unity to possess theological integrity since “all believers are one in Christ Jesus and all its members have equal rights.”

Countering Racialized Polities: Erecting A Black-Led Pentecostal Interracial Denomination The COGIC 1917 polity reflected a context in which White congregations associated with William Holt withdrew from the Assemblies of God and joined the Church of God in Christ. The COGIC 1917 polity was preceded by the COGIC experiment with a Black-led Pentecostal interracial model of networks. When Whites like Howard Goss and others asked to join in 1910, the African American Pentecostal declined to place Whites in the senior position of prominence; African American Pentecostals continued to govern; these Whites abdicated the senior positions of White governance they occupied prior to joining COGIC. The leader of the Church of God in Christ, Charles Harrison Mason, African American Pentecostals set the terms of reception of Whites into his denomination, thus maintaining governance. As noted above, in this interracial experiment the racial order of White dominance and Black subordination was countered by this Black-led interracial model of networks (Daniels 2002, 264–69). From 1910 to 1914, then, it was radical and dangerous for White Pentecostals to withdraw voluntary from all-White or all-White-led Pentecostal ecclesial bodies to join a Black-led Pentecostal organization, “creating” an interracial body, amidst contexts where segregation laws prohibit interracial interaction. In order to limit elements of the danger, White governance of White congregations within a larger Black-led interracial polity might have 282

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been a means to preserve the peace of the congregations and the safety of the members in a hostile racial environment while being “interracial.” Echoing the U.S. Constitution, the freedom of association would be honored; the Black-led Pentecostal interracial organization would not force White and Black congregations to merge nor the immediate “overseer” of White congregations to be African American. While the spirit of racial division was to be denounced as unbiblical, it could be ruled that it is appropriate for each race to have pastors of their respective race. Although the decision did support the agenda of White clergy and congregations, it mattered that the “legislative” process was controlled by the African American majority and leadership (Daniels 2002, 268–69). By withdrawing from the dominant racial equation of White dominance and Black subordination, this Black-led interracial model of networks subverted the racial order. These White Pentecostal individuals and congregations had put on hold the privileges granted to them by the racial order and the society when they joined Black-led denominations, making them interracial by virtue of their participation; they placed on hold the power distributed to them by their race and laws of the society. They also placed on hold or even rejected the prejudices about Black people that the American society inscribed into federal and states laws and that American Christianity structured into its church order. Next, African American and White Pentecostals dispossessed themselves of the notion that Whites are the “owners of truth and knowledge,” possessing the right to establish truth and deeming the “truth” of Blacks an incredulous. This was exhibited in the terms of participation that Mason set were accepted by Whites. Finally, by becoming open to the gifts and contributions of each other’s races, they acknowledged the limits to their respective race’s knowledge and join other races in “attempting, together, to learn more than” each race knows separately. Even at the founding of the Assemblies of God, of which a set of the founders had associated with Mason’s COGIC, Mason was recognized as an honored guest and bestowed his blessings on the founding of the new basically all-White Pentecostal fellowship in 1914 (Freire 2006, 90). As noted above, the COGIC 1917 polity referred to a context in which White congregations associated with William Holt withdrew from the Assemblies of God and joined the Church of God in Christ. Many of these White congregation were placed within jurisdictions led by African American bishops. In this interracial model, race no longer determined the polity, supplanting the interracial model of networks or the network of networks model (Daniels 2002). Black-led Pentecostal interracialism disrupted the logic of White dominance and Black subordination. It rejected the notion that African Americans cannot govern and are ungovernable by demonstrating governing competences such as establishing, developing, and sustaining a denomination. Then, they co-led with Whites in ways the majority denominations and society refused to do. Both Blacks and Whites in Black-led Pentecostal interracial exited the matrix of White dominance and Black subordination. How did they exit this matrix of race and this set of racial polities? First, African American Pentecostals rejected subordinate positions by either never accepting them or abdicating them. Second, they erected an ecclesial structure of their own in which they govern solely, maturing the competencies they possessed to self-govern. Third, when White Pentecostals like Holt asked to join, denominations like COGIC welcomed them on COGIC terms. The Black COGIC leaders required Whites to submit to their authority, associate with them as peers or as the supervisors of White, rejecting White governance and Black subordination. The new Whites in COGIC agreed to submit to the authority of African American leaders, associate with African Americans as equals, rejecting White governance. Together, the Blacks and Whites in COGIC erected interracial ecclesial practices. Together, they fashioned a new ecclesial polity. 283

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Key to Pentecostals exiting racialized polities is severing the link between credibility and race. Credibility can be determined or, even, overdetermined race. These credibility structures reproduce the racial order of White dominance and Black subordination; only Whites can be witnesses in courts for only they are credible witnesses. In structures of credibility, race can rank which knowledge is believable indexed by race. More educated African Americans might be more believable than less educated Blacks; yet the more educated African Americans are never understood as being, even, as credible as their White counterparts in education, for instance (Becker 1967, 239–47). How can credibility structure disrupt and operate with an egalitarian logic? Borrowing from James Melvin Washington in his essay “Grace of Interruptions,” when credibility is not determined or overdetermined race, the authenticity of the witness can be assessed; “the consistency” of the witnesses’ “internal logic” can be examined; and “the integrity and reliability” of the witness can be verified. After these “prosecutorial procedures,” the credibility of the witness can be determined or decided upon. Race is not among the procedures (Washington 1988). By unyoking the link between credibility and race, race is not the determining factor on whether knowledge from a person is reliable. The credibility of a particular set of knowledge will be based on its merits. Black voices categorically are as credible as White voices. Knowledge generated by the African American experience is as credible as knowledge generated by the White experience. The believability of a person or the knowledge shared is no longer determined by race. Mutual learning and exchange of knowledge becomes possible across the races. Whites in this logic can “hear” Black witnesses of anti-Black oppressions as credible. It can be taken seriously and as real. Whites can learn the limits to the “White frame,” especially how much of life as experienced by Blacks was nonexistent in the “White frame.” With their “new” knowledge, these Whites could admit the existence of racism and join in the struggle against anti-Black racism. Rather than operating within the White frame, they can learn to “see” the world through an emerging “interracial frame.” The politics of humility play a pivotal role. Blacks in this logic are “heard” possibly more fully by Whites. They too learn to “see” the world through this emerging “interracial frame.” This complements rather than replaces the “Black frame,” since the “Black frame” still has a valuable role to play in generating knowledge from the African American experience. The “interracial frame” privileges the “Black frame” yet includes knowledge that Blacks and White learn together. It is a lot more than a common denominator of Black and White knowledge. In addition to their respective life experiences, Scripture and theology shape the “interracial frame.” Herein, the hierarchy of teachability is flattened: Whites are willing to be taught by African American Christians as much as by White Christians (Freire 2006, 90). Yet, limits to the credibility structures must be acknowledged. Deception and self-deception are real. The racialized credibility structure organized by race must be replaced with a new credibility structure where race is not a determining factor. The credibility gap between those operating with the logic of White dominance and of Black subordination and those with an egalitarian logic can be addressed. The White Pentecostal leaders and congregations that joined Black-led and interracial denominations constructed a racial politics of humility that challenged the racial politics of hubris that shaped the “will to power” exercised by Whites as a race. The politics of humility entailed the people of the dominant race within the racial hierarchy voluntarily displacing themselves from that position.

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The Black Pentecostal leaders and congregations that received White leaders and clergy into their denomination practiced a racial politics of hospitality that challenged the racial politics of deference that shaped the ethic of servility imposed by Whites as a race upon African Americans. The racial politics of hospitality acknowledged that African Americans possessed the God-given authority to enter the arena of authority and exercised jurisdiction over White religious affairs. Framed also by an ethic of risk, the racial politics of hospitality involved African Americans figuring out the degree of authority that they would share with their White members and the corresponding amount of authority they would give up. Their racial politics of hospitality involved relinquishing a level of control. They had to learn to co-lead across races without their racial group being solely in control (Pohl 1999; Welch 2000). The fragility of Black-led, interracial denominations exacerbated the risk of the Black leaders in that their whole organization could implode; of course, this could have happened during the early 1930s when White clergy and congregations withdrew from the Church of God in Christ; some of them joined the Assemblies of God. Lacking the political and social power to change the racial order, the racial politics of hospitality and of humility generated enough power to interrupt the racial order within their religious territory and to erect an alternative interracial sector. Although neither racial politic could determine the longevity or social consequences of the interracial ecclesial experiments on their own nor remake American Christianity, still these Black and White Pentecostals risked working toward the erection of denominational structures that embodied their ecclesial vision. They risked constructing a way of being a church that appeared to be unrealistic and impractical and was actually illegal in many parts of the society. The racial politics of hospitality and of humility allowed Pentecostals to prize the relative lack of White control in these Black-led or interracial religious organizations and informed the ethic of risk they practiced (Daniels 2002). The racial politics of humility and of hospitality co-constituted themselves. Each politic mutually informed the other, fostering reciprocity. The recognition of Black authority by Whites, the sharing of authority with Whites by African Americans, and efforts by both races to erect these new ecclesial communities spawned on the margins of American Christianity a new ecclesial reality. Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations focused on embracing the equal sharing of power and authority between Christians of different races. Each race being recognized as a peer; racial subordination was rejected; and race was no longer a factor in the distribution of ecclesial power. The “post-racist” polity was framed by the equality of the races. Through such maneuvers, these Pentecostals exited the racial order and its racialized polities, erecting an ecclesial structure in which the two races function as “equals.” Drawing on Mikhail Bakhtin, Black-led Pentecostal interracialism exited the racial order of White dominance and Black subordination and erected an alternative order or, even, “a second world and second life outside officialdom,” outside the reigning race order of White supremacy. Besides Bakhtin’s “second world and second life,” the alternative order could be a “third space” – to use Edward Soja’s term – havens infused with power independent of the White dominance and Black subordination logic. These third spaces are, then, one of many possible worlds beyond the dominant racial order which the 1917 COGIC statement on “equal in power and authority” could be interpreted as describing. This alternative order was erected on margins of church and society as this third space or “second world and second life.” It can be argued that this expression of Pentecostalism was able to withhold from reproducing the racial order of White governance and Black subordination (Soja 1996; 57, 61; Renfrew 2015, 131).

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Conclusion Categorically, Black-led Pentecostal interracialism is an alternative to the racial order of White rule, symbolically and substantively. The symbolism of African Americans governing Whites occupies a symbolic space outside the racial order of White dominance and Black subordination. According to the racialized discourse, since African Americans are incapable of governing themselves, it is unthinkable that they can could govern Whites who are the superior race. Only Whites as a race possess the skills to govern; African Americans as a race lacking the skills to govern must, then, be governed. Doing the unthinkable, then, Black-led Pentecostal interracialism clears discursive space in the religious arena to anticipate a post-racist future. The actual reversal of roles in Black-led Pentecostal interracialism wherein Whites as a race are the governed and African Americans govern was a substantive maneuver. More than a symbolic gesture, Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations was a development that happened in history. Distinct “post-racialist” roles were created in “post-racist” organizations; these roles different from roles in the racial logic of White dominance and Black subordination since they were not imposed nor prescribed by law; neither were they enforced by racial order of White rule. Actually, in certain communities during the era of legalized racial segregation, these Black leaders and “their” White followers violated laws prescribing the racial segregation and the subordination of African Americans to Whites. More than a symbolic gesture, Black-led Pentecostal interracial actually supplanted the racial logic of White dominance and Black subordination. The historical moment in which African Americans defined the parameters, set the agenda, exercised and delegated authority, and kept their interests in the forefront erected an interracial order based on collaboration between the two races rather than White dominance and Black subordination. Exiting the dominant racial order and erecting an alternative to it, Black-led Pentecostal interracialism delegitimized the dominant racial order, as well as constructed new interracial ways of governing and relating. They created “religious opportunities” for interracial exchanges, engagement, and networks that rarely existed in the wider religious arenas of the society. These Black-led interracial Pentecostal denominations functioned as a “counter-public” that were “distinct from and in conflict with the dominant White society and its racist institutional structures” (Edwards 2008, 118).

References Becker, Howard S. 1967. “Whose Side Are We On?” Social Problems 14 (3): 239–47. Coffey, Lillian Brooks, compiler. 1926. Yearbook of the Church of God in Christ for the Year 1926. n.p. Cristi, Marcela. 2001. From Civil to Political Religion: The Intersection of Culture, Religion and Politics. Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. Daniels III, David D. 2012. “Transcending the Exclusionary Ecclesial Practices of Racial Hierarchies of Authority: An Early Pentecostal Trajectory.” In Ecclesiology and Exclusion: Boundaries of Being and Belonging in Postmodern Times, edited by Dennis M. Doyle, Timothy J. Furry, and Pascal D. Bazzell, 137–54. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Daniels, David D. 2001. “‘God is good, all-the-time:’ Black Pentecostalism in the 20th Century.” In The Century of the Holy Spirit: 100 Years of Pentecostal and Charismatic Renewal, edited by Vinson Synan, 265–92. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers. Daniels, David D. 2002. “Charles Harrison Mason: The Interracial Impulse of Early Pentecostalism.” In Portraits of a Generation: Early Pentecostal Leaders, edited by James R. Goff, Jr., and Grant Wacker, 264–69. Fayetteville, AR: University of Arkansas Press. Daniels, David D. 2011. “Navigating the Territory: Early Afro-Pentecostalism as a Movement within Black Civil Society.” In Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture, edited by Amos Yong, and Estrelda Y. Alexander, 43–64. New York, NY: New York University Press.

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Early Black-Led Pentecostal Interraciality Edwards, Korie L. 2008. Elusive Dream: The Power of Race in Interracial Churches. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Foner, Eric. 2014. Reconstruction: America’s Unfinished Revolution, 1863-1877. Updated edition. New York, NY: HarperCollins. Freire, Paulo. 2006 [1970]. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York, NY: Continuum. Holt, William B., compiler. 1917. A Brief Historical and Doctrinal Statement and Rules for Government of the Church of God in Christ. n.p. Pohl, Christine. 1999. Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans. Renfrew, Alistair. 2015. Mikhail Bakhtin. London: Routledge. Simmons, Billy E. 1972. Galatians: The Magna Carta of Christian Liberty. Dallas, TX: Crescendo Book Publications. Soja, Edward W. 1996. Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-and-Imagined Places. Oxford: Blackwell. Washington, James Melvin. 1988. “The Grace of Interruptions: Toward a New Vision of Christian History.” Union Seminary Quarterly Review 42 (4): 37–53. Welch, Sharon. 2000. A Feminist Ethic of Risk. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg/Fortress.

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22 PENTECOSTAL PLURALITY AND SEXUAL POLITICS IN AFRICANA WORLDS Adriaan van Klinken

Introduction Some years ago, in December 2016, I attended a church service of a small group of LGBTIQ1 Christians in Nairobi, Kenya, which was the focus of my research at the time. Congregants came from a wide range of backgrounds but were united in their quest for an understanding and experience of Christian faith that is inclusive and affirming of their non-conforming sexuality and gender identity. Although interdenominational, worship in the church was clearly influenced by the Pentecostal-Charismatic styles that in recent decades have reshaped the expression of Christianity in Kenya, as in other parts of Africa. The room where the church had gathered, in a building on a busy street of Nairobi’s central business district, was filled with the noises of intense prayer, passionate preaching, and loud music. Half-way through the service, I needed a break. I walked out, down the stairs, onto the street, to buy some water and airtime. While waiting in the shop, on the ground floor of the same building block, I could hear the ecstatic worship continue. Then, my eyes fell on a poster put on a wall of the shop, just next to me, which read: Cry for our nation O Lord God Allow this note! Kenya is great and mighty, blessed KENYA IS GOD’S PILLAH POINT That is why “they” want to destroy and prepare it for the 666, the Satan’s mark (the BEAST), by making it to be a nation of GAYS & LESBIANS The capitalized words were printed in red, to reinforce the alarming message. The poster was signed by “seer prophet: James K. Mwangi” of “Christ our Redeemer Churches (Adonai).” I have not been able to trace this pastor or his church, but one can safely assume that they, too, are part of Kenya’s emerging Pentecostal-Charismatic Christian movements. 288

DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-27

Pentecostal Plurality and Sexual Politics in Africana Worlds

If Pentecostalism in urban Kenya presents a “spirit of revitalization” (Mugambi 2020), my experience that Sunday illustrates that this is far from a unified spirit. The point made by several scholars (e.g., Marshall 2009), that Pentecostal Christianity does not present a single, consistent program of religious, ethical, social, and political renewal, apparently also applies to the sphere of sexual politics. The poster exemplifies the investment of many Pentecostal-Charismatic groups in the politicization of sexuality, in particular campaigns against same-sex relationships and LGBTIQ rights, both in Kenya (Parsitau 2021) and in other parts of Africa in recent years (e.g., Bompani and Valois 2017; van Klinken and Obadare 2019; Kaunda 2020). The specific language used on the poster presents an example of what Asonzeh Ukah (2021) has dubbed “apocalyptic homophobia,” while also illustrating a sense of Pentecostal nationalism with direct repercussions for sexual politics (van Klinken 2014). The worshipping LGBTIQ Kenyan Christians, in a packed room just two floors up from the shop with this poster, demonstrate, however, that other possibilities of sexual worldmaking do exist within Pentecostalism. In this community, the Pentecostal spirit of revitalization serves to create an inclusive and affirming space of faith, as an alternative to mainstream Christian circles that are experienced as judgmental, exclusionary, and discriminating. Although the existence of one such community is perhaps not enough to speak of a new trend, as a matter of fact this community does not stand alone. The church in case recently opened a second branch in Kisumu, Kenya’s third-largest city. I am aware of similar initiatives elsewhere in East Africa, such as in Uganda and Rwanda, while on the other side of the continent, in Nigeria, already in the early 2000s a charismatic “gay church” was launched, called House of Rainbow (Macaulay 2010; Endong 2020). Some of these initiatives, including the church in Kenya, are linked to the originally American organization, The Fellowship of Affirming Ministries (TFAM), which has strong roots in U.S. black Pentecostalism (Lewin 2018) but has also become active on the African continent (van Klinken 2017). The work of TFAM and other charismatic LGBTIQ-inclusive ministries has begun to challenge any monolithic image in which Pentecostalism as a whole tends to be associated with homo- or queer-phobia, and with anti-LGBTIQ theological stances (Kay and Hunt 2014; Herrin 2020). In Ashon Crawley’s words (2017, 31), such work serves “to create the space of possibility … and to let folks know that an alternative exists.” The twofold aim of this chapter is, first, to demonstrate the plurality of Pentecostal discourses on, and attitudes toward, issues of sexual diversity in Africana (African and African diaspora) contexts.2 As Allan Anderson (2010, 15) has pointed out, rather than using the term Pentecostalism as a singular, “it is probably more correct to speak of Pentecostalisms in the contemporary global context.” This chapter explores this plurality by foregrounding very different Pentecostal theologies, ethics, and politics regarding sexuality. Thereto, it compares and discusses two case studies that represent what appears to be the extremes of Pentecostal positions on sexuality: on the one hand, Mountain of Fire and Miracle Ministries (MFM), founded in Nigeria in the early 1990s by Daniel K. Olukoya, which since the 2000s has grown an active presence in North America and Europe; on the other hand, the just-mentioned U.S. Black Pentecostal organization, The Fellowship of Affirming Ministries, founded in 2000 by its current presiding bishop, Yvette Flunder, which since the 2010s has developed a global ministry mostly focused on Africa. Admittedly, the former is perhaps more representative of Pentecostal, and especially neo-Pentecostal, movements which “despite their diversity continue to be unified around issues of sexuality, using sexual discipline as a primary form of defining what it means to be human” (Homewood 2020, 114). However, by drawing attention to an emerging progressive Black Pentecostal narrative about sexuality, and its recent nascence in Africa, I suggest that this seemingly unified position is not uncontested, and I foreground 289

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the multiple possibilities of sexual politics within Pentecostalism. Although originating from different contexts, and representing different strands of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christianity, the two contrasting case studies are both part of what can be called Africana Pentecostalism, that is, Black African and African American Pentecostal movements that are active on the African continent and its global diaspora, or shortly, in Africana worlds. Second, beyond merely showing this plurality, I aim to identify some characteristics, or “family resemblances” (Anderson 2010, 15) that these case studies, despite their profound theological differences, have in common in the way they engage in sexual politics. Thereto, I will distinguish and explore three discursive registers through which Pentecostals engage in sexual worldmaking: spirits, eschatology, and mission. I demonstrate that each of these complementary frames is broad and flexible enough to allow for very different theological narratives and socio-political implications. Thus, although Pentecostal sexual worldmaking takes place within these discursive frames, reflecting the family resemblances within global, and specifically Africana Pentecostalism, the discourses within these frames reflect a considerable degree of flexibility and plurality and thus represent very different possibilities of Pentecostal sexual politics. The following sections outline these three discursive frames and position the two case study ministries within them.

Spiritualizing Sexuality In Pentecostal Christianities, the emphasis on the Holy Spirit tends to come with a broader concern with spiritual realities which often are understood in a dualist scheme of God and the Holy Spirit versus the devil, demons, and evil spirits. This scheme profoundly shapes Pentecostal understandings of sexuality. Building on the biblical invocation that the body is “a temple of the Holy Spirit,” Pentecostals are generally concerned with bodily purity, and specifically with sexual purity (Kaunda 2020). However, this can be interpreted and applied in different ways. It has been observed that many contemporary Pentecostals “imagine the cosmos as brimming with evil spirits waiting to penetrate the body” (Homewood 2020, 116). Discussing this with reference to West African Pentecostal imaginaries, scholars have pointed out that the body is seen as penetrable by spirits through physical sex acts. Naomi Richman (2021, 260) analyzes that according to MFM discourse, “physiologically, demons enter the subject via the bodily openings, and the sexual openings in the body are especially prone to becoming sites of demonic incursion.” Although sexual “sins” in general are seen as putting the body at risk of demons entering and possessing the body, this appears to apply specifically to male samesex activity. In particular, anal penetration of, and ejaculation in, a male body by another man is believed to have profound material and spiritual consequences, as it destabilizes the social and cosmic order. Elaborating on this with various examples from Ghana, Nathanael Homewood (2020, 119) concludes that, “for Pentecostals, the gay body is a site of death via penetration, death and penetration acting as synonyms for the ultimate loss of control over the boundaries of the body by demonic possession.” The suggestion that same-sex (or otherwise deemed immoral) sexual activity causes demonic possession is one way in which the spiritualization of sexuality manifests itself in Pentecostal churches such as MFM. However, simultaneously one can also find the idea that same-sex attraction itself is caused by evil spirits. Exemplifying a broader trend of African Pentecostals having “successfully managed to pit the Holy Spirit against local demons” (Omenyo 2014, 139), MFM particularly invokes West African beliefs in water spirits that are seen as forces bringing misfortune and havoc, and which are specifically associated with 290

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sexual sins. According to Adewale Adelakun (2017, 4): “Marine spirits are (…) believed to be the principal demons in charge of adultery, fornication, abortion, incest, homosexuality, lesbianism, pornography, polygamy and other sexual perversions.” Anthony Akerele, an MFM pastor in Virginia (USA), develops this point specifically in relation to homosexuality. The premise of his book with “deliverance prayers” for gay and lesbian people is that “being gay is not a choice but rather (…) a spiritual imposition that can be reversed” (Akerele 2011, ix). Elaborating on this, he refers to a range of spiritual phenomena that cause homosexuality, such as curses and witchcraft, including “marine witchcraft” (Akerele 2011, 161).3 In particular, he identifies the root cause of homosexuality to be generational spiritual bondage or spiritual marriage, which refers to the demonic grip that evil spirits hold on one’s life because of the involvement of one’s parents or ancestors in the worship of indigenous gods and deities. Thus, “your ancestors, back to the originating point of this bondage, constitute your foundation and the origin of gay lifestyle” (Akerele 2011, 83). The above discussed discourses consider homosexuality as caused by, or as the cause of demonic spirit possession. In either case, the only way to break this possession is believed to be through deliverance rituals that invoke the power of God. See, for instance, the prayer that Akerele (2011, 140) prescribes: “Holy Ghost Fire, work deep in my root and consume the originating point of gay lifestyle, in the name of Jesus.” Churches such as MFM organize deliverance programs where participants can overcome personal challenges, such as in the area of sexuality. The assumption is that because these challenges have spiritual origins, “solutions should also be sought in the spiritual realm” (Richman 2021, 256). The term “Holy Ghost Fire,” in Pentecostal parlance, refers to the powerful presence of the Holy Spirit, which is believed to be both purifying and empowering believers. Although in MFM this fire is believed to purify and deliver people from same-sex attraction and the evil spirits associated with it, in a progressive Pentecostal ministry such as TFAM, the same fire is believed to affirm people in their sexuality and to authenticate LGBTIQ people of faith. This is reflected in TFAM’s central tenet of radical inclusivity, which is directly inspired by the biblical story of Pentecost. As stated on the ministry’s website: “We will seek to proclaim the same message proclaimed on the day of Pentecost: that God continues to pour out God’s spirit upon all persons;” explicating the latter, it is clarified that this outpouring of the Holy Spirit happens “without regard to race, ethnicity, social class, age, gender/gender identity, or affectional orientation” (TFAM 2018). As Ellen Lewin demonstrates in her ethnographic study of the ministry, TFAM explicitly builds on the history of racial and gender equality that characterized the Azusa Street Revival in the early twentieth century – often seen as the birthplace of modern Pentecostalism – but expands this egalitarianism to include sexuality. According to Lewin (2018, 141), “Fellowship preachers draw on this history to argue that their practices are consonant with what occurred at Azusa Street, and that radical inclusivity in fact offers a more authentic re-creation of Pentecostalism than what became normative in most other churches that trace their origins to Azusa Street.” The womanist theologian, Keri Day (2018) also argues that the work of TFAM founder, Bishop Yvette Flunder, continues and expands the original Azusa experience of forging “community across differences (…), a community that announced a new humanity.” Many LGBTIQ people involved in the ministry have had experiences of being ostracized because of their sexuality and gender identity in the denominations they used to attend. Such ostracization the facto means “being distanced from the possibility of direct communication with the Holy Spirit” (Lewin 2018, 15). Worship in TFAM-affiliated churches means that they regain this access to, and experience of, the Holy Spirit, not despite but in affirmation of their sexuality and gender identity. Thus, in addition to the more general Christian 291

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LGBTIQ-affirming theological tropes, such as that one’s gender and sexual identity are part of how God created that person, TFAM’s affirming theology takes a distinctly Pentecostal angle when drawing a close connection between the experience of the Holy Spirit and accepting one’s sexuality. According to Lewin (2018, 100), “communion with the Holy Spirit both demands and enables coming out.” She points out that subsequently, in the practice of autobiographical storytelling that is central in TFAM, the genre of coming-out stories is blurred with the genre of testimonies of the experience of the Spirit. In this context, on the one hand, remaining in the closet presents spiritual dangers: if one cannot accept oneself in the way in which God created one, one hinders the work of the Holy Spirit, which effectively obstructs personal and spiritual growth, and might result in bad life choices. Coming out of the closet, on the other hand, is a spiritual liberation – a deliverance, so to say – from what is seen as the demons of self-denial and self-hatred, and of internalized homophobia, fueled by what TFAM presiding bishop, Yvette Flunder (2014, 117), describes as “oppressive theology, biblical literalism, and unyielding tradition.” Thus, for TFAM, coming out “becomes a religious or spiritual obligation, indeed a central element of worship, and thus a first necessary step toward spiritual cleansing and being filled with the Holy Spirit,” and the ministry subsequently “offers a fundamentally different way to think about the expression and revelation of LGBT identity, one that demands that space be left open for the ingress of the Holy Spirit” (Lewin 2018, 100, 113).

Eschatologizing Sexuality Pentecostalism historically tends to be characterized by a strong eschatological concern with the end of the world as we currently know it. Although there are different strands of Pentecostal eschatological thought, they mostly center around a premillennialist belief in the second coming of Christ which is believed to be preceded by apocalyptic signs and increasing clashes between God and the Devil. The idea of a culminating clash between God and the Devil is particularly prominent in spiritual warfare theology, which emerged in North American evangelical circles and has profoundly influenced (neo)Pentecostal traditions. MFM is an exponent of this trend, describing itself as “an end-time church where we build an aggressive end-time army for the Lord” (“About MFM” 2015). The church aims to build a community of “true” believers who are ready for “the rapture” and the second coming of Christ. As part of this, it promotes a practice of “aggressive prayer,” as an “aid to spiritual focus and a check against being overwhelmed by the flesh” (“About MFM” 2015). Through intense and persistent prayer, the church seeks to combat the influence of the Devil and to resist the spiritual attacks from the demonic world. Akerele (2011, 16) echoes the broader MFM apocalyptic worldview when he writes that there are demonic “covenants, sacrifices and altars of darkness working together to provoke and enforce a homosexual lifestyle.” Subsequently, his prayers of deliverance seek to “shake the kingdom of darkness and constitute a shock treatment to the powers behind homosexuality” (ibid, 27). Constructing a narrative about a demonic plot that seeks to destroy marriage and the family by promoting same-sex marriage and gay rights, MFM declares homosexuality a spiritual warfare issue and invests it with eschatological significance: it is one of the major signs that the end of the world is near. This exemplifies what Asonzeh Ukah (2021) has dubbed a discourse of “apocalyptic homophobia” that in recent years has emerged in West African Pentecostalism. This form of homophobia is born out of an “eschatological fear [that] homosexuality and homosexuals are agents of the doomsday destruction of the world” and that the “LGBTQI community is the veritable instrument of Satan to destroy the world” (Ukah 2021, 85). Similar discourses have 292

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been found in other parts of the continent, such as in Cameroon where the Pentecostal “endtime gospel” has been identified as a major contributor to public homophobia (Lyonga 2016), and in Zambia where international advocacy in support of gay rights was framed in apocalyptic language of false prophets and the Antichrist (van Klinken 2013). Much of this discourse appears to reflect a postcolonial African anxiety about “the gay agenda” as part of Western neocolonial imperialism. Ironically, it also reflects a form of cultural amnesia – as it reinvents African traditions of sexual and gender diversity into a mythical “heterosexual Africa” (Epprecht 2008) – while reproducing American Christian Right narratives about “the gay agenda [as] the Devil’s agenda” (Herman 2000). MFM, like other Pentecostal ministries, responds to the perceived threat of homosexuality by promoting heterosexual marriage and the nuclear family. As Richman (2021, 257) puts it, in Olukoya’s writings “the most important spiritual domain is the Christian family home. Not only is marriage ‘the best thing that can ever happen to man,’ but is imbued with eschatological promise, as it offers humanity a ‘foretaste of what to expect in heaven.’” Thus, not only homosexuality is invested with eschatological significance, but so is heterosexuality, with “family deliverance” being a central concern in the church’s spiritual warfare strategy (Olukoya 2005). In a very different way, TFAM also frames sexuality as an eschatological concern. Bishop Flunder has explicitly denounced the apocalyptic homophobia dominating the American Christian Right. She is found preaching: There is this tendency to blame everything on the impending second coming of Jesus. (…) It’s always “The four horses of the apocalypse and the gays,” as though these things are going to bring impending doom. But if the Kingdom of God is to come, it will be because the people of God usher it in. It is problematic to cede our responsibility to a cataclysm. (2016) This quote is significant, because Flunder here problematizes not only the depiction of “the gays” as an apocalyptic threat, but also the apocalyptic eschatology of her Pentecostal upbringing more broadly. Elsewhere, she has stated to have “moved beyond” such an eschatology, in particular because of its a-political orientation that discourages believers to participate in democratic processes or in social justice activism. Rather than waiting for Christ to return to the world and create a new earth, she claims, in typical Pentecostal parlance: “I believe I’ve seen in the Spirit how this thing will end. Peace is possible; but we’ll have to work for it” (Flunder 2015). This quote presents a shift from an other-worldly to a thisworldly eschatology in Pentecostalism (Macchia 2007). It can be seen as exemplifying an emerging “progressive premillennialism” (Webb 2007), which considers social transformation as part of the working of the Holy Spirit in which Christians are called to participate toward the eschatological fulfillment of God’s kingdom.4 For TFAM, promoting “radical inclusivity” it at the heart of its vision of social transformation, and obviously the inclusion of same-gender loving people is a key part of what has been described as the organization’s “eschatological strategy” (Voelkel 2017, 101). Importantly, the dualism of good versus evil that characterizes much of apocalyptic eschatological thought, is reproduced in the discourse presented by TFAM, but with a rather different twist. Instead of fighting the Devil and his “gay agenda,” TFAM seeks to counter the Christian Right and its agenda of fueling homophobia. Thus, when launching TFAM’s global ministry, which has a strong focus on the African continent, Bishop Joseph Tolton stated: “As black gay Christians who identify with Pentecostal worship and as people of social justice, we are countering the work of 293

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conservative, mostly white American evangelicals who are doubling down on their attempt of spiritual colonization of Africa” (quoted in Amyx 2015). Particularly remarkable here is the racial dimension, with TFAM imagining itself part of a “pan-African progressive Christian movement” that seeks to resist the colonizing agenda of American white conservative Evangelicalism (van Klinken 2017, 225).5 The dualism of good versus evil becomes a dualism of two opposite forms of Christianity, and the eschatological battle becomes one about the fundamental nature and future of Christianity as a defining factor for sexual politics in our contemporary world. Rather than being invested in an ideal of heterosexual marriage and family life, TFAM understands itself as an alternative, or queer, family, centered around values of inclusivity, non-judgment, and solidarity (Lewin 2018, 170).

Missionizing Sexuality Inspired by its eschatological concern and its belief in the era of the Holy Spirit, Pentecostalism from its beginning up to date has been characterized by a strong missionary zeal. This is reflected in both MFM and TFAM, both having significantly expanded the geographical scope of their work in order to reach a global impact. However, the differences in eschatology, and in theology more generally, that can be observed in contemporary global Pentecostal and Charismatic movements have a profound impact on how mission is understood and put into practice, and also affects the ways in which various churches engage in sexual politics. MFM explicitly describes itself as an other-worldly oriented church, its priority being an evangelistic one, “for people to make heaven” (“About MFM” 2015). This requires building “heavenlybound and aggressive Christians” who are ready to join the “end-time army for the Lord” and engage in spiritual warfare. As Samuel Fabunmi (2016) puts it, for MFM “deliverance is a veritable mission strategy that can bring about holistic Christian ministry” and that is seen as key to religious change in society. Embarking on this mission of deliverance, MFM demonstrates a particular concern with delivering people from homosexuality. After all, homosexuality is not only a sin that one needs to repent from, but also a spiritual bondage one needs to be delivered from, in order to reach one’s destiny. As Adelakun (2017, 2, 4) argues, in MFM discourse “sexuality and destiny are inseparable,” the idea being that “good sexuality begets a fulfilled destiny” (and “bad sexuality” blocking such destiny). The concept of destiny here refers both to the here-and-now, in the form of material prosperity, and to the hereafter, in the form of access to heaven. In this context, promoting “good sexuality” and the fight against “bad sexuality” and the demonic spirits advocating it are at the heart of what the church perceives to be its mission in these apocalyptic times. This has a profound impact on MFM’s contribution to sexual politics in its home base country, Nigeria, where, with other Pentecostal churches, it actively fuels anti-LGBTIQ campaigns and advocates for the criminalization of same-sex relationships (Ukah 2021). Yet it also shapes the church’s activities in Europe and North America, where it advocates gay conversion therapy, notwithstanding public controversy (e.g., see Richman 2021). African Pentecostal churches such as MFM are frequently associated with a project of “reverse mission,” that is, the movement of African Christians “bringing back” the Christian faith to its original but now largely secularized heartlands (Burgess 2020). Reverse mission is also concerned with the moral regeneration of a de-Christianized society, and matters of sexual morality are at the heart of such efforts (Adogame 2013, 122). This is clearly reflected by the Nigerian Pentecostal scholar Jacob Kehinde Oladipupo – a missionary and church planter in the United States himself – when he writes: The current challenges of relativism, postmodernism, and homosexuality in Western countries call for the church in Africa that had been the beneficiary of Western 294

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missionary efforts in the past to now engage the Western culture with the authentic witness and effective testimony of the Gospel. (Oladipupo 2018, 64) Thus, MFM’s mission of deliverance in relation to homosexuality can be seen as part of this broader global economy of reverse mission and moral regeneration, spearheaded by Nigerian and other African Pentecostals. TFAM is involved in a different form of “reverse mission.” As an originally African American organization, it has become active on the African continent in order to promote a renewed engagement of the diaspora with “the African motherland” (Kalu 2011). Although there is a long history of such re-engagement (Nathan 2012), TFAM adds a new chapter to it by explicitly aiming to promote a progressive, pan-African, and charismatic form of Christian faith, in order to intervene in “the global economy of Christianity” (“Empowering Progressive Clergy” 2013). Elaborating on the latter, Tolton (2016) stated: Whatever strain of Christianity Africa embraces over the next fifty to hundred years will be what Christendom is known as in the world. Because this is the place where it will be defined, this is where Christianity is growing. That’s why we’re engaged here. We also see this as an incredible opportunity for reconciliation between the diaspora and the motherland. And God is calling queer black folk to lead this next reformation. The use of the phrase “next reformation” is significant, because also Flunder is known to use this term in relation to her idea that TFAM is continuing, and expanding, the history and legacy of the Azusa Street Revival, particularly its egalitarian and inclusive nature (Lewin 2018, 49–50). Indeed, the fellowship’s mission statement speaks of “a mandate from God to proclaim a gospel that is radically inclusive of all persons” (TFAM 2018). This concern with inclusivity is intersectional and is certainly not limited to sexuality, although that is a central aspect of it. Reflecting its thisworldly eschatological orientation, the fellowship understands its mission as establishing “peace on earth” (Flunder 2015). This includes social justice activism, but in a distinctly Pentecostal style and narrative. As for style, Tolton (2016) refers to the “anointing” with the Holy Spirit that even the most conservative pastors he encounters in Africa recognize in him, and that as much as it confuses them also allows them to connect with him. As for narrative, the discourse in the fellowship about the movement “rewriting the Book of Acts” (Lewin 2018, 149) is highly significant, especially in the light of the biblical Book of Acts being the foundational scripture of Pentecostalism. In the same way as the early church, according to the Book of Acts, was led by God’s spirit and partook in God’s plan with the world, TFAM and its associated churches are “believed to be at the forefront of a Holy Spirit-driven movement crucial to realizing God’s mission” (van Klinken 2017, 229). Thus, TFAM considers its mission of promoting a gospel of radical inclusivity as a continuation, not only of the historic Azusa Street Revival, but also of the biblical Day of Pentecost as narrated in the Book of Acts (Lewin 2018, 148). Furthermore, this mission is, in a way, a form of “reverse mission,” as it is about African American Christians re-connecting with the African continent, not to re-evangelize Africa but to combat the influence of conservative white evangelicalism and to promote a progressive, Pan-African Pentecostal Christianity.

Conclusion In this chapter, I have compared and discussed two case studies that represent what appears to be the extremes of Pentecostal positions on homosexuality: an originally Nigerian neo-Pentecostal 295

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deliverance church with a self-declared “aggressive” strategy of spiritual warfare, and an originally U.S. black Pentecostal ministry with a self-declared “progressive” theological and political orientation. The chapter has explored the very different ways in which these two organizations engage in sexual politics in Africana worlds: one the one hand, a strategy of delivering the world from the perceived evil of homosexuality, and of combating the demonic powers behind it with “Holy Ghost Fire”; on the other hand, a strategy of affirming same-gender loving people through a practice of radical inclusivity, and of spearheading a Spirit-led movement for progressive social change. My suggestion is not that the two case studies are equally representative of broader strands of Pentecostalism, or are equally influential in shaping the dynamics within PentecostalCharismatic Christianities. I am simply not in a position to make such assessments regarding their representativity and influence. Yet contrasting these opposite ends of Pentecostal sexual theology and politics is valuable in any case, because it draws critical attention to the plurality within Pentecostalism. Thus, it interrogates any homogenizing depiction that associates this strand of Christianity with a conservative moral agenda, and in particular with homo- or queer-phobia. The chapter has also identified three discursive registers – of spirits, eschatology, and mission – that each of the case study ministries engage in relation to sexuality. This is valuable because it highlights the family resemblances between global, and specifically Africana, Pentecostal movements, even if they have profound differences of ethics, theology, and politics. It also allows for thinking about uniquely Pentecostal ways of sexual worldmaking, in contrast to other Christian traditions and denominations. The multiple possibilities of Pentecostal sexual politics in Africana worlds that this chapter has explored are particularly important in view of the fact that, in Africa and its diaspora, sexuality has become highly politicized, and in light of the realization that Africa and its diaspora are of an ever-increasing significance for the future of Pentecostalism, and indeed Christianity in general, globally. With Pentecostalism being fragmented and pluralized, and with its sexual discourses being diverse and complex, the spirit of revitalization that Pentecostalism presents will continue to shape sexual politics in dynamic ways and in multiple directions.

Notes 1 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex, and Queer. 2 The term “Africana” is increasingly used (especially in North America) to study Africa and its diaspora together as a unit of analysis, and to acknowledge the multiple “Africas” that have emerged in global contexts. The emerging field of “Africa religious studies” is promoted by the Journal of Africana Religions. For a mapping of this field, see Stewart and Hucks (2013); for a discussion specifically focused on Christianity as an Africana religion, see Settles (2021). 3 The latter term appears to refer to an intentional deployment of the power of marine spirits against somebody else, for instance, to make them gay. 4 I am grateful to my colleague Stefan Skrimshire, for a conversation that helped me better understand Flunder’s eschatology, and her version of millennialism, as reflected in this sermon. 5 About the American Christian Right’s involvement in struggles about sexual diversity in Africa, see Kaoma (2018).

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23 FEMALE PASTORAL LEADERSHIP, AMBIVALENT FEMININITIES, AND AFRICAN PENTECOSTALISM IN BELGIUM Joseph Bosco Bangura Introduction Even though global Pentecostalism emphasizes the centrality of the Holy Spirit in the community of faith (Stephenson 2011, 411; McClymond 2015, 356–74; Langford 2017, 75), this pneumatic outpouring cannot be conflated with social empowerment where all believers, despite gender, are given access to leadership roles (Soothill 2010, 96). As far as the gender question and female exercise of pastoral leadership is concerned, Pentecostalism appears to exhibit theological ambivalence and paradoxical nuances (Martin 2003, 52–66). Researchers are intrigued that, despite Pentecostalism’s patriarchal ecclesiastical nuances, women in the Global South continue to join and remain in the movement (Eriksen 2016, 37). While Pentecostalism has been a major cause for social change in Africa (Freeman 2012; Lindhardt 2015; Gifford 2016), the specific involvement of African women in pastoral leadership is still limited (Sackey 2006; Kalu 2008). Even the few African women who have assumed significant leadership roles are still subsumed under male superintendence (Stephenson 2011, 411). Pentecostalism’s emancipatory opening is challenged by the fact that “any concept of spiritual empowerment must, therefore, be analyzed with regard to social and cultural structures in order to avoid romanticizing the spiritual world and of essentializing the spirituality of women in particular” (Soothill 2010, 960). This context suggests that there continue to be contradictions and discontinuities, as well as reconfigurations of gender in African Pentecostalism, both on the continent and among the African diaspora in Europe (Cazarin and Griera 2018, 451–70). This chapter contributes to this debate by investigating the potential ambivalences of gender and women’s exercise of pastoral leadership among African diaspora Pentecostal churches in Flanders (Belgium). To achieve this aim, the chapter asks, “to what extent have African Pentecostal churches in Flanders (Belgium) re-positioned their theologies to mediate an innovative gender ideology that encourages female pastoral leadership, works for a hermeneutical paradigm shift in its espoused theological practices and be relevant to a migratory context that converges with Belgium’s non-discriminatory gender regimes?” To answer this question, the chapter explores Pentecostalism’s construal as a liberating force allowing female actors to assume pastoral leadership roles among African diaspora Pentecostal faith DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-28

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communities in Flanders. The chapter adopts four theoretical approaches in its inquiry. First, it assesses how female African migration trajectories influence decisions to enter pastoral ministry and serve immigrant African Pentecostal churches in Flanders. Second, it discusses Belgium’s gender regimes in order to ascertain how female African Pentecostals appropriate those regimes. Third, it examines the extent to which Pentecostalism’s gender ambivalences inhibit or inspire women to assume pastoral leadership roles within immigrant African Pentecostal churches in Europe. Fourth, it evaluates the extent to which the involvement of four female Pentecostal actors redefines gender roles and patriarchal power dynamics within immigrant African faith communities in Flanders. The chapter concludes that while the four women struggle with traditional power structures in their churches, they have not formulated theologies that connect female pastoral leadership to signs of Spirit liberation. Even when Belgium’s gender regimes provide for the equality of women and men, these female clerics rarely refer to those gender regimes to legitimize their involvement in pastoral leadership. While aspirations for exercising pastoral leadership exist among first generation migrants such as the women explored here, it does not appear that they are eager to be drawn too quickly into the opportunities of freedom presented by Belgium’s gender regimes to call for women’s liberation in the churches they serve.

Female African Migration to Flanders (Belgium) Migration studies now include women’s migratory experiences, which were previously excluded from mainstream migration research (Timmerman et al. 2018, 7–8). In recent years, migration scholars proposed theoretical perspectives which aimed at broadening research from the “add women, mix and stir perspective” to a “gender perspective” (Timmerman et al. 2015, 3). This broadening has moved migration research forward by demonstrating women’s agency in the migration and integration process. In the “add women, mix, and stir” approach, women’s migratory experiences were simply added as a separate category to be probed using theoretical methodologies applied to other sections of the population. Whenever this was done, such studies tended to focus on the usual suspects of family reunification, human trafficking and cross-border marriage practices as the main drivers facilitating transnational female migration (Curran and Saguy 2001, 54–77; Dannecker 2005, 655–75). However, given that it did not treat gender as a constitutive factor shaping the migratory process, it was replaced in the 1980s and 1990s by the “gender perspective” (Samers 2010, 98–103). In this new gender sensitive approach, gender is treated as a dynamic and changeable social construct which fundamentally shapes the migration cycles of individual actors at origin and destination countries. This approach stresses that gender and migration are deeply intertwined and exert a mutually beneficial influence on each other. Therefore, women’s experiences have helped researchers to determine motives, decisions, and networks that influence women’s migratory processes (Pessar and Mahler 2003, 814). Although migration research has expanded substantially, the African Pentecostal women’s experiences in the migration cycle are still grossly underrepresented. African migration predates the early 1980s when the first African immigrant church was constituted in Brussels. Studies that have appeared tend to focus on the uses of religion by Turkish and Moroccan minority immigrant populations in Belgium (Reniers 1999, 679–713; Schoenmaeckers, Lodewijckx, and Gadeyne 1999, 901–28; Lesthaeghe 2000; Karim and Al-Rawi 2018; Timmerman et al. 2018; Ettourki et al. 2018). Brief surveys of the limited available academic resources clearly indicate the need for further research that explains the nexus of Pentecostal religion and African migrant populations in Flanders. David Bundy’s brisk history attributes 300

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the growth of Pentecostalism to the return of Protestantism but says nothing about the African agency in the formation of Pentecostal churches in Flanders (Bundy 1986, 41–57). Dibudi Way-Way’s response explained how the Congolese African diaspora collaborated with Campus Crusade for Christ to establish the first African church in Brussels (Way-Way 2000, 451–56). Referencing a conference organized in Brussels, Roswitt Gerloff (2000, 218–90) correctly placed African churches in Belgium in wider discourses of the growing presence of African Christian communities in Europe. Inspired by migration theory (Hanciles 2008), other commentators argue that migration explains why Pentecostalism has become the most popular faith among African, East European, and Latin American immigrant populations in Belgium (van der Laan 2011, 111; Maskens 2012, 397–409; Godwin 2013, 90–94). Although these studies are a useful first step, they only offer somewhat generalized background information that does not properly express either the African woman’s migratory experiences or their use of religion to integrate in Flanders. The problem is even more pronounced when assessed from the perspective of sub-Saharan African women in Flanders. Most often, the female African voice and its appropriation of Pentecostalism is either excluded or subsumed under other descriptive parameters. If, however, migration research makes any effort to include a gender perspective that takes the experiences of African women in Flanders seriously, the emphasis has been to highlight human trafficking for purposes of engaging in prostitution and the sex trade (Zibouh and Martiniello 2015, 185–206) and call for efforts to liberate those who have been trafficked ( Jackson and Passarelli 2020, 50–51). Although these studies are useful and have exposed human rights abuses against vulnerable and unsuspecting Nigerian women, for instance, (Carling 2006; Buker 2007; Duru 2017), they nevertheless tell a partial story of female African migration into Flanders. African Pentecostal clerics and their spouses have established churches among migrant communities in Flanders. Among others, these churches equip African migrants with the necessary resilience required in the process of surviving rigorous integration procedures in Flanders. The voices of these African women serving migrant Pentecostal churches need to be told in order to better understand how their West African gender traditions have either been redefined by Belgium’s secular Western values or preserved despite their migration history.

Belgium’s Gender Regimes, State Recognized Religions, and Place of Pentecostal Women To account for the specific gender regimes operating in Belgium where female Pentecostal actors from Africa have arrived and are currently serving in churches, Belgium’s federal system must first be explored. This is helpful in determining the place the state has assigned to recognized religions. Even though gender regimes in Belgium are in line with approved EU policies, yet, the specific application of federal and European law has to be divulged to the regions and communities of the state (Wuiame 2021, 5). In this structure, Belgium’s political scene is organized around a system of federated regionalism, which is constituted into three communities (Dutch, French, and German-speaking communities) and three regions (Flanders, Wallonia, and Brussels Capital Region). These political arrangements were introduced as a result of the 1988–99 state reform which assigned to the regions responsibility for space-bounded matters such as regional economy, agriculture, environment, infrastructure, and transport. The communities, on the other hand, were charged with person-related matters such as healthcare, social policy, use of language, and culture (Franken 2014, 256). Because the secular state’s management of religion falls under culture, the Belgian state adopted a policy of liberal neutrality, by which religious and secular authorities guard against 301

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the interference of each other in their own sphere (Creemers 2017, 278). By this policy, the state guarantees religious freedom and worship to all citizens and provides active state support in the form of financial subventions to officially recognized religions (van den Brandt and Longman 2017, 9). The recognized religions include Roman Catholicism, ProtestantEvangelicalism, Anglicanism, Orthodoxy, Judaism, Islam, and the Community of Humanist Freethinkers. Salaries and other emoluments for clerics as well as subventions for the management of places of worship of these religions have been paid for by the state. In some cases, clerics may be designated as chaplains in the army and prison system. Religious education courses connected with the recognized religions and humanistic worldviews have also been organized at primary and secondary schools at the state’s expense, with free radio and television broadcast time allocated to each of the religions concerned (Franken 2014, 256). The context discussed above feeds into Belgium’s gender equality laws. As the administrative seat of the EU commission, Belgian authorities through the Federal Constitution have instituted legislations that prohibit any form of discrimination on the basis of one’s gender. In particular, Belgium’s Federal Constitution makes explicit provision for the recognition of equality between women and men (Article 10) and equality of all Belgians without discrimination (Article 11). To make this legislation concrete, several acts have been passed by the federal government. The most important of which is the “Gender Act” passed into law on May 10, 2007. In addition to combating all forms of discrimination between women and men, the “Gender Act” established the legislative instruments and constitutional basis by which the state implements all EU directives concerning gender equality. Furthermore, the act applies to working conditions and pay, occupational social security schemes, as well as the standard conditions of access to various professions (Wuiame 2021, 5). In essence, it makes it lawful for women and men to be treated equally on all grounds in so far as life in Belgium is concerned and criminalizes any undue infringements introduced therein. However, because certain competences of the state fall within the legislative purview of the regions and communities, when new laws such as the Gender Act were passed, they were duly divulged to the regions and communities for those to be localized, domesticated, and implemented without fear or favor. For instance, in Flanders –where our study is based – the proportional participation of women and men in the labor market decree of July 10, 2008 was implemented by the parliaments of the Flemish community and region. Furthermore, the “Race Act” and the “Discrimination in General Act” were also introduced at the federal level to specify the legal basis for which the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union are implemented by the federated regions and communities of Belgium. It is therefore not surprising that women and men can be found in all professions and positions of authority across Flanders and in Belgium. African women immigrants therefore feel that they have migrated to a place where women are not subjected to exclusionary policies on account of gender, as is often the case at countries of origin. Rather, women can be given the chance and space to exercise leadership in any profession they choose. In respect to the management of culture, Belgium’s Protestant-Evangelical religion has received full state recognition. The state coordinates its recognition through the Administrative Council of Protestant-Evangelical Religion (ACPER), which is itself organized under several Protestant-Evangelical Church denominations. Under this umbrella organization, the Flemish Pentecostal Union (Verbond van Vlaamse Pinkstergemeenten, VVP) is the denomination that specifically represents indigenous Pentecostal churches, as well as those with a migration background. Accordingly, some African Pentecostal churches are part of Belgium’s recognized Protestant-Evangelical minority religion, which together is estimated to be anywhere between 1.5% and 3% of Belgium’s eleven million population (Creemers 2017, 227). 302

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This estimate is important because it clearly indicates that the percentage share of African Pentecostalism is a tiny fraction within the overall Protestant-Evangelical minority religion in Belgium. What this means is that, while some African Pentecostal churches have applied for and obtained membership in those recognized denominations within the official structures of the Protestant-Evangelical religion, some have chosen not to pursue membership. For instance, of the four women whose stories are included in this study, only one belongs to a church that holds membership with the Flemish Pentecostal Union in Belgium. The other three have opted to remain independent and therefore fall outside the oversight of recognized denominations. I must add that membership of a denomination or registration as a nonprofit organization does not automatically constitute state recognition. Further, although this church has been independently registered as a non-profit organization and holds membership with the Flemish Pentecostal Union, it has not received any state support. This is because the Belgian state has instituted a number of procedures that must be followed in order to qualify for state support (see Franken 2017, 66–67). A question that is raised by this context is how do recognized religions deal with Belgium’s gender regimes? The answer to this question partly lies in understanding Belgium’s policy of liberal neutrality. Although the policy of liberal neutrality restricts the state from interfering either in the appointment of religious clerics or altering their governing structures, recognized religions and secular humanistic worldviews that have received state financial support and other subventions, are expected to uphold federal and regional legislations while carrying out their operations in those communities where they are based. It is therefore not unreasonable to assume that the churches have either found a way of domesticating laws such as the Gender Act, the Race Act, or the Discrimination in General Act, or at least act in a manner that is less intrusive to the core provisions of such legislations. What this means, for instance, is that, while diversity exists among VVP affiliated Pentecostal churches including African Pentecostal churches, these church communities have exhibited a generally positive attitude toward allowing women to serve in leadership positions, even if the basis for doing so may not be justified by reference to Belgium’s federal legislation. And as will be shown later in this chapter, African Pentecostal churches have also shown a permissible willingness for the exercise of women’s pastoral leadership in the gathered church.

African Pentecostalism and the Ambivalence of Female Pastoral Leadership Earlier in this chapter, I argued that migration research in Flanders must be broadened to include African Pentecostal women’s migratory and pastoral leadership experiences. That suggestion, however, requires clarification. Even though Flemish migration scholarship must be commended for exposing human rights abuses of African female migrants using the spirit of the Gender Act (Zibouh and Martiniello 2015, 185), such research could be enriched by including the African female Pentecostal voice. This is because African women’s participation at events organized by immigrant faith communities has increased, allowing women to help preserve the African religious imagination amidst conditions of secularity and helping transfer the faith to second-generation and mixed-race African migrants (cf. Bangura 2020, 139–53). Migration research in Flanders is, however, not alone in the omission of African Pentecostal women’s experiences. Even Pentecostalism, the faith embraced by most African women, has been accused of ambivalence, paradoxes, and tensions with regard to the inclusion of women in leadership (Soothill 2010, 82–99). The reasons for this are that not enough interest is taken by the movement to level gender disparity or putting women’s 303

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experiences at the center of its ecclesiastical practices. Because Pentecostalism is less supportive of women’s leadership involvement, the faith is culpable of inadvertently undermining the potential liberation the Holy Spirit is said to bestow (Gabaitse 2015, 1–12). This means that, although Pentecostalism is celebrated for its inherent promise of freedom in the Spirit (Alexander and Yong 2009, 2–3), gender disparity is still particularly persistent in the exercise of pastoral leadership. Accordingly, Pentecostalism’s construal of women’s pastoral involvement needs to be probed, if the place of female Pentecostal spouses or women in general is to be ascertained. Despite putting women’s experiences in pneumatic renewal upfront (Brusco 2010, 74–92), questions about whether Pentecostalism is to be understood as liberating or limiting of women’s participation in church leadership have persisted (Martin 2013, 91–114). In most parts of the world, women are both the first to convert and remain the dominant majority in the movement (Anderson 2004, 283). Nevertheless, the accessibility of the Holy Spirit has not resulted in the breaking of the glass ceiling to allow women to assume pastoral leadership on their own. Women’s leadership positions are still subsumed under male spouse hegemony. This Pentecostal resistance could be likened to evangelical Protestant teaching, which has prevented women from assuming pastoral leadership (Hoehner 2007, 761–71; Köstenberger and Schreiner 2007; Sumner 2009; Grudem 2012). Even though earlier commentators of African Pentecostalism did point to the potentially liberating prospects that women clerics have in the movement, in contrast to women’s marginal leadership roles in previously studied African independent churches (Asamoah-Gyadu 1998, 21; Kalu 2008), it remains to be seen why female clerics have not assumed powerful and prominent positions like their male counterparts. For instance, research on the migration and pastoral leadership roles of six African and Latin American women in Spain argue that Pentecostalism appears to reproduce and bolster – as well as erode – patriarchy (Cazarin and Griera 2018, 453). Premised on detailed ethnographic research, the study argues that the authority and power of female Pentecostal leaders evolved according to the nature of the relationships these female clerics have developed with male pastors. For this reason, rather than challenging Pentecostal patriarchy, these women leaders are in constant negotiation with multiple realms which keep “the social and religious narratives separate […] to safeguard women’s power in the religious realm” (Cazarin and Griera 2018, 466). Similar studies have also indicated that, despite the emancipatory role of the Holy Spirit, oppressive hermeneutical strategies and interpretative practices continue to exclude women from exercising pastoral leadership in Pentecostalism in Botswana (Gabaitse 2015, 1). Further afield, the North American ecclesiological context shows that Pentecostal theology has apprehended two approaches that have either supported or stifled women’s pastoral leadership. Despite giving voice to people at the margins “primarily because Pentecostals believed that it was the Spirit of God ministering through the women and thus, they should not hinder the Spirit” (Stephenson 2011, 414), the exercise of pastoral leadership by women remains trapped in juxtaposing debates of “prophetic/priestly Pentecostalism” and “ministering/ruling authority” (Barfoot and Sheppard 1980,  2–17). Prophetic Pentecostalism uses calling, charisma, and eschatological expectancy to legitimize the involvement of women in pastoral ministry (Stephenson 2011, 412–13), while priestly Pentecostalism restricted the understanding that the Holy Spirit has limited leadership to persons (usually men) who fulfilled certain requirements. Thus, this evolution did not only reassign clerical leadership from a prophetic (ministering) to a priestly (ruling) phase, but it further undermined women’s ministerial functions and access to governing authority within the Pentecostal fraternity. 304

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Female African Pentecostal Actors in Flanders, Methodology and Findings This chapter builds on my ongoing academic assessment of African Pentecostalism in Flanders, Belgium. In my earlier research on the subject, I explored various aspects of these churches including the impact of secularization on second-generation and mixed-race African Pentecostal migrant youths (Bangura 2020); considered the impact of family rupture and divorce on African Pentecostalism’s understanding of the indissolubility of marriage (Bangura 2019); discussed the uses of new media outlets to rebrand transnational African Pentecostalism in Belgium (Bangura 2018); assessed practices with which African Pentecostalism’s transnational marriage and family life has been organized (Bangura 2018); and analyzed how African Pentecostal rituals have helped in the modification of identity among the settled community of African diaspora in Belgium (Bangura 2017a, 2017b). While these studies have analyzed certain aspects related to the exercise of power structures and missionary impulses within African Pentecostal churches in Flanders, they have not considered the specific role of gender and the place of female actors in relation to the exercise of pastoral leadership within the churches they have established in Flanders. This chapter therefore moves the conversation forward by probing the experiences of four African Pentecostal women in order to ascertain the extent to which their exposure to Belgium’s gender regimes has assisted their quest to provide pastoral leadership in their churches. Therefore, drawing from my network of earlier research collaborators, the methodology utilized focused interviews with four female African Pentecostal actors. The interviews, which were conducted between May 2019 and January 2020, contained six open-ended questions. Because interviews are the core of ethnographic fieldwork (Aunger 1995, 97–130) whose use can yield vivid picture of the actual pastoral leadership engagements of female Pentecostal actors included in this study, I inquired into their personal background and migration status; formation of church and their place in the leadership structure; specialized ministries in the church; internal and external ministry challenges and tensions; prior (theological) training; and the potential benefits emerging from involvement in pastoral ministry in a liberal Belgium. To ensure that the answers obtained from the interviews were a fair representation of the female actors’ pastoral leadership, participant observation was also conducted. This meant that I had to seek permission to attend church worship services on Sundays, visit women’s fellowship meetings where events such as exorcisms, anointing with consecrated oils, prayer and Bible study sessions were led by the female actors included in the study. I was also present at open air meetings and social events organized by and for women. As an African Pentecostal who immigrated to Belgium in pursuit of doctoral studies in theology, I was able to interpret the liturgical practices I witnessed during the participant observation sessions from an insider perspective, with little need for ingroup interpretative assistance. This meant that, through my leadership involvement with one of the churches, I was present at various leadership meetings where a pastor’s wife was a frequent participant. This participant observation methodology was adjudged useful because ethnography: Involves the ethnographer participating, overtly or covertly in people’s daily lives for an extended period of time, watching what happens, listening to what is said, asking questions – in fact, collecting whatever dater are available to throw light on the issues that are the focus of research. Hammersley and Atkinson (2003, 1) Consequently, a total of four women who serve African Pentecostal churches in various roles and at various locations in Flanders (Belgium) were interviewed. To maintain strict 305

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confidentiality, their personal identity, church ministries, and precise locations have been anonymized. Nevertheless, the anonymized names and leadership titles I have employed were not arbitrarily chosen but reflect what is commonly used among African Pentecostal churches in Belgium. When those titles are used, they convey respect for persons who serve the church. The notes obtained from each interview were shared with my interviewees for confirmation purposes that they represented an accurate overview of our discussions and observations, as well as reflected the leadership structure of their churches. Finally, this methodological reflection must be concluded with a clarification of the limitations I encountered while conducting interviews and during participant observation sessions carried out onsite. Because none of the women interviewed had previously acquired formal university level theological education, a good chunk of the interview time was dedicated to explaining the central concepts with which Pentecostal theology constructs its understanding of the emancipatory role of the Holy Spirit on female clerics. This meant that, although as a researcher I am aware of ongoing theological discussions around issues of Pentecostal gender ambivalence, my interviewees’ knowledge of the subject was elementary and mainly limited to the pastoral contexts in which they serve. This also applies to their awareness of Belgium’s gender regimes, which the female African Pentecostal actors assumed existed but were not able to clarify specific provisions contained therein or how they relate to gender practices operating in Belgium’s recognized Protestant-Evangelical religion. Even though these limitations were only applicable to my interviewees’ knowledge in so far as their understanding of Pentecostalism’s emancipatory role given by the Spirit and Belgium’s gender regimes were concerned, they revealed the contested spaces and symbolic boundaries that are traversed by African Pentecostal female actors and their churches in (Flanders) Belgium.

Deaconess Prudence, Antwerp My interview with Deaconess Prudence was conducted on two occasions. We first met in church on Sunday, November 10, 2019, where I explained the overall rationale of my research and shared with her the interview guide. The interview itself was held via WhatsApp on Monday, November 11, 2019. In terms of her personal background and migration status, Deaconess Prudence was born and raised in English-speaking southern Cameroon. At an early age, Deaconess Prudence conceived the idea of traveling overseas. This desire was later reinforced by a prophecy she received from her pastor, who said that she will first travel through a major European country but will not settle in it. She will only be able to marry and settle down in a small European country after going through a period of adversity. Emboldened by this prophecy, she traveled to Germany, where she unsuccessfully applied at various universities. With a chain of denials and very downcast, Deaconess Prudence relocated to Belgium in 2003, where she eventually applied for asylum. Here, her feeble faith was again tested by the substantial time spent at an asylum processing center where she awaited deportation. Denied her personal freedom and the chance to begin life anew in Belgium, Deaconess Prudence doubted whether her decision to migrate overseas or to relocate to Belgium was in conformity with the will of God. It was at this point that she met her husband, who himself had successfully applied for asylum and was given leave permanently to remain in Belgium. Having received asylum, Deaconess Prudence completed Dutch language and integration procedures to become a naturalized Belgian citizen. Concerning involvement in pastoral ministry, although Deaconess Prudence and her husband were among the founding members of their church in 2007, and despite having completed the two-year Bible school run by her church, she rarely preaches in church. 306

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She has served as women’s leader and now as a deaconess. Yet, all these positions fall outside the scope of pastoral leadership. To complicate matters, even though her husband is one of the pastors, her church was founded and led by an apostle who is a naturalized Belgian citizen from Cameroon, and is immediately assisted by his wife, a prophetess, who is a naturalized Belgian citizen from Nigeria. The church uses English as the primary language of worship, prayer, and pastoral ministry, with translations into the Dutch language. Congregants are mainly West African immigrants from Cameroon and Nigeria, with a handful of the congregation having Surinamese backgrounds. The average attendance at its regular Sunday services and midweek events would see about fifty people participating at the events organized by the church. The church exhibits Pentecostal and charismatic beliefs where, although everyone is baptized by the Holy Spirit, yet the church believes that it is only through the apostle and prophetess that God communicates directly to the church. On the question of her exercise of pastoral leadership, Deaconess Prudence reflects that negotiating the church’s leadership structure is often wrought with difficulties. This is because one may be easily misinterpreted for exhibiting insubordination against the authority of the apostle and prophetess. As she explains further, “if you are close to the prophetess, (who is the wife of the apostle and founder), you are more likely to be given some minor opportunities to publicly participate in the ministry of the church – either on Sunday, Wednesday or Friday” (Prudence 2019). Continuing her reflection, Deaconess Prudence resorted to the use of African proverbs to observe that: “one who wants to feed on ripe fruits must learn how to climb on top of trees. Otherwise, one will be left with rotten fruits that fall to the ground” (Prudence 2019). When I pressed her to explain what is meant by this figurative African proverbial expression, she paused for a while and said: Although all Pentecostal women have received equal liberty in the Holy Spirit, in much the same way as our male counterparts, women should not abuse this liberty. The Bible is clear that women are to remain under the hegemony of their husbands, even though this does not make women inferior to men. Therefore, in the discharge of any pastoral duties given to them by church authorities, women must learn to control their emotions and submit to the authority of the prophetess and the apostle who founded the church. That way, more room will be provided for growth toward spiritual maturity. This will in turn bring huge benefits which assures their future professional development as women. Prudence (2019) When asked whether she has ever preached a sermon in church on Sunday, she responded that her role as deaconess is to serve the apostle and prophetess in very practical ways. This is why the Body of Christ has many members who each do their part to glorify God, she ended.

Deaconess Prosper, Antwerp My interview with Deaconess Prosper happened on Sunday, December 1, 2019 after worship service. We met at a restaurant where she, her husband – who is the founder and senior pastor of their church – a colleague pastor, and I were present. Born and raised in Accra, Ghana, Deaconess Prosper immigrated to Belgium, like many of her contemporaries, to escape the harsh economic hardships that had plagued her native Ghana throughout the 1980s and 1990s. Upon arriving in Belgium where she applied for 307

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asylum, she fought many deportation battles because her asylum application was adjudged to be inadmissible for protection. During this traumatic episode her faith faltered, and she felt like giving up altogether. Recalling how she was intensely praying one day at the detention center, she explained how she bargained with God and promised to dedicate her entire life to the service of the church if she was released and allowed to remain permanently in Belgium. When she was finally released from detention and given leave to remain, she began attending several Ghanaian Pentecostal churches in the Belgian cities of Brussels, Mechelen, and Antwerp, where she served as a steward helping to clean meeting halls and serve food during special occasions. Eventually, Deaconess Prosper met and married her husband at one of those churches, who was himself given refugee status in Belgium. Concerned that their gifts were not fully utilized in the churches, the couple were attending despite her husband’s sense of call to pastoral ministry, and they prayed for a word of direction from the Lord about establishing a church which would minister to the needs of all nationalities in Belgium, not just Africans. While they were still praying, a serious schism occurred in the Ghanaian Pentecostal church they had been attending. Because they were not part of the leadership team, and not waiting to support any of the two camps that emerged out of the church split, they decided to leave and establish their own church in 2014. Their new church began meeting in their home before moving into the permanent place where they now meet. The church organizes Sunday worship, Bible Study, and prayer meetings on Fridays. Despite wanting to establish a church for all nations, the church members are exclusively from Ghana, with a few other West African spouses who are married to Ghanaians. Worship services are conducted in the Twi language, with occasional use of English. The average attendance often fluctuates, with anywhere between twenty-five and forty congregants attending its events. Although Deaconess Prosper and her husband have not received any theological training, the fact that they emphasized African Pentecostal doctrines of night and vigil prayers, healing and deliverance from demonic possession, prosperity gospel and prophecy, among others, their church grew quickly. Leaders were ordained and assigned to supervise the men’s, women’s, youth, and children’s fellowships. A few were made deacons and deaconesses, with some administrative responsibilities assigned to them. However, preaching tasks were reserved for the founding pastor. As co-founder, Deaconess Prosper assumed the role of finance officer in the new church. Thus, in terms of explaining her involvement in the pastoral leadership of the church, Deaconess Prosper observes: My husband is the vision bearer. My task is to help him remain faithful to this vision by fulfilling all what God has called him to do in Belgium. I do so first and foremost by being his faithful and dependable wife. Then, I complement this by being mother to our wonderful children God has blessed us with. And lastly, I strive to become the woman of exemplary faith, spiritual fervor and moral valor who earns respect both within and outside the church God has called us to plant in Belgium. Prosper (2019) To make sure this happens, Deaconess Prosper frequently invites Pentecostal preachers from Ghana who organize prosperity summits, healing, and deliverance services in Belgium for their church members, and interested members from other African Pentecostal churches. Even though she sometimes preaches and performs such other tasks as assigned to her by her husband, her primary responsibility is to supervise the finances. 308

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Deaconess Promise, Brussels and Antwerp Even though my interview with Deaconess Promise occurred in church on Sunday, July 14, 2019 after the worship service where she was preaching the sermon, I have had longer contacts with her. This was because, as part of the church to which she belonged, I had been present at several leaders’ assembly meetings where she was in attendance. Unlike the two female actors discussed above, Deaconess Promise did not immigrate to Belgium through the usual asylum procedures that many African women had done. She came to Belgium legally through a family reunification visa which had been applied for by her husband who had been granted asylum and later citizenship status. Born and raised in the south-west English speaking province of Cameroon, Deaconess Promise had agreed with her husband that they will only have children after they had both successfully immigrated and resettled overseas. Therefore, soon after solemnizing their wedding in 1999, her husband left Cameroon and immigrated to Europe, where he eventually sought asylum in Belgium. When their family was reunited in Brussels, a schism occurred in the Ghanaian church thy had been attending, which led many to leave. Prompted by the Holy Spirit to begin a church for English-speaking Cameroonians, the couple contacted some of their friends to share their vision and began holding Sunday fellowship meetings in their Brussels home in 2003. The fellowship grew quickly, resulting in the formation of another fellowship in Antwerp, which became a fully constituted church in 2007. Membership of these two churches comprised immigrants from Cameroon, Nigeria, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Republic of Guinea, Niger, and Sierra Leone. English and French are languages used in the Sunday worship services and midweek prayer and deliverance meetings. The average weekly attendance at the two churches in about sixty attendees. Deaconess Promise serves as head of the women’s fellowship and member of the leader’s assembly. Her women’s fellowship organizes an annual thanksgiving celebration, which includes programs such as women’s retreat, seminars on topics such as the role of African Christian women in the diaspora, and how to resolve conflict in long-distance spousal relationships. Even though Deaconess Promise is primarily concerned with leading the women’s fellowship, her power clearly extends to what happens in the children, youth, and choir fellowships. Deaconess Promise and her husband have no theological training, but they regularly organize leadership training seminars where external speakers with theological backgrounds are called as moderators. It is for this reason that Deaconess Promise tends to understand and reinterpret her role in the church using categories that could amount to theological reflection. In a statement that stood out during my interview, Deaconess Promise explains: As you know pastor, no matter how fluent one is in Nederlands (Dutch language), one is always an immigrant. We may have acquired Belgian nationality, but we are always considered Africans who are thought to originate from somewhere in Africa. The same imagery is true with the church. We are pilgrims here on earth despite our positions and roles in the church. Although we helped found the church in 2003, and even though my husband is currently the senior pastor and national overseer for Belgium, yet the church belongs to all God’s people. We serve only temporarily and will depart when our time comes. Promise (2019) Such reflections are not just occasional; they have been consistently expressed by Deaconess Promise in other circumstances when performing her duties in the church. This sentiment 309

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is suggestive of how, despite her position of power, Deaconess Promise expects that those who exercise leadership in the church are to see themselves as accountable to God, whom she believes gives spiritual and leadership gifts to the church.

Pastor Peace, Zellik and Brussels My interview with Pastor Peace happened on Saturday, December 7, 2019 after the “When Women Worship” event that her ministry regularly organizes. The choice of this event was significant because it attracts African women from diversified sociocultural backgrounds and with varied immigration status across Belgium. It must be stated that, even though I was not specifically invited to attend this program, I chose to be present to lend credence to the experiences and worship practices of Belgium’s African Pentecostalism. Born and raised in Nigeria, Pastor Peace was married to a Nigerian diplomat, with whom she had legally immigrated to Belgium with their three children. Through her participation at events organized by spouses of diplomats from the African, Caribbean, and Pacific (ACP) zone of countries in Brussels, she was alerted to some of the problems African women were experiencing, which were specifically related to religion. Using her prior training as a teacher of religious education at schools in Nigeria, Pastor Peace first began attending various African Pentecostal churches across Belgium. Eventually, in June 2007 she founded her ministry, which aims to give voice to African women who were faced with domestic abuse at the hands of Christian husbands. This therefore meant that, unlike the three other women who are married to pastors and clearly work in the context of a local African Pentecostal church in Belgium, Pastor Peace is not the kind of usual pastor one finds among African Pentecostal churches. Although she indeed goes by the title “pastor,” she is a pastor only for women and organizes her programs on days other than Sundays, to avoid giving the impression that she is competing with male pastors who are operating African Pentecostal churches in Belgium. This means, of course, that she does not believe that she is in competition with male African Pentecostal pastors. Rather, given that she is an African woman pastor, she has the wherewithal to feel the pressures endured by African women who live in abusive marriage relationships in Belgium. Although her ministry claims to serve the needs of all African immigrant women in Belgium, the ministry is in fact attended solely by women from Nigeria. This means that Pastor Peace is working hard on widening the scope of her ministry. Thus, in order to attract the attendance of female worshippers from other African nationals, Pastor Peace regularly invites prominent indigenous Flemish Pentecostal women and other Pentecostal women actors from the Netherlands, Germany, and the United Kingdom to patronize her “When Women Worship” annual programs. Depending on the stature of the invited speaker, those programs can attract an attendance that can run up to a hundred women of African descent. Pastor Peace takes great steps to differentiate her ministry from normal African Pentecostal churches in Belgium. Consequently, because Pastor Peace’s ministry does not operate as a conventional African Pentecostal church, it often collaborates with diversified parties, including local civic authorities when one of her collaborators is going through divorce proceedings. For this reason, issues of women’s empowerment, divorce, child support, and domestic violence are a top priority emphasized by her ministry. As if drawing from her diplomatic knowledge and existing gender regimes in Belgium, Pastor Peace works to ensure that abused African Pentecostal women find lawful means of redress. Therefore, during her events, participants are not only led through biblical teaching, but also through Pentecostal practices such as 310

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healing, exorcism, and deliverance, that are intended to mend broken homes. This explains why in my interview with Pastor Peace, she noted: As you have seen today, women need space for themselves – space away from nagging husbands; away from complicated children; and away from annoying friends who do not share their vision of life. Women need to be at a place where they are alone with God, where they worship and adore God for who God is and who God in Christ has created them to be. It is here that they regain their sense of personhood, are filled with the fresh anointing power of the Holy Spirit and sent back to dominate their surroundings in life. Peace (2019) Even if one is to understand those remarks as only intended to help (Nigerian) African women redefine their identity and experience the liberation of the Spirit, Pastor Peace does not want to be seen as challenging cultures of patriarchy that are still present among African Pentecostals in Belgium.

Critical Intercultural Theological Issues, Internal Negotiations, and Social Relevance There is no denying that the life histories of the four female Pentecostal actors examined in this study raise critical issues concerning the exercise of pastoral leadership within African Pentecostalism in Flanders. Three of these issues which border on aspects of the movement’s intercultural theologies, internal tensions, and negotiations, as well as social relevance, mirror the extent to which traditional African conceptions of gender are redefined and patriarchal power structures are functioning within African Pentecostalism. First, the involvement of female actors in pastoral leadership of African Pentecostal churches needs to be assessed from the perspective of the movement’s intercultural theology. Although there is a wide recognition among African Pentecostals that the Holy Spirit is generally accessible to all members of the faith community, with accompanying signs such as speaking in tongues, healing, deliverance, and exorcism, yet the anointing the Spirit is said to bestow does not translate into empowering women to exercise pastoral leadership roles. The life histories of the three deaconesses show that, whereas they recognize the spirit’s anointing on their lives, they understand that this has equipped them to only perform roles related to women, youth, children, choir, or finances. And it does not seem to bother them that these are minor roles in comparison to preaching or exercising other prominent pastoral leadership roles. Furthermore, besides Deaconesses Prudence and Promise, who tend to apprehend theological categories, the others are less concerned about formulating theological justification for the roles they perform within the church. As such, one finds that these women prefer to use the Pentecostal methodology of narrative orality to explain their subsidiary roles in their churches. While this may appear marginal, it goes to show that African Pentecostalism will still have to define its theology of gender. Second, female Pentecostal actors must also be explored in relation to the internal tensions and negotiations encountered by these women and their churches in Belgium. Three of the women discussed in this chapter still perform subsidiary roles, compared to their spouses. Notwithstanding the fact that women are in the majority, only a few are involved in pastoral leadership. And even those few who have provided leadership do so in subservient roles supervised by male spouses who are often described as founders, apostles, 311

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prophets, and general overseers. Thus, although a measured opening of pastoral leadership has occurred by which female African spouses are allowed space to exercise pastoral leadership within African Pentecostal churches in Flanders, such roles are still subsumed under male superintendence. This rather limited involvement of women in pastoral leadership suggests that the social and cultural structures with which power has been construed by Pentecostals in their countries of origin still exert a dominant influence among African Pentecostal churches in Belgium. This will likely change as leadership passes to second generation and mixed-race migrants who are not bound by the patriarchal leadership structures of their first-generation immigrant parents. Third, might it be that the women’s involvement in pastoral leadership indicates that African Pentecostalism is seeking some sort of social relevance in Flanders? The assertive role of Pastor Peace’s ministry shows another perspective where her involvement in ministry is probably leading to a redefinition of gender roles and conservative theologies among African Pentecostal churches. The fact that her ministry accompanies African women who are facing divorce proceedings, reacting to their experiences of domestic violence, or dealing with other migratory crisis is indicative of the challenges that African Pentecostalism’s conservative doctrines concerning marriage and the family have faced in a secular Belgian society. It may also indicate the symbolic boundaries female clerics have to negotiate within their African Pentecostal churches and the wider Flemish society at large where their ministries are based. Pastor Peace’s activism suggests that, where once male dominance was theologically justified by African Pentecostalism, now it is challenged using all the available means in Belgium. Besides, the female factor is not only central in the migratory experiences of these African women leaders, traditional roles such as wives, mothers, and sisters appear to be reconfigured. All the women discussed in this chapter made the decision to migrate and contribute to how their lives are shaping in the diaspora, even if they are still leaders of African Pentecostal churches.

Conclusion This chapter has argued that, although global Pentecostalism’s theology of the accessibility of the Holy Spirit could provide liberating potentials to women by supporting their aspirations to assume and exercise pastoral leadership in the gathered church, women’s pastoral leadership remains ambivalent within African Pentecostal churches in Flanders, Belgium. Although the women interlocutors (three of whom are female spouses of male founders) have assumed some leadership roles in their churches, those roles are interwoven with their place as spouses. Even if this counts as gendered reconfigurations of pastoral leadership roles, it does not amount to a comprehensive transformation of either gender roles or patriarchal power dynamics within African Pentecostalism in Belgium. Besides that, these women actors have not understood their pastoral roles in relation to theologies of liberation in the Spirit which Pentecostalism often believes all people have received. Apart from Pastor Peace, whose ministry addresses issues at the intersection of migration, gender, and forms of domestic abuse, their pastoral engagements are not defined by Belgium’s gender regimes. While there are implicit feelings of unease and expressions of disappointment over the patriarchal leadership models their churches have inherited from countries of origin, they still fall far short of proffering either theological grounds or use current Belgian gender regimes to call for more pastoral power to be divulged to women in their churches. It seems that their internal struggles with patriarchal power structures appear to be complicated by their churches’ lack of awareness of Belgium’s gender regimes. 312

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Therefore, it seems conceivable to argue that African Pentecostal churches must engage in detailed discussions that clarify how their theology of Spirit-liberation and the prevailing gender regimes in Belgium conflicts with liturgical practices that do not provide access to women to exercise pastoral leadership in their churches.

References Alexander, Estrelda, and Amos Yong. 2009. Philip’s Daughters Women in Pentecostal-Charismatic Leadership. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers. Anderson, Allan H. 2004. An Introduction to Pentecostalism: Global Charismatic Christianity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Asamoah-Gyadu, Kwabena. 1998. “Fireballs in Our Midst: West African Burgeoning Charismatic Churches and the Pastoral Role of Women.” Mission Studies 15 (1): 15–31. Aunger, Robert. 1995. “On Ethnography: Storytelling or Science?” Current Anthropology 36 (1): 97–130. Bangura, Joseph Bangura. 2017a. “Pentecostal Rituals, Human Wellbeing and the Reshaping of African Migrants at Word Communication Ministries, Belgium.” In Pentecostals and the Body, edited by Michael Wilkinson, and Peter Althouse, 177–95. Leiden: Brill. Bangura, Joseph Bosco. 2017b. “African Pentecostalism, Transnational Marriage and Family Practices in Belgium.” Trajecta: Religion, Culture and Society in the Low Countries 26 (2): 303–19. Bangura, Joseph Bosco. 2018. “African Pentecostalism and Mediatised Self-branding in Catholic (Flanders) Belgium.” Stichproben: Vienna Journal of African Studies 35: 1–23. Bangura, Joseph Bosco. 2019. “Till Death Do Us Part: Divorce and African Pentecostalism in Belgium.” Interkulturelle Theologie: Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft 45 (1): 49–66. Bangura, Joseph Bosco. 2020. “Secularization Influences on Second Generation and Mixed-race African Pentecostal Migrants in Flanders (Belgium).” In Is Africa Incurably Religious? Secularization and Discipleship in Africa, edited by Benno van den Toren, Joseph Bosco Bangura, and Richard D. Seed, 139–53. Oxford: Regnum. Barfoot, Charles, and Gerald Sheppard. 1980. “Prophetic vs. Priestly Religion: The Changing Role of Women Clergy in Classical Pentecostal Churches.” Review of Religious Research 22 (1): 2–17. Brusco, Elizabeth. 2010. “Gender and Power.” In Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods, edited by Allan Anderson, Michael Bergunder, Andre F. Droogers, and Cornelis van der Laan, 74–92. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Buker, Hassan. 2007. “Transporting Women Sex Workers from Nigeria to Europe.” Crime & Justice International 23 (100): 4–12. Bundy, David D. 1986. “Pentecostalism in Belgium.” Pneuma 8 (1): 41–57. Carling, Jørgen. 2006. Migration, Human Smuggling, and Trafficking from Nigeria to Europe. Geneva: International Organization for Migration. Cazarin, Rafael, and Mar Griera. 2018. “Born a Pastor, Being a Woman: Biographical Accounts on Gendered Religious Gifts in the Diaspora.” Culture and Religion 19 (4): 451–70. Creemers, Jelle. 2017. “All Together in One Synod? The Genesis of the Federal Synod of Protestant and Evangelical Churches in Belgium (1985–1998).” Trajecta: Religion, Culture and Society in the Low Countries 26 (2): 275–302. Curran, Sara, and Abigail Saguy. 2001. “Migration and Cultural Change: A Role for Gender and Social Networks?” Journal of International Women’s Studies 2 (3): 54–77. Dannecker, Petra. 2005. “Transnational Migration and the Transformation of Gender Relations: The Case of Bangladeshi Labor Migrants.” Current Sociology 53 (4): 655–74. Duru, Maureen Chinyere. 2017. Diaspora, Food and Identity: Nigerian Migrants in Belgium. Brussels: Peter Lang. Eriksen, Annelin. 2016. “Pentecostalism and Egalitarianism in Melanesia: A Reconsideration of the Pentecostal Gender Paradox.” Religion and Society: Advances in Research 7: 37–50. Ettourki, Karim, Noel Clycq, Idesbald Goddeeris, Nadia Fadil, and Christiane Timmerman, eds. 2018. Moroccan Migration in Belgium More Than 50 Years of Settlement. Baltimore, MD: Project Muse. Franken, Leni. 2014. “Religious and Citizenship Education in Belgium/Flanders: Suggestions for the Future.” Education, Citizenship and Social Justice 9 (3): 255–67. Franken, Leni. 2017. “State Support for Religion in Belgium: A Critical Evaluation.” Journal of Church and State 59 (1): 59–80.

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Joseph Bosco Bangura Freeman, Dena. 2012. Pentecostalism and Development: Churches, NGO’s and Social Change in Africa. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Gabaitse, Rosinah Mmannana. 2015. “Pentecostal Hermeneutics and the Marginalisation of Women.” Scriptura 114: 1–12. Gerloff, Roswith I.H. 2000. “The Significance of the African Christian Diaspora in Europe: A Report on Four Events in 1997–98.” International Review of Mission 89 (354): 281–90. Gifford, Paul. 2016. Gifford, Christianity, Development and Modernity in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Godwin, Colin. 2013. “The Recent Growth of Pentecostalism in Belgium.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 37 (2): 90–94. Grudem, Wayne A. 2012. Evangelical Feminism & Biblical Truth: An Analysis of More Than One Hundred Disputed Questions. Wheaton, IL: Crossway. Hammersley, Martyn, and Paul Atkinson. 2003. Ethnography: Principles in Practice. New York, NY: Routledge. Hanciles, Jehu J. 2008. Beyond Christendom: Globalization, African Migration, and the Transformation of the West. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Hoehner, Harold W. 2007. “Can a Woman be a Pastor-Teacher?” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 50 (4): 761–71. Jackson, Darrell, and Alessia Passarelli. 2020. Mapping Migration, Mapping Churches’ Responses in Europe: Being Church Together. Brussels: CCME. Kalu, Ogbu. 2008. African Pentecostalism: An Introduction. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Karim, Karim H., and Ahmed Al-Raw. 2018. Diaspora and Media in Europe: Migration, Identity, and Integration. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Köstenberger, Andreas J., and Thomas R. Schreiner, eds. 2007. Women in the Church: An Analysis and Application of 1 Timothy 2:9–15. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker. Langford, Joy. 2017. “Feminism and Leadership in the Pentecostal Movement.” Feminist Theology 26 (1): 69–79. Lesthaeghe, Ron J. 2000. Communities and Generations: Turkish and Moroccan Populations in Belgium. Brussels: VUB University Press. Lindhardt, Martin. 2015. Pentecostalism in Africa: Presence and Impact of Pneumatic Christianity in Postcolonial Societies. Leiden: Brill. Martin, Bernice. 2003. “The Pentecostal Gender Paradox: A Cautionary Tale for the Sociology of Religion.” In The Blackwell Companion to Sociology of Religion, edited by Richard K. Finn, 52–66. Oxford, UK/Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers. Martin, Bernice. 2013. “Tensions and Trends in Pentecostal Gender and Family Relations.” In Global Pentecostalism in the 21st Century, edited by Robert W. Hefner, 91–114. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Maskens, Maïté. 2012. “Mobility Among Pentecostal Pastors and Migratory ‘Miracles’.” Canadian Journal of African Studies 46 (3): 397–409. McClymond, Michael. 2015. “I Will Pour Out of My Spirit Upon All Flesh: An Historical and Theological Meditation on Pentecostal Origins.” Pneuma 37 (3): 356–74. Peace, Pastor. 2019. “Interview with author in Brussels.” 7 December 2019. Pessar, Patricia R., and Sarah J. Mahler. 2003. “Transnational Migration: Bringing Gender In.” International Migration Review 37 (3): 812–46. Promise, Deaconess. 2019. “Interview by author in Brussels.” 14 July 2019. Prosper, Deaconess. 2019. “Interview by author in Antwerp.” 1 December 2019. Prudence, Deaconess. 2019. “Interview by author in Brussels.” 12 November 2019. Reniers, Georges. 1999. “On the History and Selectivity of Turkish and Moroccan Migration to Belgium.” International Migration 374: 679–713. Sackey, Brigid M. 2006. New Directions in Gender and Religion: The Changing Status of Women in African Independent Churches. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Samers, Michael. 2010. Migration. London/New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. Schoenmaeckers, Ronald C., Edith Lodewijckx, and Sylvie Gadeyne. 1999. “Marriages and Fertility Among Turkish and Moroccan Women in Belgium: Results from Census Data.” International Migration Review 334: 901–28. Soothill, Jane E. 2010. “The Problem with Women’s Empowerment: Female Religiosity in Ghana’s Charismatic Churches.” Studies in World Christianity 16 (1): 82–99.

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Female Leadership in African Pentecostalism in Belgium Stephenson, Lisa P. 2011. “Prophesying Women and Ruling Men: Women’s Religious Authority in North American Pentecostalism.” Religions 2: 411. Sumner, Sarah. 2009. Men and Women in the Church: Building Consensus on Christian Leadership. Westmont, IL: InterVarsity Press. Timmerman, Christiane, March Martiniello, Andrea Rea, and Johan Wets, eds. 2015. New Dynamics in Female Migration and Integration. New York/London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis. Timmerman, Christiane, Maria Lucinda Fonseca, Lore Van Praag, and Sonia Pereira, eds. 2018. Gender and Migration: A Gender-Sensitive Approach to Migration Dynamics. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Van Den Brandt, Nella, and Chia Longman. 2017. “Working Against Many Grains: Rethinking Difference, Emancipation and Agency in the Counter-discourse of an Ethnic Minority Women’s Organisation in Belgium.” Social Compass 64 (4): 512–29. Van Der Laan, Cornelius. 2011. “The Development of Pentecostalism in Dutch Speaking Countries.” In European Pentecostalism, edited by William K. Kay, and Anne E. Dyer, 85–112. Leiden: Brill. Way-Way, Dibudi. 2000. “The African Christian Diaspora in Belgium with Special Reference to the International Church of Brussels.” International Review of Mission 89 (354): 451–56. Wuiame, Nathalie. 2021. Country Report, Gender Equality: How are EU Rules Transposed Into National Law – Belgium. Luxembourg: Publication Office of the EU. Zibouh, Fatima, and March Martiniello. 2015. “The Migration of Nigerian Women to Belgium: Qualitative Analysis of Trends and Dynamics.” In New Dynamics in Female Migration and Integration, edited by Christiane Timmerman, March Martiniello, Andrea Rea, and Johan Wets, 185–206. New York/London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis.

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24 IDEOLOGICAL COLONIALITY AND DECOLONIZING WORSHIP PRACTICE AT HILLSONG Ntandoyenkosi Mlambo and Tanya Riches

Introduction Hillsong is a neo-Pentecostal megachurch composed of individuals from varied global locations.1 Early on, the church’s music became so successful that it rebranded, entrenching its origin in Sydney’s “Hills” District and its iconic “song” as two immutable symbols (Connell 2005; McIntyre 2007). Due to its global prominence, researchers consider Hillsong to transcend nationality, promoting a certain “cosmopolitanism” (Riches and Wagner 2017, 4). This chapter’s thesis is that, as the Hillsong brand spread around the world, rather than consumers, the church increasingly gained congregants (constituents) with differing local ontologies and existences. Such growth inevitably has changed the brand, forming a beginning of decolonial work, potentially at odds with a megachurch empire. Finally, these changes did not necessarily reflect Hillsong global, creating both tension and hope. The chapter examines how Hillsong has wrestled with its local and global identities toward issues of postcolonial justice. Wariboko (2014, 13) claims the work of the Spirit is found in forming virtuous people and “developing a diversity of gifts” expressed within the community of God is Pentecostalism’s key claim. However, in reality, there are various challenges to this proposal. Increasingly, it is becoming clear how a Eurocentric way of knowing and being has formed the dynamic global history of the community of God over some centuries. The chapter introduces the concepts and processes of coloniality and decoloniality, identifying relevant literature before explaining its method and reflecting on Hillsong Church’s beginnings and expansion across the world. Finally, it presents developments and interactions within Hillsong across the Global North/South axis at the time of research. Since then, the church has faced decline, in part due to various public scandals. However, this chapter contributes a historical record of constituent attempts to move toward decoloniality within this evangelical/Pentecostal megachurch congregation.

Coloniality in Christian North/South Relations Since the turn of the century, missiologists have grappled with the changing demography of the church towards a new Christian southern geographic “heartland,” a shift undeniably shaping the global faith. Johnson et al. (2017, 43) note that, in 1900, approximately 93 percent of Christians resided in Europe/North America, while only 1.7 percent were in 316

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Africa (mostly of European descent). By 2017, however, only 27.2 percent of the Christian church resided in Europe/Northern America, while Africa alone accounted for 40.8 percent. These authors estimate that by 2050, 17.5 percent of the church will reside in Europe/North America versus 53.1 percent in Africa. Considering this demographic change and in recognition of the historical overemphasis upon a Western (white) cultural context, the missiological discourse now seeks to rebalance the theological guild’s offerings. Across the world, the church’s historical role or interconnectedness with colonial endeavors has been widely recorded. Through conquest, Western-European people groups transplanted their systems, beliefs, thinking, and ways of being. This global transplantation is conceptualized as the process of colonialism with the lasting effect of coloniality (Quijano 2007, 168–70). To frame this discussion, it must be explained that there are various definitions of colonialism and coloniality within recent writing. Colonialism is defined as an explicit political order, while coloniality is a general form of domination seen in today’s world (Quijano 2007, 169). European ways of being and knowledge produced modernity during the colonial endeavor, formalized and entrenched in countries worldwide (Quijano 2007, 172). Oyedemi further clarifies coloniality, calling it “a social totality of domination manifested in cultural and economic spheres” (2020, 400). In On Decoloniality, Mignolo and Walsh explain that knowing and being (ontology and epistemology) create praxis for systems of economy, education, history, and others (2018, 136). Coloniality asks that the “others” to whom it expands and conquers should lay down their ways of knowing and being and take on this paradigm of existence. In this way, those in the Global South have experienced the violence of being conquered and having their own ways (or paradigm of existence) replaced with a Western paradigm. Therefore, “colonialism” can be considered transplanting through the expansion of ontology and epistemology, while “coloniality” is the continuing existence of this paradigm within postcolonial nations despite the end of colonialism. Resistance against coloniality is “decoloniality.” Decoloniality can be described as an intentional undoing of the structures of hierarchy, race, gender, and class so predominant in the Western paradigm – and the struggle to rebuild community values while drawing upon the operant diversity (Mignolo and Walsh 2018, 17). Decoloniality cannot be considered a destination or only one point of acting and being but is a journey that amplifies divergent perspectives and existences. To situate Hillsong Church within this picture, it is important to note how historical North/South relational power dynamics apply to Pentecostal Christianity. The “black roots” versus “white racism” of Pentecostalism have been debated at length (Wilkinson 1986, 27). Helpfully, anthropologist Joel Robbins (2004, 123) separated from previous theories that addressed why Pentecostalism appeals (such as the anomie or deprivation of its constituencies) and instead investigated how Pentecostalism globalized. He claims that “[Pentecostal/ Charismatic Christianity] represents a paradigm case of a global cultural flow that starts historically in the West and expands to cover the globe” (Robbins 2004, 118).2 However, relevant to these broader geographic shifts of the church, he observed competing cultural impulses within the Pentecostal movement; a “Westernizing homogenization” in which the faith replicates itself successfully elsewhere, and also an “indigenizing differentiation” in which it adapts to its receiving culture.

Positioning Hillsong: Religion, Branding, and Mission Limited literature addresses bi-directional North/South relationships within and between Western Pentecostal megachurch congregations. However, three relevant contributions will now be explored: comparable Christian networks (e.g., denominations and non-Western 317

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megachurches); the Hillsong brand/s and its associated products; and Global South individuals in Western contexts. First, many Christian groups sustain relationships across the globe, and not all of this movement is north-to-south. Here, contextualizing a long African theological tradition is important. John Mbiti (1990) notes that “Christianity in Africa is so old that it can rightly be described as an indigenous, traditional and African religion.” There are also liberation theologies, like Black theology of liberation, where theology and hermeneutics are used to free black bodies in African contexts from oppressive structures and coloniality (Hadebe 2017). Thus, Africa’s response to coloniality seen in faith is to exist and resist, using on-theground Africanized Christian responses and theologizing to show African ontologies in response to colonial ontology. Jehu Hanciles (2013, 72) considers it significant that “the vast majority of African Christians retain affiliation with [Global North] denominations.” He claims the result is the Pentecostalization of many of these groups to focus on spiritual power and deliverance (Hanciles 2013, 80). South African scholar Resane (2022, 2) agrees, contrasting the early Pentecostal groups that came to South Africa against its megachurches. He notes that neo-Pentecostal theologies seek relevance to global issues, particularly economic development and/or poverty alleviation, and facilitate indigenous African leadership (Resane 2022, 5). The ecclesiology and ethnography network has investigated the power relations inherent in European denominational networks operating globally (Idestrom et al. 2018); other studies examine flows of resources/human capital to North America’s “sister churches” (Bakker 2013). Additionally, the literature outlines Global South megachurches undertaking “reverse mission” in Western contexts; Richard Burgess (2019, 245) qualifies that while African megachurches in European cities may lack local converts, they offer a holistic community to migrants, serving “the evolving relationship between the global and local, a defining feature of late modernity.” Megachurch operations from Africa facilitate “transnational flows of ideas, resources and people” and mobilize the laity in their new contexts (Burgess 2019, 250). Second, the development of Hillsong as a brand has been well documented (Riches and Wagner 2012, 2017; Yip 2015; Shanahan 2020; Wagner 2020). The branding and religion literature posits the transition of religion from the state to the market, exploring at length the marketing of religious products and the associated move to entertainment.3 Megachurches, in particular, have utilized corporate practices, including marketing and branding, as well as commercialization and commodification, to grow. Of these, Hillsong Church has been one of the most successful in transitioning Christianity into “a religious lifestyle” or brand (McIntyre 2007; Wagner 2020). Jeanne Yip (2015, 77) claims, “Hillsong … dereligionized organized religion into a spiritual product.” She explains, The values, ideologies, ethos, people, products, and basically anything the organization wants to be identified with is enacted and communicated explicitly through the brand. Therefore, the practice of branding is a strategic tool designed to build loyalty toward the whole organization. Yip (2015, 82) Yip (2015, 80) believes the musical repertoire mediates tensions between personal experiences of intimacy with God and Hillsong’s mega(-corporate) identity. In recent years, preachers and worship leaders at Hillsong became more recognizable, with their “celebrity” widely criticized (Riches and Wagner 2012). Notably, however, Payne (2022) argues that many early Pentecostals such as Aimee Semple McPherson used similar techniques.4 Hillsong’s early 318

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branding involved professional lay leaders; and it has included various social justice initiatives suggesting something more than just blank consumerism (Riches and Wagner 2012, 2017). Nevertheless, Lena Rose (2019, 2) noted “uneven co-configurations of imaginaries of the ‘local’ and ‘global’” in a Hillsong concert where dominant American Zionist theologies interacted with a marginalized Palestinian audience. Today, Hillsong Church’s brand and music creation is based in the Global North, which continues to make decisions around the church’s brand. Music from this locus has been shared across all the other “rooms” or church locations worldwide. In some ways, this reveals Robbins’ case on Western cultural flow. However, the thoughts and actions of constituents from and within the Global South have also demonstrated contestation through difference of ontologies, which will be shown. Finally, Jehu Hanciles (2013, 70) identifies the “unconventional missionaries” or individual Global South contributors serving in northern contexts. He notes that all religious migratory flows must be recognized (Hanciles 2013, 65). African Christians working in Western contexts redress “… the idea that Western societies are viewed as a ‘mission field’ by people who exist in the Western mind as the main objects of Western missionary sending” (Hanciles 2013, 78). He records structural “paternalism and condescension,” arguing that “conventions and understandings around notions of equality and mutuality are much easier to sustain when the parties only meet occasionally at international conferences or when visitations are carefully orchestrated” (2013, 76). Often, the work of individuals from the Global South is obscured due to perceptions that migrants are objects of charity rather than participants in mission. Although they may not be as visible as other notable African-led immigrant expressions, this is a growing trend (Hanciles 2013, 75). However, Hillsong Church offers a quite different situation from the decentralized and adaptive local churches observed in Robbins’ study (2004, 124). A large global church with a complex organizational structure, its collective affect (Wade and Hynes 2013, 176) is produced via a vibrant shared ritual or liturgical life, gathering online and in Global North/South locations, as well as circulating in musical products, conferences, and concerts (Yip 2015; Riches and Wagner 2017). In contrast to Hanciles’ work, Hillsong’s staff are situated in a Pentecostal biblical and historical tradition that has flexed for friction and disunity as well as unity and common faith. Attendees did not tend to have overly “conservative” views (Hanciles 2013, 79) but were cosmopolitan-minded individuals looking to contribute more fluidity to the organization by unexpected position-taking.

Methodology The outlined literature highlighted the need for closer examination of Hillsong’s global flows, here undertaken via historical research and an ethnographic case study to scope the transnational interaction between the organization, its religious products, and individuals attending the church. The central research question was, “What interactions at Hillsong occur between the Global South and North?” Hillsong staff were presumed to have the greatest visibility of any Global North/South interaction. In total, sixteen semi-structured interviews were conducted with staff in two rounds after community consent was obtained from Hillsong’s General Manager. Thirteen were Hillsong Australia staff; one was a Hillsong South Africa member, and two were Hillsong’s Racial Equity committee members.5 Four interview respondents were Australian, and one was North American (all European descent). The rest identified variously: Filipina, Taiwanese, Peruvian, Brazilian, Kenyan, Columbian, Zimbabwean, and two respondents from the Caribbean. The South African staff member is SeSotho. 319

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This study focused on lesser-explored motifs of “interconnectivity and collaboration” (here termed decoloniality), although acknowledging “segregation, friction, or exploitation” (here coloniality) (Bakker 2013, 5). Specifically, it sought to understand Hillsong’s ecclesial organizational network and spatial relations; how relevant flows of products fit into the transnational picture; and to identify and amplify Global South individuals on staff who may fit the profile of the “unconventional missionaries” outlined above. Reflections on decoloniality/coloniality in transnational collaboration arose from these interviews and the authors’ participant observations; the chapter represents emerging theological issues at Hillsong at the time of writing, and the community’s actions to address or rebalance the historical geographies of the organization, such spatiality here considered representative of the wider Christian communion.

The Hillsong Congregation(s) The Australian megachurch Hillsong was founded in 1983 by married pastoral couple Brian and Bobbie Houston (who resigned controversially in 2022). Its geographic headquarters is in Sydney, Australia; this is technically the Global South but is usually designated “North” due to its wealth.6 The church was initially formed under and continues to affiliate with the Australian Christian Churches (ACC), which was formally known as the Assemblies of God until 2007.7 The ACC is a self-governing “movement of Pentecostal churches.”8 In 2018, Hillsong Church became its own denomination for “practical reasons” described as “one house, many rooms.”9 The congregation now spans both hemispheres, with an anticipated reach into 100 countries. During the COVID-19 lockdowns, Hillsong Church Online (HCO) formed twenty-five streaming channels in a repository for viewers (see Figure 24.1). This was representative of its online congregation. At the time, service announcements suggested 250,000–300,000 viewers logged onto the Asia/Pacific channels alone. Six Global South locations produced content (below). Of these, “Africa” was the only channel screened in English. Additionally, the “Creative” department represented all volunteers involved in service production globally and gained its own HCO channel. Staff described complex interaction between Hillsong’s global “rooms,” which cannot be fully outlined here. Reporting lines were described as a “matrix of accountability” that run vertically to the senior pastors via the Hillsong Church Online (HCO) Asia/Pacific (3)

Europe (9)

Australia Indonesia Tokyo

UK Berlin Denmark & Malmö France Italy Ukraine Netherlands Norway Spain

North America (6)

Latin America (4)

Africa/ Middle East (2)

Canada USA East Coast California Dallas Kansas City Phoenix

Buenos Aires Monterrey (Mexico) Portugal Sao Paulo

Africa Israel

Figure 24.1  Hillsong Streaming Locations

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general managers but also horizontally through Hillsong’s campus locations, global departments (e.g., the Conferences and Youth departments), and affiliated organizations that facilitate the church’s activities (e.g., Hillsong Music Publishing (HMA), Hillsong Channel).10 Hillsong fosters various formal and informal connections. For example, several campus leaders are from the Global South and preach on HCO’s channels. However, the Hillsong executive participants described being more removed (or less connected) across the continents than campus leaders. Pastors emphasized this relational and informal interaction, arguing that relationships emerged from “shared values, trusted friendships, and a sense of building God’s Kingdom together.” Interestingly, most participants were conscious of these power dynamics. Staff asserted that Hillsong was not yet a “truly global” church in its operations. By this, they meant that most interaction was informal, relational, and at the initiative of Hillsong’s attendees or staff individuals. Additionally, they cited a seeming overemphasis of collaboration between Western leaders (particularly based in Australia) based on their “proximity” to Hillsong’s global senior pastors. One executive leader warned: “Don’t look at the slick machine and think we have a strategy for how we work. We essentially work on the basis of relationships … that is how voices are heard or not heard … [but this] is not the best option for including new voices” (Staff 1). Hillsong Australia staff supported colleagues overseas via informal WhatsApp chats but “not as part of a formal globally coordinated structure or strategy.” Nevertheless, one staff member described distributing finance to Global South locations to administer projects relevant to the refugee crisis; another trained conference volunteers in social justice initiatives and followed up during the year. Sydney’s CityCare staff designed and monitored development projects in both Africa and Bali. Historically, the college drew students from all Hillsong’s global locations; one staff member commented on this “Come to Sydney” model.11 “The college has been predominantly Sydneybased, but … it is closely connected with the ‘global rooms’ of Hillsong, especially South Africa, United States, and London” (Staff 3). However, the inequality of this approach was also noted: The college model … has generally not been an issue for people from the USA and Europe with access to funds and greater chance of acceptance (level 1 visa countries) … [disadvantaging] students that do not have access to resources, e.g., level 2 and level 3 countries (Africa, Latin America, Asia). This is slowly changing … with the launch of online courses. Staff 3 Additionally, as the church expanded from Sydney, many Australians (and college students) were sent to global locations. In turn, international students often stayed on and acted as “unconventional missionaries” at the Hills campus. Like Hanciles’ African participants in the North American Christian context, “their very presence and involvement can contribute to new enthusiasm and affirmation within a congregation” (2013, 73). Hillsong’s musical groups consisted of individuals attending the church, but external relationships facilitated the production of music and brand development. For example, Hillsong’s “Young & Free” band was formed out of the youth ministry but recorded and toured as an independent brand. One staff member lamented the impact of Hillsong’s exported worship music via CDS, conferences, and tours as possible coloniality: I see … [a] “foreignization” of the Latin American church’s liturgy. In the last decades … services were saturated with translated songs from prominent worship 321

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ministries … several churches painted their walls black and implemented lighting and fancy stages that resemble megachurches … It has become increasingly common to see foreign pastors … [whereas] Cash Luna was the first Latin American pastor and preacher to be featured … at a Hillsong Conference. Staff 4 Notably, he considered the possibility for a Latin American contribution to Hillsong Church as yet unrealized: “Latin American culture is incredibly rich in its musicality and artistic expression, and I believe the Hillsong movement … could benefit so much from their local rooms” (Staff 4). Overall, participants celebrated the contribution and presence of the Global South locations but were unsure where they fitted in the Hillsong brand. One Australian staff stated: “… other than updates at strategic [events] such as Vision Sunday and Heart for the House, culture and brand are imposed outward from Australia … Africa seems to have little influence on Hillsong policy, cultural expression, or creative endeavors” (Staff 2). This was translated into a lack of proximity and affective connection between campuses: “I think our global rooms [shape] who we are becoming as a Church … [those] that have the largest impact on decisionmaking in this season are within America. The Global South ‘rooms’ seem distant to me” (Staff 7). One participant stated: “Global South ‘rooms’ bring a lot of energy and passion to the Hillsong Movement … when Hillsong opened [doors] in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and Sao Paulo, Brazil, both churches had thousands of people attending from the first Sunday” (Staff 4). Similar sentiment was expressed regarding Hillsong’s Mandarin-speaking and diaspora Chinese campuses: “I would say that Hillsong … does not have strong Asian presence or representation in its key leadership and platform, clearly perpetuating a very white Western Australian culture” (Staff 2). This staff saw a future possibility for Hillsong’s Chinese congregations to “contextualize yet remain centralized as a church.” Notably, three staff members emphasized that Hillsong’s Global South campuses added an experience or theology of poverty and suffering. Overall, this sample of staff were dissatisfied with the operative logic of coloniality that existed; but all articulated that Hillsong’s potential diversification was not counter to its brand: As [Brian Houston] says, the message of the gospel has not changed, but the method can and should … Hillsong has a strong entrepreneurial DNA, but with its size, complexity, and profile … it needs specialized capability … to set it up well for scale and maturity beyond the first generation. Staff 3 Amongst staff, the desire for decoloniality was intense; one participant quoted Soong Chan Rah (2015, 72), “The dismantling of privilege requires the disavowal of any pretense of exceptionalism.” Participants desired what was described as “a non-western interpretation of our faith.” While this may be due to the sample representing those willing to comment on Global North/South relations, there are other ways to view this.

Decolonial Efforts at Hillsong Church This section outlines the decolonial efforts following a “glocal” focus on race. and various missteps amongst global evangelical leaders. After George Floyd’s death, a discussion about the Western paradigm controlling black bodies and churches came to the fore in many countries. 322

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Hillsong Church responded; however, many on social media denounced its response as weak and uninformed. This polarized the church, with some calling for change and others not understanding the issues at stake. Over time, many requests were raised for acknowledgment of diversity and context at a deeper level. Following the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement, Senior Pastor Brian Houston issued “An OPEN Letter to Hillsong Church” to all Hillsong attendees on June 6, 2020. It stated: Whilst I will never truly know the pain and suffering of the black, indigenous [sic] and people of color in our communities, we are committed as a Church to playing our part in seeing racism eradicated. Without question, all lives do matter, but until that becomes a reality, we will continue to say black lives matter and work to that end – because until black lives matter, all lives don’t matter. Houston (2020) On June 28, 2020, another statement announced a Global Racial Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI) Committee to advise Hillsong’s senior pastors and board on issues relevant to race. A respondent from the Committee suggested that the biggest challenge was Hillsong’s lack of racially diverse senior leadership, which reflected its unconscious bias. The process of decoloniality is here explored in two nations: South Africa and Australia.

South Africa Due to its diversity, South Africa was called the “Rainbow Nation’’ by Archbishop Desmond Tutu in the early years of democratic South Africa (Tshawane 2009, i). This majority Black African nation has eleven official languages, with the StatsSA data in 2019 revealing that the most spoken languages (in homes) are IsiZulu (25.3 percent of the population), IsiXhosa (14.8 percent), and Afrikaans (12.2 percent) (Business Tech, June 1, 2019). Correspondingly, the South African context (as in other Global South nations) requires divergent thinking and an acceptance and inclusion of the nation’s people’s perspectives within liturgical or worship practices. South African space is diverse, yet the paradigm of thought, even in the church, still leans on coloniality. Still, African theologies rose amid colonial and Apartheid oppression. Church groupings like the African Instituted Churches reflect a Christian theology that incorporates African cultures. In most African contexts, there is a concerted effort to enculturate African cultures and Pre-Christian religions into theologizing (Hadebe 2017). Hillsong held its first service in South Africa in June 2008, with much anticipation. Pastors Phil and Lucinda Dooley moved from Australia to launch this South African expression of the church. Hillsong’s well-known alt-rock music drew many in its formative years, and the church increased in locations and influence. Locations were spread across Cape Town and its surrounds and later to Johannesburg, Pretoria, and Durban as major metropolises in South Africa. Locations were also launched in townships like Mitchell’s Plain and Gugulethu (areas formed by the Apartheid-era Group Areas Act, where people classed in racial groups were moved to far-flung areas in the City of Cape Town). However, at first, this growth did not develop into diverse worship practices. Liturgical sequences and worship practices all largely followed the Hillsong Australia format. One of the participants noted that he had been a proponent for Africanization in worship practices and involved in expansion within Africa. The respondent mentioned a number of challenges and hopes below. Following Black Lives Matter (BLM), the senior leadership decided to launch an eight-week in-depth course named “Brave Journey.” During this time, senior leaders, pastors, and other 323

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employees examined the Bible’s theme of returning to shalom, exploring how this means restoration in and outside the church, including how racial inclusivity and overall acceptance of divergency play a part in this return. After this, Hillsong South Africa adjusted its aesthetics online to be more inclusive, also changing who was preaching and was a part of worship practices. However, some locations and cultures had less change than others with leadership still skewed toward white staffers. In 2022, as Hillsong South Africa evolves in a post-pandemic world, the pressing conversation about diversity issues has stalled and needs re-prioritization; this is being called for by members of the church. In essence, Hillsong in South Africa has had some changes but is still actively dealing with contestations between South African ontologies and the cultural flow from Australia. There is a consistent call for change within the church in particular locations, and in worship practices. An example is the performance of Christmas songs, with members challenging how one does an African Christmas Carol worship night and how to Africanize these. The South African participant posits that it would be favorable for Hillsong Church to recognize Global South voices and encourage more relational flow between South and North. Furthermore, community works differently in Africa than in the Global North, with communal versus individualistic identities. This influences the way church is “done” as South African churches are affected by these communal ontologies (here he noted similarities to the Acts church and the concept of koinonia). Moreover, Africans, particularly South Africans, have a unique way of celebrating life through music and dance. Such unique characteristics can be acknowledged and adopted by Hillsong’s Global North locations with Global South theologians, theologies, and pastors acting as advisors. The hope is that the Australian church cannot approach things the way it has before; the Global South should have more influence. Finally, the respondent states that to decolonize in the Hillsong environment is authentically recognizing that different people groups have different expressions, and all are legitimate. In his view the question, “What does it mean to be Hillsong Church?” should be asked. Finally, there needs to be continued discussion and action around undergirding legitimacy to South African worship practices in the church in South Africa.

Sydney, Australia Finally, this section considers the case of Hillsong Sydney but specifically the contribution of Aboriginal Christians working to promote decoloniality and their effect on Hillsong’s Australian campuses. Hillsong Australia undertook two training days with the Global Racial DEI team. In 2017, liturgical flexibility arguably allowed Hillsong’s new positioning toward Aboriginal people as a former cultural “other.” Within Aboriginal culture, the concept of “Country” incorporates the physical ecology, animals, and people. “Country” imparts an experience of the divine or transcendent in traditional Dreaming Spirituality. Such spirituality is not incompatible but complementary for many Aboriginal Christians (Grieves 2009).12 To locate a person’s “Dreaming” is to locate the land to which their responsibility lies; this is also their creative spiritual and social identity. Traditionally, Elders welcomed visitors onto their country via a ceremony that opened access to the land’s resources in traditional life. An “Acknowledgement of Country” moment is an adaptation of this ceremonial Welcome suitable for contemporary urban space. At the premier Australian Hillsong Conference, Jatham Staudinger, an Aboriginal man and staff member of Hillsong Darwin spoke an acknowledgment of country that recognized 324

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the traditional custodianship of the Wann-gal people of the Homebush area and its Elders’ past and present, concluding: “Now together in many languages, from many lands, we join to worship Jesus, the author and the finisher of our faith, the One who unites all peoples, nations and tongues” (Bruce 2017). Since then, most Conferences have included an Acknowledgment or a Welcome performed by a Custodian or Elder. Within the bounds of shared Christianity, this moment brings the colonizer and colonized into a direct relationship by recognizing or acknowledging the history of the land. As explored elsewhere (Riches 2018), it can arguably be read as an instance of dominant Australian Hillsong conference attendees learning to speak in new tongues, forming a spiritual polis from which a new type of community can be born. Although Hillsong’s own global culture is still emphasized, it also acknowledges Australia’s traditional people, lands, and customs. For example, Perth’s Joondalup site has permanently installed an Acknowledgment on a written plaque in the foyer. In 2020, an Australian Reconciliation Action Plan committee was formed. Global Senior Pastor Bobbie Houston situated this event in a blog post, explaining: “Over the past year, we have as a church been intentional to lean into a deeper acknowledgement and understanding of our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community, along with their needs and hopes for the future” (Houston 2021). The church continued this process (perhaps decolonial) by celebrating NAIDOC (a week-long national event initiated by Aboriginal Christians and now celebrated widely). On July 11, 2021, an almost eight-minute video narrated by Aboriginal man Nathanael Green was featured in Hillsong’s Australian services. This video outlined the nation’s colonial past, and explained the Aboriginal Protections Act and the resulting “Stolen Generations” of children removed from their families. He introduced the Aboriginal-led Christian revival of Pinnacle Pocket, highlighting the conversion of the Aboriginal evangelist Peter Morgan; it traced his ministry through his daughter, worship leader Robyn Green. Nathan identified these as his grandfather and mother. His storytelling situated Aboriginal people in the unknown history of Hillsong Church: … a young man named Don Dawson, who got saved and equipped under the ministry of Peter Morgan, became a pastor of forty years. He planted a church in Darwin. That congregation and those buildings now make up Hillsong Darwin, where my sister Christie Jacobs is now creative pastor. As for myself, I get the privilege of ministering in Hillsong Church Gold Coast as a leader. Alongside some incredible people, we get to minister to all Australians. A retelling of the Hillsong narrative as emerging from the ministry of Aboriginal Christians repositions the brand of the church as the singular initiative of Global Senior Pastors Brian and Bobbie. Rather than an attempt to rewrite the church’s history, it seeks to broaden its understanding of its formation by including Aboriginal contributors.

Conclusions and Complexities In 2022 – after the completion of this chapter – Hillsong Church was plagued by a number of high-profile scandals. This resulted in the promotion of the Hillsong Africa pastors Phil and Lucinda Dooley to become the global senior pastors of Hillsong Church, replacing its founders. The organization is therefore in a further state of change, with a revision of its structure, branding, and with the expected transition of many individuals both in and out of the staff and congregation. 325

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As the chapter outlines, before these seismic changes, Hillsong Church did undertake some actions to decenter the Western Christian paradigm on land, space, history, and racial dynamics, both in and outside of worship in services. However, this Western paradigm still exists in many spheres of life and in Hillsong Church. These authors found that Hillsong was an organization at the very beginning of its decoloniality process; the potentiality of its Global South attendees is desired but as yet largely unrealized. The authors argue that, for the process of decoloniality to be furthered, the physical history of the spaces and their peoples must be realized in Hillsong’s eschatological forward focus. The process of decoloniality is found in breaking the singular lens to release others to rise. Finally, a respondent from the Global Racial, Diversity, and Inclusion Committee stated the below as a dream and challenge: “… we need to do a lot more internal reflection … to grow and be better … That requires us to be truthful about ourselves … we actually don’t know and haven’t gotten it right, but we’re prepared to learn and allow ourselves to learn and be taught by others.”

Notes 1 Megachurch is a term widely used for a church with an attendance of over 2,000 congregants. 2 The historical flows are disputed by various scholars but the cultural forces undoubtedly have prioritized Western (North American) forms. 3 These products are called “resources” at Hillsong Church. 4 https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/justin-biebers-former-church-hillsong-usa-declinehypepriests-will-end-rcna23685. 5 All participants who were approached agreed to be interviewed. These were conducted in two rounds, one in 2020 and another in 2022 to obtain updated information. This may be considered a small representation of the views of the staff (in 2020 this numbered over 1,000). 6 Australia was founded as a colony and the British King remains Australia’s head of state. 7 https://hillsong.com/collected/blog/2018/10/has-hillsong-really-become-its-own-denomination/. 8 https://www.acc.org.au/about-us/. 9 https://hillsong.com/collected/blog/2018/10/has-hillsong-really-become-its-own-denomination/. 10 These are both in the Global South and North, e.g., Colour Women’s conference toured Australia, the USA, London, Ukraine, and South Africa. 11 In 2019, Hillsong College moved to assist campuses in setting up educational “hubs,” and campuses were initiated in Phoenix, Arizona, and South Africa. 12 While European theologians often focus on syncretism in non-Western cultures, the same attention is not given to European cultures; Grieves (who does not identify as a Christian) explains that many Aboriginal people do not consider Christianity and dreaming spirituality to be in any tension.

Reference Bakker, Janel Kragt. 2013. Sister Churches: American Congregations and Their Partners Abroad. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bruce, Claire. 2017. “A Moment to Acknowledge Indigenous Australians as Hillsong Conference 2017 Begins.” July 5, 2017. https://hope1032.com.au/stories/faith/2017/aboriginal-australiansacknowledged-hillsong-conference-opening/ Burgess, Richard. 2019. “Megachurches and Reverse Mission.” In Handbook of Christianity: Megachurches, edited by Stephen J. Hunt, 243–68. Leiden: Brill. Connell, John. 2005. “Hillsong: A megachurch in the Sydney suburbs.” Australian Geographer 36 (3): 315–32. Grieves, Vicki. 2009. Aboriginal Spirituality: Aboriginal Philosophy, the Basis of Aboriginal Social and Emotional Wellbeing. Vol. 9. Darwin: Cooperative Research Centre for Aboriginal Health. Hadebe, N.M. 2017. “Commodification, Decolonisation and Theological Education in Africa: Renewed Challenges for African Theologians.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 73 (3): a4550.

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Ideological Coloniality and Decolonizing Practice at Hillsong Hanciles, Jehu J. 2013. “Migrants as Missionaries, Missionaries as Outsiders: Reflections on African Christian Presence in Western Societies.” Mission Studies 30 (1): 64–85. Houston, Bobbie. ‘NAIDOC WEEK - Heal Country!’ Hillsong Collected. July 6, 2021. https:// hillsong.com/collected/blog/2021/07/naidoc-week-heal-country/#.YQTTnS0Rp0s Houston, Brian. ‘An OPEN Letter to Hillsong Church.’ Hillsong Collected. June 6, 2020. https:// hillsong.com/collected/blog/2020/06/an-open-letter-to-hillsong-church/#.YQXauy0Ro_V Idestrom, J., T.S. Kaufman, and C. Scharen. 2018. What Really Matters: Scandinavian Perspectives on Ecclesiology and Ethnography. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Johnson, Todd M., Gina A. Zurlo, Albert W. Hickman, and Peter F. Crossing. 2017. “Christianity 2017: Five Hundred Years of Protestant Christianity.” International Bulletin of Mission Research 41 (1): 41–52. Mbiti, J.S. 1990. African Religions & Philosophy. Harlow: Pearson Education. McIntyre, Elisha H. 2007. “Brand of Choice: Why Hillsong Music is Winning Sales and Souls.” Australian Religion Studies Review 20 (2): 175–94. Mignolo, Walter, and Catherine E. Walsh. 2018. On Decoloniality: Concepts, Analytics, Praxis. Durham: Duke University Press. Oyedemi, Toks. 2020. “(De)coloniality and South African Academe.” Critical Studies in Education 61 (4): 399–415. Payne, Leah. 2022. “The rise and fall of Hillsong’s ‘hypepriests’” April 10, 2022. https://www.nbcnews.com/ think/opinion/justin-biebers-former-church-hillsong-usa-decline-hypepriests-will-end-rcna23685 Quijano, Anibal. 2007. “Coloniality and Modernity/Rationality.” Cultural Studies 21 (2–3): 168–78. Rah, Soong-Chan. 2015. Prophetic Lament: A Call for Justice in Troubled Times. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press. Resane, Kelebogile T. 2022. “From Small Country Churches to Explosion into Megachurches: A Modern Pentecostal Cultural Fit for the Assemblies of God in South Africa.” Verbum et Ecclesia 43 (1): 9. Riches, Tanya. 2018. “Acknowledgment of Country: Intersecting Australian Pentecostalism’s Reembeding Spirit in Place.” Religions 9 (10): 287. Riches, Tanya, and Tom Wagner. 2012. “The Evolution of Hillsong Music: From Australian Pentecostal Congregation into Global Brand.” Australian Journal of Communication 39 (1): 17–36. Riches, Tanya, and Tom Wagner, eds. 2017. The Hillsong Movement Examined: You Call Me Out Upon the Waters. Berlin: Springer Nature. Robbins, Joel. 2004. “The Globalization of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity.” Annual Review of Anthropology 33: 117–43. Rose, Lena. 2019. “Geometries of ‘Global’ Evangelicalism.” Global Networks 19 (1): 86–100. Shanahan, Mairead. 2020. “Marketing and Branding Practices in Australian Pentecostal Suburban Megachurches for Supporting International Growth.” In Australian Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements: Arguments from the Margins, edited by Mark P. Hutchinson, 126–47. Beaverton, OR: Ringgold. Tshawane, Nwamilorho. 2009. “The Rainbow Nation: A Critical Analysis of the Notions of Community in the Thinking of Desmond Tutu.” Dth diss., University of South Africa. Wade, Matthew, and Maria Hynes. 2013. “Worshipping Bodies: Affective Labour in the Hillsong Church.” Geographical Research 51 (2): 173–9. Wagner, Tom. 2020. Music, Branding and Consumer Culture in Church: Hillsong in Focus. Oxfordshire: Routledge. Wariboko, Nimi. 2014. The Charismatic City and the Public Resurgence of Religion: A Pentecostal Social Ethics of Cosmopolitan Urban Life. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Wilkinson, John. 1986. “Black Christianity in Britain: Survival or Liberation?: A White Perspective and Testimony.” International Review of Mission 75 (297): 25–33. Yip, J. 2015. “Marketing the Sacred: The Case of Hillsong Church, Australia.” In A Moving Faith: Mega Churches Go South, edited by Jonathan D. James, 106–26. New Delhi: Sage Publications.

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PART V

Mapping Power Pentecostal Flows of Politics and Prosperity

25 PRAYER WARRIORS IN GLOBAL ENTANGLEMENTS Giovanni Maltese

Introduction On May 5, 2016, a video was uploaded on YouTube showing a group of Christian leaders praying over presidential candidate Rodrigo Roa Duterte and leading him to “accept Jesus Christ” (Fernandez 2016). Although the video makes clear that “#ThisIsNotAFormOf Endorsement,” the timing is striking. The prayer took place less than two weeks before the general elections to be held on May 9, when polls were predicting Duterte’s electoral victory. The group was led by Eddie Villanueva, a former labor activist turned megachurch pastor, founder of the Philippines for Jesus Movement (PJM), one of the country’s largest umbrella organizations for charismatic churches) and two-time presidential candidate supported by Cindy Jacobs (Maltese 2017; 2021b, 18). Jacobs is a well-known spiritual warfare teacher and author of the bestselling book Possessing the Gates of the Enemy, which she describes as “a training manual” for “prayer warrior[s]” who “recognize the call of God” to “wage a holy war against the enemy” ( Jacobs 2000, 15, 22). After winning the presidential race, Duterte appointed as spokesperson Ernesto Abella, a former megachurch pastor connected to PJM. Considering Duterte’s reputation – as “Dirty Harry” and as “foul-mouthed regional mayor who campaigned on a promise to wipe out crime” through “summary executions,” as he had done during his mayorship (Parry 2016) – this seems to confirm the portrayal of groups connected to the PJM as “militant Christians” with an inherent tendency toward anti-democratic and reactionary politics (Rose 1996; Llanera 2019a). This is even more so in the light of PJM members’ and leaders’ frequent use of phrases resembling the spiritual warfare discourse of popular North American teachers, such as Jacobs and C. Peter Wagner, her mentor, known for their ties to Tea Party populism and to the Christian Right in the United States (O’Donnell 2020; Schäfer 2020, 117–36). During my field research in the Philippines, especially on the eve of the national elections of 2013 and 2016, almost every interview or sermon dealing with politics would sooner or later refer to Jacobs’ books and “prophecies” (Maltese 2017, 186, 352; 2019). The Movement for National Transformation, another network connected to PJM, conducted “Prayer warrior” trainings all over the country, attracting (as they still do) participants from virtually all denominations, including Catholic fellowships. Recalling Wagner’s demonology, the materials used in these trainings project an imminent end-time war for the destiny of the Philippines that can only be won through intercessory prayer. DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-31

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This includes divine “revelations” about the tactics of the enemy – referred to as Satan and his sons” (King and NFS/M4NT 2013) – as well as breaking the power of “territorial spirits,” such as “the spirit of poverty,” responsible for obstructing the nation’s prosperity. Similarly, as video recordings of the 2020 National Day of Prayer and Fasting, initiated by evangelicals and PJM-leaders, show the COVID-19 pandemic was framed along these terms ( JILCW 2020). In his prayer-declaration, Villanueva, then member of the Philippine House of Representatives for Citizens’ Battle Against Corruption (Maltese 2021b), declaimed: We pull down the strongholds of this [viz. the coronavirus] devil among the nations of this world. […] Demolish, oh God, and destroy the strongholds of the devil in various nations of this world and […] put an end to the wickedness of men. […] Lord hasten […] the […] transformation of all nations […] that all the kingdoms of this world shall become one kingdom ( JILCW 2020, 56:00–56:09). Next to the prominence individual sin and corruption has in evangelical and PJMconnected groups, these phraseologies appear to resonate with Duterte’s discourse of “war” against political enemies and drug addicts and seem to legitimize his blatant human rights violations. It seems at hand to equate these believers with the mentioned Wagner and Jacobs and classify them as “militant Christians” who are xenophobic, religiously intolerant, and indifferent to human rights and social justice. And it appears even more plausible in the light of a lack of explicit condemnation of Duterte’s administrations by PJM-leaders and other evangelicals (Cornelio and Medina 2019; Llanera 2019a; 2019b; Maltese 2021b; see, however, Cornelio and Marañon 2019, 213). A closer look at the articulations of these Christians and of the materials used in prayer warrior trainings, however, calls for some differentiation. It suggests that rhetoric resembling that of North American spiritual warfare teachers does not per se imply anti-democratic attitudes, religious intolerance, and xenophobia, or a disdain for issues of political equality, social justice, and plurality. Contrary to what anyone acquainted with Wagner and Jacobs might expect (cf. McCloud 2015; O’Donnell 2021), in the training materials, “sons of Satan” is not a shortcut for unbelievers, Muslims, or drug addicts. Rather it refers to “the capitalist[s]” engaged in “systemic exploitation” along with multinationals (King and NFS/M4NT cited in Maltese 2019, 77). Likewise, territorial spirits, such as the “spirit of poverty,” is conceived within an anti-colonial discourse that reflects the PJM-leaders’ and the training materials authors’ politicization in the student movement of the 1970s. Unlike in Jacobs’ teachings, the battle against and deliverance from the “spirit of poverty” includes a redistribution from the few landowning elite families and business tycoons to the Philippine masses through “righteous” government programs and agrarian reforms – rather than a transfer of wealth from the oil-rich “Muslim countries” to the supposedly “Christian nations” within a framework of global neoliberalism (Maltese 2017, 196). The reference to territorial spirits can even be connected with suggestions about how to boycott multinationals (Maltese 2017, 551) and with explicit quotes from Mao Zedong, for example, with reference to the need to “build a mass line” to change the political status quo (Maltese 2019, 77). Against this backdrop, Villanueva’s prayer with Duterte could likely be understood as an attempt to forge a tactical alliance with the candidate leading in the polls, rather than as sanguine support for his despotism and human rights violations. It could be described as a pragmatic move to protect the privileged position Villanueva’s megachurch had enjoyed since the administration of Benigno Aquino III (2010–16) (Maltese 2017, 207; 2019, 73–74). At the same time, the prayer meeting could also be read as an endorsement of the progressive sections of Duterte’s election program that – as it was drafted by leftists – resembled the social 332

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progressive program Villanueva himself ran with in his 2010 presidential campaign (appraised by the Marxist think tank Focus on the Global South as “the most elaborate” of all candidates) (Maltese 2019, 75). Although I have no intention of offering an apologetic account of leaders like Villanueva, I follow scholars like Naomi Haynes (2021) in arguing that researchers ought to differentiate, lest scholarship cement a discourse that leaves morally conservative groups seeking to build a critical mass with no allies other than forces on the far right. Such a differentiation demands a meticulous contextualization and historicization of phrases regarded as “typical” for the discourse of spiritual warfare and the so-called “dominionist” Kingdom theology (Heuser 2021). Moreover, in view of scholarship that studies spiritual warfare in relation to a global rise of anti-democratic forces and regards the reception of figures like Wagner and Jacobs outside North America as underpinning anti-democratic politics in the global South, such a contextualization and historization cannot study Philippine prayer warrior rhetoric as an idiosyncratic phenomenon. This chapter studies the nature of this connection between global and local discourses of spiritual warfare in the interest of offering a more critical and sourcebased account. I will argue that, rather than owing to a shared political agenda, the connection between the studied Philippine Christians with North American “dominionists,” as well as their use of phrases that recall Wagner and Jacobs owes itself to a reconceptualization of Christian identity vis-à-vis politics and democratic participation that took place after the so-called People Power Revolution of 1986 in the context of the 1989 military coups and the Cold War. After a brief sketch of the theoretical framework underlying this approach, I will introduce the magazine Ministry Digest, on which my analysis of the global-local connection is based. My discussion of some of the magazine’s articles will complicate and contextualize contemporary prayer warrior rhetoric in the Philippines. This will be complemented with some reflections on globally entangled discursive constraints, including reflections on global Christian identities and how these were demarcated in the Philippine discourse.

Global Religious History Global Religious History is an approach developed in the context of debates about the usefulness of “religion” as generic term and as a response to scholars who argued for discarding “religion as an analytical category” when studying “non-Christian” and/or “non-Western” contexts (Bergunder 2014; Hermann 2016; Maltese and Strube 2021). Taking the contemporary global use of “religion” as departure point, Global Religious History contests the idea that discarding “religion” helps overcoming Eurocentrism in the study of religion. This would not only deny so-called non-Westerners the right to speak of, for example Islam or Hinduism as “religion”; it would also presuppose that whoever used “religion” to refer to Islam or Hinduism was merely reproducing a Western discourse (Maltese and Strube 2021; Maltese 2021a). As an alternative, but still taking the problem of Eurocentrism seriously, Global Religious History seeks to question presuppositions underlying research on religion and to critique the naturalization and materialization of the general terms implied (Maltese and Strube 2021; Maltese 2021a). At the same time, it insists that such a critique “is not the same as doing away with” said terms altogether; rather, “it is to free” them from their “metaphysical lodgings in order to understand what political interests were secured in and by that metaphysical placing, and thereby to permit the term[s] to occupy and to serve very different political aims” (Butler 1993, 30). To reach this aim, Global Religious History investigates the concrete use of “religion” along with the conditions that make the use of 333

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said term possible by interrogating its purportedly natural meaning (Maltese 2017; 2021a, 367). This approach can productively be applied to “spiritual warfare.” In this sense, Global Religious History seeks to unearth the hegemonic claims implied when articulations (words and practices) are discussed as part of the discourse of “religion” – or applied to the object of study of this chapter the discourse of “spiritual warfare,” by researchers or outside academia. This includes scrutinizing the exclusions and marginalizations produced by scholarship, for example when Global Southerners are depicted as passive receivers of allegedly Western terms and ideologies. Global Religious History draws on two main theoretical corpora. First, it is indebted to Michel Foucault’s (1984) concept of genealogy as “a way of working back from our present to the contingencies that have come together to give us our certainties” (Asad 2003, 16). By consistently asking what connections exist between today’s global use of religion and spiritual warfare, genealogy avoids essentialist disputes about authenticity and origins (Maltese 2017; 2021a, 608; Maltese, Bachmann, and Rakow 2019, 8). Accordingly, Global Religious History takes the present as its point of entry into the discussion, analyzing the predominant ways in which “religion” – or, in our case, “Christianity,” “sin,” “kingdom of God,” “spiritual warfare,” etc. – are invoked today and seeking both “to historicize the said invocations as effects of power” and to unearth the mechanisms of power on which contemporary invocations” of the said signifiers rest (Maltese 2019; 2021a, 65). Thus, Global Religious History aims at producing a “reading that arrests the thrust of universal histories” (Chakrabarty 2008, xvii), such as the narrative that spiritual warfare discourse originated in North America and is best understood if practices (and politics) related to it are read through the lens of its most prominent North American exponents. Second, Global Religious History draws on the works of poststructuralists Ernesto Laclau and Judith Butler, who view signification as the product of sedimented iteration imbricated in power asymmetries and hegemonic claims. Drawing on Jacques Derrida, Laclau conceptualizes language as an infinite “play of differences” constituted by a radical openness: “there are no positive terms in language, only differences – something is what it is only through its differential relations to something else.” If “there is no beyond the play of differences, no ground which would a priori privilege some elements” over others, then signification results from exclusion – it is with respect to an “excluded element,” and “empty signifier,” that all differences within the differential ensemble “establish relations of equivalence between themselves” (2005, 68–69). However, “equivalence is precisely that which subverts difference” (Laclau 2014, 85), which is why signifiers – such as “Christianity,” “spiritual warfare,” “church,” “sin,” “kingdom” – are overdetermined: they can mean different things to different people; their presumed stability depends on iteration. In this view, paraphrasing Butler (1993, 21–56), it is through authorizing iteration that “spiritual warfare” is “naturalized” and “materialized.” As I will argue in the next sections, it is the iteration of “spiritual warfare,” used metonymically (within and outside academia) for figures like Wagner and Jacobs as well as for their political attitudes, that makes “spiritual warfare” become a name for a “Pentecostal political theology” (Heuser 2012) that is inherently anti-democratic and reactionary. In considering this link as fixated and natural, the reality of non-white Christians who appear to draw from spiritual warfare is largely ignored.

Revolutionary Church Politics and the Ministry Digest Arguably, the first source for the Philippines context, where key elements of contemporary spiritual warfare (intercession prayer, territorial spirits, “kingdom of God” decidedly conceived in a this-worldly sense, national politics, and social ills) appear next to each other 334

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is the magazine Ministry Digest. Founded in the wake of the 1989 International Congress on World Evangelization, the Manila-based quarterly ran five issues before it was relaunched as Asia Ministry Digest and eventually merged with Evangelicals Today. Its founder was Jovelio Galaraga, an independent pastor and former associate of Villanueva (for what follows cf. Maltese 2017, 60–89). Thus, the founding of Ministry occurred three years after the so-called EDSA I or People Power Revolution that had ousted the U.S.-supported dictatorial regime of Ferdinand Marcos and had thrown various Christian denominations in the Philippines into a crisis of identity. In contrast to the leader of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines, who at a certain point called his constituency to join anti-Marcos rallies, most Protestant churches had limited themselves to issue prayer calls. This allegedly anti-democratic attitude was especially noticeable, on the one hand, among the majority of the newer evangelical groups, founded after the 1950s; on the other hand, among the non-Catholic independent fellowships, founded in the 1970s and 1980s, which were all competing for members and were perceived as sectarian (later subsumed under the name Pentecostals, cf. Maltese, Bachmann, and Rakow 2019, 8). The leaders of Catholic Charismatic fellowships, which had hitherto entertained good relations with the so-called independents in an attempt to form an alternative to traditional Catholicism, took a similar stance. After EDSA, leading intellectuals and members of the press accused these groups of having betrayed their nation through their silence and divisiveness. The chance to improve this public image came with the 1989 Lausanne II Congress, scheduled to be held in Manila. Participation in this conference represented a chance for the independents to appear as an internationally acknowledged “united bloc” vis-à-vis their two main rivals: the hegemonic Roman Catholic Church and the older evangelical churches affiliated with the World Council of Churches (henceforth mainline Protestants). The preparations for the congress entailed a harsh polemic between the Bishops’ Conference and the independents co-organizing the congress, with the former dubbing the organizers of the Congress “fundamentalist sects” and the latter accused the bishops of idolatry (Badua 1993, 11). This negative depiction of the independents was further fueled by the mainline Protestants, who drew on studies that portrayed Pentecostalism in Latin America as an export product of U.S.-fundamentalism and as fanatic religiosity (cf. Fort 1989). Against this backdrop, the launching of a common periodical coinciding with Lausanne II could affirm the independents’ self-representation as a united bloc and internationally recognized player. Ministry Digest was a strategic move by independents like Galaraga and Villanueva to hijack Lausanne-Evangelicalism and effectuate an image change from politically ignorant, divided sectarians to self-confident allies of political candidates who were presumed to command non-Catholic votes. However, this also disbanded the united front that Catholic Charismatics and non-Catholic independents had formed against both the allegedly hierarchical and ritual-centered Roman-Catholic bishops and the mainline Protestants, perceived as elitist and rationalistic.

Warfare, Kingdom, and Politics When studying spiritual warfare phraseology in Ministry Digest, the first important element of context that comes out is the desire to define a broader vision for the church. In his “The Church and the Nation,” Galaraga calls for “a broader definition of the Great Commission.” Preceding Villanueva’s “Signs and Wonders,” Galaraga (1989, 8) contests the “theological mindset” that “the Great Commission” is limited to “winning people to Christ and pastoring them” as well as to “spiritual gifts” and attending the “rapture.” Accordingly, ministerial 335

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success ought not to be “defined in terms of large membership” and “church growth,” but along the “inescapable mandate” to “shape the destiny of society and nations,” says Galaraga citing “Matthew 28:18–20, Genesis 1:26–28 and the Sermon on the Mount.” This, however, is not to exclude the spiritual dimension of the Great Commission. The “spiritual” and “material” are two sides of the same coin. Conjoining these dimensions, Zenaida Badua (1989), co-founder of Intercessors for the Philippines, the prayer and mobilization arm of Philippines for Jesus Movement, argues that intercession means “Directing Our Nation’s Destiny.” It is more than simply praying for conversions, individual deliverance, and healing. It means engaging in a “battle to take our nation back to the Lord” (1989, 44). The other-worldly escapism, critiqued by Galaraga, is also at the center of “Is There a Biblical Case for Nationalism?” authored by Isabelo Magalit, then president of the Asian Theological Seminary. Magalit scolds Christians who view “nationalism” as unbiblical. Nationalism is “godly” and analogous to the principle of incarnation – God becomes flesh to save humanity – if it is conceived as “love for one’s people” and “concern for their total welfare” and “their best interests” (1989, 15). Pushing the envelope further, Filipino activist and musician Gary Granada denounces the tradition of “non-comment on political issues” as a manifestation of Christians being “too content with the political situation.” Christians’ political engagement is crucial for the nation, provided that it is based on “an authentic portrait of sin” and on the proclamation of the “Kingship of Christ by the genuine signs of the Kingdom” (1989, 32). The second element of context is that this nationalist critique of Christians’ withdrawing from politics, it seems, is reinforced by contributions authored by North Americans, like “Backward Christian Soldier!” by reconstructionist Gary North (1989), whose influence on the U.S. Christian right and on current dominionist thought can hardly be overestimated (Cook 2000; cf. McVicar 2013, 122–23); or “The Gospel: A Call to Arms,” penned by Monte Wilson, an associate of North. According to Wilson, it is wrong to think that “there can be no Kingdom until He returns.” It is “part of Man’s nature,” he argues “to exercise dominion.” If “we refuse to subdue the earth,” it will be “the godless” and “sin” who will “rule.” Thus, it is mandatory to “combine Matthew 28:19–20 with Genesis 1:28,” this is to make “disciples who will establish God’s rulership on earth” and “take dominion” in all spheres of society” (1989, 19). Similarly, Wagner’s “Territorial Spirits” (1989) appears as serving to underpin the link between the “spiritual” (intercession) with the “material” (political engagement), elaborated by Badua. Therein, Wagner maintains that breaking demonic powers and proclaiming the kingdom should be understood not just in individual but also in geopolitical terms. Spiritual warfare, Wagner argues, is about engaging “high ranking […] spirits” commissioned by Satan to control whole nations (1989, 42–43). Yet, and this is the third element of context, unlike one might expect from a magazine that offers rightist figures like Wilson, North, and Wagner a platform, the agenda behind the Philippine use of spiritual warfare and kingdom rhetoric is different than that of the North American contributors. Certainly, Ministry promotes a staunch moral conservativism similar to that of North, Wilson, and Wagner. However, unlike the latter, it champions an agenda that is overtly progressive with regard to social issues and emphatically democratic. Galaraga’s “broader definition” of the Great Commission and the way he expounds the “role of the church in nation building,” does well imply challenging the nation’s “culture,” its “social fabric,” and “value systems” by taking dominion over “political and economic life, education, business, government, law, media, the arts and sciences” (1989, 3) – echoing typical phrases of North American reconstructionists. However, on a closer look, one finds also a pronounced critique of “unjust distribution of resources” and of “foreign domination,” that is, treaties 336

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serving U.S. economic and geopolitical interests (8, 48), which at that time was the legacy of U.S. colonialism, cold war politics, and of the reliable support the United States lent to Marcos to crush leftist forces. Thus, Ministry endorsed left-oriented and decidedly liberal politicians, such as Senate president Jovito Salonga, known for his condemnation of coups aiming at establishing a military government and for his resistance to bilateral agreements that allowed U.S. military to maintain its bases in the Philippines. Badua’s call to “take back our nation to the Lord” includes a redistribution of wealth in terms of agrarian reforms, as advocated by Salonga (1989, 44; cf. Badua 1993, 14). After a series of military coups, Ministry even published a speech of Salonga (1989) himself, titled “I am for a Democratic Government.” Magalit’s elaboration of a “biblical nationalism” could even be read as a critique of the kind of nationalism advocated by the aforementioned North American authors. In Magalit’s view, to “care for one’s nation” is different from “say[ing] that my nation is supreme, or to have no concern for other nations,” which he refers to as utter “chauvinism.” In contrast to the white supremacist attitudes espoused by the mentioned Reconstructionists, Magalit pleas for a celebration of the “incredible variety of our human condition […] brown and yellow, black and white – in living color” (1989, 16, 20; cf. McVicar 2015, 146). Another instance, showing that the Philippine authors’ deployment of the “cultural mandate” served to underpin a different understanding of power and equality than that of the North American authors is Bible teacher Virgie Cruz’ “Women in Discipleship.” Unlike the “patriarchal vision” of society promoted by reconstructionists like North (cf. McVicar 2015, 91–92, 188), Cruz explains that “the cultural, social and sexual mandate of Scriptures” ought to be conceived along “Gal. 3:28: ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male or female.’” Critiquing the “bias against women taking ministerial roles equal to men” she affirms “God has allowed women to fit in all strata of society” as “housewives, businesswomen, teachers, lawyers, senators, congresswomen, and even presidents” (1989, 22). An even more striking example is Granada’s column. Contesting the rightist discourse promoted by the mentioned North American Ministry contributors, Granada (1989, 32) states: “I am wholeheartedly in agreement with the Marxist dictum that religion is the opium of the masses” and “I may add, designed by and for the benefit of the ruling classes, whether political, economic or religious.” The problem with the “prevalent explanation” among evangelicals that “social injustice” is the result of “man’s refusal to acknowledge the Lordship of Christ,” is not its “biblical accuracy for I am even prepared to say that that statement is the be all and end all of any scriptural social analysis.” The “problem lies in its application. Not a few contend that people are poor because they have no Christ in their lives. Does it mean that the rich must have so much of Jesus, hence no sense in rocking the social order?” In an ardent appeal for social justice, Granada calls on the church to denounce the “evils of both imperialist capitalism and communism.” “We speak of the gospel as good news to the poor but we have not bothered to read researches on levels of poverty, the plight of our migrant workers or women in rural plantations and urban factories.” Scolding his fellow Christian leaders for closing their “eyes to systemic oppression that leads to a silent massacre of our starving children” and for explaining their misery by saying that “they are suffering because they don’t have the Lord in their hearts,” he urges them to take “remedial classes on social issues.” Instead of indulging in the cheap “explanation” that “the real issue is the sin in their hearts,” they should include in their church bulletins information on exploitation, such as those provided by the leftist social justice group “Ibon.” This way, Christians would know where to “stand on an issue-to-issue basis” and “no longer” act like “anticommunist beggars of American aid,” neither would they “sound like a God-mocking, self-confident humanist” or a “simplistic, boring, intellectual Marxist who is more petty than bourgeois” (33). 337

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In sum, these excerpts demonstrate that Philippine leaders around Ministry editor Galaraga and PJM-head Villanueva were anything but passive receivers of “Western” or neo-imperialist political theologies. At the same time, these excerpts show that, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, spiritual warfare and reconstructionist kingdom theology had not yet converged into “dominionist spiritual warfare,” certainly as far as the Philippine context is concerned – and most probably also in the thoughts of Wagner, whose way of theologizing spiritual warfare vis-à-vis politics is likely to have been influenced by Global Southerners, including figures like Villanueva (Maltese 2017, 159; cf. Wagner 1998). Making use of North, Wilson, and Wagner implied a resignification that sought to shift the boundaries of the local and global discourse about Christianity and politics shaped by the U.S. Cold War politics. The Philippine leaders around Galaraga and Villanueva employed teachings on Kingdom theology and on spiritual warfare intercession, including Wagner’s concept of “territorial spirits,” to underpin their progressive social policies and their advocacy of democracy and political equality. That the agenda behind Philippine use of “kingdom,” “kingship of Christ,” and “sin” was different from that of North, Wilson, and Wagner does not come as a surprise, if one considers the discursive position from which leaders, like Galaraga and Villanueva, engaged the debate. It was the position of leaders who lived in a former U.S.-colony and whose political socialization had occurred within the anti-U.S. and anti-Marcos student movement. This begs the question: why not draw on liberation theologians, or partner with the progressively oriented mainline Protestants to theologize their agenda? I argue that, for the leaders around Galaraga and Villanueva, an alliance with liberation theologians or with moderate leftist mainline Protestants would have implied giving up their identity. The choice to reach out to rightist evangelicals like North, Wilson, and Wagner led to globally entangled discursive constraints in which the Philippine leaders found themselves at the time.

Globally Entangled Discursive Constraints As indicated above, the majority of the groups that formed the larger network which the leaders around Galaraga and Villanueva were part of – that is, the groups subsumed under the name “Pentecostal” in contemporary statistics – emerged in the 1970s and 1980s either as Roman Catholic groups that ambivalently maintained links to the traditional clergy or as independent fellowships founded by Philippine leaders who had left the Catholic Church. The latter’s success was due less to their appeal among Catholics than to “conversions” of mainline Protestants (cf. Maltese 2017, 58–89, 269–324; Maltese, Bachmann, and Rakow 2019). Until the late 1980s, Roman Catholic Charismatics and the non-Catholic independents collaborated in organizing conferences that represented an alternative to institutionalized Christianity of almost any other brand. The 1970s and 1980s were a time of social unrest owing to the dictatorial Marcos regime and to the strategic function of the Philippines as a former colony in U.S. Cold War politics. In fact, the Reagan Administration supported Marcos as part of its anti-communist policy in Pacific Asia. From the beginning, the identity of these newly emerged groups was constituted by a differentiation from various political players: firstly, from the allegedly ritual-centered and non-egalitarian Catholics; secondly, from the purportedly rationalist and humanist mainline Protestants that had close links with the rather liberal World Council of Churches; and thirdly, from leftist groups. These latter groups included Christians for National Liberation, a liberation theology-oriented movement constituted of Catholics and Protestants that had entered into a tactical alliance with the communist underground and was perceived as supporting a violent overthrow of the U.S.-backed Marcos regime. 338

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These demarcation lines were far from being an idiosyncratic, local Philippine phenomenon. They were constitutively entangled with the global discourse about Christian identity (including the spiritual versus material or social gospel controversy), mission, and evangelization dominated by the rivalry between the World Council of Churches and the Lausanne Committee for World Evangelization that grew out of the (First) International Congress on World Evangelization, organized in 1974 by Billy Graham. Fueled by the geopolitics of the Cold War, the latter labeled the Lausanne Movement “imperialist,” while the Lausanne Movement charged the World Council of being infiltrated by materialists and atheist communists (Escobar 1991, 10; Kunter and Schilling 2014, 55; Maltese 2017, 59–72). In this setting, any Christian group seeking to be taken seriously as a global player – instead of being looked down upon as an “indigenous,” local sect – had to relate to the tensions, perhaps antagonisms, between three major players: the Roman Catholic Church, the World Council, and the Lausanne Movement. Inasmuch taking sides with traditional Roman Catholicism was not conducive, especially for non-Catholic (or better: no longer Catholic) independents around Villanueva and Galaraga, the alternative was either the World Council or Lausanne. This alternative, however, was complicated by tensions on the local level, for independent leaders were anything but welcome among the World Council affiliated mainline Protestants, not least due to the latter’s loss of members to the independents’ thriving ministries. Citing scholarship on Latin American Pentecostalism as well as on religion and modernity, mainline Protestants accused the independents of being miracle-seeking or fundamentalist sects (cf. Rose 1996, 336; Harper 2002; Maltese 2017, 73, 288). Thus, for the independents who wanted to stage themselves as significant players on both the global and local plane, Lausanne was the best possible associate. Accordingly, a “focus on the spiritual” which, as most Ministry-articles show (e.g., Galaraga 1989; Conde 1989; Granada 1989), was conceptualized both, in opposition to the allegedly ritualistic Catholics and to the humanism and materialism allegedly espoused by mainline Protestants and leftists, served to mark their identity as an alternative and yet not isolated group. It was these discursive constraints constituting the identity of the independents and the alignment of leaders like Galaraga and Villanueva with the Lausanne Evangelicals that qualified U.S. figures like Wagner, North, and Wilson as authoritative references for Ministry. This was the case even if Wagner was highly critiqued within the Lausanne Movement, especially by Latin Americans, while North and Wilson were marginal players, if anything (Swartz 2012, 117–25). The reconstructionist writings of North and Wilson served to depict political engagement and Ministry’s critique of an exclusive focus on individual deliverance as state of the art in contemporary evangelical debates. Wagner’s concept of “territorial spirits” served to explain social ills in a way that transcended individual sin. Thus, mass poverty, corruption, etc., could be viewed as the result of systemic and structural problems, and, as such, as problems that called for this-worldly tools, presented as spiritual, due to their embedding in the discourse of prayer, power evangelism, and deliverance. This way, overt advocacy for democracy, undisguised endorsement of socially progressive politicians, etc., were theologized as spiritual tools – as aspects of spiritual warfare, deriving from a deeper insight into the nature of intercession.

Conclusions The deduction that phrases echoing spiritual warfare teachers connected to the U.S. Christian Right index an inherent proclivity to the political agenda of the U.S. Christian Right, even if said phrases are articulated in contexts different than the United States, calls for a critique. 339

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It owes itself to the iteration of “spiritual warfare,” used metonymically for the “political theology” of figures like Wagner or Jacobs. At the same time, it is itself an iteration that reifies the naturalization and “materialization” (Butler 1993, 27–55) of “spiritual warfare” as “dominionism,” precluding the possibility that spiritual warfare could serve different political agendas than those of the U.S. figures if articulated in, for example, the Philippine context (cf. Haynes 2021). This is not to deny that Philippine “prayer warriors” could be anti-democratic, religiously intolerant, xenophobic, or indifferent to issues of social justice; it is to question the allegedly natural link between rhetorics and political attitude. And it is to offer a more differentiated picture along with a critique that brings the effects of power to the fore, which are both reified and concealed by said naturalization – namely the mechanisms of marginalization and exclusion. For this naturalization reproduces a colonial pattern, in as it portrays Christians from the global South (like those discussed in this chapter), as passive receivers of allegedly Western political theologies – and denies them their agency. It makes morally conservative but socio-politically progressive and democratically minded Christians invisible, mutes their voices, and, ultimately, excludes their participation in the discourse on politics. Likewise, it figures the political pragmatism of Christian leaders, like Villanueva and the previously discussed intercessors, as fundamentalism and fosters a knowledge production that – to paraphrase Ruth Marshall (2016, 103) – caricatures them as anti-modernist and irrational. This is especially problematic in the face of global knowledge production dominated by Euro-North American institutions. Global Religious history helps to assess the global entanglements of said articulations with, inter alia, colonialism, cold war politics, and dictatorial regimes, although this comes along with a laborious historicization. Simultaneously, it offers a critique of scholarships’ own entanglement in (neo-)colonial patterns and global asymmetries, including discursive constraints, like those discussed above – and helps to address the (re-)production of similar constraints. In this sense, global religious history offers not only a robust framework for addressing what, paraphrasing Nimi Wariboko (2014, 35), could be described as the “crushing weight” of penury and non-whiteness characterizing contexts like the Philippines (and elsewhere in the so-called Global South), along with the “intense quest for power” in which “the stakes are so high that they are approached with the dedication of war” articulated in “the constant language and practices of spiritual warfare.” It also provides a framework for making this assessment a constitutive part of one’s investigation. Such a critical approach, I contend, is necessary, if scholars want to avoid fostering a discourse that leaves morally conservative Christians in the so-called Global South who want to participate in politics no choice but to associate with forces on the far right.

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Giovanni Maltese brillonline.com/entries/brill-s-encyclopedia-of-global-pentecostalism/jesus-is-lord-churchworldwide-philippines-COM_044882?s.num=2&s.f.s2_parent=s.f.book.brill-s-encyclopedia-ofglobal-pentecostalism&s.q=maltese. Maltese, Giovanni, Judith Bachmann, and Katja Rakow. 2019. “Negotiating Evangelicalism and Pentecostalism: Global Entanglements, Identity Politics and the Future of Pentecostal Studies.” Pentecostudies 18 (1): 7–19. Maltese, Giovanni, and Julian Strube. 2021. “Global Religious History.” Method & Theory in the Study of Religion 33 (3–4): 229–57. Marshall, Ruth. 2016. “Destroying Arguments and Captivating Thoughts: Spiritual Warfare Prayer as Global Praxis.” Journal of Religious and Political Practice 2 (1): 92–113. McCloud, Sean. 2015. American Possessions: Fighting Demons in the Contemporary United States. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. McVicar, Michael J. 2013. “‘Let Them Have Dominion’: ‘Dominion Theology’ and the Construction of Religious Extremism in the US Media.” Journal of Religion and Popular Culture 25 (1): 120–45. McVicar, Michael J. 2015. Christian Reconstruction: R.J. Rushdoony and American Religious Conservatism. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. North, Gary. 1989. “Backward, Christian Soldiers?” Ministry Digest 1 (2): 19, 43–44. O’Donnell, S. Jonathon. 2020. “The Deliverance of the Administrative State: Deep State Conspiracism, Charismatic Demonology, and the Post-Truth Politics of American Christian Nationalism.” Religion 50 (4): 696–719. O’Donnell, S. Jonathon. 2021. Passing Orders: Demonology and Sovereignty in American Spiritual Warfare. New York, NY: Fordham University Press. Parry, Richard Lloyd. 2016. “Duterte Harry Promises a ‘Dictatorship Against Evil.’” The Times (blog). May 11, 2016. https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/eleven-killed-as-dictator-dutertewins-philippines-presidency-w2808jhrx. Rose, Susan. 1996. “The Politics of Philippine Fundamentalism.” In Questioning the Secular State: The Worldwide Resurgence of Religion in Politics, edited by David Westerlund, 323–55. London: Hurst & Company. Salonga, Jovito R. 1989. “I Am for a Democratic Government.” Ministry Digest 1 (3): 4. Schäfer, Heinrich W. 2020. Die Protestantischen “Sekten” und der Geist des (Anti)Imperialismus. Bielefeld: Transcript. Swartz, David R. 2012. Moral Minority: The Evangelical Left in an Age of Conservatism. Politics and Culture in Modern America. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Wagner, C. Peter, ed. 1998. The New Apostolic Churches. Ventura, CA: Regal. Wagner, C. Peter. 1989. “Territorial Spirits.” Ministry Digest 1 (3): 42–48. Wariboko, Nimi. 2014. Nigerian Pentecostalism. Rochester Studies in African History and the Diaspora 62. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Wilson, Monte. 1989. “The Gospel: A Call to Arms - Evangelize, Disciple, and Take Dominion!” Ministry Digest 1 (1): 11, 18–19.

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26 GROUNDING THE PROSPERITY GOSPEL Sites of Wealth and Power in Ghana Karen Lauterbach and George M. Bob-Milliar Introduction The prosperity gospel, or the health and wealth gospel, is often characterized as a Pentecostal movement and theological principle that has its roots in the United States and that has dispersed globally with a significant imprint on African Pentecostalism (Gifford 2015; Heuser 2020). The prosperity gospel has been analyzed as a traveling script that descends into different localities and contexts, where it takes its own shape but retains the core message that church members will receive God’s blessings in abundance if they are strong-enough believers and give generously in church. As argued elsewhere (Lauterbach 2019), a common trait in much of this literature is to approach the prosperity gospel as an abstract and coherent system of thought and to trace its origins to the North American roots such as the influence of Kenneth Hagin and Oral Roberts and with a particular emphasis on positive confession (Heuser 2020; Kwateng-Yeboah 2021). The approach is to track how the prosperity gospel has spread globally in a unidirectional sense and has found context-specific expressions outside of the United States. In this chapter, we take a different starting point. Drawing inspiration from a recent piece by J. Kwabena Asamoah-Gyadu (2020), who explores the relationship between different African religious traditions and economic life in Africa, we approach the prosperity gospel or prosperity teachings1 from a broad perspective and as a grounded phenomenon (see also Agana 2016; Tazanu 2016; Anim 2020). This involves an understanding of prosperity teachings as drawing on historical and context-specific sources as well as global and transnational influences. This means that we analyze the intersection between religion (ideas and practices) and prosperity (ideas and manifestations) by figuring out what this intersection and relationship might look like at a specific location and in a specific historical context (here Ghana). We analyze how different repertoires of religious knowledge are drawn upon in current debates on the transactional nature of religious power and anticipated physical manifestations of prosperity and success in Ghana (Wariboko 2012). We ask what an analysis of the prosperity gospel looks like when the starting point is not the presumption of a distinct theological idea that has its roots in the United States. What does it mean when giving to and receiving from God is talked about in relation to the building of a nation

DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-32

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through the construction of a religious building? What are the prevailing ideas of how religious power might influence wealth, growth, and prosperity and what is the nature of the reciprocal and transactional relationship in this? A key point of the chapter is that, to understand the prosperity gospel in a grounded way, we need not only to contextualize it, but also to deconstruct the term prosperity gospel itself. It is necessary to understand the multiple ways in which the relationship between economic transactions, religion, success, and wealth are perceived and how this conglomeration of ideas influences what is understood as the prosperity gospel in a particular context. This means that we are not (only) looking for traces of the prosperity gospel in a particular context, but also that we are searching for the meaning of the term itself. Several factors play into this, such as historical understandings, social and cultural dynamics, and transnational influences. Our discussion of grounding the prosperity gospel is based on an analysis of the project of building a National Cathedral in Accra, Ghana. The project was launched by President Nana Akufo-Addo in March 2017 (Bob-Milliar and Lauterbach 2019) and was presented at the occasion of the celebration of Ghana’s sixtieth anniversary as an independent nation. We use the project to analyze how different key actors involved in the project have discursively presented and constructed the building of a National Cathedral as a way to enter into a transactional relationship with God; one that yields wealth, success, and prosperity. We analyze a range of narratives of the project and approach these narratives as expressions of contextualized prosperity teachings. We seek to capture analytically both how such narratives are linked to a particular locality and its history, but also the processes by which certain aspects of such narratives get a more stable form that can be activated and that can travel over time and space (see Barber 2007). Through this approach we seek to avoid placing the analysis in a dichotomy between the global and the local. We identify key themes in the presentation of the project in public debates, as well as fund raising initiatives and campaigns.

Studies of the Prosperity Gospel in African Contexts As Joel Cabrita and David Maxwell (2017) have noted, studies of world Christianity have in recent times seen a shift from “viewing non-Western Christians as merely an extension of ‘mission history’, [to] seeing them instead as an important expression of the Christian faith in its own right” (2017, 3). Studies of evangelical and charismatic Christian movements have been particularly pertinent for taking such an approach because of the widespread presence and growth of these movements in non-Western contexts (Kalu 2008; Wariboko 2017). Despite the attempts to see Christianity as a multi-centered phenomenon, there is a leaning towards approaching the prosperity gospel as a theological principle with a predominantly U.S. heritage. In this chapter, we engage with a different conceptual genealogy and draw on the emerging literature that seeks to connect the idea of the prosperity gospel with ideas inherent in Ghanaian indigenous religion and ontologies around religious forms of giving, wealth, and success. We pay particular attention to a variety of influences and acknowledge the openness as well as boundaries of context-specific concepts and ideologies. Charismatic Christianity around the world is fundamentally diverse and pluralistic, as Amos Yong has argued (Yong 2012, 16; see also Kwateng-Yeboah 2021). Several authors have emphasized African religious heritage in the prosperity gospel (Agana 2016; Anim 2020). Nimi Wariboko’s “Pentecostal Paradigms of National Economic Prosperity in Africa” is a useful place to start (2012). The article outlines five different paradigms that relate to Pentecostal churches’ ideas of economic development and prosperity. By identifying these paradigms, Wariboko suggests that there exists a wide array of prosperity teachings 344

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within African Pentecostalism. He also posits that the prosperity teachings reflect aspects of transactions within gift economies, and they are therefore not always distinguishable from other ideas (or religious traditions) that connect religion, economic life, and prosperity. What is of relevance here is the covenant paradigm that Wariboko defines as the idea that “God blesses nations either according to the covenant of giving or in response to the covenant of good efforts” (2012, 37). In writing on Nigerian Pentecostalism, Wariboko further unfolds his ideas of a Pentecostal political theology in which a transcendental-materialist logic of exchange prevails (2014, 197). In this, an economy of miracles plays a key role in connecting the invisible and visible realms. Here, Wariboko is critical of other understandings of Pentecostalism that place emphasis on the individualistic traits of the movement. Wariboko argues to the contrary that African Pentecostalism (speaking from Nigerian Pentecostalism particularly) can facilitate community formation through linking political and divine sovereignty. For our case, this is an important point, because the building of communities (and ultimately nations) is founded on what he calls “surplus possibilities” and an economy of blessings, which yields sovereignty. The building of a National Cathedral might therefore be read (by some) as a way to overcome the limitations of political power (corruption, nepotism) and infuse the nation with a different source of sovereignty that also leads to a prosperous nation. Similarly, Asamoah-Gyadu (2020) has argued that indigenous beliefs have persisted and have merged with newer religious ideas and practices often combining several so-called religious traditions (Christianity, Islam, and indigenous religion). This point of view resonates with much recent scholarship within African Studies, religious studies, and the anthropology of religion that stresses the plurality and overlapping nature of religion in Africa. AsamoahGyadu emphasizes that there is resonance between the ways in which African ontology bridges the material and the spiritual worlds and how Pentecostal Christianity in Africa links material success and religious practice (Asamoah-Gyadu 2020, 312). In the same vein, James Kwateng-Yeboah (2021) traces both the American and African origins of the prosperity gospel but does not see the African heritage merely as local interpretations of an outside influence. He sees this heritage rather as a particular and distinct tradition of the prosperity gospel, which is useful for the purpose of this chapter. He highlights the importance of paying attention to linguistic expressions of prosperity in African societies, the open and fluid boundary between the spiritual and the material worlds as well as the role religious mediators and experts play (Kwateng-Yeboah 2021, 49). As such, pastors and religious mediators are key figures in propelling and securing prosperity at different levels, both individually and nationally (Lauterbach 2017).

Building a National Cathedral and the Prosperity Gospel As outlined above, this chapter focuses on how prosperity is expressed in relation to the building of a National Cathedral and through this, prosperity at various scales (the nation, the community, the individual). This means that we analyze prosperity and context-specific expressions of the prosperity gospel not only in the narrower “sowing and reaping” interpretation, but as related to the ways in which the link between prosperity and religion is conceptualized within a particular context and over a longer period of time. On 6 March 2017, at the occasion of the celebration of Ghana’s sixty-year anniversary as an independent nation, President Nana Akufo-Addo presented the idea of building a National Cathedral in Ghana. The design of the cathedral, made by the Ghanaian-British architect David Adjaye, was revealed a year later in 2018. The president established a board of trustees, consisting of representatives from the various Christian communities and denominations in 345

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Ghana, to overlook the implementation and progress of the project. The chosen site for the project was central Accra (North Ridge), located at the vicinity of official state buildings such as State House. In an interview, the architect talked about this site as the “monumental core of Ghana.”2 Several buildings (such as a passport office and accommodation for judges) located on the chosen site had to be demolished to make room for the new construction. Since its launch in 2017, the project of building a National Cathedral has been vividly debated in Ghana. Those in favor of the project argue for instance that Ghana needs a building and symbol of national significance to unify the many Christian denominations in the country. Moreover, some express the view that as Ghana is a majority Christian country, it is important that this is recognized at state level. Those critical of the project are of the opinion that Ghana should not utilize public resources on a cathedral as the country already hosts a high number of Christian churches and at the same time is in lack of basic infrastructure such as health clinics and schools. Some have further expressed criticism of what they see as a problematic and unprecedented link between certain sectors of the Christian elite and the political elite, some arguing that the project in itself is unconstitutional and is an example of voter buying. 3 Others are raising concern about the close link to the American evangelical right. Here it is important to note that the debates the project has raised (whether in favor or against it), are situated in a religious landscape in which Pentecostalism has gained more prominence in public space. There are noteworthy differences from the Nigerian context (that Wariboko writes about, see also Obadare 2018) in the sense that the overlap between the political and the Pentecostal elites is less direct or outspoken. However, Ghana has over the past forty years seen the emergence of “pentecostalite cultural style” in the public sphere in which “the Ghanaian state lost its control over the public imagination of community” (Meyer 2004, 93). The earlier focus on cultural heritage for the development of national identity and development has to some degree been replaced with a Pentecostal imaginary of interlinked personal and national prosperity. In what follows, we will outline the reasons that were given by the President and by key Christian figures who were involved in explaining the rationale of the project early in the process. We also focus on the language used at several fundraising events of which the first took place in Accra on 28 December 2018, as well as the more recent fundraising campaign that was launched by the Trustees of the Cathedral project on 12 August 2021.4 Analyzing how the motivations and justifications have been narrated by key actors in the project, serves as a way to understand the role individual as well as national prosperity plays in the project and in particular the relationship between giving and prosperity.

Justification: Thanksgiving, Unity, and a Personal Vow The President has on various occasions put forward three overall reasons for building a National Cathedral in Ghana. At a fundraising event at the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C. on 8 February 2019, he explained that, first, Ghana had since independence been protected by God and had not suffered civil war or epidemics and therefore building a National Cathedral was a way to render thanks to God. He said: “The construction of the Cathedral will be an act of thanksgiving to the almighty for his blessings, favor, grace and mercies on our nation.”5 Secondly, he emphasized that the Cathedral would be an interdenominational Christian space reflecting that 71 percent of the Ghanaian population belongs to Christianity. The President thereby presented the Cathedral as a religious space that would serve the purpose of unifying the Christian community in Ghana and “thereby promote national unity and social cohesion.” In support of this argument, he referred to the Supreme Court’s ruling ( January 28, 2019) 346

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rejecting a plea that building a National Cathedral would be unconstitutional. The ruling particularly mentioned the role the Cathedral can play for national unity. Thirdly, and this is the most relevant reason for the purpose of this chapter, the President talked about his engagement in the project as a personal promise and pledge to God. We see two different ways of talking about the Cathedral in terms of making connections between religion and prosperity: as an expression of an act of national thanksgiving to God and as a way to establish a causal, direct, and personal relationship between the President, God, and the success of the nation. First, the President frames the building of the Cathedral as an act of thanksgiving to God for the protection of Ghana over the years of its existence as a country. At a later event, he talked about the project as a “collective gesture of thanksgiving to God for his blessings on the nation.”6 This reflects a tradition and practice in Ghana’s Fourth Republic of thanksgiving at a national level for instance in relation to political elections. Political parties as well as church communities organize thanksgiving services to show gratitude for peaceful elections for instance and also to call upon God’s protection on newly elected leaders.7 It is interesting to note that the thanksgiving service that marked the transition into Ghana’s Fourth Republic in 1992, which was held on 31 January 1993, only was attended by the Pentecostal/Charismatic Christian church leaders. According to Paul Gifford (and other sources) Duncan-Williams8 played a key role in this service by “laying hands and praying for Rawlings” (Gifford 1994, 265, fn. 47), whereas leaders from other Christian denominations boycotted the service, as they did not want to be seen as legitimating Rawlings. A year later, at the thanksgiving service marking the one-year anniversary of the transition, all Christian leaders participated. Gifford notes that whereas the Anglican Bishop and the Catholic Archbishop spoke about the success of the newly installed democracy and the importance of respecting the constitution for stability and the continued success of the democracy, Duncan-Williams took a much more personal approach and celebrated Rawlings himself through establishing a “link between President Rawlings, Ghana’s relative stability, and God’s favor” (Gifford 1994, 259). It is partly in continuation of this approach, that we can understand the second way in which prosperity is part of the narrative of building a National Cathedral. The President outlined a personal and transactional relationship between himself and God, which is directly related to his election as President of Ghana in 2016. He said: I made a pledge to the almighty God. If he was gracious enough to grant my party, the New Patriotic Party and I victory in the 2016 election after two unsuccessful attempts, I will help build a cathedral to his glory and honor. I am determined to redeem this pledge […] Just as God prepared the prophet Nehemiah, I am confident that like Nehemiah in the rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem, I am prayerful that he will prosper us and make us succeed in our endeavor.9 This way of narrating the reasons for building a National Cathedral are in line with the trend that was started by Duncan-Williams in 1992 and in which he made a connection between President Rawlings himself, God, and the success of the nation. It is as such also a reflection of particular variants of prosperity teachings such as the covenant paradigm described by Wariboko in which it is understood that God blesses nations in response to giving or good efforts. In the quote we see, however, that the kind of prosperity that the President alludes to is not widely for the nation but restricted to being about his party (the New Patriotic Party) and his own victory in the 2016 election. This can be linked to the very strong tradition and culture of party loyalty 347

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and partisanship in Ghana (Bob-Milliar 2019; Bob-Milliar and Lauterbach 2021). The success of the nation in this way becomes identical to the success of a party or of an electoral candidate. In the 2012, 2016, and 2020 general elections, the New Patriotic Party used biblical verses to promote its campaign – the popular phrase was “the battle is the Lord’s.” In relation to this, it is worth noting that linking success in elections to divine intervention and sources of divine power is a widespread phenomenon in West Africa. Additionally, this link alludes to the perception that spiritual forces influence political figures and the political scene as Wariboko notes: “In Africa the sacralization of the cosmos legitimates the political space and the dynamics of the political culture” (Wariboko 2014, 150). Duncan-Williams10 (who is the chairman of the fundraising committee of the Cathedral project) himself taps into this narrative and paradigm when he explains why he got involved in the project of building a National Cathedral. He is here quoted in some length from a speech he held at a fundraising dinner in Washington, D.C. on 8 February 2019. He starts by recounting the situation Nana Akufo-Addo was in after having lost two elections (2008 and 2012): After 2012 he [Nana Akufo-Addo] is going to need a divine intervention. He needs to provoke the [judicial] hand of God to override some things. I didn’t tell them what he needed to do. I just told them what I felt and inspired by the Spirit to tell them. Then it wasn’t long when Nana [Opoku] said to me “I think he is gonna make it.” Then I said “Why?” And he said “he has made a vow, that if he becomes President, he will build God a National Cathedral. He will initiate it, mobilize people to do it.” I didn’t take it seriously. Then he won the election in a way that made a statement and so when it happened, and I was asked to be one of the trustees of the National Cathedral I said I have to go and talk to the President for myself. So, I had the opportunity to meet him in his office and I said “Mr. President, can you explain to me this National Cathedral, where is it coming from?” And after hearing him, and I looked him in the eye and, I can tell and perceive the soul of a man by looking through the eye because the Bible says that the eye is the door to the soul. And looking into his eye I could see into the soul and when he said “it was a vow I made to God and I need you to join the team to help me honor that vow”, I knew it was a God thing and it is long overdue and if God has chosen him to bring about this vision and it didn’t come from anyone of us who claim to be so anointed and spiritual, then the least we can do is to get behind him.11 In this account by Duncan-Williams we see how he links the success of the President at the national elections to a divine intervention by himself. First, Duncan-Williams discerns that there is a need for a divine intervention for Akufo-Addo to win after two unsuccessful attempts and he then gives the impression that he is the one who facilitates this intervention and hence establishes a transaction between God, himself and Akufo-Addo. He also establishes himself as the one who can tell whether the vow is ‘a God thing’ by looking into the eyes of Akufo-Addo and hence his soul. He thereby becomes the one who provides the spiritual legitimization of the project and indirectly of the election. In his narration he further portrays Akufo-Addo as a medium for God’s intervention and thereby places the project less as one initiated by the President and more as one facilitated by divine intervention. In that way building the National Cathedral in Ghana becomes a project of building Ghana as a Christian nation and the electoral results become less central. Building Ghana as a Christian nation involves engagement and transaction between God, the presidents, and the spiritual mediators (here Duncan-Williams). 348

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Fundraising and Prayer Networks Another way in which the prosperity gospel and related transactions unfold is within the fundraising initiatives and campaigns of the project. The ways in which these campaigns are narrated capture both prosperity at the individual and at the national level. For instance, on 8 February 2019 at the above-mentioned Washington fund-raising event, hosted at the Museum of the Bible and particularly addressing the Ghanaian diaspora in the United States, Duncan-Williams referred to Genesis 22 and “asked those attending to give generously in order to receive the blessings of the God of Abraham” (Daswani 2019). This reflects the classical “sowing and reaping” metaphor of prosperity teachings in which giving in church and giving to God is seen as yielding success and benefit for the individual giver. In 2021, a fundraising campaign was launched and as part of that the secretariat for the National Cathedral project released a “fundraising documentary video.”12 The video, which is around nine minutes long, contains images from key areas in Accra related to the political history of the country. The video features clips from the President’s speeches, of DuncanWilliams, of the Ghanaian gospel singer Diana Hamilton, of the Chief of Staff and the Finance Minister among others. The video explains the purpose of the Cathedral project and frames the fundraising initiatives within a transactional relationship between God and givers. This happens rhetorically at two levels: the national and the individual/personal. Diana Hamilton for instance explains: “My father invested his resources, his gift, his money towards the things of God. And I have seen God move me from places I do not have to be, to places beyond my wildest dream that is because my father’s offering has become a memorial on the side of God.” This quote relates mainly to personal success and prosperity, but it is at the same time a recognition that what one gives today will benefit others in the future. Diana Hamilton’s success as a singer is related to what her father has given to God in the past and the emphasis is on success generated through family relations rather than individual success (see Anim 2020, 141). Other accounts in the video are more explicitly placing the success of the nation as a parallel track to personal success. The Chief of Staff Frema Opare says: “The Lord has been good to me, and therefore when there is a monument to his Glory, I want to have my voice and my seed money in it […] Sow a seed for the nation, sow a seed for yourself and your family. Let us sow a seed for them to come and share in the good things that God has done for us.” By combining giving for national prosperity with personal success, these ways of rhetorically framing giving to the National Cathedral, can be seen as reflecting the transcendentalmaterialist logic that Wariboko talks about in which the circulation and exchange of miracles is what links the divine and the political, but is also seen as the foundation for building a Christian community (here nation). In that way, this particular framing also works as a way to possibly overcome the criticism of the project as favoring certain politicians and Christian leaders. The personal success is here transferred from being about these leaders to being the success of the individual citizens of Ghana who give funds to the project. There is no focus on the President as the engineer and initiator of the project and on the fulfilment of his personal vow in the video. In this way, the video places prosperity at the national as well as personal level with a focus on citizens and individuals rather than politicians and religious leaders, which in this particular case is a move away from the earlier representations that highlighted the President’s personal involvement in the project. This is further accentuated by the inclusion of two ordinary Ghanaians who remained unnamed in the video and who speak in Twi. We can interpret this as an attempt to signal that this project is for all Ghanaians and not only for the elite. It is a way in which the video seeks to decouple prosperity and wealth from elite networks to being more about the individual’s relationship with God and the building of community. 349

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The fundraising video finally portrays the project as a way to make Ghana a pilgrimage destination for Christians worldwide. As the Rev. Victor Kusi Boateng states: “We are trying to bring Israel into Ghana.” This refers to the foundational stone from Jerusalem, which the President put into the ground at the construction site in March 2020 at the sod-cutting ceremony.13 The placement of the stone is directly linked to the prosperity that the Cathedral is thought to bring to Ghana for instance via pilgrimage. The stone is presented as a covenant stone linking the Cathedral to the Solomon Temple in Israel, as Deputy Finance Minister John Kumah has explained.14 This point is highlighted by other speakers such as Cary Summers (President Emeritus of the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C. and involved in Israel tourism) and the Finance Minister Hon. Ken-Ofori Atta. The prosperity of the nation is here linked directly to the prospect of generating income through tourist activities related to the National Cathedral, as well as the image of being a Christian nation that this will bring to Ghana.15 Another way in which to secure success of the project itself is through prayers. As we have seen above, prayers (here as a way to communicate with God) were part of the initial revelation of both the President and Duncan-Williams to launch and support the project. According to the newsletter of the secretariat of the National Cathedral, a prayer campaign was also initiated by the Board of Trustees in 2019 as “a key component of the mobilization strategy” (Newsletter no. 1, 23). According to the same source, on another occasion the Finance Minister invited the South African businessman Graham Power (and leader of the Global Voice of Prayer movement and initiator of the Unashamedly Ethical campaign in South Africa) to the site to pray. This shows that the project and key actors around it are closely connected to evangelical movements around the world. A third initiative was the creation of a National Cathedral Prayer Network that would gather at the site once a month to pray. The first event is described in this way: “The participants were divided into groups each praying on different areas of the site, thus covering the whole area, symbolically in prayer” (Newsletter, number 1, 23). Elizabeth Sackey, Regional minister for Greater Accra, gave an address at the event and it was reported “that the corporate prayer of Christians was necessary for the ‘permission and blessings of Heaven’ for the success of the project” (ibid.).16 The ritual and practice of prayer chains is according to Wariboko also part of the covenant paradigm when it comes to prosperity in which networked power is activated. This form of power (known in Nigeria as ‘corporate anointing’) draws on the idea of power as “generated and sustained in a network of persons and within the internal and immanent social dynamic of the community and its immediate and remote larger contexts” (Wariboko 2014, 154). This underlines the larger communal and national setting in which the National Cathedral project is inscribed. It is worth noting that the official narratives of the project place very little emphasis on more spiritualist variations of the prosperity gospel (including spiritual warfare and the influence of evil spiritual power). Such narratives are, however, part of the public debate where reference is made to stories that pertain to the legacy and spiritual involvement of the first President of Ghana, Kwame Nkrumah. Building the Cathedral is here framed as a way to give Ghana “back to God” because the original foundation of the country is perceived as based on demonic forces and is what hinders Ghana to prosper.

Conclusion The overlap and engagement between religion and prosperity in relation to the project of the National Cathedral combine several religious ideas and practices such as a link between individual giving and prosperity and rituals of thanksgiving that are prevalent in various 350

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Christian traditions (and in other religious traditions as well). Studying the project of the National Cathedral with view of specifically seeing expressions and interpretations of prosperity teachings, enable us to see the prosperity gospel as a vernacular phenomenon in which individual prosperity and national prosperity are interlinked. First, we have identified the close link between the personal success of the elite (pastors and politicians) and giving to God. Second, we have discussed practices of religious giving at the national level as a form of thanksgiving to God and third giving to God as an expression of a more personalized engagement in transactions with God that is, however, closely connected to the success of the nation. Through the analysis we have looked into how the building of the National Cathedral reflects certain aspects of prosperity teachings in Ghana that point to global connections and influences and at the same time draw on a history of religious plurality in which giving to God is a grounded phenomenon. We argue that what is known and perceived as prosperity teachings is on the one hand located within and springing from the Pentecostal/ charismatic churches in Ghana. On the other hand, engaging in transactional relations with God, other divine forces, and humans is a widely recognized practice that reflects long established links between ideas of progress, success, and religion. In this way, we see that the project (for instance the fundraising campaign) is drawing on classical tropes of giving and receiving that lies within Pentecostal/Charismatic Christianity, but at the same time, these tropes are made sense of in a way that reflects pre-Pentecostal ideas of prosperity and religious giving. For instance, early Christian missionaries linked ideas of faith and national progress and prosperity. The Basel mission viewed agriculture and the creation of agricultural farming communities as a component of their missionary work (Kwamena-Poh 2005). Moreover, certain elements of prosperity teachings resonate with key ideas in Akan cosmology that are widely shared and accepted (Anim 2020), yet also contested. One area of contestation is whether prosperity and wealth are for the individual or also for the benefit of society at large. This tension has historically been key in questions of legitimizing wealth. The overall question of the relationship between religious giving and receiving at national, communal, and individual level echoes moral ambiguities that pertain to the purpose and origin of wealth, and such fundamental questions are of importance to the broad populace. We therefore argue that the project of building the National Cathedral reflects and exposes such moral ambiguities and that prosperity teachings through this become an activity and an arena in which such questions are debated, rather than a stable and finished theological principle.

Notes 1 Prosperity teachings (in the plural) might be a more useful term to use as it alludes to a collection of ideas as compared to the singular “the prosperity gospel,” which signals a theologically cohesive expression and entity. 2 Interview with Sir David Adjaye on CitiTV, 19 September 2018. https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=5G_hWhxWxmM. 3 See, for instance, “Bomfeh sues gov’t again over National Cathedral” (https://www. myjoyonline.com/bomfeh-sues-govt-again-over-national-cathedral/) and “Supreme Court dismisses Bomfeh’s suit against national cathedral” (https://citinewsroom.com/2019/01/ supreme-court-throws-out-bomfehs-case-against-national-cathedral/). 4 See “Ketewa Biara Nsua” initiative to raise funds for National Cathedral project – Asaase Radio (https:// asaaseradio.com/ketewa-biara-nsua-initiative-to-raise-funds-for-national-cathedral-project/). 5 Speech, 8 February 2019, Washington, D.C. Video available on Ghanaweb: https:// w w w.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/President-A kufo-Addo-cal ls-forsupport-to-build-National-Cathedral-722274. See also “Building National Cathedral will be an

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Karen Lauterbach and George M. Bob-Milliar ‘act of thanksgiving’ to God.”: https://citinewsroom.com/2020/03/building-national-cathedralwill-be-act-of-thanksgiving-to-god-nana-addo/. 6 Speech, 5 March 2020 at groundbreaking ceremony. Ghanaweb: https://www.ghanaweb.com/ GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/National-Cathedral-Humans-react-to-things-they-don-tcomprehend-Duncan-Williams-887110. 7 President Rawlings organized a thanksgiving service after the elections in 1992. Since then, a National Thanksgiving Day has been continued with the participation of both Christians, Muslims, and followers of traditional religion (Aubyn and Aning 2016, 134). 8 Nicholas Duncan-Williams is the founder and general overseer of the Action Chapel International ministry in Ghana and considered to be one of the founding fathers of charismatic Christianity in Ghana. 9 Speech, 8 February 2019, Washington, D.C. Video available on Ghanaweb: https://www. ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/President-Akufo-Addo-calls-for-support-tobuild-National-Cathedral-722274. 10 It is interesting to note that Duncan-Williams had prophesized over the strength of the Ghanaian new cedi prior to being involved in the National Cathedral project and was thereby (as well as through other activities) seen as having an indirect political voice in which he linked prayers, spiritual intervention, and economic development. 11 https://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/television/news/I-need-your-support-to-buildNational-Cathedral-Akufo-Addo-60249 12 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xAuEWLJG24. 13 Govt imports stone from Jerusalem to sanctify National Cathedral foundation (https://mobile. ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/Govt-imports-stone-from-Jerusalem-tosanctify-National-Cathedral-foundation-886174?jwsource=cl). 14 We imported `Jerusalem stone’ from Israel for foundation of National Cathedral – John Kumah (https://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/We-imported-Jerusalem-stonefrom-Israel-for-foundation-of-National-Cathedral-John-Kumah-1556711). 15 Part of the fundraising campaign also seeks to target private companies to donate to the project. One example is a donation by the First Sky Group. The company donated 2 million Ghanaian new cedi on the occasion of its fifteenth anniversary and thanksgiving service. The chairman of the First Sky Group (who also serves as the co-chair of the fundraising committee of the cathedral project) said: “We together as a Board have prayed to God, and he says he needs a permanent place to abide” (National Cathedral Update, Number 1, September to December 2019, 16). 16 See also “National Cathedral: Churches to dedicate one week annually for prayers and special offerings towards project” from MyJoyOnline (https://www.myjoyonline.com/national-cathedral-churchesto-dedicate-1-week-annually-for-prayers-and-special-offerings-towards-project/).

References Agana, Wilfred Asampambila. 2016. ‘Succeed Here and in Eternity’: The Prosperity Gospel in Ghana. Bern: Peter Lang. Anim, Emmanuel Kwesi. 2020. Who Wants to be a Millionaire? An Analysis of Prosperity Teaching in the Charismatic Ministries (Churches) in Ghana and its Wider Impact. Münster and Zürich: LIT Verlag. Asamoah-Gyadu, J.K. 2020. “Spirit/Religion and Ethics in African Economies.” In The Palgrave Handbook of African Social Ethics, edited by N. Wariboko and T. Falola, 299–316. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Aubyn, Festus K., and Aning, Kwesi. 2016. “Spirituality and Politics in Ghana’s Fourth Republic: 1992 – 2015.” In Managing Election-Related Conflict and Violence for Democratic Stability in Ghana II, edited by K. Aning, K. Danso and N. Salihu, 126–51. Accra: Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping Training Centre. Barber, Karin. 2007. The Anthropology of Texts, Persons and Publics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bob-Milliar, George M. 2019. “Place and Party Organizations: Party Activism Inside Party-branded Sheds at the Grassroots in Northern Ghana.” Territory, Politics, Governance 7(4): 474–93. Bob-Milliar, George M., and Lauterbach, Karen. 2021. “The Generation of Trust in Political Parties in Ghana.” Africa Today 68(2): 81–100.

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Grounding the Prosperity Gospel Bob-Milliar, George M. and Lauterbach, Karen. 2019. “The Politics of a National Cathedral in Ghana: A Symbol of a Corrupted Government, or Reaching Wakanda?” The LSE Religion and Global Society Blog, https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/religionglobalsociety/2019/01/the-politics-of-anational-cathedral-in-ghana-a-symbol-of-a-corrupted-government-or-reaching-wakanda/ Daswani, Girish. 2019. “Cathedrals and Critique.” The Christian Nation Project (https:// thechristiannationproject.net/daswani/). Gifford, Paul. 1994. “Ghana’s Charismatic Churches.” Journal of Religion in Africa 24(3): 241–65. Gifford, Paul. 2015. Christianity, Development, and Modernity in Africa. London: Hurst & Company. Heuser, Andreas. 2020. “Prosperity Theology. Material Abundance and Praxis of Transformation.” In The Routledge Handbook of Pentecostal Theology, edited by W. Vondey, 410–20. London: Routledge. Kalu, Ogbu. 2008. African Pentecostalism: An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kwamena-Poh, Michael A. 2005. The Basel Mission and the Development of the Cocoa Industry in Ghana 1858-1918. Mamfe – Akuapem: Pato Computer Works. Kwateng-Yeboah, James. 2021. “The Prosperity Gospel: Debating Modernity in Africa and the African Diaspora.” Journal of Africana Religions 9(1): 42–69. Lauterbach, Karen. 2017. Christianity, Wealth and Spiritual Power in Ghana. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Lauterbach, Karen. 2019. “‘Fakery and Wealth in African Charismatic Christianity’: Moving Beyond the Prosperity Gospel as Script.” In Faith in African Lived Christianity. Bridging Anthropological and Theological Perspectives, edited by K. Lauterbach and M. Vähäkangas, 111–32. Leiden: Brill. Maxwell, David. 2017. “Historical Perspectives on Christianity Worldwide: Connections, Comparisons and Consciousness.” In Relocating World Christianity: Interdisciplinary Studies in Universal and Local Expressions of the Christian Faith, edited by J. Cabrita, D. Maxwell and E. Wild-Wood, 47–69. Leiden: Brill. Meyer, Birgit. 2004. “Praise the Lord”: Popular Cinema and Pentecostalite Style in Ghana’s New Public Sphere.” American Ethnologist 31(1): 92–110. Obadare, Ebenezer. 2018. Pentecostal Republic: Religion and the Struggle for State Power in Nigeria. London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Tazanu, Primus. 2016. “Practices and Narratives of Breakthrough: Pentecostal Representations, the Quest for Success, and Liberation from Bondage.” Journal of Religion in Africa 46(1): 32–66. Wariboko, Nimi. 2012. “Pentecostal Paradigms of National Economic Prosperity in Africa.” In Pentecostalism and Prosperity: The Socio-Economics of the Global Charismatic Movement, edited by Katherine Attanasi and Amos Yong, 35–59. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Wariboko, Nimi. 2014. Nigerian Pentecostalism. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. Wariboko, Nimi. 2017. “Pentecostalism in Africa.” In Oxford Research Encyclopedia of African History, edited by Thomas Spear, online edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Yong, Amos. 2012. “A Typology of Prosperity Theology: A Religious Economy of Global Renewal or a Renewal Economics?” In Pentecostalism and Prosperity: The Socio-Economics of the Global Charismatic Movement, edited by Katherine Attanasi and Amos Yong, 15–34. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

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27 PENTECOSTALISM AND GLOBAL DEVELOPMENT Assessing Pentecostal Engagement with Social Development in Theory and Practice Christopher Wadibia Introduction The origins of Christian engagement with social development causes in Nigeria can be traced back to the age of British imperial occupation and colonial rule. During this period, which lasted from the early nineteenth century to 1960 when Nigeria officially gained independence from the British Empire, Christian missionaries from the historic denominations (e.g., Anglicanism, Catholicism, Methodism, and the Baptist Church) first engaged with development in the Nigerian context by offering Western education and medical services to indigenous Nigerians (Ukah 2012, 43–62). This practice quickly proved evangelistically valuable, and led to many Nigerians from the southern half of the country converting to Christianity. These historic denominations have continued delivering social development services to marginalized Nigerians in ways that support their religious missions. Across Nigeria’s history, the delivery of these services cannot be separated from the oppressive political contexts that gave rise to the need for non-state actors to assist the leading indigenous governmental authority at the time in meeting the development needs of the Nigerian population. Colonial missionaries offered indigenous Nigerians social services in a context where the British colonial government’s economic policies for Nigeria prioritized extraction with the intent of enriching Britain instead of investment with the goal of developing Nigeria (Bourne 2015, 3–15). Between 1966 and 1999, Nigeria experienced a series of military coups that prevented the government from implementing a long-term development plan for the country. During this time, Nigeria grew into one of the world’s leading oil exporters and corruption evolved into a normal practice in national politics (Falola and Heaton 2008, 85–109). Senior government officials in charge of administering the country’s sizeable oil revenues redirected capital that should have financed social development enterprises nationally into their own pockets and into those of their allies (Elaigwu 2009, 233–72). As Nigeria’s public development institutions went underfunded, the historic churches continued delivering development services to Nigerians. Toward the end of the twentieth century, several Pentecostal churches famous for preaching the prosperity gospel accrued enough capital to join the historic churches in implementing their own social development visions for Nigeria (Burgess 2020, 1–17). 354

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Of these indigenous Pentecostal churches, the biggest and wealthiest is the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG). Established in 1952, the RCCG has grown into SubSaharan Africa’s most popular and politically powerful Pentecostal church. The RCCG reports a membership of well above five million congregants and claims to operate parishes in more than 190 countries (Rice 2009). It is even Nigeria’s largest private owner of real estate (Ukah 2018, 728–40). It began as a holiness Pentecostal church under the ascetic leadership of founder Josiah Akindayomi. In 1981, Enoch Adeboye superseded Akindayomi as the church’s senior pastor (e.g., General Overseer), introduced the prosperity gospel into its theological canon, and initiated the process of building the church into the global Pentecostal corporation it is today (Adedibu 2019, 1–11). While RCCG engagement with social development formally commenced when the church was led by Akindayomi, under Adeboye the church’s portfolio of Nigerian development institutions rapidly grew. Today, the RCCG owns and funds a massive portfolio of social development institutions that it uses to deliver services to its members and destitute Nigerians in an effort to compensate for the insufficient contributions of the state’s weak development institutions. The problem this chapter answers is that little scholarship examines how Pentecostal churches practically engage with social development. In assessing the RCCG’s engagement with Nigerian development, this chapter begins the task of offering a solution. This chapter employs the RCCG as a religious organizational case study to offer practical insights into the resources Nigerian Pentecostal churches draw on when engaging with social development. It provides a concise introduction to the theological, financial, and political mechanics driving RCCG investment in Nigerian social development. This chapter begins by briefly introducing the RCCG as a Pentecostal movement. It continues by listing the key theologies the church draws on to justify the huge sums of capital it spends on social development activities. Subsequently, this chapter outlines the financial strategies the church uses to gather this capital before analyzing the politics associated with RCCG investment in social development. It concludes by explaining what the case study of RCCG engagement with social development in Nigeria implies for understanding the distinctive Pentecostal landscape of Nigeria as it relates to other cases of Pentecostal churches described in existing literature. This chapter attempts to correct general assumptions about the topics of prosperity theology, soteriology, and politics as they relate to Pentecostalism by offering a specific case study for comparison.

RCCG Background Information In 1952, Josiah Akindayomi founded the RCCG in the Ebute-Metta slum of Lagos in Southwestern Nigeria’s Lagos State. His ministry focused on holiness, asceticism, and prophecy (Ukah 2008, 13–56). Under Akindayomi, the RCCG’s religious mission almost exclusively focused on evangelism, but did sponsor maternity centers that aimed to offer poor, nursing Nigerian women what the church viewed as spiritually safe, supportive settings in which to deliver their babies (Adeboye 2007, 24–58). These centers had no professionally trained medical staff, instead employed “traditional birth attendants” who relied on the “power of prayer,” and were based in larger branches of the church. Akindayomi’s death in 1980 paved the way for his successor, Enoch Adeboye, to introduce organizational reforms that transformed the RCCG from a small, provincial fellowship catering to indigenous, poor Nigerians into a global Pentecostal power with a multinational membership composed of many Nigerian elites (Adedibu 2020, 136–50). As noted above, the RCCG claims a total membership of well over five million members and to operate parishes in 355

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more than 190 countries. While the majority of this membership is based in Nigeria, the RCCG’s transnational following mainly includes diaspora Nigerians. Alongside the RCCG, Nigeria is home to several of the world’s largest Pentecostal churches. These churches include Living Faith Church Worldwide (also known as Winners’ Chapel), Deeper Life Bible Church, Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries, and Christ Embassy. However, scholars agree that the RCCG is Nigeria’s largest (in terms of membership size), wealthiest, and most politically influential Pentecostal church. On the first Friday night of every month, the RCCG hosts its flagship religious event at its massive auditorium inside its 20,000-hectare Redemption Camp headquarters in Ogun State (Ukah 2018, 728–40). This event, called the Holy Ghost Service, routinely draws over 500,000 worshippers. Fueled by an aggressive evangelistic vision that ambitiously seeks to convert the entire non-Christian world to Christianity, the RCCG has devised a dynamic, mobile, and portable expansionist strategy oriented around an entrepreneurial, growth-obsessed model of religious service delivery (Ukah 2008, 277–312). This model decentralizes ministerial authority by allowing non-pastor members to found and lead new parishes. Another key element of the RCCG’s organizational profile following the transition of senior leadership from Akindayomi to Adeboye concerns its consistently expanding empire of Nigerian development programs, activities, and institutions. Soon after Adeboye supplanted Akindayomi as the church’s general overseer in 1981, the church at the behest of Foluke Adeboye (Enoch Adeboye’s wife) established nursery and primary schools to educate Adeboye’s young children (interview with RCCG Governing Council Member, 14 March 2020). In 1983, RCCG Pastor Mrs Olaide Adenuga founded the Redeemed AIDS Programme Action Committee (RAPAC) in order to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS in Nigeria and offer support to RCCG members living with the disease (interview with RAPAC Senior Official, 11 March 2020). In 1996, Foluke Adeboye founded Africa Missions to highlight the need to add investment in social development service delivery as an element of RCCG missionary trips across Africa (Akhazemea and Adedibu 2011, 53–64). In 1998, Foluke Adeboye established Redeemer’s High School as the church’s first secondary educational institution. In 2005, the RCCG founded Redeemer’s University as the church’s flagship higher educational institution (interview with RUN Senior Official, 19 March 2020). In 2010, Foluke Adeboye founded Redeemer’s Health Centre (RHC) in the Redemption Camp to offer biomedical services to worshippers attending the church’s Holy Ghost Services and other large-scale religious events (interview with RHC Senior Official, 4 March 2020). Also in 2010, the RCCG’s City of David model parish (one of the RCCG’s richest parishes) established Healing Stripes Hospital in Victoria Island in Lagos State to provide its members with high-quality biomedical services (interview with Healing Stripes Hospital Senior Administrator, 13 February 2020). In 2016, the RCCG founded the RCCG Vocational Institute to provide vocational training to unemployed Nigerian youth (Olowoyo 2019). In 2017, Foluke Adeboye founded the Friends of Jesus (FOJ) program in an effort to feed, provide biomedical attention for, and resettle more than 240 families illegally living inside the Redemption Camp (FOJ Senior Official 2020). In 2018, the RCCG founded the Redeemer’s College of Technology and Management (RECTEM) as its first large investment in polytechnic education (Obayemi 2020). In March 2018, Enoch Adeboye appointed RCCG Pastor Idowu Iluyomade to serve as his Special Assistant to the General Overseer on Christian Social Responsibility (SATGO-CSR). For the first time in the RCCG’s organizational history, this appointment created a senior office in its system entirely dedicated to administering RCCG investment in social development and formalized the latter as a component of the church’s religious mission. 356

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Theologies The transition from being a holiness-centric to a prosperity-focused Pentecostal church is the most significant theological event in the history of the RCCG movement. Prosperity theology rests at the core of the RCCG’s social development vision for Nigeria. The church’s empire of social development institutions has expanded commensurate to senior pastors in the church identifying social development needs across Nigerian society, and then marshalling the church’s resources to found institutions which meet these needs. Babatunde Adedibu, a leading scholar on the RCCG, writes: “The appointment of Adeboye as RCCG General Overseer and his commitment to religious creativity through various programs have led to a shift in the founding disposition of the church from world-rejecting notions to world-accommodating ones” (Adedibu 2020, 136–50). Adedibu points out that the RCCG’s transition from a church theologically powered by “world-rejecting notions to world-accommodating ones” is a key distinction characterizing the church’s journey under Adeboye’s leadership. Existing scholarship on the RCCG tends to generally, albeit accurately, relate this argument to the church’s doctrinal embrace of the prosperity gospel. However, the RCCG’s theological embrace of the prosperity gospel has significantly impacted its own understanding of the relationship between evangelism and development, and how it as a church should engage with social development in Nigeria. In March 2018, following his appointment to the office of SATGOCSR, RCCG Pastor Idowu Iluyomade initiated the process of streamlining the RCCG’s many development activities under the lone umbrella of the church’s newly created CSR Department (Adeboye 2020, 115–35). Prior to his appointment, the RCCG’s ecosystem of development initiatives and institutions included several organs, some of which pursued identical social development visions and delivered similar services. Rather than pooling their collective resources and working together, these organs often operated independently. This practice gave rise to the duplication of social development visions inside the RCCG system in counterproductive ways that undermined the overall contributions to social development in Nigeria that these institutions could have made by collaborating. The scope of Iluyomade’s mandate solely applies to the RCCG’s global network of parishes, meaning that the CSR Department (which Iluyomade manages) does not have power to ensure that non-parish institutions in the RCCG system channel the resources associated with their institutions to contribute toward socially developing Nigeria (interview with RCCG CSR Department Senior Official, 2 November 2020). Yet, several of these nonparish institutions, like Redeemer’s University and Redeemer’s Health Centre, do engage with social development but in distinctive ways that support their own organizational missions. For these institutions, CSR serves as a social action philosophy different from the RCCG’s CSR Department that has evolved into a new feature of the church’s religious mission. The principal Bible passage inspiring the RCCG’s CSR vision is Matthew 25:31–46. In this passage, Jesus tells his disciples how God the Father will decide which humans will be awarded eternal life and those who will be condemned to eternal punishment. Jesus teaches that those who feed the hungry, give something to drink to the thirsty, look after the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit the imprisoned will gain eternal life. Those who do not will be condemned to eternal damnation. In this passage, Jesus appears to introduce what amounts to a participatory human redemption framework rooted in a socially conscious religious worldview. On Matthew 25:31–46, Iluyomade (2018, 12) writes: If truly our end goal is to make it to heaven, a wise person will investigate what conditions must be fulfilled to be able to make it to heaven and possibly receive 357

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a reward. Jesus also gave us a pre-view of the final judgment day in Matthew 25:31–46, that on that day all nations will be gathered before God and His holy angels and God will separate the sheep on His right from the goat on His left, and He would use Christian Social Responsibility (CSR) as the litmus test and parameter to judge them, not how big their church is or how many missions they have or how many people fell under their anointing but Christian Social Responsibility. Adedibu’s “world-accommodating” concept has been used to describe the RCCG’s embrace of prosperity theology, but it can also be applied to explain why its CSR vision calls for engagement with social development in Nigeria. Under the leadership of Akindayomi, the RCCG promoted a holiness-centric, “world-rejecting” religious worldview. This teaching often interpreted human suffering as a bane to endure instead of an obstacle to overcome. The introduction of prosperity theologies into the RCCG’s canon radically reconfigured the church’s theological position on the issue of human suffering. The RCCG’s brand of prosperity theology teaches that God wants Christians to enjoy healthy and wealthy lives so that they can actively participate in building God’s kingdom on earth by way of evangelism and fulfilling their human potential (Ukah 2008, 171–218). This teaching views human suffering as a satanic intrusion inconsistent with God’s will for Christians. CSR’s prosperity sensibilities include its focus on individual empowerment and gaining eternal rewards. While this teaching offers valuable insights into the theological resources Nigerian Pentecostal churches draw on to promote their social development visions, it should be noted that CSR’s emphasis on Christians performing acts of CSR to increase their chances of being awarded eternal salvation greatly differ from mainstream evangelical teachings of penal substitution. While the CSR model privileges individual Christian participation in ensuring their salvation by performing good works, mainstream evangelical Christian soteriology tends to focus on the Christ event, where Christ willingly sacrificed himself so humans could gain eternal life. The CSR model appears to downplay the significance of the Christ event in order to emphasize individual agency and the role that Christians play in the soteriological process. However, it should be noted that the introduction of CSR serves as a contextual response in an RCCG movement already heavily shaped by Nigeria’s turbulent postcolonial history. CSR’s emphasis on RCCG members seeing CSR as an element of their religious duties exists in a Nigerian context where churches like the RCCG consistently expand their presence into spaces of influence normally filled by the state. As explained earlier in this chapter, a range of historic and Pentecostal churches invest as private, non-state actors in social development in Nigeria in order to fill public social development service delivery gaps left unfilled by the state. What follows is that CSR’s emphasis on individuals participating in securing their own salvation by completing CSR acts serves as a soteriological multiplication tool that increases the sum of RCCG agents engaging with social development in Nigeria relative to the sum of RCCG members who buy into the church’s CSR vision and apply these teachings to their everyday conduct. This prosperity-centric theological teaching speaks to a broader, intersectional discourse on the relationship between Pentecostalism, development, and politics in Nigeria. The CSR Department is responsible for ensuring RCCG parishes complete monthly CSR activities relative to their capacity before digitally reporting these activities to the former. As Iluyomade labors to centralize the church’s parish-based social development activities under the authoritative umbrella of the CSR Department, Enoch Adeboye remains the patriarch and leader of the RCCG movement. For this reason, at this stage in the CSR Department’s 358

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lifespan, the CSR vision signifies a minority theological paradigm quickly gaining traction in the church instead of a mainstream teaching. Iluyomade (2018, 11–12) writes: The Bible says in 1 John 3:18 that we should love not only in words but also in deed. The Bible also teaches that we should owe no man nothing but love (Romans 13:8). To crown it all, God also says in James 1:27 that Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world. Based on the above, it is one of the cardinal values of Christianity to show love to God and our fellow human beings. Alongside Matthew 25:31–46, several other verses and passages in the Bible theologically inform the CSR’s vision. Iluyomade mentions some of these (e.g., 1 John 3:18, Romans 13:8, and James 1:27) in the above statement. For Iluyomade, the CSR’s vision supports the RCCG’s religious mission. The principal theological argument driving the CSR’s vision is that Christians have an active role to play in securing salvation, and that the duties of this role include showing love to other human beings “not only in words but also in deed.” Moreover, a distinction should be made between the CSR itself and social development, more broadly. The CSR is a soteriological paradigm that teaches members of the RCCG movement to view engagement with social action in all the latter’s diversity as an element of their religious identity. This paradigm is a contextual response to Nigerian underdevelopment. The CSR functions as a soteriological instrument and is not in itself social development; rather, the mobilization of RCCG members to complete the CSR acts in service of securing their own salvation results in individual and collective contributions to social development.

Finance Nigeria’s appreciable network of Pentecostal churches encompasses churches with a diverse variety of financial capacity. One end of the spectrum includes small house fellowships with few members and little to no financial resources; the other side of the spectrum includes the RCCG, which has evolved over seven decades into a multinational religious corporation with a membership larger than the populations of many African countries and enough independent wealth to make it one of the richest Pentecostal churches in the world. Dena Freeman (2012, 1–38), an influential scholar whose work has studied how Pentecostal churches engage with social development in Africa, writes: Tithing is central to the Pentecostal moral economy and serves as a new form of taxation in places where churches, rather than governments, provide most social services. Many churches also engage in business activities themselves, as a way to raise church funds, and in some notable cases run newspapers, radiation stations and even banks, gyms and universities. One of the results is that many of these churches, particular those in major urban centres, are phenomenally rich. Consistent with Pentecostal orthodoxy, the RCCG avidly promotes the doctrine of tithing and even teaches its members that, if they do not pay their tithe, they will not enter heaven. The key premise behind the doctrine of tithing is that Christians should pay a small fraction of their personal income into the church of which they enjoy membership in order to spread the Gospel. The RCCG relies on tithing to bankroll its global evangelistic vision. However, since introducing its CSR program, the church has devised alternative ways to accrue capital 359

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to finance its CSR vision and, by extension, its social development vision for Nigeria. Freeman correctly points out that, alongside expecting its members to pay tithes, Pentecostal churches “engage in business activities themselves,” and that, as a result of doing so, many of these churches have become extremely wealthy (Freeman 2012, 1–38). This chapter extends Freeman’s argument by showing how the RCCG secures capital by using sponsorships from Nigerian corporations to fund its social development activities. Like the RCCG, several Pentecostal churches operate in African countries with substantial, fast-growing, and young populations, and as a result these churches often struggle financially to balance funding their religious and social development visions for their home states. For these churches, no matter how much capital they invest in social development, they still lack the capital needed to meet the needs of a population that even the economy of a fully developed state would struggle to meet. This argument applies to the RCCG and its social work in a Nigerian context home to Africa’s biggest population (e.g., 200 million people). Despite having vast capital at its disposal, the RCCG administers many educational and biomedical institutions desperately in need of more capital to fund their daily operations. Aware of these challenges and keen to prevent its wealthy members (who often donate to RCCG-sponsored social development activities) from experiencing donor fatigue, the CSR Department began professionalizing its approach to development work in order to attract sponsorships from capital-rich Nigerian corporations and alleviate the financial stress on the church’s National Secretariat (the RCCG’s global administrative headquarters in charge of large expenditures) (interview with RCCG CSR Department Senior Official, 2 November 2020). Iluyomade (2018, 35) reveals: When we started CSR, we were cleaning the streets, sinking boreholes, having medical Sundays, feeding the poor; but we realize that for you to be sustainable and leave a legacy that will attract collaboration from various partners … you need to put proper structures and systems in place that will ensure transparency and accountability … Corporate organizations like Shell, MTN, Cadbury … have partnered with us on an annual basis for greater market thrust and impact. This never used to be the case! When Iluyomade employs the term “sustainable,” he means financially independent and capable of enduring long into the future. CSR’s move toward professionalization signals to prospective donors a commitment on the part of the CSR Department to transparency and accountability as a faith-based development actor. Iluyomade (2018, 4–5) writes: Though CSR has been in existence for centuries, people are still indifferent, complacent, and ignorant of its importance - even among Christians. However, even with a firm understanding of CSR, it still comes with a lot of problems. For example, acceptability. For there to be societal acceptability, one needs to have proper structures and comply with global best practices. This is what is missing in the CSRs of most religious organizations, especially churches. Iluyomade advocates for a faith-based, social investment framework contingent on three factors: legitimate structures, secular donor interest, and religious mission. Iluyomade argues that churches in Nigeria who view engaging with social development work as an element of their religious missions have historically neglected installing legitimate structures to facilitate this work, and that they have been unable to gain societal trust from wealthy donors willing to sponsor their social development activities as a result. 360

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Far from the tithing-centric funding model used to bankroll its global evangelistic vision, the RCCG has turned to a corporation-focused sponsorship model that seeks to solicit donations from corporations (many of whom would be secular) that it claims to use to finance its portfolio of CSR activities in Nigeria. Moreover, corporate donations made to the RCCG’s CSR Department have mutual benefits. On the one hand, the CSR Department gains capital to fund its social development activities. On the other hand, corporations benefit from publicly associating with one of Nigeria’s largest, most influential Pentecostal brands. In a Nigerian context where religion dominates everyday life, these corporations benefit from sponsoring RCCG-administered social development activities on multiple fronts. First, the RCCG’s millions of members would be more likely to consume services and products from a corporation that they perceive to have a positive relationship with the church, and this dynamic results in increased revenues for the relevant corporation. Secondly, Nigeria suffers from high levels of insecurity, a contributing source of which can frequently be traced back to poverty, inequality, and insufficient social development. Corporations donating to RCCGbacked social development activities view these donations as an indirect investment in tackling inequality and, by extension, the insecurities that have the potential to negatively impact their daily operations and revenue streams. CSR’s courtship of corporate sponsors raises questions about how the religion–secularism dichotomy will continue to play out as the church moves away from depending on internal sources to finance its social development activities in favor of securing funding from external actors. This new practice demonstrates the extent to which secular corporations with a presence in Nigeria can influence the evolution of the RCCG’s religious mission by incentivizing it to professionalize its social development engagement practices. This finding speaks to a wider discourse on the diversity of Pentecostal engagement with social development in Nigeria. Existing scholarship offers a theoretical explanation of why Pentecostal churches in Africa engage in commercial enterprises, and clarifies that many of these churches, especially those doctrinally powered by prosperity theologies, do so in service of their religious missions and in order to advance their evangelistic interests. However, this section shows how financially motivated Pentecostal collaborations with secular corporations in Nigeria can lead to changes in the organizational behavior of the church involved in ways that have implications for the latter’s religious mission.

Politics Politics in Nigeria is a fight for control of the country’s massive oil resources. Nigeria rose to global economic significance in the second half of the twentieth century by becoming Africa’s leading oil exporter (Falola and Heaton 2008, 85–109). This position made Nigeria attractive economically in the eyes of the world’s most powerful states. However, as the brief overview of Nigerian history at the beginning of this chapter details, instead of inclusively delivering unprecedented levels of economic prosperity to everyday Nigerians, Nigeria regressed to become one of the world’s most notorious cesspools of state-level corruption. This evolution has led to categorical reductions in the quality of life and standard of living for the vast majority of Nigeria’s huge population. In a Nigerian context with perennially underfunded public development institutions, churches like the RCCG invest in delivering social development services as a way of plugging development gaps ignored by the state. However, the RCCG’s large size (both in terms of its membership and its affiliated pastors) has led to a current situation in which many RCCG pastors occupy senior government positions with mandates directly involved with development. The irony is that the RCCG has become embedded in 361

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the state to an extent that implies it is at least complicit in overlooking corruption, even as it voices a reformist vision for Nigeria and uses investment in social development as a means to manifest this vision. Richard Burgess is a leading scholar whose research has examined the relationship between Pentecostalism, politics, and development in Nigeria. Burgess (2020, 90) writes: Some Pentecostals have established new institutions for more long-term, sustainable political strategies, and have organized conferences and training programmes to raise transformational leaders and reform cultural values and practices … a recurring theme in Nigerian Pentecostal discourse emphasizes national transformation in response to the under-performance of existing political leaders and government failure to deliver on promises of economic development. Pentecostal engagement with politics in Nigeria projects a corrective vision that criticizes the state’s infamously underwhelming contributions to promoting national development. National development discourses often function as the issue-related foundations on which Pentecostal candidates (whether pastors or politicians with membership at a Pentecostal church) running for public office base their political visions. Frequently, these candidates ambitiously claim that they will use their political influence to trigger a resurgence of social and economic development (relative to the capacity of their office) if elected. However, an understudied area of research is how Pentecostal churches benefit when candidates with Pentecostal affiliations win election to public office. The example of RCCG investment in Nigerian secondary education offers insights that help answer this question. On 26 September 2018, former Lagos State Governor Akinwunmi Ambode, an RCCG member, commended the RCCG’s Solid Rock parish at a dedication ceremony for its donation of six blocks of classrooms to the Omole Junior Grammar School in Ojodu in Lagos State (Anonymous 2018). Ambode was represented by the Permanent Secretary and Tutor General for Education District 6, Olufunmilayo Onadipe, who said on Ambode’s behalf: “This is a laudable project. We cannot do it alone, and this is why we need the support of others. We rely on people like you, the church, to help the government. Join us to move forward” (Anonymous 2018) The irony of this statement is that the RCCG invests in secondary education largely in order to compensate for the government’s unwillingness to invest its own immense financial resources into the same social development causes. In this scenario, Ambode speaks as a politician and as an RCCG member, but the RCCG enjoys gains on multiple fronts. First, with every new social development institution the church donates, it strengthens its already cordial relationship with the Nigerian government by delivering social development services that ideally would be supplied by the state and not the church. The strengthening of this relationship expands the RCCG’s political networks and increases the already significant level of access to exclusive, executive political circles that the church enjoys. Secondly, delivering social services arms the church with defenses that can be used to refute accusations from critics who claim the church extracts money from poor members without commensurately investing in alternative ways to materially improve their lives. As one of Nigeria’s most popular Pentecostal churches and a prominent, committed proponent of the prosperity gospel, critics accuse the RCCG (and other Pentecostal churches) of profiteering on the backs of poor Nigerians who pay tithes and offerings into the church (Udodiong 2018). Often in response to these criticisms, the RCCG points to its large investments in social development services and claims the latter to be indicative of how its religious mission maintains a commitment to holistically enhancing the quality of life of its members. 362

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The RCCG articulates a distinctively Christian political vision for the Nigerian state. Ruth Marshall, a scholar who has studied the relationship between Pentecostalism and politics in Nigeria, writes that, in February 1993, Enoch Adeboye spoke at a meeting of the Pentecostal Fellowship of Nigeria (PFN), a politically minded representative body composed of many Nigerian Pentecostal churches. In his speech, Adeboye stated: It is written in Proverbs 29:2 “when the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice.” And how are we going to get someone who is righteous in authority? … It is by winning the masses to Jesus Christ. Nobody can bribe him to vote for the wrong man … We can become the force of change not by loving politicians, but by winning souls. If we do what God wants us to do, i.e., if we can get at least eighty percent of the people in Nigeria born again, you can be sure a Christian will be the president. Marshall (2009, 201) The RCCG uses evangelism as an instrument to gain more political power. In a Nigerian religious context home to one of the world’s largest Muslim populations, every Nigerian Muslim who converts to the RCCG’s movement of Pentecostal Christianity builds the church’s capacity to implement its political vision for Nigeria. However, evangelism is only one of many tools in the church’s political toolbox. Investment in development service delivery has become a useful way to incentivize non-Christian Nigerians to join the church. Severe underdevelopment has categorically diminished the quality of life for Nigerians to an extent that frequently inspires them to interpret the RCCG’s charitably-donated social development services as actions that communicate a larger message about the RCCG movement. This message’s key argument is that a church that cares enough to invest in meeting the material needs of the poor can be trusted to meet their spiritual needs as well. The RCCG leverages this and several other CSR-related arguments to promote its religious mission, but contiguous to this approach sits a broader interest in securing state power.

Conclusion This chapter enlists the RCCG as a case study to give insights into how Pentecostal churches in Nigeria engage with social development. The Nigerian Pentecostal landscape is marked by huge diversity, a key manifestation of which is how these churches engage with social development. Conversely, some common considerations exist that affect how these churches determine their social engagement agendas. These elements include theological relevance, financial capacity, and political significance. The example of the RCCG implies that Nigeria’s Pentecostal churches invest in social development in accordance with their theological teachings on where social action fits into their own religious missions, relative to their independent financial capacity, and in order to build the political capacity needed to advance their larger, frequently reformist visions for the state. Pentecostal churches with religious missions largely driven by the prosperity gospel rather than the doctrine of holiness more readily invest in social development causes because they perceive this investment as an effective means to holistically empower poor Nigerians and place them on what prosperity Pentecostal churches understand to be the path toward prosperity. Some of these churches have deliberately moved beyond tithing-centric strategies by devising innovative tactics to secure capital to fund their mission-inspired social development activities in ways that relieve financial stress on their own organizations. 363

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The RCCG’s CSR Department now courts sponsorships from secular, wealthy corporations who have an interest in promoting types of social development in Nigeria that maintain and can even increase their own revenue streams. The influence of prosperity theology shapes this new approach, and can be seen in the church’s willingness to collaborate with secular actors for the sake of securing capital to serve its religious mission. For Nigerian Pentecostal churches, the issue of securing capital to fund their social development activities without compromising their religious missions will be a challenge moving forward. In a Nigerian context rife with poverty, contributions by non-state actors to social development engender political power on the part of the contributor. RCCG investment in social development projects creates instances where local politicians flock to assume partial credit for the RCCG-sponsored development service or institution, while also commending the church for supporting the government by promoting development. However, the church benefits from leveraging these events to expand its political networks by networking with influential Nigerian politicians seeking to enhance their own social capital by publicly associating with the RCCG. Pentecostal engagement with development in Nigeria has superseded the theological and the charitable to now include the political. The church adds to its empire of social development institutions one CSR contribution at a time, and these donations often inspire socially vulnerable, non-Christian Nigerians to join the RCCG as an expression of gratitude for the church meeting their material needs.

References Adeboye, Olufunke. 2020. “A Starving Man Cannot Shout Hallelujah: African Pentecostal Churches and the Challenge of Promoting Sustainable Development.” In African Initiated Churches and the Decolonisation of Development: Sustainable Development in Pentecostal and Independent Churches, edited by Philipp Öhlmann, Wilhelm Gräb, and Marie-Luise Frost, 115–35. Oxon, UK; New York, NY: Routledge. Adeboye, Olufunke. 2007. “‘Arrowhead’ of Nigerian Pentecostalism: The Redeemed Christian Church of God, 1952-2005.” Pneuma 29 (1): 24–58. Adedibu, Babatunde. 2020. “Approaches to Transformation and Development: The Case of the Redeemed Christian Church of God, Nigeria.” In African Initiated Christianity and the Decolonisation of Development: Sustainable Development in Pentecostal and Independent Churches, edited by Philipp Öhlmann, Wilhelm Gräb, and Marie-Luise Frost, 136–50. Oxon, UK; New York, NY: Routledge. Adedibu, B.A. 2019. “Sacralisation of the Social Space: A Study of the Trans-border Expansion of the Redemption Camp of the Redeemed Christian Church of God.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 75 (2): 1–11. Akhazemea, Daniel, and Babatunde Adedibu. 2011. “The Redeemed Christian Church of God, A Missionary Global Player: What Is Her Message Regarding Human Development?” In Encounter Beyond Routine, edited by Owe Boersma, and Wilfried Neusel, 53–64. Hamburg, Germany: Evangelisches Missionswerk in Deutschland. Anonymous. 2018. “Ambode hails RCCG for donating classrooms to school.” 26 September 2018. The Nation Web. https://thenationonlineng.net/ambode-hails-rccg-fordonating-classrooms-to-school/. Accessed 25 May 2022. Bourne, Richard. 2015. Nigeria: A New History of a Turbulent Century. London: Zed Books. Burgess, Richard. 2020. Nigerian Pentecostalism and Development: Spirit, Power, and Transformation. Oxon, UK; New York, NY: Routledge. Elaigwu, J. Isawa. 2009. Gowon: The Biography of a Soldier-Statesman. Asokoro, Abuja and London, UK: Adonis & Abbey Publishers. Falola, Toyin, and Matthew M. Heaton. 2008. A History of Nigeria. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Freeman, Dena. 2012. “The Pentecostal Ethic and the Spirit of Development.” In Pentecostalism and Development: Churches, NGOs and Social Change in Africa, edited by Dena Freeman, 1–38. Basingstoke, Hampshire, UK; New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Pentecostalism and Global Development Iluyomade, Idowu. 2018. Christian Social Responsibility: A Matter of Life & Death? Unpublished manuscript, obtained during fieldwork, February 2020. Marshall, Ruth. 2009. Political Spiritualities: The Pentecostal Revolution in Nigeria. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Obayemi, Joseph. “Proprietor’s Address.” 7 February 2020. RECTEM Second Matriculation Ceremony. Redemption Camp, Ogun State, Nigeria. Print. Olowoyo, Bisi. 2019. “Welcome Address: RCCG Vocational Institute Second Graduation Ceremony.” Courage Magazine 1(1): 52–53. Rice, Andrew. 8 April 2009. “Mission From Africa.” New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/ 2009/04/12/magazine/12churches-t.html. Accessed 5 May 2022. Udodiong, Inemesit. 16 April 2018. “RCCG member calls G.O. a Fraud.” Pulse Nigeria. Web. https:// www.pulse.ng/communities/religion/pastor-adeboye-rccg-member-calls-go-a fraud/s3l10hx. Ukah, Asonzeh. 2008. A New Paradigm of Pentecostal Power: A Study of the Redeemed Christian Church of God in Nigeria. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Ukah, Asonzeh. 2012. “Born-Again Muslims: The Ambivalence of Pentecostal Response to Islam in Nigeria.” In Fractured Spectrum: Perspectives on Christian-Muslim Encounters in Nigeria, edited by Akintunde E. Akinade, 43–62. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Ukah, Asonzeh. 2018. “Faith, Fame, and Fortune: Varieties of Nigerian Worship in Global Christianity.” In The Oxford Handbook of Nigerian Politics, edited by Carl Levan, and Patrick Ukata, 728–40. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press.

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28 ZAMBIAN (UNRULY) PENTECOSTALISM Chammah J. Kaunda

Introduction Writing on Pentecostalism is a performance of pure madness. Pure madness that sinks us into an altered language and metaphorical speech that characterizes divergent and unruly spiritual realities that have emerged in Zambia. It enters the terrains of ambiguities and paradoxes, interruptions, disruptions, distractions, and with humility acknowledges the possibility of deception. Deception, not in the sense of being deceived by the Pentecostals themselves, but rather, by deceiving oneself on the claim of understanding Pentecostal phenomenon. To write on Pentecostalism is to subliminally engage with questions of decoloniality, (un)belonging and public spirituality, non-conformity imaginative possibilities. Therefore, I think of unruly as both a critical attribute of and a conceptual metaphor for analyzing Zambian Pentecostalism. Pentecostalism is an unruly event. The unruly element resonates with what Ogbu Kalu (2008, vii) describes as a “trail of ferment” interlaced through African Christianity. He claims this is a result of consecutive “cycles of charismatic revivals that became part of African Christianity … each cycle moved the church forward in a new direction and character” which have perennially entrenched unruly in African Christianity as a whole (2005, 45). The “trail of ferment” permeates African Christian story of the entire continent, weaved through the mainline churches, and reinforced in the Pentecostalism and thereby giving African Christianity a distinctive and unquestionable indigenous stamp and identity (Kalu 1998, 2003). I utilized the theory of unruly as an attempt to foreground new directions in the study of a Pentecostal history as a story of collisions, disruptions, and interruptions. I argue that it is in the domain of the unruly event that we can unearth these windily and unconventionally disruptive stories and become more attuned to their natal resonances in the nowness as they reverberate across a multiplicity of raptures. Engaging Zambian Pentecostalism in this way resonates deeply with the African approach to stories that focus on disruptive narratives rather than a linearity of events. As John Mbiti (1970, 21) argues, among African peoples, “time is simply a composition of events which have occurred, those which are taking place now and those which are immediately to occur” (italics added for emphasis). Mbiti (1970, 21) reminds us that “The linear concept of time in western thought, with an indefinite past, present and infinite future, is practically foreign to African thinking.” He (1970, 24) stresses, “When Africans reckon time, 366

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it is for a concrete and specific purpose, in connection with events but not just for the sake of mathematics. Since time is a composition of events, people cannot and do not reckon it in a vacuum.” A story is constructed or thought of according to specific events, for it is these that give meaning to life as a lived reality (Mbiti 1970, 24). In this way, disruptive oralitology is both ontology and epistemology. It is about being as well as a way of being and becoming. It is a mode of thought in which there is no separation between thought and discourse, and thought is regarded as the invisible vital force in its potential that metamorphoses through articulation into the manifested vital forces. At a manifested level, words or thoughts are said to have acquired their own life and existence. Oralitology points to this deep understanding of the complex nature of thoughts as the vital flow of life and reveals thoughts and discourse meshwork of interconnected living forces that are identical with the transformation and flow of life. Hence, I describe this way of thinking as oralitological imagination. It engages a story as a dynamic realm imbued with eventual ruptures of critical meaning that interrupt the flow of things and reorients natural reality. Oralitology is a theory of inherited models of communicative practices, the transmission of knowledge and oral-shaped forms of writing that exhibit off beat and polyphonic practices. It is the capacity to overcome the separation between primordial extraordinary intuitions, supersensitive and scientific imaginations. My understanding of the notion of event within oralitology, resonates with Slavoj Žižek’s (2014, 1) definition of an event as “something shocking, out of joint that appears to happen all of a sudden and interrupts the usual flow of things; something that emerges seemingly out of nowhere, without discernible causes, an appearance without solid being as its foundation.” In this sense, an event is an unruly rupture that shatters ordinary life and transforms human interpretations of reality. As Gilles Deleuze (1990, 167–68) argues, the event “implies something excessive in relation to its actualization something that overthrows worlds, individuals, and persons.” It is out of unruly creativity and innovation that something is always new and simultaneously not new. Zambian Pentecostalism is an inescapably unruly event such that inconsistencies, paradoxes, diversities, fluidity – the unruliness itself – have “become a primary defining characteristic of Pentecostal and Charismatic identity” (Anderson et al. 2010, 10). It is indefinable and irreducible to a single identity or linear trajectory of history. It is “excessive beyond hybridity, amorphous, and endlessly heterogeneous, heteromorphous and heterographic” (Wolfreys 2007, 23) and sonically mutating, quantumly diffracting, and integrating the new and old, diverging and conflicting “practices, ideas, and theologies – and interpretations of reality” (Wariboko 2017, unpaginated). Hence, “neither the forms of ” Zambian Pentecostalism “nor its idioms are always self-identical. Rather, these forms and idioms are mobile, reversible and unstable” (Mbembe 2002, 272). This also means they are not reduceable to any monolithic history or even the idea of history in normative understanding because Zambian Pentecostalism is a dynamic, fluid, and plastic liminality of kaleidoscopic imaginings, natal ruptures, and unruly otherwise experiences (Kaunda 2018). The unruly is a condition of Zambian Pentecostalism and is revealed in its inconsistencies and vagaries; continuities in discontinuities and discontinuities in continuities with all traditions and ways of life; connectivity within disconnectivity with everything and all systems of life. It is an indefinable and non-classifiable spirituality that escapes from all normative schemas of scientific analysis. The messiness and fluidities lead to open and new dimensions of Pentecostal becoming in a world that embraces all unimaginable mysteries and strangeness of life. Approaching Zambian Pentecostalism from the unruly seeks to reveal not the contemporary, nor homogeneity, but rather, the radical disruptiveness of apparently disparate expressions of varieties of pneumacentric trends within Christianity. I do not intend 367

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to follow categorization and taxonomizing such as classicalism and neoism. In the Zambian context, while the so-called classical was introduced in the late 1940s, it was nothing but a mere name.1 In the African systems of thought, a name without expressing the fundamental character which it embodies is but an empty sound or a mere echo. Therefore, this chapter is not a conventional history, but rather, the unruly oralitology of Zambian Pentecostalism which I classify as “ahistory.” I will begin with the most disruptive element that initiated an unruly condition of incessant disruptive ruptures called Zambian Pentecostalism.

Unruly Matricentricity Many Zambians embraced Christianity from its inception as a rupture of new meaning within the indigenous religious system. Specifically, for the Bemba people who have also made the most significant contribution to the rapture of unruliness, Christianity tapped into indigenous ideas of messianism that sustained the narrative of an expectation of the legendary Luchele Ng’anga, the Auroral Healer, Light Representation of God, the Way of God. Luchele Ng’anga appeared at critical moments in the history of the Bemba people in order to heal, comfort, show the way and enlighten the people (Hinfelaar 2004, 5). When the missionaries arrived, their message (gospel) was interpreted as the message of Luchele Ng’anga. The Bemba converts quickly appropriated the gospel in ways that unsettled the original intentions of the missionaries. It gave rise to what Lamin Sanneh (1989, 138) describes as the “paradox of missionary agency in promoting the vernacular and thus inspiring indigenous confidence at a time when colonialism was demanding paternal overlordship. Africans reacted to this contradiction by appealing to the advantage that the vernacular principle gave them.” For Sanneh (1992, 101) “Missionary transmitters who ‘stooped to conquer’ the native idiom thus inadvertently mobilized African sentiments and inaugurated a transformation process in the societies and cultures where they were working. What is illuminating in this process is how the Christian Scriptures, cast as a vernacular oracle, gave the [Luchele Ng’anga] idiom a historical cause.” Luchele Ng’anga idiom functioned as “preemptive power” and undermined missionaries’ “claims over the gospel” (Sanneh 1989, 161–2). The Bemba converts saw Jesus Christ as Luchele Ng’anga and as the same reality that has manifested and is called by different names in different contexts. “Jesus Christ” was appropriated as Luchele Ng’anga, the local manifestation of the pre-existent universal reality. The Jesus Christ of the missionaries did not replace Luchele Ng’anga but expanded people’s understanding of the mystery of this reality. The missionaries brought the gospel (message) but did not bring the divinity. However, that is just a matter of interpretation. The gospel validated and conceded the salvific value embedded within Luchele Ng’anga as an “authentic carriage for the revelation and divine that precedes and anticipates historical mission” (Sanneh 1983, 170). Sanneh (1995, 54) describes this as a theology of “God’s prevenient grace” which both preceded and by which existing cultural idioms and norms were adopted as if God was their hidden life. However, the introduction of Christianity among the Bemba focused on dismantling what Karla Poewe (1981) describes as a matrilineal ideology by eroding the social and religious status of women. The Protestants and Catholic White Fathers perceived sacred matricentric influence and authority in the public spheres as dangerous and subversive to Christianity. Hence, the matricentric ideology called imbusa (the womb) was dismissed as pagan and demonic practices. As a result, mothers who were traditionally the heads of the family, and priestesses of communal shrines were left in social and religious limbo while men worked their way into Christianity (Ter Haar 1996; Gordon 2008). The patriarchal-centered Western Christianity and colonialism destabilized and undermined matricentric spiritual elements and subjected women 368

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to male dominance in all spheres of social and public life (Ter Haar 1992; Hinfelaar 1994; Kaunda 2010). However, the gender neutrality of Luchele Ng’anga was at the center of the appropriation of the gospel; Christianity was already conceptually, perceptually, and pragmatically a new phase of indigenous spiritual transformation. The Luchele Ng’anga appropriation of Christ had already fermented, percolated, and now it was just a matter of time before the eruption of an African shaped expression of Christianity. Hence, it was not an accident that the most significant prophetic revolution – African Initiated Church (AIC) in Zambia arose from the Northern Province – the Lumpa Church, under the leadership of a Bemba woman called Alice Lenshina (Regina) Mulenga (Roberts 1972; Hinfelaar 1991). Lumpa Church was fundamentally a reclamation and reconstitution of a matricentric element of indigenous spirituality. The Bemba word “lumpa” is rooted in the concept of ukulumpa. Among its several means includes “surpassing,” “going beyond,” “excess,” “other than,” “strengthen,” “resistance” or “unyielding.” Here we are dealing with the search for what is described as “otherwise possibilities for thinking, for producing” (Crawley 2020, 28), for interacting with God and the world, for being Christians and actualizing the otherwise for which Christ Jesus took hold of them (Philippians 3:12). Lumpa spirituality set out to change the order of spiritual rhythm and tempo (both Christian and traditional), which was completely an unruly event. The indigenous matricentric Pentecostal principle was already at work in Lenshina’s choice of the name of the Church. She was a passionate advocate of black matricentric consciousness (Kaunda and Nadar 2012). She was baptized in the Church of Scotland mission. During her sickness in 1953, it was claimed she died four times and encountered Jesus who commissioned her to deliver Zambians from the power of evil through the power of the Holy Spirit. Lenshina’s ministry focused on witchcraft eradication and called for the abandoning of dogmatic ideas of Christianity and certain aspects of traditional religious teachings (Taylor and Lehmann 1961; Rotberg and Mazrui 1970). This approach to Christianity brought Lenshina into conflict with European male-dominated Christianity. The revival started without any assistance from outside. The Lumpa Church revival was such a disruptive event that in less than a decade of its inception it had over 60,000 members in the Northern, Copperbelt, and Eastern Provinces. This number might seems insignificant today. But in the 1950s, it was a disruptive growth. Zambia’s total population then was less than 3 million people. Lumpa was a prophetic movement that engaged in a struggle against gender injustice, Western expressions of Christianity, racism, colonization, unproductive traditional spirituality, and black domination. Lumpa Church resisted black politics that lacked a genuine spirituality of liberation and transformation. The movement was a revolutionary antistructure, and an unapologetically rural reconstructionist one. The Lumpa Church and the first President of Zambia, Kenneth Kaunda had completely different visions for the eventual independent Zambia. Lumpa’s struggle against marginalization and patriarchalization that was institutionalized during colonialization, resulted, at the time of independence to open conflict with Kaunda’s political party called United National Independence Party (UNIP). More than a thousand unarmed Lumpa members, most of them women, were killed. Lenshina was arrested and later kept under house arrest until she died. The Lumpa Church was banned and members were persecuted and others were imprisoned. To this day, the Lumpa Church remains a fragment of its past. However, the unruliness was just getting started.

Unruly Afri-spirituality The second unruly event ruptured in the 1970s with Cardinal Emmanuel Milingo, the former Roman Catholic Archbishop of Lusaka.2 Milingo, a Ngoni who grew up in Chipata, the eastern part of Zambia. Kwame Bediako observes that Milingo’s ministry and writings 369

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demonstrated that “he developed his theological ideas on ministry, exorcism and pastoral care consciously in relation to the thought-patterns, perceptions of reality and concepts of identity and community” embedded in Afri-spirituality (Bediako 1995, 92–93). Afri-spirituality is the capacity to interpret and understand reality in the frame of beyond impossibility toward the other – otherwise-excess-possibilities. Unruliness characterized Milingo’s spirituality. His Afri-spirituality was a radically unruly spiritual insurrection, politically revolutionary, unstoppable, and fluid. He performed exorcisms in Zambia and continued under spiritual house arrest in Vatican City. He was even more disruptive than Lenshina. Milingo’s dark luminosity and dark fire radiated across global Catholicism and brought him into conflict with a religious system of power deeply entrenched in Europe’s enlightenment and the first president of Zambia, Kenneth Kaunda’s political system that sought political legitimacy in a religious order (Kaunda 2018; Ter Haar 2021). Milingo’s healing started in 1973 and soon after became a global sensation. He foreshadowed and foregrounded unruly Afri-spirituality insights that appeared in the 1980s with the rise of what is normatively classified as neoism. He is an accidental charismatic. Milingo encountered a woman who had been treated at a mental hospital. He did not know how to deal with ukuwilwa ingulu (Bemba) or mushimu ingulu (Chewa) (superficially translated as demon/spirit possession) – the polluted/negative wind has fallen on something. This needs a bit of explanation. There is no equivalent word for exorcism in many Zambian languages. The idea of ukutuntula (Bemba) or kutulutsa (Chewa) (loosely translated as exorcism) does not mean exorcism or deliverance but rather bringing something to order or wholeness or tuning the system back into a natural rhythm. Among Africans, vital forces do not pre-exist their relations, but rather, are constituted by them. And any breach in relational harmony disrupts the whole system and brings about disorder or puts vital forces out of tune. No entity could be considered pure evil. The Bemba and Chewa translation for the concept of evil spirit is imipashi yakowela or mizimu yoipa, which could be translated as polluted or polluting spirits. The spirit of the dead that are out of natural rhythm are also considered dangerous and are called ifibanda or mfiti. Every spirit can be polluted within the natural system. Every spirit/force out of rhythm is a polluted spirit and can pollute other forces it encounters or has “fallen on something.” The concept of falling on something suggests that a particular vital force, like a celestial object, is out of its specific orbit or a path that one wanders from. Hence, the performance of rituals of purification, like ukutuntula ingula or kutulutsa ingulu, is essentially about restoring order or intricate equilibrium of forces. This also means that no spirit is eternally damned, except that which is not purified through the ritual (Kaunda 2018). Returning to Milingo, he recalls, after long contemplation about what to do with the woman out of natural tune, he claims “an idea glowed in my mind: ‘Look three times intently into her eyes and ask her to look three times intently into yours. Tell her to close her eyes the third time and order her to sleep. Then speak to her soul after signing her with the sign of the Cross’” (Milingo 1984, 15–16). He “carried out this instruction systematically. The woman was overshadowed by the power of the Lord, and she relaxed and became calm so that I was able to reach her soul. I prayed as much as I could, then woke her up. Neither of us knew what had happened. I can only explain my part of the experience” (Milingo 1984, 16). The woman was healed that day and this experience transformed Milingo’s ministry. He had rediscovered what he came to characterize as the World in Between. In the words of Harvey Cox (1994, 81), Milingo had reached “beyond the levels of creed and ceremony into the core of human religiousness, into … ‘primal spirituality,’ that largely unprocessed nucleus of the psyche in which the unending struggle for a sense of purpose and significance goes on.” He appealed to the primordial spiritual capacity of an openness to mystery. And in doing so, again, as Cox 370

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(2009, 20) observes, he rediscovered “the sacred in the immanent, the spiritual within the” material world. The World in Between is a trans-material borderspace or an otherwise world - the liminal space of otherwise, excess possibilities, “of things existing other than what is given, what is known, what is grasped” (Milingo 1984, 24). The World in Between is a metaphor for the excess of/or otherwise humanly constructed reality and spirituality. It is a borderspace of the entanglement of matter and spirit. Milingo, responding to a religious crisis that reduced, structuralized, rationalized, and formalized spirituality, exorcised masses of western religious possession and performed a ministry of healing, tuning forces into the natural rhythm of life. For Milingo, the battle for healing/exorcism is won and lost in the borderspace at the edge of the trans-material and the abyss of mystery. This is a site where wounded humanity defies its rational instincts and embraces (non-)cognitive (non-binary) in the search for the deepest meaning (spirituality) to relieve its distressed consciousness as excruciating pain devours the body. The World in Between is the borderspace of re-tuning the corporeal systems that are out of tune. Tuning life into the natural rhythm is an iterative configuring of the system within differentiating bondedness. African systems of thought are based on maintaining the equilibrium of forces or natural rhythm or divine order, the human body, like any natural force, can get out of this natural rhythm through various disruptions or breach in harmony (Magesa 1997). As Laurent Magesa (1997, 77) highlights: “wherever and whenever there is a diminishment or destruction of the force of life, something must be done to restore it; whenever there is a breach of order in the universe as established by God … humanity must see to it that harmony is restored. Failing this, humanity will suffer.” As such, Milingo’s World in Between functioned with a non-linear imagination where there is no progression as in western linear time, no movement from the past through the present to the future. Milingo’s World in Between is borderless, extensive-expansive, non-tensed betweenness here-now and therethen. It is a world where there is nothing that is new and nothing that is not new; nothing that is old and nothing that is not old (Barad 2014). The in-between – where everything is constantly created, (no being created) and nothing is ever recreated. Anything tuned back into the rhythm is originally (primordially) created. Hence, Milingo’s charismatic renewal was not only subversive to the rigid dogmatic, rational Christianity but it was also a radical criticism of neo-colonial politics and the culturalization and institutionalization of corruption, injustice, and inequalities. The ailing Zambian government was desperate to secure religious legitimacy. Milingo’s ministry was a dark fire that threatened established religion and the neo-colonial political order. It brought him into years of conflict with the dominant powers in the Catholic Church and eventually led to his excommunication in 2006.

Multiplicity of Unruly Tongues As indicated above, the academic ideas of new or “neo” do not sit well with the nature of Zambian Pentecostalism. They are grounded in a presumption of linear time and progression, of western classical notions of time as a movement from a certain past, to present, to the future in some kind of smooth trajectory. Anything concerning the idea of time, is about the future, about progression and manifestation, the coming into being of the new or the neo (Crawley 2017, 2020). But Zambian Pentecostalism is about incessantly reaching out for the otherwise experience of the Holy Spirit. This is constituted in relentless encounter with the Holy Spirit. This is a radical search to live in a spiritual “time loop” where events are not separated into future and past. Hence, while by name, Zambian Pentecostalism can be categorized into 371

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classicism, neoism, and the like, it is one by nature of spiritual quests and manifestations, that are all unruly. For example, the Bread of Life Church International (Bread of Life) which is Zambia’s largest Church and is classified as “neo-Pentecostal,” and the Northmead Assembly of God (Northmead) which is categorized as “classical Pentecostal” are not distinguished in their ministerial approaches. They both believe in baptism in the Holy Spirit, healing, exorcism, prosperity theology, and run weekly television programs. The main difference is that Bread of Life is an indigenous initiated church without outside aid. Whereas, Northmead is part of the Pentecostal Assemblies of God in Zambia (PAOGZ) which was established or founded by missionaries from the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC). In that sense, it is a mission founded church. However, all PAOGZ churches only became dynamic after a re-appropriation of the gospel by indigenous leadership (Kaunda 2016). In short, it was infused with an indigenous idiom that radically de-westernized it and decolonized it into a non-Western spirituality; a different kind of Pentecostalism. This completely blurred the boundaries between the locally and initially foreign established churches. There is neither classical nor neo, only unruly multiplicities. The explicit Africanization of pneumatological imaginations transformed everything called Pentecostalism in the 1980s into Afri-spiritualities. This also framed their socio-political engagements, economic quests, relational and moral orientations, and any issue related to the existence and the nature of the universe (Kaunda 2018). Thus, Pentecostalism placed Zambia on the path of spiritual awakening and influenced cultures, religions, and public morality (Kaunda 2017, 2020). This process of Pentecostalization, of God and African spiritualities, is defiant of underdevelopment and seeks to reconstruct politics, national life, and all existence. This is the expansion of the Pentecostal capacity to “‘utter the mysteries of the spirit’ … to speak in the multiple languages of public discourse” (Henderson 1993, 262). Amos Yong (2005, 196, note 63) argues, “the tongues of Pentecost are a polyvalent testimony to the beautiful artistry of the Creator God.” Yong (2011, 28) stresses, the many tongues of Pentecost not only suggest a theological anthropology that recognizes the diversity of human ways of being in and knowing the world but also illuminate a pluralistic theology of interfaith practices as well as a public theology of various political, social, civil, and economic postures. As a metaphor, “many tongues” is a radically “third (non-)place” unstable or fluid liminal site of reasoning, interpreting, understanding, creating and becoming in the world which embraces multidirectional, plastic, trans-contextual, trans-religious, multidisciplinary and multiplicities of reality and discourse without compromising its fundamental Pentecostalness.3 Many tongues also shift Pentecostalism from various traditional dichotomies to embrace radical continuums of (super)natural (non-)public, (non-)mediated, (non-)differentiated, univocal-dialogic, (in)consistencies, and so on. Pentecostalism is a singular-plurality of spiritualities. Zambian Pentecostalism increasingly becomes a locus from which various beliefs and practices and forms of knowledge are dynamically engaged. This makes the movement radically decentered, radically un-situated, neither on the side of or against any Christian tradition nor any other religious tradition, “but in the paradoxical trajectory that makes and will continue to make a single intelligible world of the insuperable difference itself ” (Badiou 2014, 343). Zambian Pentecostalism takes diagonalized reinterpretations of various religious and secular views, including traditional Christianity to incessantly give birth to itself in ways that are meaningful and life-giving for contemporary experience. And at times negative in many ways. Nimi Wariboko (2014a, 163) rightly argues that Pentecostalism cannot be described as 372

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“a synthesis of discourses but instead a diagonalization … between missionary Christianity and African traditional religion[s].” Zambian Pentecostalism could be rightly described as post-Protestant-Catholic and-indigenous spiritualities. It is Christianity, yet not the same as Christianity. It is itself an otherwise Christian faith. It is embedded in the heterosupersensitivity and heterotransnaturality/materiality that the visible is a slight and paradoxical manifestation of the invisible (Wariboko 2014a, xiii). Hence, scholars describe Pentecostalism as a form of transphysical and ecstatic experiential spiritualities which strikes no sharp separation between naturalism and supernaturalism (Asamoah-Gyadu 2009; Brahinsky 2012; Williams 2016; Wilkinson and Althouse 2017). The prefix super in supernaturalism does not refer to “beyond,” “transcendence,” or a “dualistic interpretation of reality.” It is rather a Pentecostal subversion and resistance against reductionist naturalism or explicit monism. It is to say that the object of naturalism cannot deplete the real. The “super” does not promote a logical binarism, but rather an affirmation of the mystical dynamic unity of naturalism. At the heart of the struggle is the Declaration of Zambia as a Christian nation by former President Frederick Jacob Titus Chiluba in 1991 (hereafter, the Declaration). The Christian nation clause was inserted in the preamble of the Constitution in 1996. The Constitution maintains a Christian stance “while upholding the right of every person to enjoy that person’s freedom of conscience or religion” (Government of the Republic of Zambia, GRZ 1996). It was reaffirmed in the Amendment Act, 2016 with the addition, “ACKNOWLEDGE the supremacy of God Almighty” (GRZ 2016). The Ministry of National Guidance and Religious Affairs (MNGRA) Policy defines a Christian nation as: A Nation that acknowledges the Divine Lordship of Jesus Christ over all its affairs. The Holy Bible guides the beliefs and values that its people espouse in family life and apply appropriately in Government and all sectors of society for enhanced welfare, peace, and unity. God’s principles of Righteousness and Justice are the foundation for the rule of law and governance for sustained social order and morality. GRZ (2021, viii) Zambian Pentecostalism has been crucial in the context of the crisis of postcolonial politics, primitivization of indigenous spiritualities, the predicament of civilization and economic underdevelopment, and distorted democracies. Pentecostalism has offered its members the courage to subvert social imaginaries and normative epistemological distinctions between knowledge and imagination, and the rupturing of otherwise excess, surplus possibilities. It is the pneumatological capacity to think of the freedom that destabilizes normative identities and interrupts institutionalized norms and values that interrupt the social experience of the fullness of life (2 Cor 3:17 - “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”). It rejects the being-in-the-world (the present as given by the past of a people) and embraces the condition of becoming-in-the-world. Its inexhaustible imaginary is described by Wariboko (2020, ix) as “Pentecostal Incredibles” – subversive and unconventional ways of thinking, explaining, talking about, and living in the world that does not make sense when approached from a normative social imaginary perspective.

Unruly Signification The rise of Zambian Pentecostalism has transformed national life in unimaginable ways. The movement keeps on mutating and diffracting, especially in relation to economic and social uncertainties. The unruliness and its perpetual liminal condition of the movement continues 373

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to articulate their identities in the nation through, mostly, a spirituality of negative dissension (resisting homosexuality and abortion). It is yet to evolve into a more subversive (positive) dissension in its political engagement. Thus, paradoxically, the perpetual liminality that should have strengthened the movement appears to have weakened its spiritual intellectual discernment for social analysis and engagement with social structural evil in its secular and spiritual dimensions. What the movement has undoubtedly achieved is to name itself, to de-alienate, reinvent, and thus signify the nature of African spirituality. The naming that began with Lenshina and systematized by Milingo, moved Zambian Pentecostalism from representation to signification as a form of enactment of Zambian indigenous spiritualities. The struggle for freedom is a struggle for authenticity and to name oneself is, as Achille Mbembe (2021, 228) states, “to own oneself is nothing other than a step toward the creation of new forms of life.” Signification refers to something reinvented through the production of an apologetic unruly discourse based on the rediscovery of the primordial Spirit to secure emancipation and recognition. As demonstrated, this required accepting to suffer the shame of being labeled as heretics or even as returning to paganism and primitivity. However, if the signifiers did not delink with the classical missionary agenda and theoretical reflexes and resisted local views that insist on the foreignness of Christianity in Zambia; Pentecostalism would have remained an appendix, a footnote and/or a cult within normative Christianity. Zambian Pentecostalism has defined “their own interests in ways that have little to do with the preferences and parties of ” Global North and mainline African Christianity ( Jenkins 2011, 19). In other words, in its various strands, Zambian Pentecostalism has been reinvented and is being reinvented as a spirituality of the masses, a language that emancipates local thinking about Christianity from missionary clutches and from what was most excruciating and unbearable in colonialism, racism, and global and local patriarchies and sexisms, neo-colonial politics, and corruptions. The movement might not be there yet, but the unruliness will not stop. Zambian Pentecostalism has been envisioned as a spiritual struggle aimed at constructing a community of faith that nourishes abundant life for all. Despite some level of negative unruliness, Zambian Pentecostal spirituality of struggle aims “ultimately, to produce life, to eliminate the forces that combine to mutilate, disfigure, and destroy life” (Mbembe 2021, 228). It is a new indigenous spirituality and what it would become can only be speculated. It has remained on the threshold between becoming the most sociopolitical transformative movement ever or the most socially and politically disastrous faith in the history of Christianity. However, it has already shown its potential to become a transformative public culture underpinned by “the unbound spatial, temporal, institutional, and linguistic reach” (Poewe 1994, xi). This capacity could be seen in the fact that Zambian Pentecostalism is already a public culture “or way of life based on perceptions and identities that are transmitted worldwide through high-tech media; international conferences, fellowships, and prayer links; and megachurches” (Powew, xi). Poewe (xi) observes that the Pentecostal way of life “transcends national, ethnic, racial, and class boundaries.” For Poewe (xii), “The genius of charismatic Christians … lies in taking this story ‘literally and as a guide to practical action.’” Poewe (xii) states: In sum, charismatic Christianity is a global culture because it is experiential, idealistic, biblical, and oppositional. Being experiential, it is not tied to any specific doctrine or denomination. Being idealistic, it embraces the whole person and the whole world … Being biblical, it places the ‘Word’ above politicians, government, or any otherworldly authority. Being oppositional, it is always potentially in tension with 374

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the establishment, which includes church, government, university, ethnic, class, and racial structures … it has no one system of theology, no one integrating doctrine, no particular type of polity, no one liturgy, no geographical homogeneity.

Conclusion Zambian Pentecostalism is still in its infancy and remains inadequately articulated for the movement to become a life-giving political force that can breathe life into Zambian politics and thereby exorcise them of demonic powers and principalities engendered by the Atlantic slave trade and colonial BREACH in the ecorelational harmony and now perpetuated by neo-colonial political imaginaries. However, as shown throughout this chapter, the Zambian Pentecostal condition of unruliness is a double-edged sword. The unruliness that makes Zambian Pentecostalism a dynamic spirituality, also makes its future unpredictably dangerous. There is no simplistic way of predicting how Zambian Pentecostalism is likely to contribute to the evolution of social life and political culture. But one can look to the future with the hope that Pentecostal unruliness resists “to neuter the impulse for freedom, liberation, and emancipation, nor to accent conforming to the deadening totality of the market or the logic of domination,” and radically unleash its pneumatic “ardor, energy, force, or drive to move society forward toward justice” (Wariboko 2014b, 13). As Wariboko (2014b, 60; 2019, 54) argues, it will contribute to “Pentecost is an intensification of the human capacity to act, the power of acting in certain ways; the reign of God is recognized … as a mode of bonding, as a mode of existence of other-regarding love with unformulatable boundaries.” That it will unleash agapeic eros energies of the radical ethic of withnness (not witness) passionate care and create a new Zambia out of the dehumanizing ashes of neocolonialism and global coloniality.

Notes 1 The Apostolic Faith Mission (AFM) was the first classical Pentecostal church that entered what was then Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia) between 1946 and 1947. It was followed by Pentecostal Holiness Church (PHC) in 1948. 2 Gerrie ter Haar has written numerous works on Archbishop Milingo. Her work is critical to understanding his story (see Ter Haar 2009, 2021). 3 Amos Yong, for example, has defined and engaged these concepts from various perspectives such as interreligious relations, disabilities, science, disciplines, practices, and multiplicity of Pentecostalism (see Yong 2009, 2010, 2012, 2016, 2022).

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Zambian (Unruly) Pentecostalism Milingo, Emmanuel. 1984. The World in Between: Christian Healing and the Struggle for Spiritual Survival. London: C. Hurst and Company. Poewe, Karla. 1981. Matrilineal Ideology: Male-Female Dynamics in Luapula, Zambia. London and New York: Academic Press. Poewe, Karla, ed. 1994. Charismatic Christianity as a Global Culture. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Roberts, Andrew D. 1972. The Lumpa Church of Alice Lenshina. Lusaka: Oxford University Press. Rotberg, Robert I., and Ali AlʹAmin Mazrui. 1970. Protest and Power in Black Africa. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Sanneh, Lamin. 1983. “The Horizontal and the Vertical in Mission: An African Perspective.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 7 (4): 165–71. Sanneh, Lamin. 1989. Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Sanneh, Lamin. 1992. “‘They Stooped to Conquer’: Vernacular Translation and the Socio-Cultural Factor.” Research in African Literatures 23 (1): 95–106. Sanneh, Lamin. 1995. “The Gospel, Language and Culture: The Theological Method in Cultural Analysis.” International Review of Mission 84 (332-333): 47–64. Taylor, John V., and D. Lehmann. 1961. “Alice Lenshina Mulenga and the Lumpa Church.” In Christians of the Copperbelt, edited by John Vernon Taylor, and Dorothea A. Lehmann, 248–68. London: SCM Press. Ter Haar, Gerrie. 1992. Spirit of Africa: The Healing Ministry of Archbishop Milingo of Zambia. London: Hurst & Company. Ter Haar, Gerrie. 1996. “Hugo F. Hinfelaar, Bemba-Speaking Women of Zambia: In a Century of Religious Change (1892–1992).” Journal of Religion in Africa/Religion en Afrique 26 (2): 216–19. Ter Haar, Gerrie. 2009. How God Became African: African Spirituality and Western Secular Thought. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Ter Haar, Gerrie. 2021. Black Minds Matter: Archbishop Milingo and the Vatican. Leiden: Brill. Wariboko, Nimi. 2014a. Nigerian Pentecostalism. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Wariboko, Nimi. 2014b. The Charismatic City and the Public Resurgence of Religion: A Pentecostal Social Ethics of Cosmopolitan Urban Life. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Wariboko, Nimi. 2017. “Pentecostalism in Africa.” In Oxford Research Encyclopedia of African History; Accessed 22 Sep. 2022. https://oxfordre.com/africanhistory/view/10.1093/acrefore/ 9780190277734.001.0001/acrefore-9780190277734-e-120. Wariboko, Nimi. 2019. Ethics and Society in Nigeria: Identity, History, Political Theory. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Wariboko, Nimi. 2020. The Pentecostal Hypothesis: Christ Talks, They Decide. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock. Wilkinson, Michael, and Peter Althouse, eds. 2017. Pentecostals and the Body. Leiden: Brill. Williams, Andrew. 2016. “Spiritual Landscapes of Pentecostal Worship, Belief, and Embodiment in a Therapeutic Community: New Critical Perspectives.” Emotion, Space and Society 19: 45–55. Wolfreys, Julian. 2007. Writing London: Inventions of the City. Vol. 3. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Yong, Amos. 2005. The Spirit Poured Out on All Flesh: Pentecostalism and the Possibility of Global Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker. Yong, Amos. 2009. “Many Tongues, Many Senses: Pentecost, the Body Politic, and the Redemption of Dis/Ability.” Pneuma 31 (2): 167–88. Yong, Amos. 2010. “Many Tongues, Many Practices: Pentecost and Theology of Mission at 2010.” In Mission After Christendom: Emergent Themes in Contemporary Mission, edited by Ogbu U. Kalu, Edmund Kee-Fook Chia, and Peter Vethanayagamony, 43–58. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Yong, Amos. 2011. The Spirit of Creation: Modern Science and Divine Action in the Pentecostal-Charismatic Imagination. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Yong, Amos. 2012. “Speaking in Scientific Tongues: Which Spirit/s, What Interpretations?” Canadian Journal of Pentecostal-Charismatic Christianity 3 (1): 130–39. Yong, Amos. 2016. “Many Tongues, Many Buddhisms in a Pluralistic World: A Christian Interpretation at the Interreligious Crossroads.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 43 (2): 357–76. Yong, Amos. 2022. “Many Tongues, Many Formational Practices: Christian Spirituality/Formation Across Global Christian Contexts.” Spiritus: A Journal of Christian Spirituality 22 (1): 59–70. Ž i žek, Slavoj. 2014. Event: Philosophy in Transit. London: Penguin.

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29 THE MANY FACES OF PENTECOSTAL POLITICS Socio-Anthropological Approaches from the Southern Cone Nicolás Panotto Introduction When we speak of Pentecostalism, we observe a religious tradition that is far from being homogeneous. In Latin America, this expression has experienced exponential growth, becoming the most important religious minority in the continent in a relatively short time, constantly pressuring the historical socio-cultural hegemony of Catholicism. What is the reason for this phenomenon? Many ideas have been examined, including its institutional malleability and dynamics, its mimetic capacity within other types of rituals and religiosities, its extension and territorial reach in different social segmentations, its charismatic inscription, and its critical positioning in the face of long-standing religious identifications, among other elements. When analyzing the relationship between Pentecostalism and political dynamics, we must echo precisely these same identity characterizations. It is this constitutive malleability that allows the varieties of Pentecostalism to assume the most varied, even unsuspected, representations. Moreover, we can affirm that these dispositions not only enable a diversity of practices in the socio-political sphere itself, but also operate to establish the very condition or political dimension of Pentecostalism (Panotto 2014). Such diversity is found in the wide range of articulations between Pentecostal voices and civil society activisms, in the ways of influencing the political institutions, and even in the variety of ideological perspectives, which go far beyond the stereotypical views that tend to see Pentecostalism as an exclusively conservative and right-wing movement. The history of Pentecostalism in Latin America presents some distinctive features, if we compare it with other evangelical expressions or even other religious minorities.1 Even with the role of Protestant missionary activities since the end of the nineteenth century, where Latin America was one of the preferred locations, it can be understood that the origin of Pentecostalism in the region has independent roots from these transcultural movements, especially from North America. Pentecostal origins are in fact twofold: on the one hand, it comes from the influence of multiple foreign movements like the Azusa Revival Movement in the United States at the beginning of the twentieth century as well as a certain “creole Pentecostalism,” that represented groups that were not strictly “implanted” in the continent through a missionary enterprise but coming from processes of renewal. These local 378

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examples of Pentecostalism included charismatic transformations in liturgical elements, religious experiences, and the internal dynamics of the ecclesial institution within the historical churches themselves, like the case of the Methodist Pentecostal Church in Chile. The most emblematic case of this creole Pentecostalism is the one that began in Valparaíso, Chile, between 1907 and 1909, in the Methodist Episcopal Church. The main actor was Willis Hoover, doctor and also pastor of one of the largest Methodist churches in the country at the beginning of the twentieth century. Hoover was influenced by testimonies of charismatic movements in India and by personal communications with European Methodist missionaries in England. After an experience of revival in the church and the country, in 1909 Hoover’s church separated from Methodism, creating an autonomous church, that today is the earliest of Chilean Pentecostalism, which never had a direct connection with North American Pentecostalism. A particularity of this community was its relationship with popular sectors, peasant movements, and socialist expressions of the time, which supported President Allende (Orellana 2008). In Argentina, one of the countries that will be discussed in this chapter, the origin of Pentecostalism is heterogeneous and represents a plural dimensionality that is characteristic of the region. In this case, there was the influence of missionary movements from the United States. The first testimonies date back to 1909 with the arrival of Louis Francescon, Giacomo Lombardi, and Lucia Menna in Buenos Aires, who were linked to the Chicago Pentecostal movements at that time (Míguez 1999; Saracco 2014). We observe, along with Joanildo Burity, that Pentecostalism arrived “from outside by subaltern hands” (2021, 16). But this “outside” has less to do with the transcultural dimension of its arrival than with the dissident and differentiating particularity of the Pentecostal identity. In other words, it represents a movement born from the questioning of Latin American religious traditionalism, both Protestant and Catholic, as a way of “renewing” religious experiences, and with them, ritual and institutional practices. In this view, hybrid configurations are assumed where imported forms are transformed in the light of more autochthonous socio-cultural frameworks, and even when they resonate with other religious expressions, whether from popular Catholic religiosity or from Afro groups. These particularities of Pentecostalism made it one of the most striking groups for the scientific study of religions in the region. In fact, the development of the field of Pentecostal studies in Latin America since the 1970s went hand in hand with the Pentecostal transformation of Latin American itself, not only as a deeply studied group, but also as an analytical reference in socio-anthropological terms as a comparative framework for the study of other religious groups and phenomena. Today we can find not only a variety of studies including ethnographic, and sociological with local and regional scope, but also studies with specific epistemic axes, theological and denominational expressions, and types of ritual dynamics, among others (Orellana 2008; Algranti 2009; Mansilla 2010; Carbonelli 2011; Bahamondes and Marín 2013a; Mansilla and Mosqueira 2021; Mansilla and Orellana 2021, 35–60). As we will see below, these axes move from a structural-functionalist view (at the beginning of the 1970s) that places Pentecostalism as a “symptom” of modernization processes in post-war Latin America and the Southern Cone, to an anthropological turn, which will account for the particularities of Pentecostalism and its identity. In this chapter, I am specifically interested in giving an account of the trajectories of the study of the Pentecostalism in Argentina and Chile, principally its relationship with the sociopolitical dynamics of the region. To do so, I will compare the types of analyses in both countries, highlighting the epistemic approaches, which not only account for the methodological

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addressing within the academic field, but also the parallels within the development of the varieties of Pentecostalism themselves. My objective is to identify the changes in approaches as a response to the complexity of the ways of understanding the political dimension of Pentecostalism.

Pentecostalism and Politics in Socio-Anthropological Studies Within the Southern Cone Within the analysis of the relationship between Pentecostalism and politics in Argentina and Chile, we can identify three main currents: (1) the relationship of Pentecostalism with the processes of modernization in the second part of the twentieth century; (2) the anthropological turn and the identification of Pentecostal identity; and (3) the processes of minoritization 2 in the dynamics of Pentecostalism from a micro-political sense. These perspectives of the Pentecostal field are in line with a certain periodization of the Pentecostal movement during the second half of the twentieth century, which will be discussed below. •

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Territorial Expansion and Public Visibility, 1950–75: Toward the end of the 1940s and into the 1950s, in both countries, Pentecostalism ceased to be a collateral expression of the incipient evangelical field, and became one of its most visible faces. We see this in the expansion of Pentecostalism among popular sectors in Chile and its articulation with some political groups in tension, whether liberal or socialist (Mansilla and Orellana 2018). In Argentina, we see this phenomenon especially during the first presidency of Juan Domingo Perón and the role played by Pastor Tommy Hicks’ revival campaigns in 1954, which positioned Pentecostal expressions within the public space. Disputes and Tensions in the Dictatorial Period, 1976–89: During the dictatorial period (in Argentina between 1976 and 1983 and in Chile between 1973 and 1989), the evangelical field was divided into national federations that were in favor or against the military regime. In both countries, Pentecostal churches assumed a central role within the political game of these federations that displaced the hegemonic power of other evangelical churches and even the mainline churches within the evangelical field, including their public visibility. Institutional Political Influence and the Democratic Recovery Process, 1983–90: Throughout the period of the recovery of democracy, there was a regional phenomenon characterized by the attempt of evangelical groups to form confessional parties, which in the end did not work (Deiros 1986). The cases of Chile and Argentina were perhaps the least representative in this respect. However, we can identify a growing active participation of evangelicals and Pentecostals within the political institutional machinery of these nascent democracies. Territorial Extension and Reach in Popular Sectors During the Neoliberal Period, 1990– 2000: The decade of the 1990s marked the beginning of a period of neoliberal policies that included a reconfiguration of the political dynamics, particularly the role of the state. This reorientation of the political institution was in tune with a change in the way in which the evangelical and Pentecostal communities began to operate regionally: their political advocacy no longer focused on being relevant within the institution; rather, it attempted to find an influential role at the grassroots level, operating in more local segments of the institutional machinery, especially in popular areas that were most neglected by state policies. This does not mean that evangelicals and Pentecostals stopped trying to influence the political field, but rather it shows how they attempted to make alliances with regional leadership, positioning themselves as agents of change in 380

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medium-sized institutions such as municipal or civil society organizations, and influencing a sector of the state where federal politics did little. Processes of Minoritization and Dispute in Contexts of Antagonism, 2000 to the Present: The crisis of neoliberal policies and the growing pressure of popular mobilizations led to a political shift that made possible the arrival of more progressive or leftist governments in the region, which enabled public debate on marginal issues, such as human rights, the restoration of historical memory (especially from the dictatorial times), policies of inclusion and diversity (gender, ethnic, and age), and sexual and reproductive rights. These debates did not mean a monumental change but rather the dedication of activity that was antagonistic, which added to the crisis of the Catholic Church and promoted evangelical and Pentecostal communities as a “moral support” and defender of traditional principles. Evangelicals and Pentecostals were in favor of heteronormative model of family, against the so-called “gender ideology,” and resistant to any leftist program. They became the focal point for the demands not only of broad social sectors opposed to these processes, but also of political movements, parties, and groups which at that time were undergoing a profound crisis of credibility.

This brief periodization allows us to see the various currents of analysis on the relationship between Pentecostalism and politics in Argentina and Chile within an extremely intense period, which will show why epistemic frameworks in recent decades have changed rapidly. Regarding the first paradigm, the one that places Pentecostalism within the modernization processes, we can find a decisive work not only for the study of Chilean Pentecostalism, but also for regional Pentecostalism, and one of the first sociological works in the field. Here I refer to Lalive d’Epinay’s book El refugio de las masas (The Refuge of Masses, D’Epinay 1968). In this work, d’Epinay states that Pentecostalism is a religious response to the “anomic” element of the processes of modern transition in Latin American societies. Pentecostalism becomes a “refuge” in the face of the crisis caused by the transition from a “traditional” society to a “secularized and democratic” one. In addition, the study makes a sociological equivalence between the place of the patrons and the pastors, where the Pentecostal churches somehow replicate in religious form the configuration of the hacienda as the traditional social base, that “opposes” the processes of social change. Other studies, such as Hans Tennekes, El movimiento pentecostal en la sociedad (The Pentecostal Movement in Society, 1985), made similar arguments. In the Argentinian case, one of the first studies to make a similar argument was by a Pentecostal theologian, Norberto Saracco, whose doctoral thesis, “Argentine Pentecostalism: Its History and Theology,” was written in the 1980s at the University of Birmingham. His study is an important source for the historical understanding of Pentecostalism, as well as its reconfiguration in the context of political tensions between the 1970s and 1980s. More particularly, it was one of the first works to connect the Peronist movement of the popular sectors with the growth of Pentecostalism.3 In this period, the analyses are heavily influenced by structural-functionalist views. This has repercussions for homogenizing Pentecostalism by defining the particularities of this group through a set of exogenous characterizations that responds or reacts to the secularizing vision of the time. From this modernization perspective, Pentecostalism loses its specificity to become a symptomatic element. The idea of “refuge,” as we saw from d’Epinay, responds to process of modernization in a way that the religious plays a “container” role for the displaced masses. In this framework, the political dimension of Pentecostalism plays a passive/indirect role rather than an active one. 381

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The decade of the 1990s and the return or strengthening of democratic regimes (the military dictatorship in Argentina ended a few years before Chile), was accompanied by a series of important works that embodied a profound change in the way of approaching Pentecostalism. In the Chilean context, Cristian Parker’s classic book Otra lógica en América Latina: religion popular y modernización capitalista (Another Logic in Latin America: Popular Religion and Capitalist Modernization, 1993, engl. 1996) delves into a genealogical reconstruction of Latin American popular religiosity, emphasizing that the idea of religion, including Pentecostalism, is far from being the “opium of the people,” but rather an instance of resistance to the processes of modernization. Similarly, in Argentina the anthropologist Alejandro Frigerio coordinated a series of publications at the Centro Editor de América Latina (Latin America Publishing Center), focusing on analyzing “new religious movements,” where Argentine Pentecostalism is a key example. In his analysis, Frigerio (1994) presents one of the first distinctions between Pentecostalism and neo-Pentecostalism in Argentina, based on a study of the Ecclesial Base Communities (CEBs), where he identifies the distinctive socio-anthropological and phenomenological characterizations between these groups. Also in Argentina, we find the prolific work of Hilario Wynarczyk (1989), who in the late 1980s, made a detailed and pioneering analysis of the evangelistic work of three pastors within the Argentine Pentecostal movement: Omar Cabrera, Héctor Gimenez, and Carlos Anacondia. Through their activities and public evangelization campaigns, these three pastors began to position Pentecostalism as a field that actively sought to influence society through the media. There is also the work of Matt Marostica (1994, 1997), who in the early 1990s called the evangelical field a “new social movement” because the religious expression was able to achieve a strong consolidation of “cultural identity” as a “field for social expression.” Another approach that we find in this period in Argentina focused on popular religiosity, whose main referents were Daniel Míguez (1999, 2000, 2001, 2011, 2012) and Pablo Semán (2000, 2001, 2010). These works begin from a complex definition of the “popular” (Semán and Míguez, 2006). The popular is defined as a space that is understood not only from the traditional vision that circumscribes it in a socio-economic condition or in a peripheral status, but as a heterogeneous spatiality in which a plurality of actors converge and build “a complex variety of alternatives and strategies of adaptation and resistance” with respect to the surrounding socio-political context, more specifically that of the post-dictatorship and neoliberal Argentina (Míguez 2012, 241). In the Chilean context, we also find several works with analyses that follow similar ideas (Ossa 1990, 1991, 1999; Canales, Palma, and Villela 1991). These studies, developed toward the end of the 1980s and at the beginning of the 1990s, concentrated on investigating the perception of Pentecostalism in Chilean society, especially in the labor contexts, where the ethical and moral dimension of the Pentecostal faith became an instance of trust and even integration, which set aside the stigmatization of this minority until then. The work of the Pentecostal theologian Juan Sepúlveda, globally recognized in ecumenical and interreligious dialogue, should also be highlighted. This theologian worked on two main arguments (Sepúlveda 1986, 1988, 1993, 2003a, 2003b). In the first place, he was one of the pioneers in the study of the passage from classical creole Pentecostalism to popular Pentecostalism, arguing that the many types of Pentecostalism are far from being a symptom of external factors, but rather present a set of particular identities that ranged from their

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liturgical performances to their healing practices and theological elements. This enabled a logic of reception and rupture within the culture of the popular sectors, facilitating a great expansion throughout the country as well as its growth. Secondly, Sepúlveda was also one of the most relevant analysts in proposing that Chilean Pentecostalism was not an intrinsically conservative voice that supported the Pinochet military regime, but that there was a split and internal dispute between support (more typical of the ecclesiastical hierarchies) and resistance (specially within the groups in marginal places and outside the urban centers), as shown by the famous delivery of the “Letter to Pinochet” (Lagos 1988; Maldonado 2013; Mansilla and Orellana 2018, 115–45). The second set of studies, revolving around the anthropological turn and the identification of Pentecostal identity, echoes a set of methodological proposals developed in the Southern Cone, such as the works of Joaquín Algranti (2005, 2007, 2008, 2010), who analyzes this stage in depth as part of the “anthropological turn” (Algranti 2021). Marcos Carbonelli (2008, 2009), in a similar approach, calls it the “anthropological gaze” (Carbonelli 2011). In the Chilean context, Luis Bahamondes speaks of the shift from “macro-structural explanations” to the “culturalist gaze” (Bahamondes 2021). The anthropological turn emphasizes qualitative methods that investigate the emic dimension of Pentecostalism, that is, its myths, symbols, practices, and the lived dimension of faith as central to its identity (Algranti 2021, 667). It is shaped by different theories that influenced the field of studies of Pentecostalism, ranging from the theory of the religious market, Bourdieu’s religious field, and the study of popular religiosities and new religious movements. Among the topics addressed there is the modification of Pentecostalism in relation to politics and institutionalization, the process of deinstitutionalization in the 1990s, the movement toward neoliberal transformations (Algranti 2006), the mutations of creole Pentecostalism toward neo-Pentecostalism (Bahamondes and Marín 2013a, 2013b), and an anthropological view of Pentecostalism as “cosmological, holistic and relational” (Semán 2000). In this analytical current, we see a strong emphasis on the deconstruction of modernizing paradigms, both in relation to the socio-political understanding of the popular and the strictly religious dimensions that characterize this group, which is not limited to an institutional perspective, that is, in the relationship of religious spaces with parties or public instances. Rather, we observe in the complex processes of legitimization, there is resistance and agency on the part of the subjects and in their self-understanding with respect to the socio-political situation. Pentecostals are inscribed mostly within the spatiality of “the popular,” as a unit that responds both to a set of its own characterizations and inscriptions within a broader socio-political situation, especially linked to the centerperiphery relationship in urban centers, implementation of neoliberal policies, displacement of state action and erosion of the social network, and weakness in the structures of sustainability, among others. All this refers to a set of dynamics around sustainability, survival, and recreation of a socio-cultural identity framework in the face of the criticism and porousness of hegemonic modernizing paradigms. In this way, religion, and specifically Pentecostalism, is defined as a matrix of social resignification, as a symbolic and ritual framework that serves to counteract and resist instances of exclusion (social, political, economic, symbolic, cultural) in the void produced by the lack of identification with traditional political institutions, especially the state. In summary, the anthropological turn at the beginning of the 1990s in studies on the relationship between Pentecostalism and politics questions the thesis of the sociology of modernization, and begins to analyze the many types of Pentecostalism from their own characterization

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and its impact from its own particularity in socio-cultural dynamics. This implies that the political dimension of this evangelical expression is translated from an institutionalist view to an ethical dimension, linked to the role of Pentecostalism in the promotion and transformation of social imaginaries, especially in popular groups. The third current of study is completely linked to the anthropological turn of the second stage, but accounts for the radicalization, diversification, and minoritization of Pentecostalism. One of the determining elements of this stage is the process of deinstitutionalization. This not only deals with the dynamics in the mutation of Pentecostal identity but also with new articulations that deregulation facilitates in political terms. In both countries, we can find studies in this direction. In Argentina, Joaquín Algranti, Mariella Mosqueira, and Damián Setton (2019) suggest four aspects of the predominant patterns or vectors within this “new” style of spirituality (although part of the whole national religious conglomerate also applies to Pentecostalism). These are: (1) the withdrawal of institutional devices of authority; (2) religious deregulation and individuation; (3) the revitalization of communitarianisms; and (4) the mediation of the production, supply, demand, and consumption of a spiritually marked material culture, and its contribution to transnational influences. From a Chilean context, Miguel Mansilla, Sandra Leiva, and Wilson Muñoz describe the “post-Pentecostal community” from three main characteristics: institutional flexibility (which is reflected in the diversity of ascriptions within Pentecostalism from the “competition” within it), flexibility of content (the heterogeneity of discourses from the dynamics of consumption by believers), and a growing materialism (a greater concern for spiritual goods) (Barrios 2017; Mansilla, Leiva and Muñoz 2017; Bravo 2020; Mansilla and Orellana 2021). As I have indicated, these processes of deinstitutionalization in the Pentecostal field also derive in a reconfiguration of its political acting, even despite its supposed apoliticism. Paradoxically, Pentecostal apoliticism is a way of understanding political dynamics from two matrices (Mansilla and Orellana 2018, 43–70). First, from the diversity of appropriations of the political by believers; in a church, pastors may have an apolitical discourse or position, but not necessarily the rest of the congregation; a denomination may be apolitical, but not its grassroots leadership; even a believer’s self-declaration does not imply that in practice they are apolitical. However, the apolitical is presented as an instance of differentiation, of marking a distance, and ontological alterity with society, political institutions, and hegemonic ideologies, to establish a practical and discursive displacement (Panotto 2016, 2017). This is what the sociologist Hilario Wynarckzyk calls the shift from a “negative dualism” to a “positive dualism” (Wynarczyk 2010). This translates into a very wide range of studies that analyze the place of Pentecostalism in various instances of political advocacy and dynamics: the role they play within electoral machines (Wynarczyk 2009; Semán 2013; Carbonelli 2012), the territorial political dynamics in popular sectors within the new political configurations in democracy (Fediakova 2004, 2013; Carbonelli and Mosqueira 2010, 2012; Carbonelli 2012; Mansilla, Orellana, and Panotto 2019), their role in prison systems (Algranti 2011; Marín 2016), in cultural industries and material production processes (Algranti 2013; Bahamondes et al. 2017), in disputes over public policies especially regarding sexuality and social values (Vaggione 2005; Jones and Carbonelli 2012; Espinosa and Bargo 2016), and many more fields. Pentecostalism, now, is transformed into an actor present in a very wide range of social spaces. In conclusion, from the perspective of the processes of minoritization, we can affirm that Pentecostalism in Chile and Argentina is an agent that produces a dynamic of antagonism within the process of the construction of public space, producing both routes of displacement 384

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in terms of political and religious imaginaries, as well as instances of rearticulation and mobilization, which translates into both political visibility and hegemonic disputes against other actors (Panotto 2020). Such dynamics entail a set of sociopolitical phenomena, ranging from reception to stigmatization. With respect to the latter, the emergence of many kinds of Pentecostalism in the public space of the Southern Cone has not ceased to be paradoxical, to the extent that such expression grows, and a discourse of stereotypes and discrimination also increases against this community. Chilean sociologist Miguel Mansilla calls this phenomenon “pentecosphobia” (Mansilla 2010). This phenomenon responds both to the Catholic-centric matrix that still shapes Latin American religiosity and politics, as well as to the processes of secularization that prevail in hegemonic political thought, where religion (as well as other non-institutional forms of political mobilization) is placed in a secondary position.4

Conclusion This chapter presented a comparative analysis of the similarities between the reconfiguration matrices of Chilean and Argentine Pentecostalism in relation to their place in the public space. We were able to observe how studies on this phenomenon transitioned from a perspective that placed Pentecostalism as a symptomatic effect of modernization processes, to the role of its particular identity and how it shapes the resignifying imaginaries and political practices. This leads us to a set of central conclusions when it comes to the relationship between Pentecostalism and the political field. In the first place, it is not possible to make a correlation between Pentecostalism and a particular ideology or political identification. Rather, the very characteristics of Pentecostalism enable a varied, even antagonistic, process of political identification. Second, historical and socio-anthropological analyses allow us to identify a gradual growth of this expression, which led it from being a marginal actor to a central agent in the disputes of public meaning. This allows us to counteract some functionalist views that make Pentecostalism a simple channel of transmission of hegemonic political power. Far from it, the political dimension of Pentecostalism refers to an active constitution on social phenomena. Finally, we can highlight that these singular processes within Pentecostalism reside in their own identity characteristics. Their institutional flexibility, their charismatic configuration, their messianic eschatology, even certain populist edges within some of their leaderships, enable very diverse formats of political identification.

Notes 1 If we inquire about the periodizations of the birth of Pentecostalism, we can find different opinions about the genealogical or political readings. On the one hand, Carmelo Alvarez (1995) proposes a three-stage periodization of the birth and expansion of Latin American Pentecostalism: (1) emergence of creole Pentecostalism and missionary Pentecostalism (1909–29); (2) stabilization, consolidation, and relative growth (1930–60); (3) rapid growth and diversification (1960 to the present). On the other hand, a recent publication on sociology of Pentecostalism (Mansilla and Mosqueira 2021, 25–69) divides the history of Latin American Pentecostalism into four parts: (1) Pentecostalism as a religion of cultural transition (1967–79), (2) Pentecostalism in the passage from dictatorships to democracies (1980–99), (3) the Pentecostalism of globalization (2000 to the present), and (4) the Pentecostalism of globalization (2000 to the present). 2 The category of minoritization has been developed by the Brazilian professor Joanildo Burity (Burity 2016, 2017) This category highlights two central factors. First, the process of religious pluralization, which not only emphasizes the phenomenon of heterogeinization of the field but also the transformative internal dynamics of majoritarian religions and its socio-political impact. Secondly, the place of organizations, churches and movements nourished by a religious logic participating

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Nicolás Panotto and constructing alternative actions of social impact, in consonance with the pluralization of political identities in societies or, in Burity’s words, “the expansion of multi-situated pluralization and public contestation processes” (Burity 2016, 137). Referring to Pentecostalism, Burity affirms that: “The Pentecostals show a remarkable capacity both to adapt and to offer resistance to expectations of republican virtue, cultural pluralism and basic democratic experimentation. Therefore, they convey clearly different ways of building inside and outside to what is common in societies that face minoritization processes” (Burity 2016, 104). 3 Some chapters of this thesis were published in 2014 in a book entitled Pentecostalismo argentino: origen, teología y misión (Saracco 2014). 4 In both Argentina and Chile, there are responses to this phenomenon (Mosqueira 2019; Panotto 2019; Semán and Viotti 2019; Bahamondes 2020).

References Algranti, Joaquín. 2005. “Rey de Reyes: Hacia una problematización del poder.” Sociedad y Religión 17: 19–37. Algranti, Joaquín. 2006. “Notas para el estudio de las comunidades pentecostales.” Scripta Ethnologica 28: 95–120. Algranti, Joaquín. 2007. “La política en los márgenes: Estudio sobre los espacios de participación social en el neo-pentecostalismo.” Caminhos 5 (2): 361–80. Algranti, Joaquín. 2008. “De la sanidad del cuerpo a la sanidad del alma. Estudio sobre la lógica de construcción de las identidades colectivas en el neo-pentecostalismo argentino.” Religião e Sociedade 28 (2): 179–209. Algranti, Joaquín. 2009. “Auge, decadencia y ‘espectralidad’ del paradigma modernizador: viejos y nuevos problemas en el estudio del pentecostalismo en América Latina.” en C. Steil, E. Martín, M. Camurca, ed., Religiones y culturas: perspectivas latinoamericanas, 57–87. Buenos Aires: Biblos. Algranti, Joaquín. 2010. Política y religión en los márgenes. Buenos Aires: Ediciones Ciccus. Algranti, Joaquín. 2011. “Ser e parecer en el mundo carcelario-evangélico - sobre las condiciones sociales de definición de la realidad.” Instituto de Estudos da Religião; Religião e Sociedade 31 (2): 12, 55–77. Algranti, Joaquín, ed. 2013. La industria del creer. Sociología de las mercancías religiosas. Buenos Aires: Biblos. Algranti, Joaquín. 2021. “Cuatro preguntas, cuatro enfoques, cuatro ideas de sociedad: El pentecostalismo en el imaginario académico.” Revista Protesta & Carisma 1 (1): 1–33. http://www. revistaprotestaycarisma.cl/index.php/rpc/article/view/4 Algranti, Joaquin, Mariela Mosqueira and Damián Setton. 2019. La institución como proceso. Configuraciones de lo religioso en las sociedades contemporáneas. Buenos Aires: Editorial Biblos. Álvarez, Carmelo. 1995. “Panorama histórico de los pentecostalismos latinoamericanos y caribeños.” en Benjamín Gutiérrez, ed., En la fuerza del espíritu. Los pentecostales en América Latina: un desafío a las iglesias históricas, 35–56. México: AIPRAL/CELEP. Bahamondes, Luis. 2020. “Ser evangélico no es ser de derecha: las complejidades de un credo usualmente desestimado por la izquierda.” Santiago: CIPER. https://www.ciperchile.cl/2020/03/09/serevangelico-no-es-ser-de-derecha-las-complejidades-de-un-credo-usualmente-desestimado-porla-izquierda/ Bahamondes, Luis. 2021. “Propuestas teóricas para la comprensión del pentecostalismo chileno: De la focalización en la pobreza a las propuestas culturalistas.” Revista Protesta & Carisma 1 (1): 1–25. http:// www.revistaprotestaycarisma.cl/index.php/rpc/article/view/3 Bahamondes, L., F. De la Barra, N. Marín, W. Riquelme. 2017. “Espiritualidad y territorio: la emergencia de nuevos mercados religiosos en Pisco Elqui (IV Región, Chile).” Revista Estudios Sociológicos 61: 69–84. Bahamondes, L., N. Marín. 2013a. “Miedos sociales y religión: una reflexión a partir del pentecostalismo urbano chileno.” Revista Sociológica 28 (78): 99–138. Bahamondes, L., N. Marín. 2013b. “Neopentecostalismos en Chile: transformación y resignificación del pentecostalismo criollo.” en Luis Bahamondes, ed., Transformaciones y alternativas religiosas en América Latina, 175–219. Santiago de Chile: CISOC. Barrios, A. 2017. “El pentecostalismo chileno como respuesta a los cambios secularizadores del siglo XIX. Una mirada en retrospectiva.” Revista Cultura & Religión 11 (1): 129–48. Bravo, F. 2020. Fe en tránsito: Evangélicos chilenos en los tiempos de la desinstitucionalización. Concepción: Centro Evangélico de Estudios Pentecostales Ediciones.

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The Many Faces of Pentecostal Politics Burity, J. 2016. “Minoritization and Pluralization. What is the ‘People’ That Pentecostal Politicization is Building?” Latin American Perspectives 43 (3): 116–32. Burity, J. 2017. “Autoridad y lo común en procesos de minoritización. El pentecostalismo brasileño.” Revista latinoamericana de investigación crítica Año IV (6): 99–125. Burity, J. 2021. “Prólogo.” en M. Mansilla, M. Mosqueira, ed., Sociología del pentecostalismo en América Latina, 15–24. Santiago: UNAP. Canales, M., S. Palma, H. Villela. 1991. En tierra extraña II. Para una sociologúa de la religiosidad popular protestante. Santiago de Chile: Editorial Amerinda. Carbonelli, Marcos. 2008. “Evangélicos y política en Argentina: entre la institucionalización y la autonomía.” Mitológicas XXIII: 47–65. Carbonelli, Marcos. 2009. “Desde el barrio: perspectivas acerca de la actividad política de pastores evangélicos en el Conurbano Bonaerense.” Ciencias Sociales y Religión 11 (11): 107–29. Carbonelli, Marcos. 2011. “Ciencias Sociales, evangélicos y política. Una lectura sobre la producción científica acerca de la participación política evangélica en la vida democrática Argentina (1983– 2010).” Revista Cultura y Religión V (2): 96–116. Carbonelli, Marcos. 2012. “En el evangelio y en el partido: trayectorias políticas de pastores en el Gran Buenos Aires.” Revista Colombiana de Antropología 48 (2): 89–113. Carbonelli, Marcos, Mariela Mosqueira. 2010. “‘Militantes del Señor’: cosmología y praxis evangélica sobre el espacio público.” Sociedad y religión XX (32/33): 108–23. Carbonelli, Marcos, Mariela Mosqueira. 2012. “Evangélicos y política: tensiones en torno a la libertad e igualdad religiosa en Argentina.” Revista Científica Guillermo de Ockham 10 (1): 41–54. D’ Epinay, Christian. 1968. El refugio de las masas: estudio sociológico del protestantismo chileno. Santiago: Pacifico. Deiros, Pablo, ed. 1986. Los Evangélicos y el poder político en América Latina. Grand Rapids, MI: Nueva Creacion/Eerdmans. Espinosa, Mariana, María Bargo. 2016. “Construir la iglesia de siempre. Estudio sobre la afirmación de identidades en el catolicismo y el evangelismo de la Argentina contemporánea.” PLURA, Revista de Estudos de Religião 7 (2): 201–22. Fediakova, Eugenia. 2004. “Somos parte de esta sociedad. Evangélicos y Política en el Chile post autoritario.” Revista Política 43: 253–84. Fediakova, Eugenia. 2013. Evangélicos, política y sociedad en Chile: dejando “el refugio de las masas.” 1990– 2010. Santiago: CEEP-IDEA-UdeSantiago. Frigerio, Alejandro. 1994. “Estudios recientes sobre el Pentecostalismo en el Cono Sur: problemas y perspectivas.” en Alejandro Frigerio, ed., El Pentecostalismo en Argentina, 10–28. Buenos Aires: Centro Editor de América Latina Biblioteca Política Argentina. Jones, Daniel, Marcos Carbonelli. 2012. “Evangélicos y derechos sexuales y reproductivos: actores y lógicas políticas en la Argentina contemporánea.” Ciências Sociais Unisinos 48 (3): 225–34. Lagos, Humberto. 1988. Crisis de la esperanza. Religión y autoritarismo en Chile. Santiago: Presor y Lar. Maldonado, Matías Araya. 2013. “Evangélicos y política en Chile, 1974–1986. El Consejo de Pastores y la Confraternidad Cristiana de Iglesias.” en Luis Bahamondez, ed., Transformaciones y alternativas religiosa en América Latina, 119–51. Santiago: CISOC. Mansilla, Miguel. 2010. “De la Disidencia a la sumisión. La rebeldía como principio Pentecostal y los rudimentos de la pentecosfobia en Chile.” Cuadernos Judaicos 27: 45–89. Mansilla, M, S. Leiva, W. Muñoz. 2017. “Pospentecostalismo: del fundacionalismo al postfundacionalismo pentecostal chileno.” Cinta Moebio 59: 172–85. Mansilla, M., M. Mosqueira. 2021. “Pentecostalismo en y desde América Latina: Balance y perspectivas a 50 años de producción sociológica.” Revista Protesta & Carisma 1 (1): 1–9. http://www. revistaprotestaycarisma.cl/index.php/rpc/article/view/2 Mansilla, Miguel, Luis Orellana. 2018. Evangélicos y política en Chile 1960–1990. Santiago: UNAP-RILL. Mansilla, Miguel, Luis Orellana. 2021. Pensando el pentecostalismo: Drama, protesta, migración y desencanto religioso. Santiago: RIL editores. Mansilla, Miguel, Luis Orellana, Nicolás Panotto. 2019. “La participación política de los evangélicos en Chile (1999–2017).” Revista Rupturas 9 (1): 179–208. Marostica, Matt. 1994. “La Iglesia Evangélica en la Argentina como Nuevo Movimiento Social”. Sociedad y Religión (12): 3–21. Marostica, Matt. 1997. “Pentecostal and politics; the creation of the Evangelical Christian Movement in Argentina, 1983-1993” (Thesis doctoral). Berkeley, CA: University of California.

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Nicolás Panotto Marín, Nelson. 2016. “Evangelismo carcelario en Chile: Análisis socioantropológico de comunidades religiosas en contextos de encierro.” Polis 15 (43): 557–80. Míguez, Daniel. 1999. “Why Are Pentecostals Politically Ambiguous? Pentecostalism and Politics in Argentina 1983–1995.” European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 67: 57–74. Míguez, Daniel. 2000. “Modernidad, posmodernidad y la transformación de la religiosidad de los sectores medios y bajos en América Latina.” Revista Ciencias Sociales 10: 56–68. Míguez, Daniel. 2001. “La conversión religiosa como estrategia de supervivencia. Los pentecostales y el descenso social durante la “década perdida.” Intersecciones en Antropología 1 (2): 73–88. Míguez, Daniel. 2012. “Canonizaciones y Moralidades en Contextos de Pobreza Urbana. Las Lógicas del Orden y la Transgresión en la Argentina de Fines del Siglo XX.” Revista Cultura y Religión VI (1): 241–74. Mosqueira, Mariela. 2019. “Exorcizar el imaginario anti-evangélico.” En Grupo de Estudios Multidisciplinarios sobre Religión e Incidencia Pública (GEMRIP). http://www.gemrip.org/exorcizarel-imaginario-anti-evangelico/ Orellana, Luis. 2008. El fuego y la nieve. Historia del Movimiento Pentecostal en Chile, 1909–1932. Concepción: CEEP. Ossa, Manuel. 1990. Espiritualidad popular y acción política. Santiago: Rehue. Ossa, Manuel. 1991. Lo Ajeno y lo propio. Santiago: Rehue. Ossa, Manuel. 1999. Iglesias evangélicas y derechos humanos en tiempos de dictadura. La Confraternidad Cristiana de Iglesias 1981–1989. Santiago: Fundación Konrad Adenauer – Centro Ecuménico Diego de Medellín. Panotto, Nicolás. 2014. “Pentecostalismos y construcción de identidades sociopolíticas.” Desafíos 26 (2): 73–96. Panotto, Nicolás. 2016. “Rostros de lo divino y construcción del ethos socio-político: relación entre teología y antropología en el estudio del campo religioso. El caso del pentecostalismo en Argentina.” Debates do Ner 2 (28): 69–97. Panotto, Nicolás. 2017. “Fe que hace la diferencia: prácticas religiosas, ontología(s) y construcción de lo público. Un caso dentro del pentecostalismo argentino.” Liminales. Escritos sobre psicología y sociedad 1 (10): 29–45. Panotto, Nicolás. 2019. “De evangélicos, generalizaciones y teorías de la conspiración.” en Grupo de Estudios Multidisciplinarios sobre Religión e Incidencia Pública (gemrip). http://www.gemrip.org/ de-evangelicos-generalizaciones-y-teorias-de-la-conspiracion/, consultado el 13 de mayo de 2020. Panotto, Nicolás. 2020. “Incidencia religiosa en clave multilateral: la presencia de Redes Políticas Evangélicas en las Asambleas de la oea.” Revista Cultura y Religión 14 (1): 100–20. Parker, Christian. 1996. Popular Religion and Modernization in Latin America. New York, NY: Orbis. Saracco, Norberto. 2014. Pentecostalismo argentino. Origen, teología y misión. Buenos Aires: ASIT. Semán, Pablo. 2000. “El pentecostalismo y la religiosidad de los sectores populares.” en Maristella Svampa, ed., Desde abajo: La transformación de las identidades sociales, 155–80. Buenos Aires: Biblos. Semán, Pablo. 2001. “La recepción popular de la teología de la prosperidad.” Scripta Ethnologica XXIII: 145–62. Semán, Pablo. 2010. “De a poco mucho: las pequeñas iglesias Pentecostales y el crecimiento pentecostal. Conclusiones de un estudio de caso.” Cultura y Religión 4 (1): 16–35. Semán, Pablo. 2013. “Pentecostalismo, política, elecciones y poder social.” Sociedad y Religión VII (1): 60–81. Semán, Pablo, Daniel Míguez. 2006. Entre Santos, cmbias y piqueres. Las culturas populares en la Argentina reciente. Buenos Aires: Biblos. Semán, Pablo, Nicolás Viotti. 2019. “Todo lo que usted quiere saber de los evangélicos le contaron mal.” En Revista Anfíbia. http://revistaanfibia.com/ensayo/todo-lo-que-quiere-saber-de-los-evangelicosle-contaron-mal/ Sepúlveda, Juan. 1986. “Bases éticas para la transición a la democracia desde la perspectiva evangélica.” en Manuel Garretón, ed., Iglesia y transición en Chile, 56–69. Santiago: Rehue. Sepúlveda, Juan. 1988. “Pentecostalismo y democracia: una interpretación de sus relaciones.” en Juan Sepúlveda, ed., Democracia y Evangelización, 229–48. Santiago: Rehue. Sepúlveda, Juan. 1993. “Reader’s Digest: un informe ‘muy especial’ sobre el Consejo Mundial de Iglesias.” Revista Evangelio y Sociedad. Santiago 17: 15–18. Sepúlveda, Juan. 2003a. “El Principio Pentecostal. Reflexiones a partir de los orígenes del Pentecostalismo chileno.” en Daniel Chiquete, Luis Orellana, ed., Voces del Pentecostalismo Latinoamericano. Identidad, Teología e Historia, 13–28. Concepción, RELEP: CEEP.

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The Many Faces of Pentecostal Politics Sepúlveda, Juan. 2003b. “La defensa de los derechos humanos como experiencia ecuménica.” Persona y Sociedad XVII (3): 21–28. Tennekes, Hans. 1984. “Iquique: Ciren y Subfacultad de Antropología Cultural y Sociología no Occidental.” El movimiento pentecostal en la sociedad chilena. Universidad Libre de Ámsterdam y el Centro de Investigación de la Realidad del Norte. Tennekes, Hans. 1985. El movimiento pentecostal en la sociedad. Iquique. Iquique: Centro de Investigación de la Realidad del Norte. Vaggione, Juan Marco. 2005. “Los Roles Políticos de la Religión. Género y Sexualidad más allá del secularismo.” en Marta Vassallo (comp.), En Nombre de la Vida, 137–68. Córdoba: Católicas por el Derecho a Decidir. Wynarczyk, Hilario. 1989 [2014]. Tres Evangelistas Carismáticos: Omar Cabrera, Héctor Aníbal Giménez y Carlos Annacondia. Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires: Diversa. Wynarczyk, Hilario. 2009. Ciudadanos de dos mundos. El movimiento evangélico en la vida pública argentina 1980–2001. Buenos Aires: UNSAM Edita. Wynarczyk, Hilario. 2010. Sal y luz a las naciones. Evangélicos y política en la Argentina, 1980–2001. Buenos Aires: Instituto Di Tella-Siglo XXI.

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30 THE PENTECOSTAL COMPLEX IN POLAND Missionaries, Migrants, and Social Imaginaries Natalia Zawiejska Introduction Migration is typically present in narrating Pentecostalism, especially with the recent experience of European societies (Ter Haar 1998; Knibbe 2009; Adogame and Spickard 2010; Maskens 2012; Adogame 2013; Butticci 2016; Knibbe 2019; Pace 2020). At the same time, the case of Pentecostalism in Poland goes beyond migration contexts such as diaspora, multiculturalism, ethnic diversity, or religious pluralization. Elsewhere, such processes are frequently considered by Western scholarship to be triggers for a new kind of religious renaissance, especially in the case of Western societies, fueling whether the post-secular debate or the “re-enchantment” approaches. However, in the Polish case, these factors cannot be considered as generally characteristic of or defining for its religious processes, including the growth and pluralization of Pentecostalism in Poland. Equally, it has to be considered that the development of Pentecostalism in Poland resonates in idiosyncratic ways with the globalization, transnationalization, and modernization paradigms applied in recent scholarship as explanatory models for the rapid spread and growth of Pentecostalism worldwide. While the new dynamics of Polish Pentecostalism observed by the scholars and experienced by the Pentecostal and Charismatic communities in Poland after the turn of the new millennium should be definitely framed in terms of new forms of movement and mobility, such as transgression, abandonment, fragmentation, shifts, acceleration, and enhanced flows, the ethnographic data encourages a multilayered analysis of migration. I suggest in this chapter to abandon “container” imagery, regardless of whether on a micro or macro scale, such as geographic, global, ethnic, or national framing, that severely influences our cognition and the impact ascribed to migration while studying Pentecostalism. Consequently, I propose to look at the migration component present in Polish Pentecostalism in terms of the broader Pentecostal complex. My claim is that this complex in Poland consists of several factors and local social imaginaries such as, among others, state and Catholic Church relations, the religious hegemony of Polish Catholicism, social, religious, and national history, the relatedness between Pentecostal and Catholic Charismatic strains, national identity and national belonging politics, tradition, local religiosity and veneration modes, and various types of local and translocal connectivities. The Pentecostal complex stands in my approach for a fluid and dynamic field managing structures and forms of Pentecostalism and serves as a 390

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heuristic tool for defining Pentecostalism in Poland. Particular components of the complex should be understood as more than an aggregate, but as an assemblage. Thus, migration not only integrates into this complex as a new factor but, more importantly, it resonates with several social imaginaries offering new templates, reactivating an existing imagination and social process. Such thinking is especially valid while examining the migration and locality nexus in Pentecostalism in places like Poland, where migration might not necessarily mean an unequivocally game-changing phenomenon. Locality, in turn, works in this approach as a fluid category of time and space, and of a palimpsestic nature, whose particular components might be activated and brought to the fore by migrants. Consequently, locality receives its “definitional and cognitive closure” through migrant linked reconfigurations of the Pentecostal complex. A meticulous analysis of these components of the Pentecostal complex radically exceeds the scope of one chapter. Therefore, I limit my analysis to several focal points. Further research to explore several suppositions suggested in this chapter – along with case studies – are necessarily required. This chapter is based on ethnography conducted between 2016 and 2021 in different Polish cities, various Pentecostal communities, and during Catholic Charismatic events. As a comparative context, I employ research conducted previously in Angolan Pentecostal churches in the diaspora in Europe (2013–17).

Hegemonic Catholic Matrix, Pentecostalisms, and Migration Before focusing on the migration-Pentecostalism nexus in Poland I provide several observations on data and social contexts for further reflection. It is important to note that both Pentecostalism and the Charismatic movement are equally marginal in the Polish religious landscape. According to the most recent statistics, adherents of all churches of the Protestant tradition account for about 0.3 percent of the Polish population, whereas the Catholic Church is about 91.9 percent (Bień ku ńska et al. 2019).1 Figures for the Charismatic movement are unknown. The estimate of the expansion of the Charismatic movement is made based on the rapidly growing number of established groups and participation in mass Charismatic events (see Siekierski 2012, 147). In recent years, the Charismatic movement moved undoubtedly to the forefront of the Christian public in Poland. What I suggest is that it is important to explore both the Charismatic movement in the Catholic Church and the Pentecostal communities of Protestant background as interconnected phenomena, with roots in its global expansion (Coleman 2000; Csordas 2007). Poland illustrates this close interrelatedness of the Pentecostal movement and Catholic Charismatics. There are ongoing debates in Pentecostal and Catholic Charismatic circles in Poland about this relationship with accusations of the “Protestantization” of the Polish-Catholic Charismatic movement (Kobyli ński 2014). As Siekierski (2012) notes, the choice to adhere to Charismatic Christian groups is mostly made by people born and bred in the Catholic Church in Poland. These converts claim to be disappointed by superficiality, anonymity, and a lack of community belonging, which makes them search for different models to adhere to in the practice of their faith. However, the movement is equally characterized by relapses to mainline Catholic religiosity. Considering that the Catholic Church in Poland is internally divided, and consists of multiple Catholic circles, varying from a conservative wing to a liberal one, with a certain Catholic pluralism within Polish Catholicism (Borowik and Doktór 2001; Sekerdej 2010; Pasieka 2015), opting to enter a Charismatic group might often work as seclusion from mainline Polish Catholicism. It is worth mentioning that the Charismatic movement itself is not universally welcomed and appreciated in mainline Polish Catholicism. 391

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Similar motivations have moved many recent adherents to local Pentecostal groups, who claim that their leaving the Catholic Church is because it is a mismatch for their spiritual (e.g., rejecting Marian-centered religiosity, see Nied ź wied ź 2010) and communitarian needs, among other factors such as general dissent with mainline Catholicism in Poland. Consequently, as the phenomena of conversion from Catholic Charismatic into Pentecostal groups has already been noted in Polish scholarship (Zieli ński 2009), I am claiming that current changes in both Pentecostalism and the Charismatic movement in Poland might be read as a reaction against hegemony, religious practice, spirituality, ecclesiology, as well as the ideologization and politicization of the Catholic Church in Poland (Stala 2012; Modrzejewski 2017; Topidi 2019). According to Pasieka and Sekerdej (2013), hegemonic Catholicism in Poland works to manage the perceptions and framings of minority religious groups (Pasieka 2015). Therefore, I look at the current dynamics of both Pentecostalism and the Charismatic movement in Poland as a variation of the same socio-religious processes (Ramet and Borowik 2017), along with migration. Considering migration as a frequently cited trigger of contemporary Pentecostal vitality worldwide, it is noteworthy that both Pentecostalism and the Charismatic movement are long-established phenomena, whose origins are not linked with recent social processes present in Poland. The first evidence of the development or institutionalization of Pentecostal missions in today’s Poland comes from the 1910s and 1920s (Pasek 2004). After World War II, under the socialist regime, many Pentecostal religious leaders were persecuted, and Protestant institutions were subjected to regulations imposing artificial affiliations and groupings. A single religious institution, Zjednoczony Kościół Ewangeliczny [United Evangelical Church] was supposed to embrace all the Pentecostal denominations (Zieli ński 2014). Following the end of the regime in 1989, some institutions were dismantled and ceased their activities (Pasek 2004). However, as Pasek writes, with the end of the regime and the political situation opening up, Poland proved to be a fertile ground for the new wave of missionaries coming from other countries (Pasek 2004, 20), who were often already well-established in Pentecostal circuits such as the United States, Canada, Germany, or Scandinavia ( Ja ńczuk 2016). The Charismatic movement in Poland can be traced back to the 1970s when it was developing in two streams: first, the local Ruch Światło Życie [Light and Life Movement], set up by the priest Franciszek Blachnicki and inspired by the Campus Crusade for Christ Movement and, second, the Odnowa w Duchu Świętym [Catholic Charismatic Renewal], which started in Poland in the mid-1970s as a prayer group. The Charismatic movement was an outcome of contact by several Polish priests with Charismatic groups in the United States and Italy. The transnational character was a part of the broader evangelical (e.g., Billy Graham’s visit to Warsaw in 1978), and the Pentecostal and Charismatic movement in Poland. 1989 opened a new chapter with the influx of different migrants and a new type of missionary that saw Poland as a blind spot in the Pentecostal and Charismatic world map. Older transnational patterns, based on the reception of missionaries and networking with well-established Pentecostal and Charismatic centers, have been challenged in the last decade,2 with the emergence of new models of practice and spirituality coinciding with the appearance of migrants originating from different Pentecostal spaces such as Ukraine and the Global South. One of the principal nexuses of migration and Pentecostalism in contemporary Poland is the Global South and the Eastern axis that is a useful heuristic tool for analyzing both religious and social transformations.3 While Poland is not universally considered a target country for international migrants, locating migration in the broader context of a mobility paradigm allows for the consideration of visitors as missionaries, newcomers, passers-by, and also refugees, rather than simply as migrants. 392

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The most prominent migration is the recent Ukrainian one to Poland (especially after 2014), while other migrants are fewer in numbers,4 constituting small and marginal groups of labor migrants, the well-qualified employees of international corporations or service focused migrants, and with contract workers of different origins. Foreign students at Polish universities also count toward the overall migration patterns in Poland. Migrants from the Global South are marginal in total numbers.5 Most migrants, except for many Ukrainians,6 see Poland as a temporary home (Ząbek 2009). The low number of migrants is due to the migration policy of the Polish government, xenophobic political and populist discourse, and unfavorable working conditions, especially in comparison to Western European countries (Legut and Pędziwiatr 2018; Narkowicz 2018; Szulecka, Pachocka, and Sobczak-Szelc 2018). As much as migrants have challenged the monolithic culture of some urban landscapes in Poland, they do not constitute a substantial diasporic or cultural power that is able to create religious communities capable of challenging the Polish religious and social landscape in a significant way. Ukrainian migration might be considered an exception. However, due to some stigmatization, many Ukrainians prefer assimilation or integration rather than maintaining diasporic differences.7 Newcomers and missionaries have a particular place in the Pentecostal and Charismatic landscape in Poland. As I show in the following sections, they activate several factors in the Pentecostal complex, bringing about a reconfiguration of the Pentecostal field.

The Global South Working with the Polish Charismatic Imaginary In 2016 and 2017, two large Catholic Charismatic events took place in different locations in Poland. They were framed as a “Charismatic Retreat” and were preceded by three similar meetings in the previous years. In 2016, the meeting took place in Licheń in Central-West Poland and, in 2017, in the Polish capital, Warsaw. Earlier, in 2013, about 60,000 people participated in a retreat in Warsaw8 (Kęskrawiec 2021, 138). The principal guest at these retreats was Father John Bashobora, a Ugandan Charismatic priest who is active in social work in Uganda and was first invited to Poland in 2007 to lead a Charismatic Revival in Kraków.9 Around this time, Bashobora started visiting local parishes, organizing Charismatic meetings with his message focused on healing practices, deliverance, and a particular approach to demonology. It was in Poland where his presence resonated with a mass movement of followers (Kęskrawiec 2021, 141–46). Meetings in 2016 and 2017 were widely advertised by the New Evangelization Movement, established recently in the Catholic Church. In 2017, the retreat took place at the National Football Stadium in Warsaw. As with many of the participants, I set out the day before the event, from a distant city in Poland, acknowledging that participation in the retreat meant for the majority of gathered people a substantial financial and logistic investment. The National Football Stadium, the primary sporting facility in Poland, was full of people. On the pitch, where access was easy and closest to the altar, a whole section was taken by people with disabilities, often using walking supports, and multiple families with children of all ages. At the higher levels, the tribunes, were filled with diverse groups and individuals that, as I noticed, were often members of specific groups existing in Polish Catholicism. For example, some Charismatic communities wore t-shirts that identified them as a group from all across Poland. I also noticed different adherents of lay brotherhoods that exist in Polish Catholicism, representing its conservative, non-Charismatic wing like the Knights of John Paul II or The Knights of Malta. I also witnessed a woman wearing a long red coat, with a large image of Christ the King on the back, from the lay brotherhood of the Knights of Christ the King. This group, rooted in Polish folk Catholicism and led by the highly controversial, 393

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conservative priest Piotr Natanek, for years supported the idea of the enthronement of Christ the King as the King of Poland and the idea of the superiority of God’s law over the Polish civil law. In 2016, Christ the King, in the presence of Polish President Andrzej Duda and state authorities, was enthroned at the Catholic sanctuary in Ł agiewniki in Kraków (Southern Poland) as the King of Poland. The retreat followed a scheduled program and a clear pattern. As a researcher familiar with research on African Pentecostals, I was struck by the meeting’s frequent intervals every ninety minutes to allow breaks for relaxation. While several people used the stadium facilities for fast food and soft drinks, others picnicked outside on the grass. Some strolled nervously, smoking their cigarettes, and others browsed through multiple stalls that offered devotional gadgets, religious books, and CDs. It resembled one of many popular, playful summer festivals. The meeting proceeded with an artistic program with Polish Charismatic leaders, prayers, and praising God. The altar constructed on the pitch was large and in the shape of Poland, decorated, and painted in the white and red colors of the Polish flag. The main leader of the event finally appeared and his image was transmitted on the large screens fixed under the stadium’s ceiling. He was presented very carefully to show a large painting present in the background, a copy of the most important image for Polish Catholicism: Our Lady of Częstochowa. This image is linked to the Polish Marian devotion, Polish folk Catholicism, and the principal Polish Catholic sanctuary,10 and with national identity. Our Lady of Częstochowa was crowned “the Queen of Poland” in the seventeenth century, after she was believed to have protected the local monastery against Swedish attacks. This act was renewed in 1956 by the Polish episcopacy, invoked by Cardinal Stefan Wyszy ński, a communist political prisoner at that time. Since then, Our Lady of Częstochowa is considered a refuge and protection for believers, and for the Polish nation, it constitutes an important component of the Polish-Catholic11 nexus (Nied ź wied ź 2010). Our Lady of Częstochowa is important for linking a specific Polish Catholicism and Polish nationalism nexus with the crucial features in Bashobora’s context. The image is known as the “Black Madonna” as the color of Mary’s skin is framed by the Poles as “black.” The blackness of the image is recognized even outside Poland. For example, in Haiti it was adopted to represent Ezili Dantor, one of the principal loa.12 During my fieldwork in Angola, I was offered a book on the Tocoist church, an AIC church, where the image of Our Lady of Częstochowa, inscribed within Angola’s borders and the African continent, appears on the cover. Inside, the author develops on the uniqueness of Poles who recognize the blackness of Jesus (Nzeyitu Josias 2012, 76). Polish Catholic authorities chose to conflate Bashobora with a symbolic complex of Our Lady of Częstochowa, finding mutual relatedness through “blackness.” One year before, a similar retreat took place at Licheń, another Marian sanctuary, established around an image of Mary clutching a white eagle to her breast.13 The white eagle is the principal figure of the Polish national emblem. The apparitions of Mary near Licheń took place in the nineteenth century, when Poland was still under foreign rule. According to the oral tradition, Mary promised the Poles protection in the most difficult times, to heal sick souls and bodies, and protect the Polish nation, as she does the white eagle. Licheń since its foundation was framed as a sanctuary specifically linked with the Polish liberation struggle, Polishness, and nationhood. Moreover, it is considered one of the most prominent sanctuaries linked with Polish folk Catholicism ( Jessa 2008). Currently, the miraculous image is hosted in a newly built stylistically eclectic basilica, located in the middle of the forests of central-western Poland. On arrival, I recognized different groups of people were coming with rented buses arriving from all over Poland. We proceeded toward the basilica from the parking lot along the “Memory of Smoleńsk 394

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Catastrophe Victims Alley” that was planted with oaks commemorating the victims of the Smoleńsk plane crash that took place in 2010, when a significant number of the Polish political establishment with the president died. The catastrophe was politically instrumentalized and made emblematic to the Polish nationalist discourse, which has developed a xenophobic orientation about the idea of Polish uniqueness and the oppression of the Polish nation by multiple political powers, such as the European Union and Russia. The commemoration of this catastrophe took on a religious character, with monthly prayer meetings in several cities (2010–18), framed as “Smoleńsk religion” and the deceased president was turned into a messianic type figure for Polish right-wing nationalists (Golonka-Czajkowska 2017). Consequently, aside from being a reservoir of Polish martyrology and folk religiosity, by giving time to the catastrophe commemorations, Licheń is embedded in the nationalistic narrative. The sanctuary seems to work as a space that brings together old and new layers of popular Polish life and lived religiosity in a way that is emblematic for the Polish-Catholic nexus. In Licheń, Father Bashobora told a story that he had heard the day before the service started. He learned about the story from a Polish priest, the official spokesman of the sanctuary, who also happened to be the same person who invited Bashobora to lead the retreat. The story alluded to an event that had happened several years ago in Licheń, when the spokesman, at the time still a teenager, visited a sanctuary with an organized group of young pilgrims. The leader of the group stated during the preaching that day that in the future a man from Africa would be preaching in Licheń. Moreover, that an African man would come to this Catholic country to revitalize its faith, which had fallen into decline, and to help spread the Gospel. Repeating the story, Bashobora explained his presence in Poland, presenting his role as the fulfillment of the prophecy. Interestingly, a frequent narrative appearing in the Catholic and mediatic discourses portrays the current Charismatic movement in the Catholic Church in Poland as a technocratic attempt to counteract the decline of the faithful. Both retreats I participated in kept the form of huge religious events, gathering extremely diverse audiences, according to my observations and interviews. The gathered people represented a broad spectrum of Polish Catholics, multiple Charismatic communities, and individuals from Holy Spirit movements, whether in Pentecostal or Catholic shape. Some were attracted by the uncanniness of the events. Many of my interlocutors were impressed by Bashobora’s bodily and spiritual healing practices, which are at the core of his Charismatic meetings. Another element attracting them was the novelty of the Christian experience as it was offered by Bashobora. This was not only at the individual level of close, emotional, and intimate relationships with God, but also in the extroverted mode of praise in the form of the liturgy. The following story exemplifies several trajectories from interviews I conducted that individuals took to attend Bashobora’s retreats. The first contact with the Catholic Charismatic movement for two of my interviewees, a couple, occurred several years ago. The couple came to Licheń from a mid-sized city in southern Poland, assisted by two of their children. Their family was a religious one, involved in the activities of a Catholic parish led by the Pallottine order. They claimed to be very skeptical about any novelties appearing in the Catholic realm. However, some years ago, they were invited by one of the fathers they were friends with to a Charismatic meeting organized in their city. The leading figure of the worship was a Brazilian missionary. During worship, they saw people fainting (slain in the Spirit) and other practices that they found incompatible with their own religious experience. As they claimed, they had problems fitting what they had witnessed into their belief and practice system. Together they talked frequently about this Charismatic service and they also asked for explanations in their own parish. Several months later, it happened that Father Bashobora was invited for the first time to lead the service in 395

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their city. Still skeptical, they nevertheless decided to participate in the event, and again confronted their attitudes regarding this different kind of religiosity. This time they were also accompanied by their children and some friends, among them a man suffering from a severe genetic disease that had aggravated him to the point that he could not walk and could speak only with some difficulty. During the worship, Father Bashobora addressed the youth saying: “And you, young man, stop hanging around, and concentrate on Jesus.” Suddenly, the woman felt that these words were directed to her older son. As he was present at the worship service but was seated in a different row, he could not communicate with his mother. However, after the worship he approached her and said that Bashobora’s message touched him very personally and that he knew it was directed to him. Furthermore, the condition of their friend at the service improved significantly so that he could even drive a car on his own and speak fluently, were decisive in them accepting this new form of religious practice and spirituality.

The Modes of Presence: Global South and Ukrainian Nexus in Pentecostal Communities The Charismatic movement in Poland proved to be highly receptive to missionaries coming from the South, such as John Bashobora, and several others like James Manjackal, Jose Maniparambil, Antonello Cadeddu, and Jude Antoine, who used to circulate through many cities and parishes in Poland. Various examples of Pentecostal churches led by “Southern missionaries”14 can be found in Poland. By “Southern missionaries” I mean evangelists and pastors coming from the Global South, and operating in Poland. In Pentecostal communities, they rarely manage to establish ethnically separate communities characteristic of Western Europe (Ter Haar 1998; Adogame 2013). More commonly, they fit into Polish Pentecostal networks or they build up groups based on a broader language community. For example, the Nigerian Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) present in several cities in Poland including Warsaw, Kraków/Katowice, Łód ź , Lublin, and Gda ń sk, focuses on a few African migrants of diverse origins, who came to Poland to study or as professionals, who could not find an appropriate worship style and approach to their faith in the existing Polish communities. More frequent examples include those that are linked to single missionaries who received a call to come to Poland to evangelize. One such example is Christian, with whom I crossed paths accidentally at the busy underpass near the main train station in Kraków. He was handing out leaflets about the Gospel. As I approached him, he showed me an old Bible he was keeping in his bag where a handwritten inscription on the front page stated that, in May 2013, he heard the voice of God telling him to go to Poland and evangelize. Christian arrived in Poland from Cameroon several years later. He managed to join one of the faculties at the University in Łódź. At the same time, he started his evangelizing mission, linked to a Cameroon-based church, the Christian Missionary Fellowship International (CMFI) that organized a prayer group. He established contacts with some Pentecostal groups and he continued to visit Polish cities on weekends, preaching and spreading the Gospel on the streets. However, most city dwellers react to these practices with indifference or confusion. He is also active on social media, publishing short evangelizing messages in Polish, English, and French. When I met him, his goal was to establish a parish in Kraków, a large university city and one of the centers of Polish Catholicism in southern Poland. According to the information I received from one of my students active in Spanish speaking Pentecostal circles in Poland, several churches from the Global South support missions in Poland, seeing the country as the “prestigious” battlefield in respect of dominant Catholicism. Although for many missionaries like Christian, the “fruit” of their mission is in 396

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their understanding of what is still yet to come – their presence in urban public, counter public, and hybrid on/offline space in Poland that reverberates in the Pentecostal complex, requiring shifts into new homeostasis. A different pattern of presence represents Kośció ł Ewangeliczny Zgromadzenia Bożego, KEZB [Evangelical Church Assembly of God] operating in Warsaw and the east of Poland, in the cities of Lublin and Zamość. It is the outcome of almost two decades of missionary work on the part of a Brazilian pastor, Antero, who found his vocation to evangelize in Poland. His parents were of Polish origin but he recognized his vocation as “going to Poland” sometime after his conversion in Brazil. When he arrived, he struggled with language difficulties, yet he engaged in missionary work in several small locations in southern and eastern Poland, planting churches or participating in several Pentecostal communities. When he feels his mission is complete, he moves on to a new place. This is how churches in Zamość and Lublin were established. These two churches were entrusted to Ukrainian pastors, who migrated to Poland. Antero frequently visits these churches, often accompanied by Portuguese-speaking migrants who are integrated into his church in Warsaw with a Portuguese-speaking community of people from Brazil, Angola, and Portugal. Evangelization and worship are frequently conducted in two languages, with simultaneous translation. The churches in Zamość and Lublin are mostly made up of Poles, and well-connected with different Pentecostal communities in Poland. In 2017, I participated in the church anniversary in Zamość, where guests from partnering churches in eastern and northern Poland came to visit and worship. A special guest, apart from pastor Antero, was supposed to come from Brazil to preach at these festive days. However, due to changes in international flights, this did not happen. Nevertheless, during the restrictions of the Covid-19 pandemic, when different churches had to switch to an online mode, several pastors from Brazil were invited by pastor Antero to preach in his church in Poland. Both churches in Lublin and in Zamość are rooted in their localities and depend on the work of their leaders. These leaders, however, are not Polish, and acquired Pentecostal experience and teaching outside Poland. This offers insight not only into the transnational links and connections that these leaders introduce into their communities and the changing of locally established Pentecostal patterns at the level of engagement with the public sphere, political ideology, demonology, and religious aesthetic style, but also on the way it resonates with local Polish religiosity. The most relevant ethnically separate Pentecostal communities are those set up by Ukrainian migrants. Ukrainian Pentecostal churches such as Славянская миссия в Европе [Slavic Mission in Europe] in Cracow, Церковь Город Cвятых [The City of Saints Church], Церковь Слово Віри [Word of Faith Church] in Warsaw or Новая Надежда [New Hope] in Katowice, are still diverse in their uses of language (Ukrainian or Russian), and place of origin (East or West Ukraine or other countries of the former USSR). As Pędziwiatr, Trzeszczy ńska, and Wiktor-Mach (2020) show, participation in these churches is frequently linked with social status and plans to integrate with Polish society. For those who struggle to stay in Poland and assimilate, a Polish church with Ukrainian prayer groups is usually the main choice. The Ukrainian Pentecostal communities are diversified with Ukrainian missionaries, pastors, and evangelists circulating through various Pentecostal communities in Poland. Equally, there are cases where Polish churches have sent missionaries to Ukraine to evangelize or establish new communities. These links were used during the Russian invasion of Ukraine, as various Polish churches organized support for Ukrainian communities. It is worth noting that, in larger cities, Global South and Ukrainian migrants became part of Polish led Pentecostal communities as well. 397

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Nation, Religiosity, and the Occult: Othering in the Pentecostal Complex in Poland Considering the migration component as one of the elements of a larger Pentecostal complex in Poland requires a broad approach, capturing migrants as embedded in the local social imagination (Taylor 2002; Gilleard 2018; James 2019). I suggest looking at the Pentecostalism–­ migration nexus in the social imaginaries of Polishness, religiosity, and the occult. They are at the roots of Polish Catholicism, which is a principal reference for contemporary Pentecostalism and the Charismatic movement in Poland. Furthermore, reflecting on these three imaginaries through the notion of othering is crucial for understanding current engagement in new modes of Pentecostalism in Poland. Many commentators (Ząbek 2009; Gufra ński 2019) see othering processes in Polish society as directed mostly toward class division, but it cannot be denied that migrants are equally subjects of othering. Moreover, it seems that othering and dis-othering processes are not only mutually constitutive (Gufra ński 2019, Balogun 2020) but of equal importance when played out in the Polish religious sphere. Race might be indicated as one of the principal factors of othering in the case of migration in Poland. For example, while Ukrainians are still considered as “intimate strangers” and “neighboring strangers” (Ząbek 2009, 75), Middle Eastern migrants and black Africans are frequently approached as different and incompatible, based primarily on skin tone. As several authors show, in Poland, biological racism is followed by lived and structured racism (Afryka Inaczej 2015; Omolo 2017; Mecking and Terry 2020), which does not diverge much from the experiences of Western societies. However, the historical context of race relations is different, as Poland lacks a colonial experience similar to Western European societies with the African presence in Poland until now being limited.15 During the Communist era in Poland, the government was involved in cooperating with African countries from the socialist block, engaging in warfare logistics, and funding scholarships for African students to proceed in their studies in Poland. Nevertheless, until recently, it has been rare to meet people of African origin in the public sphere, and they are still considered a novelty for many. Balogun (2020, 7) analyzes race-linked othering in terms of “Polish-centrism” – a racial logic that is factored through Whiteness. “Polish-centrism” focuses strictly on the Polish worldview, civilization, and specifically identity. Whiteness and Europeanness provide the mechanism that sustains “Polish-centrism,” Europeanness, and Polishness. “Polish-centrism” locates migrants outside of the imagined space of Polishness, framing them as not relevant, poorly civilized or even barbaric. This is the experience of the Africans, and to some extent Ukrainians. For example, articles in popular weekly newspapers, such as Wprost ( July 2017), Newsweek ( July 2015), and Polityka ( July 2013) commented on John Bashobora’s presence, asking whether Poles needed an African witch, framing him negatively as a “shaman” and warning people against “Charismatic Catholic shamanism.” A report on John Bashobora, written by journalist and academic Marek Kęskrawiec (2021), focused on Bashobora’s healing ministry and claims of raising the dead. However, the narrative of the author tried to explain and rationalize these practices, explaining them in medical terms, and legitimizing or disavowing them by interviewing renowned Polish medics and psychiatrists. This positioned Bahobora in an illogical and irrational space, opposed to the idea of Poland as a modern and European country. Dis-othering (Gufrański 2019) is the reverse, exploring how others might be included, although not entirely, when they fulfill several conditions, such as accepting a Polish way of life, corroborating “national spirit” and culture rules, and mastering the language. Institutionalized and/or forced dis-othering might be observed in the domain of “Polish-centrism” especially with culture and national history, which link with national messianism – the conviction of being 398

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chosen by God – is traceable from the Romantic era (Leszczyńska 2017, 74–75). As a result, a Polish-Catholic imaginary saturates the “Polish-centrism” model. Such dis-othering models are visibly present in Bashobora’s performances, aiming to conflate his figure with Polish national symbols, trauma, and history, as depicted within Polish-Catholic narratives. Similarities occur in Pentecostal circuits, for example with Pastor James Ezeh, who is of Nigerian origin, and the leader of Społeczność Chrześcijańska Boże Oblicze [Imago Dei Ministries], based in Warsaw. During online meetings, he presents himself with a large Polish emblem and flag in the background. The pastor’s wife translates the meetings into Polish. Further reflection notes how othering and dis-othering processes are equally fueled by racialized curiosity and exoticization (Ząbek 2009), capable of elevating several Africans and migrants in general to significant figures in Polish society. Translating this into the religious realm both, “missionaries of the South” and Ukrainian missionaries have managed to acquire significant attention and esteem in and beyond their religious communities. As bearers of “other” forms of religiosity, and particular approaches to spirituality, these missionaries and newcomers deploy otherness in the Polish religious realm. This otherness is, however, welcomed and desired by many, who search for an alternative to reified modes of religious and spiritual expression, shaped by the hegemony of the Catholic Church’s presence in the local religious culture. The individual, contemplative, and introverted style of Polish religiosity is often challenged by missionaries and newcomers who favor an emotive, extroverted, “deeply spiritual,” and communal mode. As witnessed during several Charismatic and Pentecostal events led by migrants, Polish people try, even though awkwardly, to follow innovations and novelties such as active and engaged forms of worship, dancing, raising hands, speaking in tongues, fainting in the Spirit, being drunk in the Spirit, and more. While Ukrainians in Poland frequently suffer negative stereotypes as “Eastern” and less-developed, or even savage outsiders (Lubicz-Miszewski 2018), having little to offer in respect to the cultural and religious dimensions in Poland, Pentecostal Ukrainians and religious leaders are characterized by their community fellows as possessing “specific religiosity” and “deep spirituality” (comments obtained during fieldwork in 2017). These features are, in turn, claimed to be rooted in Ukrainian “historical experience” and “Eastern type” spirituality, which is either believed to be of Orthodox origin or coming from traditional culture and linked to something “mystic” (see De Boeck 2013). A question posed by one Ukrainian evangelist when he was invited to preach in a Polish congregation, as cited on a social media page: “What are these people able to accept? Must I speak of ordinary miracles or can I talk about the savage ones?” suggests similar auto-identification by several Ukrainians as well. As a counterpoint, it is important to note that many religious communities both in the Catholic Church and from Protestant backgrounds become primary “contact zones” that contradict racist and populist discourses and performances in relation to “others.” It is where the first mutual learning process and socio-religious negotiations often take place.16 Moving forward through examined imaginaries, it seems that many commentators and critics who point to the new dynamics of Pentecostalism and the Charismatic movement in Poland as an entirely new, migrant-driven phenomena miss the point by neglecting pre-existing imaginaries and practices. I suggest that in several cases what the missionaries and newcomers introduce is not entirely new but resonates with existing local imagination of the “other”: inexplicable, and unknown. When translated into a religious dimension, these are channeled in imagining the occult. In this framework, “migrants” offer a new template for older patterns of imagining and practicing that vigorously resonate with the local religious landscape.

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I suggest that the corpus of Christian beliefs and practices brought recently to the fore, such as upheaving Satan, demonic possession, spiritual warfare, healing, miracles, or modes of veneration, resonates with earlier Polish Christianity, and with Polish folk Catholicism, which still continues to be an important part of local religiosity and for the Polish-Catholic nexus (Królikowska 2014; Sad łoń 2021). Equally, I see multiple phenomena, described below, that have dominated the Polish public attention since the 1970s onward as channeling the same local imaginary of occult, spirituality, and mysteriousness, expressed by new dimensions of the Pentecostal and Charismatic movements in Poland. Both the contemporary phenomena of Pentecostal expression and earlier modes of approaching the religious presented in this section, inscribe in the Polish cultural history that is composed of multiple local connections, experiences, and outsider influence. Thus, the uncanny I refer to is not an indigenous phenomenon but a construct whose provenance and whose expressions oscillate through time and space. For instance, in the 1970s, the healer Clive Harris was gathering crowds during healing sessions based on touching the client and, as believed, transmitting energy from the spiritual world. These were frequently organized in Catholic Church facilities. Only more recently have these practices been interpreted by Catholic authorities and Catholic commentators as “introducing the demons” into the church (see Tekieli 2009). Another healer popular in the 1990s was Anatoly Kashpirovsky, a Russian psychiatrist and psychotherapist who healed during organized meetings but most of all through television shows (Glatzer Rosethal 1997; Bennetts 2010). At the time of transmission, many of TV sets in Poland were tuned in to his programs. Several other examples are Filipino healers, believed to conduct medical operations with their bare hands, and a range of lesser-known mystics and healers, who attracted the attention of the crowds and engaged people to gather around them. Importantly, they were not officially condemned by the Church and many of them used church facilities for their practices, coexisting with Catholic practices. This allowed certain practices from the Polish Catholic imaginary an ability to be revitalized by contemporary Pentecostalism. The case of exorcism is a good example. If exorcism has long been practiced in the Catholic Church in Poland, the public interest has only recently focused on its practices and theology. The number of exorcists in the Catholic Church has grown recently, coinciding with the appearance of foreign missionaries in the Charismatic movement and in Polish Pentecostalism. In 2012, a new journal Egzorcysta [Exorcist]17 appeared, with an editorial board consisting of Catholic exorcists. The journal soon received Nihil Obstat from the Polish Catholic Church authorities. It deals with spiritual threats of everyday life, such as coaching, smartphones, depression, “dangerous” toys, films, LGBTQ+, and ecology, by approaching Satan and demons as one of the main issues of modern times. It promotes exorcism, purifying, spiritual and corporeal healing, and deliverance from evil forces. The focus of Exorcysta is compatible with the message promoted by many Southern missionaries, both Charismatics and Pentecostals. While Jose Maniparambil, a missionary from India, who leads Charismatic retreats in Poland, edits books focusing on the Holy Spirit as opposed to Satan usurping domination over the world (2018, 2020), a range of Southern pastors promote the same about spiritual warfare, and cleansing and healing. Participating in Bashobora’s retreats, I witnessed several people holding their copies of the journal.

Conclusion The aim of this chapter was to reflect on Pentecostalism and Charismatic Christianity in Poland, located at the margins of Pentecostal epicenters worldwide. Even though both Pentecostalism and the Charismatic movements are historically well-established in Poland, 400

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they are still marginal in relation to Catholicism, peripheral and idiosyncratic. However, the periphery might be a legitimate starting point for testing and reworking several wellestablished categories, processes, and notions applied as axioms in the study of world Pentecostalism. As discussed in this chapter, looking at the Polish case thorough the “migration lens” in the Polish context, reveals how common descriptive categories such as “locality,” “foreign,” and “new” lose their explanatory capacity unless they are deconstructed and recontextualized. Additionally, the Polish case requires attention to be given to the relationship between the Charismatic movement and Pentecostalism, frequently studied elsewhere as separate and divergent phenomena. According to ethnographic data, they might be seen as two currents of the same river, answering and resonating with the same social processes and established social imaginary. This perspective opens up the study of Pentecostalism as a powerful social imaginary that challenges the dichotomies such as global versus national, new versus traditional, or foreign versus local. Furthermore, it allows for insight into how global Pentecostalism becomes defined through particular historical and cultural processes. Most of all, the Polish case raises broader questions about the epistemology of global Pentecostalism. Migration in Polish Pentecostalism reveals a movement and flow that plays decisively different parts in relation to other global spaces. It also justifies a range of questions about a divergence of different epistemologies about Pentecostalism, including the possibility of a lack of an epistemological and explanatory paradigm for Central East Europe. Southern and Western epistemologies dominate the understanding of Pentecostalism, but also reveal the need for different epistemic models to help narrate the Pentecostal world.

Notes 1 Based on the census conducted in 2011 (Bień ku ń ska et al. 2019). A new census took place in 2021 and the results will be known by 2023. 2 Poland adherence to UE (2004), Maidan protest movement in Ukraine (2014), refugee crisis at Polish-Belarussian border (2021), and the Russian invasion of Ukraine (2022) are the factual contexts to the enhanced in/out mobility. 3 Such nexus proved reliable during the last months of 2021 and after the Russian invasion of Ukraine (2022). The migratory crises at the Belarusian border and ambiguities in dealing with Ukrainian and Global South refugees polarized the debates on racism and discrimination throughout the global mediascapes (see Grupa Granica 2021; Brown 2022). 4 Before the Russian invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022, Poland had become a host country for many Ukrainian migrants, students, and professionals of different levels; both those with great expertise, and basic service employees. Depending on estimate, the number of Ukrainian migrants varied from over 230,000 to about 1.2 million. According to Selectivv’s (Selectivv 2019) estimate of mobile phone data usage in 2019, over 1.2 million Ukrainian migrants chose Poland as their host or temporary stay country. Other estimates from work permits, transborder mobility, or valid stay permits, such as the government migration statistics portal and migracje.gov.pl, provide data for over 230,000 Ukrainian residents in Poland in 2020. This chapter was written before the Russian invasion of aggression on Ukraine and before the appearance of the wave of war refugees that entered Poland short afterward (over 2 million people). At present, it is hard to foresee the changes that the wave of Ukrainian migrants will introduce into the Polish religious landscape; however, Orthodox Christian and Greek Catholic churches have experienced dramatic growth in service adherence. Multiple evangelical and Pentecostal churches engaged in various types of humanitarian aid. Jehovah’s Witnesses used the opportunity to evangelize war migrants right on their arrival at the railway stations. 5 According to the migration statistics portal, migracje.gov.pl portal, in 2021 there were about 10,000 migrants from India, equal numbers from Vietnam, and fewer than 5,000 in total from Sub-Saharan Africa. The Polish population at that time was about 38 million people.

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Natalia Zawiejska 6 According to several sources, most of the Ukrainian refugees wish to return home as soon as possible. Some see their stay in Poland as temporary, awaiting further transfers to join their families in various Western countries. 7 It is still too early to reflect on the changes of attitudes toward Ukrainians in Poland. Poles engaged massively in organizing humanitarian relief during the Russian invasion, yet racism and contestations of the support for Ukraine have been equally present. 8 JezusNaStadionie.pl. https://jezusnastadionie.pl. 9 He was a good friend of former archbishop of Warsaw Henryk Hoser, who spent over twenty years in Rwanda. When Hoser arrived in Poland and became a bishop in Warsaw in 2008, the career of Bashobora in Poland accelerated. 10 Sanktuarium Matki Bożej Cz ę stochowskiej na Jasnej Górze. https://jasnagora.pl/en/. 11 The position that this image occupies in the Polish Catholic identity might be proven by recent events that took place on the wave of the Women’s Strike in 2020, against restrictions of abortion law, anti-LGBTQ+ discourses and the coalition over these issues concluded between Polish state, and the Catholic Church in Poland. In an act of protest the activists reworked the image of Our Lady of Czestochowa, adding a rainbow nimbus over Mary and small Jesus’ heads. These activists were prosecuted, in a judicial process based on the 196th paragraph of the Polish Penal Code, referring to an “offence against religious sentiments.” 12 Traces back to the history of Polish legionnaires sent to Haiti by Bonaparte, to quell the rebellion there. Instead, they supported the local pro-liberation uprising and assimilated (Kingsbury and Chesnut 2019). 13 Sanktuarium Maryjne w Licheniu. http://www.lichen.pl. 14 The notion of “Southern missionaries” I use after Max Ruben Ramos’ doctoral thesis, dwelling on Cape Verdean Nazarene missionaries coming to Portugal (Ramos 2015). 15 It is important to state that Poland was never a blind spot, neutral in relation to European colonialism. After World War I, several factions advocated for guaranteeing colonial space for Poland (see Balogun 2018). 16 My communication: Religious Spaces as the Contact Zone – Introducing Social and Religious Pluralism in the East European City, at the Workshop: Conviviality and its Discontents: Religious Pluralism and Encounters in the Contemporary World, EASA Network of Anthropology of Religion, Lisbon 2017. 17 Egzorcysta, https://www.miesiecznikegzorcysta.pl/.

References Adogame, Afe. 2013. The African Diaspora. New Currents and Emerging Trends in World Christianity. London: Bloomsbury. Adogame, Afe, and James Spickard, eds. 2010. Religion Crossing Boundaries. Transnational Religious and Social Dynamics in Africa and the New African Diaspora. Leiden: Brill. Afryka Inaczej. 2015. “Africans in Poland, Research Into Combating Discrimination. Report on, and Analysis of, the Statistical Data for the “Afryka Inaczej” Foundation.” http://afryka.org/download/ raport2015/prezentacja.pdf Balogun, Bolaji. 2018. “Polish Lebensraum: The Colonial Ambition to Expand on Racial Terms.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 41 (14): 2561–79. Balogun, Bolaji. 2020. “Race and Racism in Poland: Theorising and Contextualising ‘Polish-centrism’.” The Sociological Review 68 (6): 2–16. Bennetts, Mark. 2010. “Faith Healer Anatoly Kashpirovsky: Russia’s New Rasputin.” The Guardian 6 June 2010. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2010/jun/06/marc-bennetts-anatoly-kashpirovskyrussia-rasputin Bień ku ń ska, Anna, Pawe ł Cieciel ą g, Arkadiusz Góralczyk, Grzegorz Gudaszewski, Piasecki Tomasz, and Wojciech Sad łoń. 2019. Wyznania Religijne w Polsce w latach 2015–2018; Religious Denominations in Poland 2015–2018. Warszawa: GUS. Borowik, Irena, and Tadeusz Doktór. 2001. Pluralizm Religijny i Moralny w Polsce: Raport z Bada ń. Kraków: Nomos. Brown, Maya. 2022. “International coalition files United Nations appeal over reports of racism at border of Ukraine”, CNN, 3.03.2022. https://edition.cnn.com/2022/03/03/europe/racism-borderukraine-un/index.html

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The Pentecostal Complex in Poland Butticci, Annalisa. 2016. African Pentecostals in Catholic Europe. The Politics of Presence in the Twenty-First Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Coleman, Simon. 2000. The Globalisation of Charismatic Christianity. Spreading the Gospel of Prosperity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Csordas, Thomas. 2007. “Global Religion and the Re-enchantment of the World: The Case of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal.” Anthropological Theory 7 (3): 295–314. De Boeck, Filip. 2013. “The Sacred and the City: Modernity, Religion, and the Urban Form in Central Africa.” In A Companion to Anthropology of Religion, edited by Janice Boddy, and Michael Lambek, 528–48. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Gilleard, Chris. 2018. “From Collective Representations to Social Imaginaries: How Society Represents Itself to Itself.” European Journal of Cultural and Political Sociology 5 (3): 320–40. Glatzer Rosethal, Bernice. 1997. The Occult in Russian and Soviet Culture. New York, NY: Cornell University Press. Golonka-Czajkowska, Monika. 2017. “In the Shadow of Sacred Bodies. The Monthly Smoleńsk Commemorations in Krakow.” Ethnologia Polona 38: 107–23. Grupa Granica. 2021. Humanitarian-crisis-at-the-Polish-Belarusian-border Report. https://www. grupagranica.pl/f iles/Grupa-Granica-Report-Humanitarian-crisis-at-the-Polish-Belarusianborder.pdf. Accessed October 30, 2021. Gufra ń ski, Krzysztof. 2019. “Introduction | Dis-Othering: In Search of an African Diaspora in Warsaw.” Obieg no. 13. https://obieg.pl/en/181-introduction-dis-othering-in-search-of-an-african-diasporain-warsaw. Accessed September 26, 2022. James, Paul. 2019. “The Social Imaginary in Theory and Practice.” In Revisiting the Global Imaginary, edited by Chris Hudson, and Erin K. Wilson, 33–47. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Ja ńczuk, Leszek. 2016. “Wspólnoty pentekostalne w Polsce i ich klasyfikacja.” Łódzkie Studia Teologiczne 25 (4): 29–42. Jessa, Joanna. 2008. “Zbawienny wpł yw kiczu, czyli jeszcze raz o zwią zkach kiczu i religijności ludowej na przyk ładzie Sanktuarium Licheń skiego.” In Kiczosfery wspó łczesno ści, edited by Wojciech Burszta, and Ewa Seku ła, 129–47. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Szkoł y Wy ż szej Psychologii Społecznej Academica. Kę skrawiec, Marek. 2021. Bashobora. Człowiek, który wskrzesza zamar łych. Kraków: Znak. Kingsbury, Kate, and Andrew Chesnut. 2019. “In Her Own Image: Slave Women and the Re-imagining of the Polish Black Madonna as Ezili Danto, the Fierce Female Lwa of Haitian Vodou.” International Journal of Latin American Religions 2: 1–21. Knibbe, Kim. 2009. “‘We Did Not Come Here as Tenants, But as Landlords’: Nigerian Pentecostals and the Power of Maps.” African Diaspora 2 (2): 133–58. Knibbe, Kim. 2019. “Conflicting Futures, Entangled Pasts: Nigerian Missionaries in a Post-secular Europe?” PentecoStudies 18 (2): 133–54. Kobyli ń ski, Andrzej. 2014. “Etyczne aspekty współczesnej pentekostalizacji chrześcija ń stwa.” Studia Philosophiae Cristianae 50 (3): 93–130. Królikowska, Anna. 2014. “Elementy ‘ludowe’ w religijności współczesnej?” Opuscula Sociologica 4: 5–16. Legut, Agnieszka, and Konrad Pędziwiatr. 2018. “Sekurytyzacja migracji w polityce polskiej a zmiana postaw Polaków wobec uchod źców.” In Sami swoi? Wielokulturowo ść we wspó łczesnej Europie, edited by Romuald Jończy, 41–51. Gliwice, Opole: Dom Współ pracy Polsko-Niemieckiej. Leszczy ń ska, Katarzyna. 2017. “The Roman Catholic Church in Poland vis-à- vis Europe and the Processes of European Integration: Three Pictures of Europe.” In Religion, Politics, and Values in Poland: Continuity and Change Since 1989, edited by Sabina Ramet, and Irena Borowik, 61–84. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Lubicz Miszewski, Micha ł, ed. 2018. Imigranci z Ukrainy w Polsce. Potrzeby i oczekiwania, reakcje spo łeczne, wzywania dla bezpiecze ń stwa. Wrocław: Wydawnictwo AWL. Maskens, Maïté. 2012. “Spiritual Geographies: Mobility of Pentecostal Ministers and Migratory ‘Miracles’ Between Africa or Latin America and Europe.” Brussels Studies 58: 1–11. Mecking, Olga, and Ruth Terry. 2020. “#DontCallMeMurzyn: Black Women in Poland are Powering the Campaign Against a Racial Slur.” Time, August 7, 2020. Modrzejewski, Arkadiusz. 2017. “Catholic and Nationalist Populism in the Current Poland.” Perspective Politics 10: 21–31. Narkowicz, Kasia. 2018. “Refugees Not Welcome Here: State, Church and Civil Society Responses to the Refugee Crisis in Poland.” The International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 31: 357–73.

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Natalia Zawiejska Nied ź wied ź, Anna. 2010. The Image and the Figure: Our Lady of Częstochowa in Polish Culture and Popular Religion. Kraków: Jagiellonian University Press. Nzeyitu Josias, Melo. 2012. O Segredo de Deus: Jezus Africano. Luanda: BiToPo. Omolo, James. 2017. Strangers at the Gate. Black Poland. Warsaw: Author Edition. Pace, Enzo. 2020. “The Catholic Charismatic Movement in Global Pentecostalism.” Religions 11 (7): 351–70. Pasek, Zbigniew. 2004. “Wspólnoty ewangelikalne we współczesnej Polsce.” In Ewangelikalny protestantyzm w Polsce u progu XXI stulecia. Rozprawy i materia ły Wyż szego Baptystycznego Seminarium Teologicznego w Warszawie, edited by Tadeusz Zieli ń ski, 13–49. Warszawa, Katowice: Wydawnictwo Credo. Pasieka, Agnieszka. 2015. Hierarchy and Pluralism: Living Religious Difference in Catholic Poland. New York, NY: Palgrave MacMillan. Pasieka, Agnieszka, and Kinga Sekerdej. 2013. “Researching the Dominant Religion: Anthropology at Home and Methodological Catholicism.” Methods and Theory in the Study of Religion 25 (1): 53–77. Pędziwiatr, Konrad, Patrycja Trzeszczy ń ska, and Dobrosława Wiktor-Mach. 2020. Wieloreligijny Kraków a procesy migracyjne. Raport OWIM. Kraków: Uniwersytet Ekonomiczny w Krakowie. Ramet, Sabina, and Irena Borowik, eds. 2017. Religion, Politics, and Values in Poland, Continuity and Change Since 1989. New York, NY: Palgrave MacMillan. Ramos, Max Ruben. 2015. Missionários do Sul: evangelização, globalização e mobilidades dos pastores caboverdianos da Igreja do Nazareno. Phd Thesis. Lisbon: ICS UL. Sad łoń, Wojciech. 2021. Polish Catholicism Between Tradition and Migration Agency, Reflexivity and Transcendence. London: Routledge. Sekerdej, Kinga. 2010. “Religious Pluralism in Poland: Contradictio in Adiecto? Internal Diversity in the Roman Catholic Church.” In Religion, Identity, Postsocialism, edited by Chris Hann, 146–48. Halle: Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology. Selectivv Team. 2019. “Czy Ukrai ńcy wiążą swoją przyszłość z naszym krajem?” https://selectivv.com/ czy-ukraincy-wiaza-swoja-przyszlosc-z-naszym-krajem-najnowsze-badanie-selectivv/. Accessed July 29, 2021. Siekierski, Konrad. 2012. “Catholics in the Holy Spirit: The Charismatic Renewal in Poland.” Religion, State and Society 1 (40): 145–61. Stala, Krzysztof. 2012. “Open Catholicism vs Theocratic Impulses: The Catholic Church as a Source of Liberal Democratic Values or a Hegemonic Structure?” In Rethinking the Space of Religion, Authenticity and Belonging, edited by Catharina Raudvere, Krzysztof Stala, and Trine Stauning Willert, 163–89. Lund: Nordic Academic Press. Szulecka, Monika, Marta Pachocka, and Karolina Sobczak-Szelc. 2018. “Poland – Country Report. Legal and Policy Framework of Migration Governance.” https://www.respondmigration.com/ wp-blog/2018/8/1/comparative-report-legal-and-policy-framework-of-migration-governancepclyw-ydmzj-bzdbn-sc548. Accessed July 19, 2021. Taylor, Charles. 2002. “Modern Social Imaginaries.” Public Culture 14 (1): 91–124. Tekieli, Robert. 2009. “Bioenergoterapia.” Opoka.org. Opoka.org. https://opoka.org.pl/biblioteka/T/ TS/donbosco200901-uzdrowiciele.html. Accessed July 19, 2021. Ter Haar, Gerrie, ed. 1998. Strangers and Sojourners: Religious Communities in Diaspora. Leuven: Peeters. Topidi, Kyriaki. 2019. “Religious Freedom, National Identity, and the Polish Catholic Church: Converging Visions of Nation and God.” Religions 10 (293): 1–19. Ząbek, Maciej. 2009. “Africans in Poland.” International Journal of Sociology 39 (3): 68–78. Zieli ń ski, Ariel. 2009. W okolice schizmy. Spo łeczno ści ewangelikalne wywodzące się z katolickiego ruchu charyzmatycznego. Kraków: Nomos. Zieli ń ski, Tadeusz. 2014. Protestantyzm ewangelikalny. Wydawnictwo Credo, Wydawnictwo Katowice: CLC.

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PART VI

Tracing Homogeneities – Media, Knowledge, and Institutions in the Making of Pentecostal Identity

31 THE CATHOLIC CHARISMATIC RENEWAL AND POPE FRANCIS BETWEEN PASTORAL OPENNESS AND ECCLESIASTICAL CENTRALIZATION Valentina Ciciliot Introduction Between May 31 and June 4, 2017, the Catholic Charismatic Renewal (CCR) celebrated its fiftieth anniversary in Rome – its Golden Jubilee – with the participation of Charismatics from all over the world. It was designed, on the explicit desire of Pope Francis, as an ecumenical event with members of various Catholic Charismatic expressions and representatives from the evangelical and Pentecostal world attending and speaking. An articulate televised program was offered to participants with meetings, symposiums, workshops, and celebrations that took place in various basilicas, churches, and locations in Rome. Witnesses of the first years of the CCR, such as Patty Mansfield Gallagher, and important world leaders, such as Michelle Moran, president of the International Catholic Charismatic Renewal Services (ICCRS), and Gilberto Gomes Barbosa, president of the Catholic Fraternity (CFCCCF), intervened. The events that concluded the jubilee, the vigil with the pope at the Circo Massimo and the celebration of the Pentecost in St. Peter’s Square, reached 50,000 people, showing the massive presence of Catholic Charismatics to the whole church.1 In the same year, Francis also announced the establishment of a single organization, the Catholic Charismatic Renewal International Service (CHARIS), that would replace ICCRS and CFCCCF as the official organizational structure for the entire CCR (then concretely realized in 2019) and would represent a turning point in the history of the Catholic Charismatic movement. In fact, CHARIS embodies the papal attitude toward the whole movement: remodeling the CCR according to his ecclesiological vision, thus reinventing its new globality; in other words, reimagining the CCR, thus normalizing what global is within. Underlying this is the rediscovery of the foundations of the Charismatic renewal, particularly its original ecumenical character. The ongoing revitalization of bottom-up ecumenical activities with Protestant Charismatics, Pentecostals, and Evangelicals during the late 1990s and the beginning of the 2000s by many Catholic Charismatic leaders, such as former CFCCCF president Matteo Calisi,2 offers the opportunity to diversify the movement, so expanding the vision of the Catholic Church in a globalized and less Western-centered world (Calisi 2018). DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-38

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The Catholic Charismatic Renewal and Pope Francis Before ascending to the papacy, Francis José Maria Bergoglio was already very familiar with the Charismatic spirituality that had been widespread throughout Latin America since the 1970s. In Argentina, he supported Charismatic groups and communities as archbishop of Buenos Aires. In particular, since 2004, he was involved in the activities of CRECES (Comunión renovada de evangélicos y católicos en el Espíritu santo), an ecumenical community of Charismatic and Evangelical/Pentecostal Christians supported by Matteo Calisi, Giovanni Traettino,3 and Jorge Himitian,4 presiding at its meetings and praying with its leaders. During the 2006 CRECES consultation, he was even prayed over by Catholic and Pentecostal pastors gathered at Luna Park in Buenos Aires (Himitian 2013, 211–15; Calisi 2014, n51; Figueroa 2017). Answering the question of whether the Catholic Charismatic movement is “one possible way of ensuring that the faithful do not go to the Pentecostal church or other Pentecostal churches,” as put to him during the press conference on the return flight from his apostolic trip to Rio de Janeiro on July 28, 2013, Bergoglio, now Pope Francis, spontaneously replied: I’ll tell you one thing. Back at the end of the 1970s and the beginning of the 1980s, I had no time for them [Charismatics, a.n.]. Once, speaking about them, I said: “These people confuse a liturgical celebration with samba lessons!” I actually said that. Now I regret it. I learned. It is also true that the movement, with good leaders, has made great progress. Now I think that this movement does much good for the Church, overall. In Buenos Aires, I met frequently with them and once a year I celebrated a Mass with all of them in the Cathedral. I have always supported them, after I was converted, after I saw the good they were doing. […] Consequently I don’t think that the Charismatic Renewal movement merely prevents some people from passing over to Pentecostal denominations. No! It is also a service to the Church herself! It renews us. Everyone seeks his own movement, according to his own charism, where the Holy Spirit draws him or her. Francis (2013) Francis, who recanted the “samba lessons” line at several other public meetings after his election as pontiff (Francis 2014), has not only expressed a positive attitude toward Catholic Charismatics, but he has also changed the church’s approach to them, working no longer to perceive the Catholic Charismatic movement as a phenomenon to be integrated more for its strategic value than for its spiritual richness – as a way to contrast with Pentecostals or evangelicals or to be assimilated with other lay movements – but rather to accept it in its uniqueness. His substantially different approach toward the CCR not only shows a shift in the magisterial evaluation of it – a radical new reassessment of it – as his speeches show but also a new ongoing moment in the history of this movement, as the creation of CHARIS proves. From Francis’ public speeches and homilies, a clear vision emerges of the role that Charismatics are called on to play and the place assigned to them within the Bergoglian church. Three relevant elements can be detected: (1) the reassertion that the CCR is “a current of grace”; (2) the use of the concept of “reconciled diversity”; (3) the focus on Charismatic ecumenism. Since the beginning of his pontificate, Francis has returned to the concept previously expressed in the 1970s by Cardinal Léon-Joseph Suenens of the Charismatic renewal as a “current”/“flood” of grace, that is, as a fluid and heterogenous entity whose mission is to 408

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dissolve if the entire church makes Charismatic spirituality its own. This concept had been overshadowed, if not abandoned, during the pontificate of John Paul II, who had instead preferred to insert the CCR within the broad container of the “new ecclesiastical movements,” complying with the urgency of its institutionalization (Ciciliot 2020). The resumption of the current-of-grace theme goes hand in hand with the encouragement for Charismatics, particularly Charismatic leaders, to return to the documents of Malines, which were strongly desired by Suenens as official guidelines for Catholics involved in the renewal. It seems that on different occasions Francis has purposedly used the foundational documents of Malines as a way to refresh the origins of the CCR as a spontaneous and grassroots force but also to stress their regulating character, in a certain way reinterpreting the story of the CCR and balancing it as a globalized but also partially institutionalized Catholic entity. As a matter of fact, the current-of-grace concept could also be linked to the underlining of the danger of an excessive institutionalization of the movement itself, as Francis stated in June, 2014, at a meeting of the Renewal of the Spirit: Your movement’s birth was willed by the Holy Spirit to be “a current of grace in the Church and for the Church.” This is your identity: to be a current of grace … […] You, the people of God, the people of the Charismatic renewal, must be careful not to lose the freedom which the Holy Spirit has given you! The danger for the renewal, as our dear Father Raniero Cantalamessa [ecclesiastical assistant of the CCR, a.n.] often says, is that of getting too organized: the danger of excessive planning. Yes, you need organization, but never lose the grace of letting God be God! […] Another danger is that of becoming arbiters of God’s grace. Many times, leaders (I prefer the name “servants”) of a group or community become, perhaps without intending to, “managers” of grace, deciding who can receive the prayer of outpouring or baptism in the Spirit and who cannot. If any of you are doing this, I ask you to stop; no more! You are dispensers of God’s grace, not its arbiters! Don’t act like a tollhouse for the Holy Spirit! In the Malines Documents, you have a guide, a reliable path to keep you from going astray. Francis (2014) The papal preference for the word “organization” – rather than “institutionalization” – is not arbitrary here and it seems to intentionally, or at least strategically, reverse the previous magisterial approach to the CCR. On one hand, this stems from Pope Francis’ personal sensitivity to the Charismatic spirituality. In fact, he has spoken frequently about the openness to the Holy Spirit and about the creativity and the newness of it (Hocken 2015). Logically, if the CCR is indeed “a flood of grace of the Spirit … because it has no founder, no bylaws, no structure of governance” and the Holy Spirit is free, “before this flood of grace one cannot erect dikes, or put the Holy Spirit in a cage!” (Francis 2017). On the other hand, depicting the CCR as a current and not as a sociological movement harmonizes with the well-known Begoglian ecclesiological view of a church as a polyhedron that he also proposed to Charismatics in 2015: Last year in the stadium I also spoke of unity in diversity. I gave the example of an orchestra. In Evangelii Gaudium I spoke of the sphere and of the polyhedron. It is not enough to speak of unity, it is not any sort of unity. It is not uniformity. Said thus it can be understood as the unity of a sphere where every point is equidistant from the centre and there are no differences between one point and another. The model is 409

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the polyhedron, which reflects the confluence of all the parts which maintain their originality in it and these are the charisms, in unity but in their own diversity – unity in diversity. The distinction is important because we are speaking of the work of the Holy Spirit, not our own. Unity in the diversity of expressions of reality, as many as the Holy Spirit wills to arouse. It is also necessary to remember that the whole, namely, this unity, is greater than the part, and the part cannot attribute the whole to itself. For instance, one cannot say: “We are the current called the Catholic Charismatic Renewal and you are not.” This cannot be said. Please, brothers, this is how it is; it does not come from the Spirit; the Holy Spirit blows where he wills, when he wills and as he wills. Francis (2015)5 On one hand, the focus on “unity in diversity” indicates that Pope Francis is well aware of the history of the Charismatic renewal and especially its different “souls” that have struggled from the beginning to find agreement – just think of the diverse nature of covenant communities and prayer groups, which were historically represented before 2019 by two distinct entities such as ICCRS and the Catholic Fraternity (CFCCCF). On the other hand, the unity-in-diversity theme is also linked to the concept of “reconciled diversity.” This term had been used by several Protestant leaders such as Lutheran theologian Oscar Cullmann and ecumenists to describe the goal of ecumenical activity, but it had been rejected as inadequate by the Vatican in ecumenical theological dialogues in the 1980s and 1990s as it was judged to fall short of “organic unity of the one body” (Carter 2010; Calisi 2014, 12; Hocken 2015). Pope Francis has instead dusted off the expression as the goal for Charismatics at the Pentecost Vigil in 2017 for the fiftieth anniversary of the Charismatic Renewal: It is not so easy to show this world today that peace is possible, but in the name of Jesus we can show by our testimony that peace is possible! It is possible if we are at peace with one another. If we emphasize our differences, we are at war among ourselves and we cannot proclaim peace. Peace is possible, based on our confession that Jesus is Lord and on our evangelization along this path. It is possible. Even by showing that we have differences – this is obvious, we have differences – but that we desire to be a reconciled diversity. We should not forget that phrase, but say it to everyone: reconciled diversity. The phrase is not mine. It comes from a Lutheran brother. Reconciled diversity. Francis (2017) The magisterial use of this theological expression introduces us to a key element in Pope Francis’ vision of/for the Catholic Charismatic movement, namely that of “Charismatic ecumenism.” In fact, since the beginning of his relationship with the Charismatics the pope has stressed the inherently ecumenical nature of the CCR: “It was born ecumenical! It was born ecumenical because it is the Holy Spirit who creates unity, and the same Spirit who granted the inspiration for this” (Francis 2017).6 In emphasizing the ecumenical nature of the CCR Francis reverses the trend Cordes himself called “Catholicization” of the CCR (Paul Josef Cordes’ interview with Valentina Ciciliot, January 28, 2019) and his opposition to an ecumenism “at the grassroots level” (Cordes 2015, 92). In fact, the Vatican did not encourage the ecumenical dimension during John Paul II’s pontificate (Ciciliot 2021b) – as tensions between Cordes and ICCRS leaders testifies (Ciciliot 2020, 143–44) – particularly for the Vatican’s perception that the Charismatic movement needed maturation because it “had little sense of the 410

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ecclesial, promoting a ‘Jesus and me’ spirituality” (Hocken 2017, 1–2).7 Moreover, the consequent Catholic Charismatic leaders’ push for recognition by the hierarchy led to the ecumenical dimension being downplayed. Francis not only entitles Catholic Charismatics to rediscover and practice such ecumenism already present at the origin of their movement and challenged by the Wojtylian magisterium, but also expresses the idea that positive Catholic-Evangelical and Pentecostal relations would become possible through the Charismatic movement. Charismatic ecumenism is used by Francis to describe all the new forms of inter-church/ inter-denominational sharing that have emerged between Charismatics in different times and places with minimal interaction with Catholic official ecumenical activities, to a certain extent in contrast with classical ecumenism that historically has been more interested in theological dialogues between recognized churches or denominations.8 This is confirmed by the fact that Francis suggests that Charismatics practice spiritual ecumenism – Suenens and Kilian McDonnell docent – and that he often associates Charismatic ecumenism with “ecumenism of the blood” or martyrological ecumenism (McDonnell 1978; Francis 2014, 2017; Suenens 1978). On a more general level, it is possible to say that the reconciled diversity and the Charismatic ecumenism show the strategic move of the Bergoglian church to remodel itself in the image of ecumenical ecclesiology, although as one organic body, as a diversified but still monolithic institution, expanding and enriching the Catholic vision without losing the Vatican prerogatives. Another relevant reflection is expressed by Peter Hocken when he writes that, with a Latin American pope such as Francis, the traditional theology-dominated model which has been exported from Europe and has been shaped by Greco-Roman thought patterns and assumptions is breaking down, along with the European socio-cultural ethos and modus agendi that caused classical ecumenism to attribute priority to theology and doctrine. If, before Francis, “the assumption has been that unity cannot happen until there is agreement on doctrine, and that this can only be achieved by painstaking theological dialogue, for Francis, relationships come first, so he speaks about walking together, praying together, and serving together” (Hocken 2016, 5–6). On that note, it is safe to say that this is definitely part of the larger process of de-Europeanization/de-Westernization that Catholicism is now facing, and it is clear that Catholic Charismatics are playing an important role in this process. As a matter of fact, on different occurrences the pope has urged Charismatic groups not only to practice spiritual ecumenism, but also to spread baptism in the Holy Spirit, caring for the poor and needy, and welcoming the marginalized – the latter two themes being prioritized by Francis – recognizing in Charismatics themselves an evangelizing and globalizing force for the entire church.

The New Catholic Charismatic Renewal International Service (CHARIS) The establishment of a single organization such as CHARIS, unlike ICCRS and the CFCCCF, which were two bodies of a private nature,9 has been provided with a public juridical personality according to Canons 116–23 of the Code of Canon Law. It has been created by the Holy See through the Dicastery for Laity, Family and Life, which in 2016 assumed the competencies of the Pontifical Council for the Laity as a service provider for the whole Charismatic renewal and has three different organizational levels: (1) the CHARIS international service of communion (CISC), which works closely with a general assembly chaired by a moderator; (2) the continental services of communion (CCSC); and (3) the national services of communion (CNSC). All these three structures are claimed to be not governing bodies, but to have the aim of detecting each 411

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Charismatic reality and involving it in the Catholic Charismatic family, of supporting all the Charismatic expressions in their respective regions, and of helping and assisting local bishops and priests in dealing with them. CHARIS’ first service is communion – according to Francis’ unity in diversity – but also information (i.e., CHARIS Magazine), counseling (i.e., CHARIS theological commission and Koinonia commission for communities), formation, and training (i.e., CHARIS leadership institute (CLI)). The novelty of this agency, as well as an awareness of the disorientation of part of the Catholic Charismatic world when confronting it, was well expressed by the pontiff at its first meeting, sponsored in June, 2019, where he firmly expressed the replacement of the previous organizations of Charismatic representation, along with the full legitimacy of the new organism that is to be of service and not of government: New. As I told you at the Circus Maximus, what is new can be destabilizing. In the beginning, there is a sense of uncertainty about the changes that newness brings. Sometimes we prefer our own way of doing things and we draw back from the rest. This is a temptation of the devil. […] Service. Not governance. It can happen that in any human organization, secular or religious, there is a temptation to keep looking for personal gain. And ambition to stand out, to lead, to make money … That never changes. Corruption enters that way. No: service, always service. Service is not about filling our pockets – the devil enters through the pockets – service is about giving, giving, giving of oneself. Communion. With hearts as one, turned to the Father, and testifying to unity in diversity: a diversity of charisms that the Spirit has raised up in these last fifty-two years. Francis (2019) Reading between the lines it is clear how CHARIS is thought of as a remedy to certain forms of divisiveness, “stardom,” and corruption that have been present in a certain Charismatic way of conducting leadership from the beginning. In this contest, CHARIS seems to represent not only a change in the leadership of the CCR, but also a magisterial (re-)attempt to finally place the renewal within the already existing local Catholic ecclesiastical structures in order to “strengthen unity in International Charismatic Renewal” (Farrell 2019, 8): discernment and supervision – including juridical supervision – of Charismatic realities is now, in fact, the responsibility of the competent ecclesiastical authorities, mostly bishops, whereas in the past, particularly for covenant communities, it was not always clear who was the guarantor. All its levels, particularly the CNSCs, are conceived as operating in close relationship with national bishops’ conferences, as had happened since the first international meeting for Charismatic communities’ leaders organized by CHARIS in Recife, Brazil, in January, 2020. In addition to the aim of coping with the old issue within the renewal of avoiding hierarchical or selective leadership, CHARIS’ openness to the “relational” and “fraternal” ecumenism encouraged by Pope Francis is a relevant element. It seems that this new Charismatic agency can offer its services to ecumenical Charismatic communities as well – although there is no specific mention of this in its statutes. Historically, they were de facto excluded from the previous CFCCCF. In this sense, its creation would confirm not only the pontifical desire to privilege Charismatic ecumenism, but also the globalizing trend mentioned above: it is a change of leadership (mostly from leaders of Western countries to leaders of Latin America), a vision of one global service, an agent for a non-European/Western “relational-style” ecumenical view, a worldwide instrument of evangelization. The globalizing effort is also emphasized by Awi Mello, secretary of the Dicastery for the Laity, Family and Life, when he stated that CHARIS was not requested by the 412

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renewal itself but by the pontiff as an expression of a current of grace that can reach everyone and everywhere in the world (Mello 2019, 14). Nevertheless, Francis’ ecclesiastical plan to create CHARIS can also be seen as something similar to the previous Vatican attitude toward the CCR, that of its “institutionalization,” which paradoxically the pontiff himself said he wanted to overcome.10 As an example, the explanation that Cardinal Kevin Farrell, prefect of the Dicastery for Laity, Family and Life, gave to Charismatics in his address to the leadership conference in July, 2019, seems to somehow mix elements of novelty, or rather, rediscovery – the bottom-up nature of the renewal – with more traditional elements – the Petrine service: What the Pope asks of Catholic Charismatic Renewal today and for the future requires that it understand itself as a pastoral instrument in the service of the Successor of Peter. This means that we must enter with profound docility into an understanding that Catholic Charismatic Renewal does not belong to its members, but, rather, to the Church. This might surprise us: after all, the Renewal was not an episcopal or a pontifical initiative. Charismatic Renewal really has grown from the bottom up, from person to person, through a series of private initiatives, powered by the Spirit, like a forest fire pushed by a powerful wind. Farrell (2019, 9) Charismatic Catholic leaders have also been encouraged by the cardinal to pray, have solid theological training, and cooperate with the bishops. The impression is that words such as “with profound docility”, and “in the service of the successor of Peter” seem to refer to the past desire for the “submission” and “control” that Rome has attempted to exercise toward the CCR since the late 1980s. In this case, it is clear that the pope feels the urgency to correct and redirect certain tendencies toward independence, celebrity, and exclusivity within the Charismatic leadership. All of this also shows that CHARIS is perceived mostly as a tool of maturity for the CCR, that is understood, however, as “ecclesial maturity” – “Catholic Charismatic Renewal, because of this ecclesial identity, receives the confirmation of its identity from the Pastors of the Church” – and dependence on the established ecclesiastical norms (Farrell 2019, 9). Although the CHARIS statutes affirm that “as a service organization, CHARIS does not have authority over the Catholic Charismatic Renewal, since all expressions of CCR are directly under the jurisdiction of the competent ecclesiastical authorities” (CHARIS Statues 2018) and that the authority over all the realities of the renewal belongs to the bishops and not to other intermediate bodies, CHARIS would represent a sort of magisterial vantage point of the Charismatic world and would essentially put the renewal into the ecclesiastic structures in a straight way, under the statement that the CCR belongs to the entire church. If ICCRS, more than CFCCCF, due to its historical development, managed to maintain a de facto independence from the Vatican, it is unclear how much autonomy CHARIS would gain in the future. Rather, it shows the globalization/ homogenization process of the present CCR as a movement that brings a sort of institutionalized globalization, a globalizing and regulating force at the same time. The ambiguity of CHARIS has raised consistent criticism from the Charismatic world, which revolves on one hand around the pope’s almost “authoritarian” decision to create such a service body, without an apparent broad consultation – Mello himself understands that “CHARIS came as a ‘foreign body’, as something that Charismatics neither sought nor wanted (Mello 2019, 16); on the other hand, Francis is being criticized as naïve regarding the relational ecumenism that would be perceived as “utopian” in highly conflictual situations of religious 413

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competition, such as in certain Latin American countries where Evangelicals and Catholics are far from engaging in dialogue (Matteo Calisi’s interview with Valentina Ciciliot, May 28, 2021) – also because in the past Catholic Charismatic forces have been used to stop the Latin American hemorrhage to Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism (Chesnut 2003; Cleary 2011; Gooren 2012). Even if it is too early to be able to formulate conclusive reflections on the development of the Charismatic movement, it is certain that the creation of CHARIS represents a decisive turning point in the history of Catholic Charismatics, now at the center of magisterial politics.

Conclusion During the pontificate of Pope Francis, the CCR has acquired an important role in the field of evangelization and ecumenical dialogue. In fact, the encouragement to spread baptism in the Spirit and the attention given to Charismatic ecumenism are two key elements for understanding the turning point that the Charismatic movement is experiencing. Moreover, Pope Francis’ openness to dialogue with Pentecostals and Evangelicals, but especially with neo-Charismatics and non-denominational Charismatic entities, through the Catholic Charismatic components actually seems to be part of a precise pontifical strategy to refashion the church on a global scale, charismatizing it, broadening its ecclesiological horizons, but without loosening its Vatican-centered ties. The Christian Unity Commission (CUC)11 instituted – not by accident – by CHARIS “for the purpose of promoting and working for unity of the body of Christ” is an example of this: among its members, in fact, most of them are Charismatics (Deacon Johannes Fichtenbauer, president of European Network of Communities (ENC); Fr. Etienne Vetö, member of the Chemin Neuf Community; Jean Barbara, president of Sword of the Spirit), Pentecostals (Norberto Saracco, Pastor of Good News Church in Buenos Aires) and even a neo-Charismatic such as Christy Wimber, who is the niece of John Wimber (Vineyard movement). Argentinian coordinator Julia Torres, who was an important figure in the creation of CHARIS, also testifies to how the shift in leadership roles takes into account a religiously vibrant but also crucial reality such as Latin America. In addition to this process of institutionalized charismatization, Charismatic Catholics are also assigned a central role within the Bergoglian diversified de-Europeanized and relationalstyled vision, which increasingly opens Catholicism to globalization, or, rather, to the global, and to the geographic displacement of the effective centers of Catholic governance, while maintaining magisterial decision-making centrality. The creation of CHARIS shows well these dynamics and how Francis’ approach to the CCR can be defined as one of pastoral openness and, at the same time, ecclesiastical centralization.

Notes 1 For the history of the CCR, see Schreck (2017), Maurer (2010), Blackebrough (2006), and Hocken (2001). See also Ciciliot (2019, 2021a). 2 Matteo Calisi is the founder and president of the Community of Jesus (since 1983), an international association of faithful of the Catholic Church, dedicated to evangelization and reconciliation of Christians; co-president of the Italian Charismatic Consultation (ICC) for Catholic-Pentecostal dialogue (since 1992); founder and president of United in Christ International (since 1995). He was a member of the Pontifical Council for the Laity (2008–14); president of the Catholic Fraternity of Charismatic Covenant Communities and Fellowships (CFCCCF) (2002–13); vice-president of the International Catholic Charismatic Renewal Services (ICCRS) (1993–2003). 3 Giovanni Trattino is the permanent coordinator of the Apostolic Fellowship International (AFI); as senior pastor of the Christian Fellowship of Caserta, he presides over the Evangelical Church of

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The Catholic Charismatic Renewal and Pope Francis Reconciliation in Italy and has an apostolic ministry to a network of churches in Italy and in the Central African Republic. He is also co-president of ICC. 4 Jorge Himitian is member of the executive committee of AFI and pastor of the Christian Fellowship of Buenos Aires, in Argentina. 5 See also Francis (2014): “When I think of Charismatics, I think of the Church herself, but in a particular way: I think of a great orchestra, where all the instruments and voices are different from one another, yet all are needed to create the harmony of the music. Saint Paul speaks of this in the twelfth chapter of the First Letter to the Corinthians. As in an orchestra, no one in the renewal can think of himself or herself as being more important or greater than the others, please! Because when you think of yourselves as more important or greater, disaster is already on the horizon! No one can say: ‘I am the head’. Like the Church, you have only one head, one Lord: the Lord Jesus. Repeat with me: Who is the head of the renewal? The Lord Jesus! Who is the head of the renewal? [the crowd:] The Lord Jesus! And we can say this with the power given us by the Holy Spirit, since no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ without the Holy Spirit.” 6 See also Francis (2014): “To remain united in the love that the Lord Jesus asks us to have for all people, and in prayer to the Holy Spirit for the attainment of this unity which is necessary for evangelization in the name of Jesus. Remember that ‘the Charismatic renewal is de facto ecumenical in nature … The Catholic renewal rejoices in what the Holy Spirit is accomplishing in the other Churches’ (1 Malines 5,3).” 7 This concern about ecclesial “sense” figured in the debate about the difference between the “ecumenical” and the “non-denominational” that peaked around 1978–82. See the criticism of “churchless Christianity” in Kilian McDonnell, The Charismatic Renewal and Ecumenism (New York: Paulist Press, 1978) pp. 20–36 and the development of Malines II in Ciciliot (2020, 133–35). 8 One clear sign of the gap between Charismatic ecumenism and classical ecumenism was the 1993 Vatican’s Ecumenical Directory – the Directory for the Application of Principles and Norms on Ecumenism – that did not contain any reference to the Catholic Charismatics in its long list of ecumenical activities in which the Catholic Church was involved. 9 Both were international private associations of members of the faithful having juridical personality in accordance with Canon 322 of the Code of Canon Law. 10 “Institutionalization” is the word also used by Shyne Bennett in the interview with Valentina Ciciliot, on June 30, 2021. 11 https://www.charis.international/en/christian-unity-commission/. Accessed August 6, 2021.

References Blackebrough, Denise S. 2006. La Renovación en el Espíritu Santo: Orígenes Históricos, Marco Doctrinal, Aspectos Eclesiológicos. Salamanca: Secretariado Trinitario. Calisi, Matteo. 2014. “Il Dialogo tra Cattolici e Pentecostali in Italia. Corso di Formazione all’Ecumenismo, Comunità di Gesù, Bari 2014.” (not published). https://www.academia.edu/50838501/_Il_dialogo_ tra_cattolici_e_pentecostali_in_Italia_di_Matteo_Calisi. Accessed August 3, 2021. Calisi, Matteo. 2018. “Risveglio Carismatico nel Mondo Cattolico e in Quello Protestante.” In L’unità Si Fa Camminando. Riflessioni Ecumeniche, edited by Alfredo Gabrielli, and Giovanni Messuti, 167– 246. Bari: Editrice Ecumenica. Carter, David. 2010. “Unity in Reconciled Diversity: Cop-out or Rainbow Church?” Theology 113: 411–20. Catholic Charismatic Renewal International Service (CHARIS) Statues. 2018. https://www.charis. international/wp-content/uploads/Statutes-CHARIS.pdf. Accessed August 3, 2021. Chesnut, Andrew. 2003. Latin America’s New Religious Economy. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Ciciliot, Valentina. 2019. “The Origins of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal (CCR) in the United States: Early Developments in Indiana and Michigan and the Reactions of the Ecclesiastical Authorities.” Studies in World Christianity 25 (3): 250–73. Ciciliot, Valentina. 2020. “From the United States to the World, Passing Through Rome: Reflections on the Catholic Charismatic Movement.” PentecoStudies 19 (2): 127–51. Ciciliot, Valentina. 2021a. “The Origins of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal in the United States: The Experience at the University of Notre Dame, South Bend (Indiana), 1967–1975.” In Transatlantic Charismatic Renewal, c. 1950–200, edited by A. Atherstone, M. Hutchinson, and J. Maiden, 144–64. Leiden: Brill.

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Valentina Ciciliot Ciciliot, Valentina. 2021b. “‘Pray Aggressively for a Higher Goal –The Unification of All Christianity’: U.S. Catholic Charismatics and Their Ecumenical Relationships in the Late 1960s and 1970s.” Religions 12: 353. Cleary, Edward. 2011. The Rise of Charismatic Catholicism in Latin America. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Cordes, Paul Josef. 2015. Tre papi: La mia vita. Cinisello Balsamo: San Paolo. Farrell, Kevin. 2019. “The Birth of CHARIS and its Importance for Catholic Charismatic Renewal. Cardinal Kevin Farrell’s Speech during the Leaders Conference (Thursday June 6).” Charis Magazine 1: 8–13. Figueroa, Marcelo. 2017. “Ecumenismo carismatico.” Osservatore Romano, June 5–6, 2017. https://www. vatican.va/content/osservatore-romano/it/comments/2017/documents/-ecumenismo-carismatico. html. Accessed July 23, 2021. Francis. 2013. “Press Conference of Pope Francis During the Return Flight. Apostolic Journey to Rio de Janeiro on the Occasion of the XXVIII World Youth Day, July 28, 2013.” http://w2.vatican. va/content/francescomobile/en/speeches/2013/july/documents/papa-francesco_20130728_ gmg-conferenza-stampa.html. Accessed July 23, 2021. Francis. 2014. “Address of Pope Francis to Participants in the 37th National Convocation of the Renewal in the Holy Spirit, June 1, 2014.” https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2014/june/ documents/papa-francesco_20140601_rinnovamento-spirito-santo.html. Accessed July 23, 2021. Francis. 2015. “Address of His Holiness Pope Francis to the Renewal in the Holy Spirit, July 3, 2015.” https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2015/july/documents/papa-francesco_ 20150703_movimento-rinnovamento-spirito.html. Accessed August 2, 2021. Francis. 2017. “Pentecost Vigil of Prayer. Address of His Holiness Pope Francis, June 3, 2017.” https:// www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2017/june/documents/papa-francesco_20170603_ veglia-pentecoste.html. Accessed July 23, 2021. Francis. 2019. “Address of His Holiness Pope Francis to Participants in the International Conference of Leaders of CHARIS, June 8, 2019.” https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2019/ june/documents/papa-francesco_20190608_charis.html. Accessed August 6, 2021. Gooren, Henri. 2012. “The Catholic Charismatic Renewal in Latin America.” Pneuma 34 (2): 185–207. Himitian, Evangelina. 2013. Francesco. Il papa della gente. Milano: Bur. Hocken, Peter. 2001. “The Catholic Charismatic Renewal.” In The Century of the Holy Spirit: 100 Years of Pentecostal and Charismatic Renewal, 1901–2001, edited by Vinson Synan, 209–32. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers. Hocken, Peter. 2015. “Pope Francis and Unity. Katnet, April 2015. Talk 2.” https://www.peterhocken. org/mc/home.nsf/0/1B4251425EC85733C1257E3D00376058?opendocument&part=1&lang=en. Accessed August 2, 2021. Hocken, Peter. 2016. “Ecumenism, the Holy Spirit, & Pope Francis, Talk for the Gathering in the Holy Spirit Conference, Rome, May 2016.” https://www.peterhocken.org/mc/home.nsf/0/1322290654 F923E7C1257FC200749041/$FILE/Part0.pdf. Accessed August 6, 2021. Hocken, Peter. 2017. “Catholic Charismatic Renewal: An Ecumenical Current of Grace, Theological Symposium, June 1, 2017, Pontificia Università Urbaniana, Rome.” https://stucom.nl/document/ 0429uk.pdf. Accessed August 4, 2021. Ilo, Stan Chu, ed. 2019. Pentecostalism, Catholicism, and the Spirit in the World. Eugene, OR: Cascade. Maurer, Susan A. 2010. The Spirit of Enthusiasm. A History of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal, 1967–2000. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. McDonnell, Kilian. 1978. The Charismatic Renewal and Ecumenism. New York, NY: Paulist Press. Mello, Awi. 2019. “Peter, Do You Love Me? Homily of Father Alexandre Awi Mello at Holy Mass During the Leaders’ Conference (Friday, June 7th).” Charis Magazine 1: 15–6. Schreck, Alan. 2017. A Mighty Current of Grace: The Story of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal. Frederick, MD: The Word Among Us Press. Suenens, Léon-Joseph. 1978. Ecumenism and Charismatic Renewal. Theological and Pastoral Orientations. Malines Document 2. Ann Arbor, MI: Servant Books.

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32 WHAT ROLE DOES ECUMENISM PLAY FOR PENTECOSTALS? Cecil M. Robeck, Jr.

Introduction: Pentecostals’ Attitudes Toward Other Churches The church has a long history of unsettled grievances, differences of opinion, and schism. Some of them have been significant, although many are matters of personal preference, minor in their import. They have produced many denominations and independent congregations that do not always love one another. Pentecostals have often condemned other churches, labeling them as not being Christian even when they confess that “Jesus is Lord” (1 Cor. 12:3).1 Having judged these churches and their members, frequently over secondary matters (Gee 1961, 17), they have proselytized members from these churches, contributing further to ill-feeling and division. Classical Pentecostals do not have a coherent understanding of the church. They tend to spiritualize the church, while dismissing many churches just down the street. By dismissing the church so easily, they play a role that rightfully belongs to God, since He alone knows the human heart ( Jeremiah 17:8–10; Romans 14:10–12). By doing so, Pentecostals have even failed to love their own. They have split with one another over doctrines, personalities, and practices. They do not even share a common ecclesiology. Is Pentecostalism a form of spirituality, a diverse movement, or the beginning of the restored church (Cross 2019; Macchia 2020; Robeck 2020)? Independent Pentecostal churches often refuse to participate with other Pentecostal bodies. Some are radically Congregationalist in structure, and often antiorganizational. Others are splits from existing bodies. Still others are bodies whose leaders have refused to be disciplined by their parent body. In recent years, some larger congregations have broken with their Classical Pentecostal forebears, and established independent megachurches. Others have formed new church networks. Typically, a charismatic leader, tired of denominational boundaries, leads the church or forms the network. These churches are still so new that it is difficult to know where to place them. By their very existence, they seem to suggest to all other churches, “I have no need of you” (1 Cor. 12:21). Early Pentecostals adopted a restorationist position by which they understood that God had sent them to break down ecclesial divisions and restore the church to its original unity and power (Lawrence 1916; McPherson 1919). While the earliest Pentecostals claimed to support the idea of “Christian unity everywhere” (Apostolic Faith 1906),2 they did not always understand or appreciate the realities they faced. Their lack of historical and theological training DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-39

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worked against them (Robeck 2014). Their passion, rigidly rooted in an experience that they insisted was normative for all and without which there could be no cooperation or restoration, made it difficult for others to accept them. Their belief that, in the power of the Holy Spirit, they alone would restore the church made them poor listeners. They had the answers, and their exclusive claims alienated the very churches they hoped to restore (Robeck 2010). Doctrine is very important to the whole church, but spiritual arrogance, doctrinal pride, and even willful ignorance of what other Christian churches believe has led to unnecessary division and strife between them. The unwillingness of many Pentecostals even to listen to or try to understand the concerns of other Pentecostals over such issues as sanctification, modes of baptism (Robeck and Sandidge 1990), the nature of the Godhead, governance, the number and exercise of gifts of the Spirit, as well as racism and other justice issues, led not to greater unity, but to further division. “Our own divisions are notorious,” observed Donald Gee over sixty years ago, “and they are a stumbling block to many who otherwise are impressed with our testimony and are hungry for a share in our blessed experience of the Holy Spirit on the personal level” (Gee 1960a; see also Bell 1919). Since ecumenism intends to address such disputes and work toward greater unity, it should be clear that even Pentecostals stand in need of its work. In a sense, Rev. E. N. Bell, first Chairman of the Assemblies of God in the United States, understood this, when he claimed: Every division and schism in the body of Christ from the day of Pentecost down till now is contrary to God’s Word, contrary to the unity of the one Spirit, and must have been, in some part, of the devil. And there is but one general true body of Christ, and Christ is the sole and only head of this body, the church. Anything contrary to this unity of the one Body, the one Spirit, the one Head is just that much against the Lord and His will, and against all fundamental spiritual principles. Bell (1919) Yet Pentecostals have often viewed calls for unity, that is, ecumenism, negatively and they have spread their judgments around the world through their sermons and addresses (PWC 1961, 55), publications (Cunningham 1962), and their pastors and missionaries (Robeck 1997, 124). It is true that in many places Pentecostals carry scars from words and deeds that they received from other Christians (Gee 1964a; Bravo 1992, 173). Yet, because Pentecostals believe that many of these other churches no longer believe or teach the Gospel, or they have introduced doctrines and practices that Pentecostals do not understand, or they believe to be contrary to the Gospel, Pentecostals do not view them any longer as Christian churches.3 They speak of them as backsliders, idolators, and pagans, and they work to subvert them (Pentecostal Evangel 1948b, 15; Walker 1985, 20). Pentecostals also suggest that many Protestant churches have compromised their doctrine for the sake of unity. They will not trust these churches as valid Christian partners unless or until they change. Through their words and deeds, Pentecostals, too, have contributed to the scars that other churches carry today. Given the divisions in the church through the centuries, it might seem as though any hope for an ecumenical breakthrough would be impossible. The mid-twentieth century brought two significant steps toward greater unity. One came with the founding of the World Council of Churches (WCC) in 1948. A second one came through the Second Vatican Council (1962–65). However, Pentecostals have treated both as dangerous. Nothing has been more significant in pointing out Pentecostal fears than these two ecumenical endeavors. Pentecostals base their rejections of these ecumenical efforts upon fears of potential betrayals rooted in anecdotes from the past, and a poorly fitting eschatology (Sheppard 1984). 418

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Based on past experience, Pentecostals suspect that other churches will never treat them fairly, and working with these churches will require Pentecostals to compromise. The inability to cooperate ecumenically may be rooted in the triumphalist position inherent within a restorationist reading of history, but it may also be rooted in a failure to forgive. Sometimes it may also stem from manipulative, self-serving quests for power. Pentecostals want to influence and change what other churches believe and do.

The Sectarian Perspective of the Assemblies of God We can trace many of the suspicions, fears, and judgments expressed by Pentecostals around the world today to the actions of certain Assemblies of God leaders in the United States. Prior to and during the opening years of the Cold War (1947–91), the Assemblies of God had developed various ecumenical relationships.4 Its entry and subsequent participation in the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE) in the United States beginning in 1942 changed all that. Much of the energy against ecumenism came from the work of two men, Robert C. Cunningham and Thomas F. Zimmerman, who had committed themselves to make the Assemblies of God reputable in evangelical eyes. In 1942, the Assemblies of God, and several other Pentecostal denominations joined the NAE. When the Assemblies of God elected Zimmerman as General Superintendent in 1959, he sought greater recognition among evangelicals. Within a year, he became President of the NAE, and the following year, the Pentecostal World Conference (PWC) on whose executive committee he served, named him as a plenary speaker at its 1961 conference.5 While Zimmerman influenced evangelical leaders in the United States and an ever-growing number of Pentecostal leaders worldwide, Cunningham followed his lead, and used his position as editor of The Pentecostal Evangel to influence both Pentecostal leaders and laity. Shortly after the founding of the WCC, Cunningham condemned the Council as being “spiritually cold and formal” (Pentecostal Evangel 1948a). He reflected on Paul’s mandate, “maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph. 4:3), telling his readers not to seek visible unity, but to maintain their spiritual unity. “What is needed is, but to recognize that unity, and not to disrupt it by adding flocks of unsaved church members, or degrade it to a merely man-made organization” (Pentecostal Evangel 1948b). The following year, Cunningham wrote: The fact that so many churches may be in a mood to unite may be one of the most significant signs of the times. The Word of God is clear that there will be ecclesiastical union in the end time (See Revelation 17 and 18), but what union it will be! Could it be that the steps now being taken are leading to the unholy and illegitimate pseudo-church, which we believe is mentioned in Bible prophecy? Pentecostal Evangel (1949) He embraced the fear that dispensational evangelicals preached in the United States during the Cold War, that unsettling period of political chaos and international intrigue.

Donald Gee, David du Plessis, and a Global Perspective When the PWC met in Jerusalem in 1961, David du Plessis, originally from South Africa, and Donald Gee, the English editor of Pentecost, the quarterly magazine of the PWC, had both become active in ecumenical circles. Gee wrote repeatedly on the subject of Christian unity 419

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and on the progress of the WCC (Gee 1954; 1955; 1957; 1959a; 1959b), and he published articles by David du Plessis, who reported the advances of the Charismatic renewal and on Christian unity efforts (du Plessis 1954; 1955; 1957; 1959; 1960; see also Hollenweger 2000). Both held a global perspective on the church, unhindered by regional, sectarian fears. Together, they gave positive reports on the WCC and attempted to help Pentecostals to understand that the historic churches had begun to change and were now willing to listen to Pentecostals. As an ordained minister of the Assemblies of God, and as the former Secretary to three Pentecostal World Conferences, David du Plessis responded to requests from various Protestant Charismatic and ecumenical organizations. He preached in their churches and rejoiced when they received baptism in the Holy Spirit (du Plessis 1954; 1959; 1961/62; 1964/65; 1965; 1966; 1970; du Plessis and Slosser 1977, 175–98). In 1960, du Plessis reported that he viewed the WCC Faith and Order Commission quite positively (WCC 1960, 60–64, 95). This was too much for Zimmerman to accept. In his 1961 address to the PWC, and without naming them, Thomas Zimmerman called out Gee and du Plessis in a frontal assault: Those who would compromise …, or would join hands with those who do compromise are being unwittingly used as tools against us, not for us. We have been commanded, ‘Come ye out,” and “Be ye separate.” This is our calling. This is God’s answer to compromise. PWC (1961, 55) Gee quickly rebutted Zimmerman’s address in a Pentecost editorial titled “Contact Is Not Compromise” (Gee 1960b). The WCC had invited both Gee and du Plessis to attend its New Delhi Assembly in November 1961, where two Latin American Pentecostal churches would become members of the WCC, La Iglesia Pentecostal de Chile and La Mision Iglesia Pentecostal de Chile (Visser’t Hooft 1962, 9–10, 64, 409). Pentecostal leaders pressured both men not to attend. Gee regretfully withdrew, but du Plessis ignored the pressure (Gee 1964a; Ross 1978). Working through Bartlett Peterson, General Secretary of the AG, and the Executive Presbytery, Zimmerman had David du Plessis defrocked through a yearlong process. The charge was his ecumenical involvement, even though there was no official prohibition at the time.6 The difference between Zimmerman’s guarded, regional sectarian position and the graciously open global position urged by Gee and Du Plessis raised the rhetorical heat. Zimmerman quickly closed down all ecumenical contacts the Assemblies of God had developed and influenced others to do the same. The following year, the Assemblies of God withdrew David du Plessis’ ordination for his ecumenical activities (Robeck 1997, 141–46). In 1963, the Church of God (Cleveland, TN) followed the Assemblies of God by passing a resolution declaring that “Most proponents of the present ecumenical movement … have veered from the cardinal principles of true Christianity and have gone so far as to deny the Divinity of Christ and question the authority of His Word” (Church of God Evangel 1963, 4). The Assemblies of God then passed a “Resolution on Ecumenicity” that condemned the ecumenical movement as a “sign of the times and contrary to the real Biblical doctrine of spiritual unity in the Church of Jesus Christ” (AG General Secretary 1963, Resolution 13, 52–53). By August 1965, the AG had a statement titled “Doctrines and Practices Disapproved,” that disapproved of further ecumenical activity by Assemblies of God ministers or churches (AG General Secretary 1965, 138). The basis of the ecumenical movement, it stated, allowed members to deny certain teachings “essential to biblical Christianity,” 7 “frequently” displaced 420

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“the urgency of individual salvation with social concern,” and prepared “the combination of many religious organizations into a world superchurch” foretold in Revelation 17 and 18” (AG General Secretary 2003, 131–32).

Working Toward Unity Greater interdenominational cooperation between churches is a worthy goal. That is the goal of the NAE within certain narrow limits (Murch 1956). Yet, Willem Visser’t Hooft, the first General Secretary of the WCC, observed that ecumenism goes deeper than cooperation. “Those who accept cooperation as sufficient are in danger of retarding the growth of that true unity” (Visser’t Hooft 1959, 18; cf. Kinnamon 2003, 30–31). Ecumenism recognizes that renewal and unity belong together. Both require dialogue and interaction at all levels. While an international organization such as the Pentecostal World Fellowship (PWF) has helped to bring greater cooperation between various Pentecostal leaders, it has not been universally successful. Regional Pentecostal organizations show similar results. However, they cannot claim that they are growing together in the same way as the churches of the WCC claim. Donald Gee lamented that no Pentecostals participated when the WCC held its first meeting in Amsterdam (Gee 1948). He would follow his lament with many challenges for Pentecostals to become more ecumenically open (Gee 1954; 1959c; 1960b; 1961; 1963/64; 1964a; 1964b; 1964c). David du Plessis understood this as he responded to requests from Protestant Charismatics, and various ecumenical organizations (du Plessis 1954; 1959; 1961/62; 1964/65; 1965; 1966; 1970; du Plessis and Slosser 1977, 175–198). Both Gee and du Plessis opened up to ecumenism, allowing others to speak for themselves, and they listened and learned. Gee and du Plessis attended many ecumenical meetings during the 1960s. Neither one saw any reason for fear, and both encouraged greater openness. Without any type of support from the AG in which both du Plessis (USA) and Gee (England) were ordained, their entry into ecumenism was limited to an individual matter. They understood the task, but their advocacy brought criticism. Zimmerman denied Du Plessis’ advocacy role as a Pentecostal spokesperson, who embraced ecumenism (Mooneyham 1961). At the same time, Zimmerman spread American fears of a compromising “superchurch” to the international arena. These actions did not deter either Gee or du Plessis. Gee continued to publish editorials in Pentecost, extolling ecumenism while criticizing Pentecostal divisiveness (Gee 1963/4; 1964a; 1964b; 1964c). Du Plessis, now freed from AG threats of discipline, continued to speak and act as an independent Pentecostal advocate, citing what he witnessed in the Charismatic movement, and what he saw and heard in various ecumenical meetings around the world (Ziefle 2013).

David du Plessis and the Catholic Church At the 1960 WCC Faith and Order meeting in Scotland, David du Plessis met Fr. Bernard Leeming, S.J. While he viewed the WCC positively, until he met Fr. Leeming, du Plessis held the same fears regarding Catholics as Thomas Zimmerman and Robert Cunningham held (du Plessis and Slosser 1977, 201–207). Leeming’s genuine, personal quest for a deeper spirituality through an encounter with the Holy Spirit led du Plessis to trust him, and in the end, Leeming introduced du Plessis to Augustine Cardinal Bea, President of the new Secretariat [now Dicastery] for Promoting Christian Unity. Cardinal Bea asked du Plessis what message he would like to pass along to Pope John XXIII. Du Plessis offered that if the Catholic faithful 421

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received the Bible and they were encouraged to read it in their own languages, they would renew the church.8 Subsequently, du Plessis asked Cardinal Bea if there were some way he could attend a session of the Second Vatican Council. Cardinal Bea sent him an invitation, and he attended the third session (personal correspondence Augustine Cardinal Bea to David du Plessis, September 7, 1964). When du Plessis attended the Council, his attitude changed dramatically toward the Catholic Church. He saw in the Council a fulfillment of Ezekiel 37:1–14: the Spirit was giving new life to dry bones. In 1966, Fr. Kilian McDonnell, OSB, contacted du Plessis, informing him that he was writing a paper on Pentecostals and needed information. He wondered whether du Plessis would help him (personal correspondence Kilian McDonnell to David du Plessis, September 12, 1966). Du Plessis did. Cardinal Johannes Willebrands, successor to Cardinal Bea, agreed to a meeting with Kilian McDonnell and David du Plessis on September 2–3, 1970. The following June 8–10, 1971, they met again. Du Plessis reached out to Zimmerman, now Chair of the PWC, asking him to place a discussion of a possible dialogue with the Vatican on the PWC agenda. Instead, Zimmerman took it to the Pentecostal Fellowship of North America (PFNA), which gave a negative response. Alfred F. Missen, General Secretary of the AG in Britain and Ireland acted similarly, suggesting it would prejudice the Pentecostal testimony (Sandidge 1987, I:65). Rev. David du Plessis and Fr. Kilian McDonnell, OSB deserve credit for establishing the first truly international, ecumenical, theological, bilateral dialogue involving Pentecostals. Many bilateral dialogues between the Catholic Church and other churches have goals to move toward greater visible unity. Not so Pentecostals. Reports completed at the end of each round of dialogue make clear that their goal is to bring greater mutual respect and understanding as participants explore various doctrines and practices together. Given that, from 1961 onward, churches of the Pentecostal World Conference, led by Thomas Zimmerman, rejected Pentecostal involvement in any part of the ecumenical movement, David du Plessis was forced to act alone. Following his defrocking, and without denominational status or support, du Plessis accepted invitations and invited friends to join him. At first, most of the friends willing to participate came from Charismatics in mainline churches, not from Classical Pentecostals. Du Plessis thought their common experience of baptism in the Spirit would be sufficient for them to share a Classical Pentecostal position. It was not. They ultimately completed five years of dialogue, but differences between members of this artificial “Pentecostal” team developed over issues such as baptism, and various impartations of the Spirit. Consequently, the Vatican asked du Plessis to reorganize the Pentecostal team, because they wanted a dialogue with Classical Pentecostals. Many Classical Pentecostals were still afraid that, like du Plessis, they would face threats or discipline. Some were disciplined, but as time went on, the threat of discipline became less certain, and more Pentecostals agreed to participate (see Sandidge 1987, I:364–66). Virtually no Pentecostal denomination covered the expenses of any participant, so they had to cover their own expenses. This continues to limit participation to those who speak English and can afford to attend. However, the steering committee has worked hard to foster denominational diversity, diversity in fields of expertise, gender diversity, and geographical diversity, and it has tried to include denominational leaders, academics, and literate laity. The second round, co-chaired by David du Plessis, and the third round of discussion co-chaired by David’s brother, Justus du Plessis, brought together Classical Pentecostal teams 422

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that included denominational leaders, a number of pastors, most with limited theological training, and a limited number of Pentecostal scholars. Although du Plessis continued to invite leaders from the AG and from the PWC to participate in the dialogue, they refused to recognize the dialogue or appoint representatives from their churches. A couple came as heads of smaller Pentecostal denominations, most came as individuals, but all of them faithfully represented their churches. Only the fourth and subsequent rounds have included more scholars than previously, many of them accredited by their churches. The Secretariat does not engage ecumenically with those whose doctrinal position has been condemned as sectarian (Cassidy 1993). While Oneness Pentecostals are also Classical Pentecostals (McDonnell 1976, 2),9 their modal understanding of the Godhead has eliminated them as viable Pentecostal partners with the Catholic Church. On two occasions, however, the Pentecostal Steering Committee invited Oneness “observers,” Dr. Manuel Gaxiola-Gaxiola (1986), and Dr. Daniel Ramírez (2011). Yet, when drafters wanted to note in the body of the Third Report on the unique positions on baptism held by Oneness Pentecostals regarding baptism, several representatives threatened to withdraw and condemn the dialogue. They finally agreed to a compromise in which these comments could be made in footnotes. While the Apostolic Faith Mission of South Africa and the Church of Pentecost (Ghana) have both represented African Pentecostals, some have wondered why African Instituted Churches (AIC) are not present. Many Pentecostal and Pentecostal-like churches have appeared in Africa since the cessation of western colonialization. Some self-identify as Pentecostal, although they do not fit the definition of Classical Pentecostals. The Organization of African Independent Churches (OAIC) provides the umbrella under which many of them work. Yet many of them include doctrines and practices (shamans, polygamy, etc.) questioned by Classical Pentecostal churches such as the Apostolic Faith Mission of South Africa. Due to these objections, no AIC representative has yet been invited to participate. Since the fourth round of the dialogue, Dr. Cecil M. Robeck, Jr. has served as the Pentecostal co-chair, while the Catholic team has had four co-chairs. The Catholic-Pentecostal Dialogue is currently in its seventh round and celebrated its Fiftieth Anniversary in July 2022, with a new Catholic co-chair, Bishop Joseph Bambera of Scranton, New Jersey, USA. While the Catholic Church is able to receive the reports of the dialogue officially through conferences and synods should they wish to do so, Pentecostals still lack any formal process by which they are able to receive its findings (Creemers 2015, 37–39; Rusch 2019, 60–72). All reports from the dialogue, however, are available online (Dicastery for Promoting Christian Unity 2022).

Pentecostal and Protestant Dialogues Pentecostal participation in intra-Pentecostal groups such as the PFNA, or its successor, the Pentecostal and Charismatic Churches of North America (PCCNA), and Pentecostal participation with evangelicals in groups such as the NAE did not involve disciplined theological dialogue. They were efforts of interdenominational cooperation on various projects, including some compassionate projects. At the international level, the PWCs brought leaders together solely for mutual awareness, fellowship, and to discuss mission strategy. During the early 1960s, various Reformed Churches and various Pinkstergroepen in the Netherlands held theological discussions. They were short-lived (Koolhaas and Emmen 1960; Broederschap 1962). In 2007, Peter Sleebos, Chairman of the Verenigde Pinkster – en Evangeliegemeenten, or VPE, invited Bas Plaisier, General Secretary of the newly organized Protestant Church in the Netherlands, to greet 5,000 Pentecostals. Plaisier took the 423

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opportunity to apologize on behalf of his church for the past mistreatment of Pentecostals. Plaisier then invited Sleebos to address the General Synod of the Protestant Church of the Netherlands later that year, where Sleebos asked for forgiveness from the Reformed churches (Sleebos 2007). Their mutual apologies opened another regional theological dialogue (2008–14), focused on baptism, baptism in the Spirit, offices, and the Spirit in tradition.10 Pentecostals in Latin America contributed to the formation of the Latin American Council of Churches (CLAI) in 1982, and, since 1988, to the all-Latin American Pentecostal Encounters (EPLA) that led to the founding of the Latin American Evangelical Pentecostal Commission (CEPLA) in 1990. They have been active in the Evangelical Union of Latin America (UNELAM), the Evangelical Christian Aid (ACE) and the Evangelical Service for Ecumenical Development (SEPADE). Yet, most Pentecostal megachurches and nearly all churches with ties to North American Pentecostal denominations do not participate in any of these organizations (Alvarez 1987, 92; Vondey 2014, 280–81, 283). In recent years, a number of Latin American Pentecostal scholars have held some ecumenical fora and met in the Latin American Network of Pentecostal Studies (RELEP). In 1987, the Finnish Pentecostals and the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland held historical and theological discussions for two years (Lutheran Church of Finland 1990; cf. RV-Kirjat 1989). These two churches continue to hold theological encounters twice each year. Between 1992 and 2001, Finnish Pentecostals participated in a trilateral meeting between Pentecostals, Lutherans, and the Evangelical Free Church. The results are available only in Finnish. Lutherans and Pentecostals will publish Proclaiming the Gospel Today: Lutheran and Pentecostal Perspectives in mid-2023. Dr. Milan Opocensky and Cecil Robeck established a dialogue between Pentecostals and the World Alliance [now Communion] of Reformed Churches. It completed three phases (1996–2020). Dr. Theodore Dieter and Cecil Robeck established a preliminary Lutheran-Pentecostal discussion between a Pentecostal team and a Lutheran team from the Ecumenical Institute in Strasbourg, France. Both teams encouraged the establishment of a dialogue, and Dr. Jean-Daniel Pluss (Swiss Pentecostal) assumed the Pentecostal Chair (2004–10). In 2016, an official dialogue commenced with the Lutheran World Federation (2016–22), which Plüss continues to chair. All reports from these dialogues are available online (Centro pro Unione 2022).

Pentecostals and the World Council of Churches Two small Chilean Pentecostal denominations joined the WCC in 1961, Iglesia Pentecostal de Chile and the Mission Iglesia Pentecostal (Gee 1962). Other small groups including Gabriel Vaccaro’s Iglesia de Dios from Argentina, the Iglesia de Misiones Pentecostalies Libres de Chile, and the Missão Evangelica Pentecostal de Angola, joined later. The Apostolic Faith Mission of South Africa became a member in 2022. From 1985 to 1989, the Commission on Faith and Order included Juan Sepulveda from the Misión Iglesia Pentecostal, while Cecil M. Robeck, Jr. served as a Pentecostal Consultant to its 1989 meeting in Budapest (Best 1990, 15, 314). Following the 1991 Canberra Assembly, Robeck was elected the sole Pentecostal member on the Faith and Order Commission, finishing in April 2023 after serving four terms. The 1991 Canberra Assembly adopted a number of recommendations presented by Donald W. Dayton and Cecil Robeck that suggested ways the WCC could develop better relationships with Pentecostals (Kinnamon 1991, 107–108). During the 1990s, the WCC convened several consultations with Pentecostals that resulted in the formation of the Joint Consultative Group. 424

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The WCC’s Joint Consultative Group ( JCG) differs from the other dialogues. It is a multilateral discussion approved at the 1998 WCC Assembly held in Harare, Zimbabwe. The WCC team includes a range of unrelated denominational representatives, (e.g., various Orthodox, Protestant, and Anglican churches). While the Pentecostal team represents a range of Classical Pentecostal denominations, the Pentecostal teams are more homogeneous theologically, and easily understand one another. The WCC members do not always know the other traditions represented on their team. This has led to confusion between various WCC participants, making the dialogue especially difficult. However, all JCG participants share a significant core set of beliefs, and they have sent three reports to the WCC, the first to the Assembly in Porto Allegre, Brazil (PCTII 2022), and the second to the Assembly in Busan, Korea (WCC 2013). A third report was completed for the 2022 Assembly in Karlsruhe, Germany (WCC 2022).

Pentecostals and the Global Christian Forum The most significant ecumenical initiative to engage Pentecostals is the Global Christian Forum (GCF). Shortly before the 1998 WCC Assembly in Harare, Zimbabwe, Dr. Konrad Raiser, General Secretary of the WCC, called the first of two consultations that led to the formation of the GCF. Raiser hoped to facilitate greater contact between ecumenical churches (e.g., WCC member churches) the Catholic Church, and non-ecumenical churches (e.g., Evangelicals, Holiness and Pentecostals). Participants decided that, from the beginning, the GCF needed to be independent from the WCC, providing a table where Christian leaders could sit together and reflect upon the nature of the church and its place in the world. They determined to establish a forum, a safe venue for participants to speak freely, not a new organization with membership. The group established a small steering committee including the WCC, the Catholic Church represented by the Pontifical Council (now Dicastery) for Promoting Christian Unity (PCPCU), the World Evangelical Alliance (WEA), and the PWF. Cecil Robeck convinced them that the entry point would be a common sharing of how each person had become a follower of Jesus. The first trial took place with Evangelicals, Pentecostals, members of Holiness churches, and a few WCC representatives in 2001. Encouraged by their experience, participants urged the Committee to convene a larger, more diverse gathering at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, California, USA. Roughly seventy leaders from around the world, representing a wide range of churches gathered June 15–21, 2002. Half of the participants came from ecumenical churches and half came from churches that are not typically ecumenical. Participants found that with a critical mass from each of these four families of churches, they were able to speak and listen without fear or intimidation. That group encouraged the Steering Committee to take this initiative to various regions of the world before calling for the first international meeting (Beek 2009). The GCF has held numerous regional meetings and three international meetings, the first involving 245 participants in Limuru [Nairobi], Kenya, (November 6–9, 2007), the second, including 290 participants in Manado, Sulawesi, Indonesia (October 4–7, 2011) and the third with 250+ participants in Bogotá, Colombia (April 24–27, 2018). A fourth one is scheduled for Accra, Ghana (April 15–19, 2024). These meetings have been significant for the Pentecostal leaders who have participated. Their initial fears disappeared as each one listened to others from diverse ecclesial traditions tell how they became Christians. They quickly recognized them as genuine fellow believers, people that they had never understood due to a lack of training, or people they had judged not to be true believers out of ignorance. Sharing testimonies, common worship and prayer together moved them from outsiders to insiders. Those Pentecostal leaders 425

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who have attended have begun to form lasting friendships with other Christian leaders and some have developed cooperative efforts in the regions where they labor. Some professional ecumenists have complained that the GCF is not real ecumenism. They fault it because it does not require the deep commitment between churches that the ecumenical movement desires. However, given that ecumenism always begins with personal friendships, the GCF has proven to be a valuable tool enabling many Pentecostal leaders to embrace the possibility of more formal relationships between Pentecostals and the ecumenical movement. There are two primary indications of this. One comes from the PCCNA, the other comes from the PWF. Each of these organizations, one North American, and the other global, has established a Commission to oversee ecumenical relationships and dialogues. Dr. David Cole of the Open Bible Church chairs the PCCNA Commission, established in 2016 (PCCNA 2022). Rev. David Wells, General Superintendent of the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada, and ViceChairman of the PWF chairs its Commission, established in 2019.11 These Commissions provide official recognition of the ecumenical task, and each plays a role in their respective organizational programs. All Commissioners now receive official appointment from their respective denominations or networks and the Commission ratifies their readiness for dialogue. While some Pentecostal denominations continue to fear ecumenism, others are able to work together through these Commissions.

Pentecostals and the Secretaries of Christian World Communions Finally, a General Secretary leads most church families such as the Baptist World Alliance, the Lutheran World Federation, and the World Communion of Reformed Churches. Each year, about thirty General Secretaries gather in a meeting of Secretaries of Christian World Communions. They pray together, provide updates to each other on their work, talk over shared or unique problems that their church families face, and occasionally represent the global church together before government leaders around the world. The General Secretary of the PWC received repeated invitations to join them, through the early 1990s, but he never responded to their invitations. David du Plessis met with this group once during the 1950s. Justus du Plessis met with them in 1991 and 1992. In 1992, the Secretary of the annual meeting invited Dr. Cecil M. Robeck, Jr to join them as the Pentecostal representative. After receiving approval from Dr. Ray Hughes, Chair of the PWF, and Dr. G. Raymond Carlson, General Superintendent of the AG to participate, he served as the voice of Pentecostals for thirty years through his written and oral reports. In 2020, Rev. David Wells, acting in an official capacity on behalf of the PWF, joined Robeck there. Robeck retired at the annual meeting in 2021, and David Wells continues as the first official PWF representative.

Conclusion In a sense, Classical Pentecostals have come full circle in their attitudes toward Christian unity. Over the past six decades, their view of the modern ecumenical movement has slowly improved. They continue to recognize that there is only one church, one body of which our Lord Jesus Christ is the head, although they disagree on its boundaries. Where they fit, and how they perceive others who claim to follow Jesus Christ continue to be questions that they must answer. For many, historic fears remain, although the number of Pentecostals that hold as tightly to these fears as they did in the 1960s appears to be on the decline. Various Pentecostals now venture beyond interdenominational 426

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cooperation and enter deeper theological dialogues, intent upon breaking down walls of previous ecclesial division, and constructing new bridges to other churches. Others participate regularly in the GCF. The PWF and the PCCNA have established Christian Unity Commissions, and the presence of an official representative from the PWF among the Secretaries of Christian World Communions and at various other international ecumenical meetings suggests that Pentecostals are making progress in their understanding of the church. Perhaps in the not-too-distant future Pentecostals will be able to affirm, as did Pastor William J. Seymour of the Azusa Street Mission, that we “stand for Christian unity everywhere” (Apostolic Faith 1906).

Notes 1 Virtually all Christian churches make this profession through ancient creeds such as the Apostles’ Creed, and the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed. 2 This statement is also found in Waukegan Daily Gazette (1906). 3 Walker (1985, 19–20) calls crosses and pictures of saints, when blessed by the priest, “objects of worship to which the people prayed in homes, churches, and chapels or before wayside shrines.” 4 For an overview of these contacts, see Robeck (1997). 5 Thomas F. Zimmerman held the position of Chairman of the Pentecostal World Conferences from 1967 to 1969 and again from 1971 to 1989. The Conference was renamed the Pentecostal World Fellowship in 2001. 6 Correspondence from Bartlett Peterson to David J. du Plessis, September 14, 1962. David du Plessis Archive at Fuller Theological Seminary, 135 North Oakland Ave., Pasadena, CA 91182 USA. Nothing in the AG Constitution or Bylaws prohibited du Plessis’ actions. He simply withstood Zimmerman’s wishes. 7 As Cardinal Avery Dulles warned, those holding to the “least demanding doctrinal and liturgical heritage” do not necessarily have the best solutions (Dulles 1992, 193). 8 This incident is undated, but it likely took place in early December 1961. Du Plessis attended the Third Assembly of the WCC in New Delhi, which ran from November 19 to December 5. He planned to meet Cardinal Bea upon his return. 9 McDonnell defined Classical Pentecostals for the Secretariat (now Dicastery) for Promoting Christian Unity. 10 The General Synod of the Protestant Church [Reformed] released a 34-page report titled “Dialoog Pinksterkerken” in April, 2015. 11 The PWF has not yet set up a link to the Commission on its website.

References AG General Secretary. 1963. Minutes of the Thirtieth General Council of the AG Convened at Memphis, Tennessee, August 21–26, 1963. Springfield, MO: Office of the General Secretary. AG General Secretary. 1965. Minutes of the Thirty-First General Council of the AG Convened in Des Moines, Iowa, August 25–30, 1965. Springfield, MO: Office of the General Secretary. AG General Secretary. 2003. Minutes of the Thirty-First General Council of the AG Convened in Washington, D.C., July 31-August 3, 2003. Springfield, MO: Office of the General Secretary. Alvarez, Carmelo. 1987. “Latin American Pentecostals: Ecumenical and Evangelical.” Pneuma 9 (1): 91–5. Apostolic Faith. 1906. “The Apostolic Faith Movement.” The Apostolic Faith 1 (1): 2.1. Beek, Huibert van. 2009. Revisioning Christian Unity: Journeying with Jesus Christ, the Reconciler at the Global Christian Forum Limuru, November 2007. Oxford, UK: Regnum Books International. Bell, Eudoros N. (E.N.B.). 1919. “The Baptized Body of Christ,” The Pentecostal Evangel Nos 292–93 ( June 14): 4. Best, Thomas F. 1990. Faith and Order 1985–1989: The Commission Meeting at Budapest 1989. Paper 148. Geneva: WCC Publications. Bravo, Benjamín. 1992. “Sectas.” In Vocabulario de la religiosidad popular, edited by Benjamín Bravo, 173–75. Mexico City: Ediciones Dabar, S.A. DE C.V.

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Cecil M. Robeck, Jr. Broederschap. 1962. De Pinkstergemeente en de Kerk: De Broederschap van Pinkstergemeenten in Nederland geeft antwoord op het Herderlijk schrijven van de Generale Synode der Nederlands Hervormed Kerk over: “De Kerk en de Pinkstergroepen”. 2nd druk. Rotterdam/Groningen: Stichting Volle Evangelie Lectuur. Cassidy, Edward Idris Cardinal. 1993. “Prolusio.” [Given at the meeting of Representatives of the National Episcopal Commissions for Ecumenism, Rome, May 5–10, 1993] Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity’s Information Service No 84 (III-IV): 122. Centro Pro Unione. 2022. “Interconfessional Dialogues Online: Alphabetical list of official agreed statements.” Centro Pro Unione. https://www.prounione.it/dialogues/. Accessed 15 September 2022. Church of God Evangel. 1963. “Resolutions.” Church of God Evangel 53 (11): 4. Creemers, Jelle. 2015. Theological Dialogue with Classical Pentecostals: Challenges and Opportunities. London, UK: Bloomberry T&T Clark. Cross, Terry L. 2019. The People of God’s Presence: An Introduction to Ecclesiology. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academics. Cunningham, Robert C. 1962. “Scriptural Unity.” The Pentecostal Evangel 2526 (October 7): 3. Dicastery for Promoting Christian Unity. 2022. “Catholic-Pentecostal International Dialogue: Dialogue Documents.” Dicastery for Promoting Christian Unity. http://www.christianunity.va/content/ unitacristiani/en/dialoghi/sezione-occidentale/pentecostali/dialogo/documenti-di-dialogo.html. Accessed 15 September 2022. du Plessis, David J. 1954. “The World Council of Churches.” Pentecost 30 (December): 10–11. du Plessis, David J. 1955. “Are We Going Back to the Churches?” Pentecost 34 (December): 17–18. du Plessis, David J. 1957. “Pentecostal Revival and Revolution, 1947–1957.” Pentecost 42 (December): 17–18. du Plessis, David J. 1959. “Pentecostal Revival Inside the Historic Churches.” Pentecost 50 (December): 1–2. du Plessis, David J. 1960. “A Challenge to Pentecostals.” Pentecost 52 ( June): 3. du Plessis, David J. 1961/62. “The ‘Changed Climate’ Towards the Pentecostal Testimony.” Pentecost 58 (December–February): 8–9. du Plessis, David J. 1964/65. “Helsinki – Review of Reviews.” Pentecost 70 (December–February): 1. du Plessis, David J. 1965. “The New Pentecostal Leadership.” Pentecost 71 (March–May): 1. du Plessis, David J. 1966. “Deserving Independent Existence.” Pentecost 75 (March–May): 17. du Plessis, David J. 1970. The Spirit Bade Me Go. Plainfield, NJ: Logos International. du Plessis, David J., and Bob Slosser. 1977. A Man Called Mr. Pentecost. Plainfield, NJ: Logos International. Dulles, Avery. 1992. The Craft of Theology: From Symbol to System. New York, NY: Crossroad Publishing Company. Gaxiola-Gaxiola, Manuel. 1986 (1990). “Perspectives on Koinonia: The report of the Third Quinquennium of the Dialogue between the Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity of the Roman Catholic Church and some Classical Pentecostal Churches and Leaders, 1989.” Information Service N. 75 (1990/IV), pp. 179–191; Pneuma: The Journal of the Society for Pentecostal Studies 12 (2): 117–142. Gee, Donald. 1948. “Amsterdam and Pentecost.” Pentecost 6 (December 1948): 17. Gee, Donald. 1954. “Pentecost and Evanston.” Pentecost 30 (December): 17. Gee, Donald. 1955. “Catholic, Protestant and Pentecostal.” Pentecost 32 ( June): 17. Gee, Donald. 1957. “Sparks and Splinters.” Pentecost 41 (September): 7. Gee, Donald. 1959a. “A Striking Message from the World Council of Churches.” Pentecost 48 ( June): 2. Gee, Donald. 1959b. “Taking the Pentecostal Movement Seriously.” Pentecost 49 (September): 1. Gee, Donald. 1959c. “Orientation for 1960.” Pentecost 50 (December): 17. Gee, Donald. 1960a. “Institutions Cannot Love.” Pentecost 51 (March): 17. Gee, Donald. 1960b. “Contact is Not Compromise.” Pentecost 53 (September – November): 17. Gee, Donald. 1961. “What Manner of Spirit?” Pentecost 57 (September – November): 17. Gee, Donald. 1962. “Pentecostals at New Delhi.” Pentecost 59 (March–May): 17. Gee, Donald. 1963/64. “Wheat, Tares and ‘Tongues’.” Pentecost 66 (December–February): 17. Gee, Donald. 1964a. “The Pentecostal Churches and the World Council of Churches.” Pentecost 67 (March-May): 1. Gee, Donald. 1964b. “Ecumenical Pentecostalism.” Pentecost 68 ( June–August): 2. Gee, Donald. 1964c. “Divisiveness.” Pentecost 69 (September–November): 1.

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What Role Does Ecumenism Play for Pentecostals? Hollenweger, Walter J. 2000. “Two Extraordinary Pentecostal Ecumenists: The Letters of Donald Gee and David Du Plessis.” Ecumenical Review 52 (3): 391–402. Kinnamon, Michael. 1991. Signs of the Spirit: Official Report of the Seventh Assembly of the World Council of Churches, Canberra Australia (February 7–20, 1991). Geneva: WCC Publications. Kinnamon, Michael. 2003. The Vision of the Ecumenical Movement and How It Has Been Impoverished by Its Friends. St. Louis, MO: Chalice Press. Koolhaas, A.A., and E. Emmen. 1960. De Kerk en de Pinkstergroepen. S-Gravenhage: Boekencentrum N.V. Lawrence, Bernard F. 1916. The Apostolic Faith Restored. St. Louis: Gospel Publishing House (reprinted in Three Early Pentecostal Tracts. New York, NY: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1985). Lutheran Church of Finland. 1990. “The Official Discussions Between the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland and the Pentecostal Movement of Finland 1987–1989.” In Dialogues with The Evangelical Free Church of Finland and the Finnish Pentecostal Movement: Documents of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland 2, 33–56. Helsinki: Church Council for Foreign Affairs, Ecclesiastical Board. Macchia, Frank D. 2020. The Spirit-Baptized Church: A Dogmatic Inquiry. London: T&T Clark. McDonnell, Kilian. 1976. Charismatic Renewal and the Churches. New York, NY: Seabury Press. McPherson, Aimee Semple. 1919. “Lost and Restored.” In This is That: Personal Experiences, Sermons, and Writings, 380–406. Los Angeles, CA: The Bridal Call Publishing House. Mooneyham, W.S. 1961. “Pentecostals and the W.C.C.” United Evangelical Action 20 (4): 28–9. Murch, James DeForest. 1956. Co-operation Without Compromise: A History of the National Association of Evangelicals. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. PCCNA. 2022. “Christian Unity Commission.” Pentecostal/Charismatic Churches of North America (PCCNA). https://pccna.org/commissions_unity.aspx. Accessed 15 September 2022. PCTII. 2022. “Report of the Joint Consultative Group WCC-Pentecostals, 2000–2005 to the Ninth Assembly, WCC, Porto Alegre, Brazil.” Pentecostal-Charismatic Theological Inquiry International (PCTII). http://www.pctii.org/wcc/2006brazil.html. Accessed 15 September 2022. Pentecostal Evangel. 1948a. “A World Council of Churches.” The Pentecostal Evangel 1802 (November 20): 15. Pentecostal Evangel. 1948b. “Church Union.” The Pentecostal Evangel 1803 (November 27): 15. Pentecostal Evangel. 1949. “To Create a Superchurch?” The Pentecostal Evangel 1857 (December 10): 8–9. PWC. 1961. Addresses Presented at the Sixth Pentecostal World Conference, Jerusalem, Israel May 19 to 21, 1961. Toronto: Testimony Press. Ramírez, Daniel. 2011. “‘Do Not Quench the Spirit’: Charisms in the Life and Mission of the Church: Report of the Sixth Phase of the International Catholic-Pentecostal Dialogue (20112015).” Information Service N. 147 (2016/I), 47–62. Robeck, Cecil M. 1997. “The Assemblies of God and Ecumenical Cooperation, 1920–1965.” In Pentecostalism in Context: Essays in Honor of William W. Menzies, edited by Wonsuk Ma, and Robert Menzies, 110–32. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Robeck, Cecil M. 2010. “Ecumenism.” In Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods, edited by Allan Anderson, Michael Bergunder, André Drooger, and Cornelis van der Laan, 286–307. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Robeck, Cecil M. 2014. “Pentecostal Ecumenism: Overcoming the Challenges – Reaping the Benefits (Part I).” The Journal of the European Pentecostal Theological Association 34 (2): 113–32. Robeck, Cecil M. Jr. 2020. “Pentecostal Ecclesiology.” In Handbook of Ecclesiology, edited by Kimlyn J. Bender, and D. Stephen Long, 241–58. London: T&T Clark. Robeck, Cecil M., and Jerry L. Sandidge. 1990. “The Ecclesiology of Koinonia and Baptism: A Pentecostal Perspective.” Journal of Ecumenical Studies 27 (3): 504–34. Ross, Brian R. 1978. “Donald Gee: Sectarian in Search of a Church.” Evangelical Quarterly 50: 101. Rusch, William G. 2019. Towards a Common Future: Ecumenical Reception and a New Consensus. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. RV-Kirjat. 1989. Päätösasiakirja: Suomen evankelis-luterilaisen kirkon ja Suomen helluntaiherätyksen viralliset neuvottelut 1987–1989. Vantaa: RV-Kirjat. Sandidge, Jerry L. 1987. Roman Catholic/Pentecostal Dialogue (1977–1982): A Study of Developing Ecumenism. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Sheppard, Gerald T. 1984. “Pentecostals and the Hermeneutics of Dispensationalism: The Anatomy of an Uneasy Relationship.” Pneuma 6 (2): 5–33.

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Cecil M. Robeck, Jr. Sleebos, Corrie. 2007. “In vuur en vlam voor God en mensen.” Parakleet 27 (104): 3–4. Visser’t Hooft, W.A. 1959. The Pressure of Our Common Calling. Garden City, NJ: Doubleday. Visser’t Hooft, W.A., ed. 1962. The New Delhi Report: The Third Assembly of the World Council of Churches. New York, NY: Association Press. Vondey, Wolfgang. 2014. “Pentecostalism and Ecumenism.” In The Cambridge Companion to Pentecostalism, edited by Cecil M. Robeck, and Amos Yong, 273–93. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Walker, Luisa Jeter. 1985. Peruvian Gold. Springfield, MO: Assemblies of God, Division of Foreign Mission. Waukegan Daily Gazette. 1906. “Declare Parham Is Gaining.” The Waukegan Daily Gazette (September 28), 6. WCC. 1960. Minutes of the Commission Meeting Held at St. Andrews, Scotland August 3rd to 8th, 1960, Paper No. 31. Geneva, Switzerland: World Council of Churches. WCC. 2013. “Report of the Joint Consultative Group Between Pentecostals and the World Council of Churches.” In Resource Book: WCC 10 th Assembly, Busan, 2013, 151–61. Geneva: WCC Publications. WCC. 2022. Resource Book: World Council of Churches 11th Assembly, Karlsruhe, Germany 2022, 97–105. Geneva: WCC Publications. Ziefle, Joshua R. 2013. David du Plessis and the AG: The Struggle for the Soul of a Movement. Leiden: Brill.

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33 CONSUMING IS BELIEVING Pentecostal Material Culture in Argentina Joaquín Algranti

Introduction Like other Latin American countries, Argentinean society is crossed by intense processes of decategorization and recategorization that develop throughout different areas of culture, politics, sexuality, music, art, and religion. Criticism or non-conformity with current labels, taxonomies and classifications have sparked social and cultural processes which many times include some sort of distancing from institutions and leaders who assume the official representation of the sacred. In this sense, recent surveys offer the image of Argentina as a mainly Christian society that is shifting – Catholicism is decreasing but without losing the majority (62.9 percent), while Evangelicals (15.3 percent) and, above all, people who don’t identify with religious affiliations (18.9 percent) are increasing (Mallimaci et al. 2019, 24). Defining and categorizing religion, especially Evangelicalism and Pentecostalism is especially problematic. According to some studies (Mallimaci et al. 2019), 89 percent of respondents who identify with Evangelicalism also belong to Pentecostal denominations and their many renewal movements. The rest includes various minority groups such as Baptists (5.3 percent), Adventists (0.6 percent), Methodists (0.4 percent), Lutherans (1.1 percent), and the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (3.6 percent). The Pentecostal majority has come to colonize the Evangelical signifier and yet both terms are often used interchangeably. Following a global tendency, contemporary Pentecostalism in Argentina is thought of as an “awakening of the Spirit” from the 1980s and 1990s. In other words, it expresses a recent turn in doctrinal, liturgical, and organizational emphases, summarized in the revaluation of “the world” and its domains, the incorporation of communicative, expressive, and aesthetic patterns of the cultural industry and the emergence of megachurches (Algranti 2012). It is no surprise that Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism represents a distinctive and rising religious alternative. Following these observations, two of the predominant features of the Pentecostal experience, which set it apart both from Catholic and unaffiliated individuals, consists in regular attendance to the church and the key role played by consumption of a spiritually marked material culture. Pentecostalism reveals biographical projects that include a moment of decategorization of hegemonic cultural patterns, followed by recategorization cycles in a new religious language DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-40

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in which church sociabilities and different kind of goods design alternative lifestyles for individuals. These new believers are not exempt from reexamination, disenchantment, and negotiation, which are constitutive to the act of inhabiting religious worlds. In this chapter, I will focus on the system of objects that make up the Pentecostal material culture, exploring how books and movies operates both in church life and in the broader cultural world of leisure, entertainment, and enjoyment. Consumption expresses, in this case, a kind of social relation, i.e., a potentially creative way of joining a given religious project (Hervieu Léger 2004, 185–205; Atglas 2014). The goal of this chapter is to analyze the relationship between religion and consumption through the Pentecostal material culture produced in Argentina. This work is divided into three parts: (1) a description of the preferences related to written, audiovisual, and iconographic culture within Evangelicalism/ Pentecostalism, based on quantitative data; (2) an exploration of two examples of cultural goods manufactured by the organization Argentina Oramos por Vos (AOXV) [“Argentina We Pray for You”], which express a local refraction of global Pentecostal themes related to the problem of unity and growth. In the first example, I will address the structure and content of reading materials designed to lead to a national prayer campaign. In the second one, I will tackle the main features of the Christian short film La deuda [The Debt]; and (3) an examination of the spiritual marking and unmarking strategies of cultural goods along with the reflexive development of a common project concerned with two main tasks: the unity of the Evangelical landscape through Pentecostal leadership and the making of an “extra-religious” offer where consumption, leisure, and spirituality converge. Global Pentecostalism finds in the wider evangelical material culture of Argentina an institution that is key to the organization and transmission of religious experience. This institution contributes, in the first instance, to the homogenization of narratives, symbols, aesthetics, and deterritorialized imaginaries (Morgan 2005; Meyer 2006; Orsi 2011). Later, it reinforces content differentiation, as production means are nationalized, allowing the expression of local cultural projects, based on a system of symbolic goods with religious markings (Silla and Carvalho 2015; Ceriani Cernadas and Giumbelli 2018; Puglisi 2018). As we will see, unity and growth are two global demands, two signifiers, that can be articulated and expressed in specifics ways through commodities. Therefore, Pentecostalism expands a worldview that attends to the processes of decategorization and recategorization of religious life in its own singular terms.

A System of Objects with Religious Markings: On Materialities and Their Divisions The identification with Pentecostalism supposes socializing in a world of spiritually marked objects and references. Likewise, these materialities are grouped according to a sorting criterion – a system that arranges, segments and links them to each other. Following a specialized literature (Miller 2005, 2007; Meyer et al. 2010; Algranti 2018), this integrated system of goods with religious codes can be defined as a Pentecostal material culture that differs from the Catholic, Jewish, or New Age offerings. Commodities partially express the ways of life and representations of religious groups. They enable daily rituals, providing, from a Durkheimian perspective, a feeling of permanence and continuity of the “group spirit” in moments of dispersion. For example, symbols and emblems help believers become aware of collective thoughts and emotions (Durkheim 1992, 205–209). In this way, objects contribute to the institutionalization of singular definitions of reality. To be more precise, we need to divide the Pentecostal material culture into three interdependent segments according to the main characteristics that define them (Algranti, Ruffa and Monjeau Castro 2020). 432

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Written Culture This includes the production of contents whose distinctive feature is the communication through the printed or virtual word: bibles in all kinds of sizes and formats, books, newspapers, magazines, leaflets, notebooks, and daily planners are some of the most common manifestations of this particular kind of object. The texts transmit a sensibility and explanation of the Pentecostal point of view about a variety of topics. Descriptions and images teach how to perceive both the surrounding world and the inner life of beliefs and their symbols. Written culture can work as pedagogy or enjoyment, but, taking into consideration the tangible object the Bible represents, it also operates as an artifact with power that distinguishes the person who carries or studies it, or knows its formulas and sacred rituals (Gell 1998; Lewgoy 2004; Wright 2008; Algranti 2015; Bahamondes González et al. 2017).

Audiovisual Culture Audiovisual culture is comprised of a group of intangible but significant goods, including music, radio, television, and the Internet. The Gospel is transmitted through sounds and images where aesthetic patterns, melodies, rational arguments, symbols, and imaginations are prefigured. This audiovisual language is inseparable from the typifications and stereotypes of the entertainment industry. For instance, the Brazilian serial drama Jesús, based on biblical writings, was broadcast on prime-time television in Argentina, becoming one of the most viewed programs during 2020. The show was produced by Record TV Network, whose owner is the founder of the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (UCKG). Television contents, social media, and Christian apps for mobile phones show how religion is, among other things, a communicational act ( Jungblut 2007; Morgan 2011; Ceriani Cernadas 2020).

Iconographic and Aesthetic Culture The Pentecostal world involves those materialities especially related to apparel, jewelry, household objects, and stationery that carry religious symbols and emblems (such as Bible quotes, drawings, or logos). This category also includes religious items like the ones sold in specialized stores or santerías, which involve the exchange of material culture with the sacred. In a social environment where Catholicism holds a hegemonic position, the consumption of Pentecostal cultural goods is expected to converge with the Catholic popular religiosity offering (De la Torre and Gutiérrez Zúñiga 2005; De la Torre 2008; Leite Peixoto 2009; Menezes de Castro 2011). That said, what are the dominant traits of the Pentecostal cultural industry in Argentina? The oldest and most important companies belong to the publishing sector. This area serves mainly an interdenominational literary market revolving around the Bible and extended literature. Additionally, the production and sale of written culture allows publishing houses to diversify their marketing and creation of audiovisual contents, notably music and film (Algranti 2015). The offerings are complemented with daily use items that include Christian iconography. In turn, there are production companies that are subsidiaries of megachurches and international foundations that provide a platform of services related to radio, television, branding, feature film, and event planning. These services are mainly aimed at internal activities of the Pentecostal community, although the intention is to reach a massive audience. Films represent a secondary branch within a broader system of cultural goods whose core has so far been book production and, to a lesser extent, music, including worship and mainstream Christian rock music (Mosqueira 2014, 239–82; Lago 2018, 121–78). 433

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Preferences and Dismissals In contrast with Catholics and people with no religious affiliation, the Pentecostal lifestyle is inseparable from a number of common practices in which material culture intervenes. Reading the Bible, listening to music, watching movies, and using Christian apps are experiences that reinforce the definitions and the sense of reality offered by Pentecostalism. The 2019 survey conducted by CEIL-CONICET’s Society, Culture and Religion Program, allows us to make some observations about the unique behaviors of Pentecostal consumption in Argentinean society. I will focus especially on preferences related to written and audiovisual culture, based on three variables: age group, gender, and educational level. As we explore Pentecostal choices of written culture, we find that eight out of ten respondents read the Bible, and six of them do so on a regular basis, i.e., with a frequency that ranges from daily to weekly or monthly. This tie with the sacred scriptures is significant in contrast with the overall Argentinean population, in which four out of ten people read the Bible, and only two do so regularly. Women read more than men and, considering age differences, frequency tends to increase with age. With respect to educational levels, regular reading is focused on primary (60.8 percent) and secondary (58.2 percent) educational levels. The survey shows that Evangelicals/Pentecostals with no formal education are the ones who read the Bible the least often (45.1 percent). What happens with extended literature, such as texts, magazines, newspapers, and confessional leaflets? Four out of ten respondents prefer this kind of written material, and three out of ten read them repeatedly. Again, women outnumber men. Consumption of religious material decreases significantly among the young people between the ages of 18 and 29 (21.7 percent). Educational levels show, in this case, that believers with no formal education (24.4 percent) or who have attended primary school (21.7 percent) are the ones who least choose this kind of religious literature. In short, written culture in the Pentecostal world is mainly dominated by Bible reading as a regular practice, most of all among women, older believers, and believers with a mid-level education. Magazines, books, and newspapers come in second place, but are equally important. Here, too, women, older people and people with a mid-level education stand out. Regarding audiovisual culture, six out of ten Evangelicals/Pentecostals choose radio, television, and Internet programs, and five of them practice this activity on a regular basis. Women outnumber men in daily consumption. Age distribution is relatively uniform when it comes to regular practice, but if sporadic choices come into play, we find that senior adults (aged 65 and older) prevail (78.8 percent). Consumption tends to decrease as the educational level increases. Spiritually marked audiovisual culture includes, among its most relevant offerings, music: seven out of ten believers listen to spiritual music, and six of them do so on a daily basis. Women slightly prevail over men. Preference tends to concentrate in 65-yearold respondents and older (73.3 percent), but is evenly distributed among the rest of the age groups. The educational level shows that listening is less practiced among respondents with no formal education (49.9 percent), and concentrates on those who received middle level education, i.e., primary, or secondary school studies. In short, in Pentecostal audiovisual culture, music as a frequent consumption tends to prevail, followed by mass media (radio, television and Internet contents). Women are the most interested and, taking age into consideration, the distribution is uniform in both cases, with senior adults standing out. Generally speaking, the choice of religious programs is concentrated within the middle education levels.1 If we contrast this with the overall population of the country, the use of audiovisual goods emerges as another distinctive characteristic of Pentecostal practice, given that in overall counts these percentages significantly decrease; consumption of religious radio, TV, and Internet programs drops to 28.3 percent, and music listening to 26.2 percent. 434

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These findings about religious consumption shows the importance of a simultaneously religious and economic practice as a way of adhering to the Pentecostal definitions of identity and belonging. What follows is an analysis of two different examples of cultural goods, manufactured by pastors in the network AOXV. This organization proposes an annual meeting for leaders to address through conferences, religious services and motivational speeches, the main problems of pastoral life. This event appeared in 2001, in response to a context of social crisis in Argentina, which impacted churches and generated a greater demand for support in leadership roles. The annual meeting is usually held in the city of Buenos Aires or Mar del Plata and brings together mostly pastors, co-pastors, and leaders who belong to the Pentecostal and Baptist churches. This national network receives the explicit support of the Christian Alliance of Evangelical Churches [Alianza Cristiana de las Iglesias Evangélicas], the Pentecostal Evangelical Fellowship Federation [Federación Confraternidad Evangélica Pentecostal] and the Union of the Assemblies of God [Unión Asambleas de Dios]. In contrast, the organizations that represent historical Protestantism (Methodists, Lutherans, Anglicans) do not have an active part in this conference or its activities. As the survey shows, the broader evangelical label is strongly colonized by the presence and systematic action of Pentecostalism. Spiritual retreats represent one of the main devices by which Pentecostal specialists collectively reflect on themselves in order to produce an image of national unity and growth. Two types of cultural products, different in nature and impact, extend the symbolic territory of the event. The first one is a book titled “40 Days of Fasting, Praying and Personal Renovation” (40 días de ayuno, oración y renovación personal, 2015), that describes the simultaneously religious and social platform – and, consequently, political – that guides the pastors movement. The second one is aimed at a lay mass audience, who are interpellated through an unusual Pentecostal narrative, The Debt (2013), a short film produced by VSN Producciones.

Reflexive Leadership: Marking Strategies The written culture of the Pentecostal world makes reading materials, strongly or weakly marked, and available to a mass audience. Strong markings are sign systems that position cultural goods within a wide set of religious references of an explicit nature (Bible quotes or images, conversion stories, examples of church life). On the contrary, weak patterns represent subtle, coded, hidden signals, which require the interpretation of certain semiotics of specific signs. Cultural products propose a language of their own, bringing together both complementary strategies. The book, 40 Days of Fasting, Prayer and Personal Renovation, is overdetermined by all kinds of strong registers, reinforcing its strictly Christian authority and identity. The materials are backed by Argentina’s main Evangelical organizations (especially Pentecostal and Baptist) and by cultural industries engaged in producing Bibles, publishing written materials, selling musical instruments, and offering religious tourism services. Each one of them is represented by their distinctive logo. It has been clear since the very beginning that the subject of interpellation in this cultural product is the pastors, who are urged through the AOXV network to participate in a national prayer movement for Argentina. Hence the title of this short text: 40 Days of Fasting, Praying and Personal Renovation, and a cover image that illustrates its contents with a Bible opened at the Book of Daniel, suggesting the somewhat prophetic and apocalyptic tone. On the cover, the Old Testament is served on a dinner plate along with a knife and fork. The double metaphor is clear: the sacred scriptures as food and spiritual nourishment, and the collective gathering involved in a meal. At the same time, it is worth mentioning the book was published in 2015, within the context of voting elections that created a drastic change of 435

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officials at every level of government. One of the book’s main authors acknowledges this historical situation and proposes the topic of peace as understood by the Hebrew word shalom as a remedy for the confrontations and divisions among Argentineans. This idea stands behind every meditation and teaching in a common call to pray for an acting politician. Shalom describes a state of completeness and perfection, combining abundance and safety, health, and prosperity. It formulates the proposal of a Christian ideological matrix, a common-sense approach, that is above sectoral policy and traditions. The text also expresses a particular structure of thought and a cultural project. The aim is to build a complex unity of the Pentecostal world in a context marked by an apocalyptic spirit. In order to achieve this, it starts with a recurring diagnosis which presents the social but also moral and spiritual crisis in Argentina, in parallel with the political events of 2001. The novelty of this proposal is to focus not on the Pentecostal duty, but on pastoral problems. It offers a reflexive point of view on leadership itself and its internal challenges. The identified problems include “orphanhood,” i.e., pastors with no pastor; “lack of identity,” when the model and purpose of tasks are not clear; the “influence” of media and their distorted image of God; the absence of a guiding “vision” in ministries; the delay in “reproduction” and promotion of new generations of role models; the stagnation of “progress” in congregations that no longer grow or even lose members; and the challenge of making an “impact” on their immediate surroundings. The answer to each of these issues is a network of pastoral unity that covers the entire country, and whose main task is, among others, to define an “Argentinean biblical DNA.” The aim is to support, integrate, and train leaders, strengthen their churches, and avoid the influence of “biblically dubious DNA” referring to, for instance, the aesthetic and communicative guidelines of the UCKG. With this purpose, spiritual retreats, meetings, and training programs are offered. Following this structure, the Argentinean transformation starts with God’s action over Christian leadership, continues through the reticular reinvention of churches, and impacts at last on every level of social life, especially in its power structures. The book proposes a task and a collective agenda organized around fasting and praying. As in other belief systems, in Pentecostalism refraining from eating or fasting is an ascetic technique that contributes to spiritual purification and intimacy. The act of praying represents a symbolic action close to a “performative utterance” as understood by John Austin (2008, 49), i.e., a special kind of agency that produces an effect, modifies, and intervenes on the immediate reality. The purpose is for people to participate in a collective ritual and simultaneously implore for a selection of essential topics: the first week is dedicated to “Family,” the second to “Church,” the third to “Social Peace,” the fourth to “New Generations,” the fifth to “Pastors,” and the sixth to “The City and Argentina.” General themes can be separated into specific issues. For example, Social Peace includes prayers against threats that put peace in danger, like drug trafficking, poverty, unemployment, inequality, corruption, violence, and crime. The book brings together several pastors from the AOXV network, who write and sign a short text for every issue. The structure is always the same: a biblical quote, a sermon-like reflection, a list of the reasons for praying, and, lastly, a suggestion of practical actions to be carried out in the temple and in the neighborhood. Every author, in their own style, interprets and leads specific prayers. It is, in short, reading material with ritual, doctrinal, and pedagogical aspirations, which causes it to be saturated with explicit signs. They are expressed in references to the Bible and mythical time (“Just as Jesus, the Prophets or the Apostles … we also must …”), in the leader’s personal life experiences, and in the church’s internal life. The text presupposes a reader with the skills and religious dispositions of someone long socialized in Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism. In this case, material culture offers a particular worldview for insiders. 436

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The book programmatically summarizes a cultural project directed at a dispersed and competitive Pentecostal world. The intention is to promote the criteria and joint activities to address three endemic problems of Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism: building unity, developing collective action, and reinforcing leadership training. In order to do so, it works with pastors to re-think churches on a different scale and geography, consolidating an “Argentinean biblical DNA” through prayer chains, and spiritual retreats. The AOXV organization establishes a network of federal leaders that converge in the same space, who offer the same diagnosis, and a common agenda focused on the professionals of the sacred as subjects of social change. This reflexive and reticular leadership of the twenty-first century carries an implicit political argument. The transformation of Argentinean society is not a process that happens, for now, through great collective demonstrations, nor through the making of a traditional political party with religious identity. The change emerges from the development of a common pastoral ethos and a certain unity of action of every church on a national basis. The written culture contributes to transmit this project of representation of Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism. The book is a declaration of principles and aspirations that aim at performatively creating that which does not exist: the elusive unity of a fragmented movement.

Preaching the Gospel Without Naming it: Unmarking Strategies The same organization that provides pastoral training is also designing another type of consumption of goods, which specifically targets a non-Evangelical public and extra-religious circles. Audiovisual culture is the means by which it spreads mainly unmarked contents, whose purpose is to represent the Christian point of view and exemplary models of action, minimizing religious references. These sorts of goods do appear, but do so as a system of concealed codes that require semiotic work to identify them, as well as hermeneutic effort to interpret their message. In more than one sense, this movement is contrary to the pedagogical and doctrinal project analyzed above. The short film The Debt was made by a production company that comes under one of the main megachurches in the city of Buenos Aires. This church and its pastor hold a key position in the AOXV network. The movie was financed with contributions from different local churches. Two basic characteristics need to be acknowledged: (1) the effort put in adapting global narratives typical of the conversion genre to an Argentinean story, adjusting not only the cast, settings, and language, but also the accent, idioms, aesthetic decisions, and problematics to the representation standards of domestic film and television; (2) and secondly, the unmarking strategy, which consists in avoiding any type of explicit reference to the Gospel or to Christian life until the very last minutes of the film. This is a cultural good that is mainly unclassified in spiritual terms, and which requires a semiotic of Pentecostal codes that it constantly insinuates. Just like the book that promotes the fasting and praying campaign as an object made by pastors for pastors, the film, on the contrary, confronts the general public. It proposes a consumption based on leisure, free time, or entertainment, with religious culture that is somewhat separate from the life of the churches and their rituals. The idea is to tell an extraordinary experience from a Pentecostal perspective, without the conventional genre labels and classifications. This is a way of differentiating themselves from UCKG cultural goods that circulate on television and social media, either in the form of dramatic testimonies of mental, physical, or spiritual health, or through soap operas based on the Old Testament. The narrative structure of The Debt distances itself from the classical discourse of conversion (Garma Navarro 2018; Bispo 2021). 437

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The plot addresses a moment in the life of Juan, a middle-class worker, divorced and recently retired from a textile company. His biography is full of family conflict involving his father, but also his only son, his daughter-in-law, and his granddaughter, with whom he maintains ties that are filled with disagreements and complaints. Another distinctive feature in his situation is his addiction to poker, which generates a debt that causes him to run away from his debtors and unexpectedly abandon the city. Juan packs his suitcase, including a gun, and decides to go back to his hometown to look for an old valuable watch his late mother had given him. He thinks this treasure, a symbol of motherly love and appreciation, is still somewhere in his father’s house, where he has not been in years. This unique object could solve his urgent financial problems. However, the trip is quickly interrupted when his car breaks down midway. There, he meets a stranger who stops on the road to help him. It is a young man in his 30s, handsome, dressed in rural clothes, like a well-positioned estanciero (a traditional ranch owner). His truck is a gray Ford F-100, a classic, functional, and well-maintained vehicle. The stranger, who introduces himself as Emanuel, behaves in a kind and, at the same time, inquisitive way – he seems to sense or know that Juan is involved in a difficult position, so he offers accommodation. Emanuel’s home, like his clothing and truck, recreates a prosperous and traditional countryside imaginary. The old French-style residence of the farmhouse is located in a big property inherited from his father. The house is spacious, clean, and well decorated, without being luxurious. The aesthetic of simplicity and abundance envelops this enigmatic character. Juan feels surprised, appreciated and at home, and, for the first time in a long while, he rests. The dinner the maid prepares reminds him of his childhood meals; in fact, the soup tastes exactly like his mother’s. The feeling of home and care touches the protagonist’s heart, who little by little opens up and tells the true purpose of his trip. Far from judging him, Emanuel listens and offers advice about the need to change perspectives, to understand that inner peace does not depend on material things, and that a person is worthy for who they are and not for what they possess. Despite the danger, Emanuel does not hesitate to accompany Juan to his former home and, before leaving, he gives him a gift wrapped in paper. The dramatic tension reaches its peak when the armed protagonist confronts his father and demands the old watch or any existing savings. At the same time, the thugs who were after him break into the ranch, take the maid as hostage and demand to know where Juan is, or that the debt is paid. After a deep argument full of blame and accusations, the protagonist is able to reconcile with his dad, but when he returns to the ranch, he finds Emanuel lying on the floor and about to die. Even though he had paid the money they demanded, the criminals had shot him in cold blood before leaving. Juan falls down on his knees at this heartbreaking scene, and cries, “It’s not fair!” Emanuel, however answers without losing his composure, “It’s not fair, it’s grace. I hope I haven’t died in vain.” In the next scene, Juan and his son, after some time, are trying to find the place where everything happened, without any luck. It looks like it had never been there. Suddenly, his son finds Emanuel’s gift, forgotten in the car – it’s the lost watch that had motivated the trip, and a Bible with a handwritten dedication: “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” ( John 10:10). The emotion and surprise on the protagonist’s face suggests a deep and spiritual understanding of the events experienced. The film ends with the image of a distressed middle-aged woman on the verge of tears standing in front of a building and the sudden appearance of a stranger. It is a smiling Emanuel in urban clothing offering his help, in the same way he had done with Juan. A black title card with white text recreates the biblical quote, reinforcing the final interpellation to the audience. The kind and wise stranger was Jesus, a close and personal God willing to answer every believer’s smallest problems, support them, listen to them, and perform daily miracles. 438

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The system of Pentecostal signs emerges in a subtle way, as the dramatic text develops, carefully avoiding spiritualizing the plot. Beyond Emanuel’s sacred kindness, inner peace, and selfless sacrifice, there are no explicit religious references until the last minutes, when the Bible and the resurrection of this mysterious character resignify to connect and link these floating meanings. The aesthetics of simplicity, abundance, and restoration that defines the atmosphere in the ranch as well as its owner take on new senses if it is reinterpreted as a personal encounter with Jesus, his home, and his promises. Unlike Catholic representations, God is not a suffering or distant person, but a friend willing to help. The economy of the Pentecostal markings make an impact in the end. That is why decategorization is a calculated strategy to spread an audiovisual culture that speaks of the Gospel without naming it. A different, non-ritualized formula to approach Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism. It is a proposal designed to evangelize while paying special attention to the packaging of spirituality. As the former CEO of CanZion Group2 in Argentina put it: It’s not that [spiritual] principles are wrong or that people don’t want them; the problem is their packaging, they are put in a language no one understands. So, people are not able to consume them. What we do is, we put those principles in a format that makes them consumable. We want to make a product of mass consumption out of God.

Conclusion Global narratives of Pentecostalism, which circulate through literature, music, movies, and social media, reinforce local imaginations and collective actions. As shown in the quantitative studies, in Argentina, as in many countries in Latina America, the evangelical world is colonized by Pentecostal denominations. The worldview is projected through community rituals and the consumption of material culture. In this sense, the system of objects with religious markings is presented as a first-class institution, a primary resource in sending different types of messages. Some are strongly marked through classifications and taxonomies belonging to insider pastoral language, concerned above all with the problem of unity in leadership. Others, on the contrary, strategically inhibit and manage Pentecostal classifications in order to produce a generic content, mainly unmarked and targeted, to a wide range of consumers outside the movement. The cases analyzed here allow us to describe two versions of the same cultural project, where pastoral networks and the religious entertainment industry articulate global demands of unity and growth. In the first one, written culture is used as a tool to address the structural problems of Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism in Argentina, which are similar to those observed in other parts of the world. These are, as stated above, the difficulties of achieving unity, developing collective action, and offering training for authorities and members of the churches. The books and written materials are intended to build dialogue and a common agenda involving the main leaders of local churches. Pastors consider themselves both the subject and object of reflection. The texts represent a communicative and political event, which carries a proposal inseparable from the AOXV network. In this material, religious markings reinforcing the biblical and universal foundation of the message coexist with other specific signals related to the situation in churches and local contexts. The book confronts leaders, while prophetically supporting the ideological matrix of a reflexive Evangelicalism/Pentecostalism, which tries to position itself above government officials and political parties. 439

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The second version of the same project resorts to audiovisual culture in extra-religious circumstances, many of them related to moments of leisure and amusement. Here, there is an offering of products with weak markings, widely expressed through global Christian influencers or popular Latin celebrities (for example, the music of Camilo or the songs of Evaluna), but also through films, television shows, and books that speak of the Gospel without naming it. The AOXV network designs their own cultural investment with the short film “The Debt.” It’s heterodox conversion narrative contrasts with other charismatic approaches like the UCKG television shows, series, and films, where biblical references, testimonies and a pastoral aesthetic and language prevails. On the contrary, the analyzed short film chooses a generic spirituality of an unmarked Christianity that mixes, blends, and competes with the expressive standards of commercial cinema. Local refraction of global Pentecostal themes, such us the problem of unity and growth, finds in the design and consumption of material culture two critical resources. On the one hand, it sends different types of messages to segmented publics based on strategically organizing the topics, the approach, and, most importantly, the intensity of the sign system it imprints on cultural goods. On the other hand, it participates in a wider and competitive regional market, offering idiosyncratic expressions of the Pentecostal world. Among other things, material culture is a special sort of language that enables religious groups to manage on their own terms the decategorization and recategorization processes of contemporary society.

Notes 1 If we broaden this analysis beyond the written and audiovisual offerings and consider specialized store products, it is possible to observe that two out of ten Evangelicals own holy cards and religious candles, calendars, stickers, and posters, reinforcing an iconographic and aesthetic culture similar to the Catholic tradition. 2 CanZion group is a multinational company founded in 1986 by Marcos Witt, one of the main pastors and singers related to the renewal of evangelical music in recent years. The company is professionalized in the development of Christian content (especially music and films) and ministerial support.

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Pentecostal Material Culture in Argentina Ceriani Cernadas, César, and Giumbelli Emmerson. 2018. “Materialidades e mediações nas religiosidades latino-americanas.” Ciências Sociais e Religião 20 (29): 10–16. De la Torre, Renée. 2008. “La imagen, el cuerpo y las mercancías en los procesos de translocalización religiosa en la era global.” Ciências Sociais e Religião 10 (10): 206–226. De la Torre, Renée, and Gutiérrez Zúñiga Cristina. 2005. “La lógica del mercado y la lógica de la creencia en la creación de mercancías simbólicas.” Desacatos 18: 53–70. Durkheim, Émile. 1992. Las formas elementales de la vida religiosa. Madrid: Akal. Garma Navarro, Carlos. 2018. “Conversión y movilidad religiosa, propuesta para su análisis.” Cultura y representaciones sociales 12 (24): 97–130. Gell, Alfred. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Herviѐu-Léger, Daniéle. 2004. El peregrino y el convertido. México, DF: Instituto Cultural Helénico. Jungblut, Airton. 2007. “A Salvacao pelo Rock: sobre a “cena underground” dos jovens evangelicos no Brasil.” Religião & Sociedade 27 (2): 144–162. Lago, Luciana. 2018. Territorio de creencias: las prácticas culturales de los jóvenes pentecostales en la ciudad de Comodoro Rivadavia. PhD diss., Universidad de Quilmes. Leite Peixoto, María Cristina. 2009. “Santos al alcance de la mano: los caminos de la santidad contemporánea católica.” In Religiones y culturas Carlos Steil, Eloisa Martin and Camurça Mariano, 155–187. Buenos Aires: Biblos. Lewgoy, Bernardo. 2004. “O livro religioso no Brasil recente: uma reflexão sobre as estratégias editoriais de espíritas e evangélicos.” Ciências Sociais e Religião 6 (6): 51–69. Mallimaci, Fortunato, Giménez-Beliveau Verónica, Esquivel Juan, and Irrazábal Gabriela. 2019. Sociedad y religión en movimiento. Segunda encuesta Nacional sobre Creencias y Actitudes Religiosas en la Argentina. Buenos Aires, Ceil-Conicet. Menezes de Castro, Renata. 2011. “A imagem sagrada na era da reprodutibilidade técnica: sobre santinhos.” Horizontes Antropológicos 17 (36): 43–65. Meyer, Brigit. 2006. “Impossible Representations: Pentecostalism, Vision and Video Technology in Ghana.” In Religion, Media, and the Public Sphere Brigit Meyer and Annelies Moors, 290–312. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Meyer, Brigit, Morgan David, Paine Crispin, and Plate Brent. 2010. “The Origin and Mission of Material Religion.” Material Religion 40 (3): 207–211. Miller, Daniel. 2005. Materiality. Durham y Londres: Duke University Press. Miller, Daniel. 2007. “Consumo como cultura material.” Horizontes Antropológicos 13 (28): 33–63. Morgan, David. 2005. The Sacred Gaze. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Morgan, David. 2011. “Mediation or Mediatisation: The History of Media in the Study of Religion.” Culture and Religion 12 (2): 137–152. Mosqueira, Mariela, 2014. Santa rebeldía: construcciones de juventud en comunidades pentecostales del Área Metropolitana de Buenos Aires. PhD diss., Universidad de Buenos Aires. Orsi, Robert. 2011. “Belief.” Material Religion 7 (1): 10–16. Puglisi, Rodolfo. 2018. “Materialidades sagradas: cuerpos, objetos y reliquias desde una mirada antropológica.” Ciências Sociais e Religião 20 (29): 41–62. Silla, Rolando, and Carvalho Isabel. 2015. “Las teorías materialistas y la antropología de la religión.” Avá 27: 7–25. Wright, Pablo. 2008. Ser-en-el-sueño. Crónicas de historia y vida Toba. Buenos Aires: Biblos.

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34 OF CLOUDS AND CATHEDRALS Metaphor and Ambivalence in Charismatic Media Ideologies Travis Warren Cooper

Introduction While recently working on a broader project on American evangelicals and digital media (Cooper 2022), I came across two curious comments about Pentecostalism. These comments were not perplexing in terms of the content of their claims. Rather, what was strange was the way two different scholars in two separate books about two distinct media genres use the terminology of the Pentecostal as a qualifier to bring home unique points. Consider, first, a short passage from the philosophy of digital media. Byung-Chul Han writes in In the Swarm: Digital Prospects (2017, 47) that “digital communication has inaugurated a kind of Pentecostal communion.” According to Han, digital media “frees the individual human being from isolation within the self by summoning forth spirit, a resonance chamber.” Regardless of how a theologian might parse the accuracy of Han’s two brief sentences, it is clear from context that Pentecostalism is not the primary subject of his thoughts. Digital media are. Pentecostalism simply functions as the qualifier that characterizes the digital milieu. Digital media have quasi-religious, Pentecostal-like textures as they break individual communicants out of themselves and link them into powerful extra-social, almost spiritual networks of connection. “Pentecostal” is here a metaphor for the how and what of the digital. A second, equally curious passage comes from an edited volume on global film media and translation practices. In the conclusion to a chapter titled “From Hybridity to Dispersion: Film Subtitling as an Adaptive Practice,” Michael Raine (2016, 167) writes regarding cinema that “film was a pentecostal medium, speaking in tongues it did not understand, but aimed at a direct connection with the numinous.” Like Han’s more enigmatic passage above, Raine is not concerned with Pentecostal theology. Indeed, scholars of Pentecostalism might press Raine on multiple points, such as the seeming confusion between xenoglossia and glossolalia, or question what qualifies as the numinous within Pentecostal traditions. But the category serves in this instance as the situationally perfect metaphor with which to convey how subtitling movies reconfigured access to the global market of international film beyond Hollywood. Mulling over these two uniquely pentecostal metaphors, I began to theorize the role of metaphor in the making of increasingly mediated religious life worlds. Why, for instance, when scholars study media ecologies, do they often employ similes and metaphors of various sorts? In my own research among progressive digital evangelicals (Cooper 2022), I found the 442

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metaphors so replete that I began to take note of their appearance. Scholars use the rhetoric of the Pentecostal to describe global media practices, but how do Pentecostals and Charismatics likewise conceive of media? What are Pentecostals’ own metaphors? Due to the sheer force of frequency and repetition, in hyper-mediated contexts such as the digital era metaphors are inevitable. We think about and apply media via the metaphorical. If, as scholars claim, “A metaphor says that A is B, or substitutes B for A” (Grothe 2008, 10), it follows that metaphors are media. Metaphor “literally carries over or transfers” (Blomberg 2014). Media disseminate meanings across communicative contexts by way of networks and flows between these abstract meaning-bearing nodes. This chapter seeks to understand the circular operations by which metaphors mediate meaning and media produce meaningful metaphors within the context of American forms of Pentecostal and Charismatic media, segments of which aspire to be global. Although I focus here on Charismatic technologies rooted in North America, these developments are prime examples of de- or supra-territorialized media (Martell 2010, 10; Scholte 2017) that emerge in a particular locale but have (and intend to have) global ramifications. In the following pages, I observe and analyze media discourses present in two specific Pentecostal-Charismatic contexts: Benny Hinn Ministries, a global healing organization that welcomes digital technologies, and Church on the Margins, a small, progressive community located in the American Midwest affiliated with the Vineyard Movement. I argue that only by attending to the metaphorical rhetoric surrounding these groups’ digital engagements are we able to reveal the deeper lying media ideologies that structure digital practices on the ground. My research on the recent implementation of Zoom as a live service-hosting platform suggests that while both Charismatic communities operate within measured paradigms of ambivalence toward new media, Benny Hinn Ministries takes the more digitally progressive position while the emerging Vineyard community tends to resist Zoom as inauthentic, some limited usefulness aside. The results of this research underscore the diversity within even American Pentecostal-Charismatic expressions and offer a more robust methodology for the study of global Pentecostal media going forward. The chapter proceeds as follows. The first sections ease into the study of metaphor by introducing the word-image-schemas of seas, clouds, and cathedrals. Using as an entry point revivalist Aimee Semple McPherson’s choice metaphor of radio as “one million listeners gathered in the Cathedral of God,” the next sections move into a discussion of recent digital ethnographic research on Benny Hinn Ministries and Church on the Margins, paying particular attention to the role of Zoom during the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020 and 2021. After addressing the new metaphors of the digital frontier and Zoom’s onomatopoetic depiction of connective speed, the chapter turns from the descriptive to the analytical. The final section introduces the media studies concepts of affordances, media ambivalence, semiotic ideologies, and sensational forms, suggesting that the concept of the media ideology, originated by anthropologist Ilana Gershon, serves as one of the most convincing theoretical paradigms by which to explain how digital religion works. Delving into Pentecostal media ideologies and this looming problem of ambivalence requires first addressing the place of media and metaphor in studies of digital culture. In his pioneering theory of media as naturalistic and elemental, The Marvelous Clouds: Toward a Philosophy of Elemental Media (2015, 2, 5, 6–7), John Durham Peters redefines media as “vehicles that carry and communicate meaning.” But beyond a simplistic understanding of media as impartial “vehicles” and “vessels” for or “containers” of information, for Peters media constitute encompassing “environments” that serve to “anchor our existence and make what we are doing possible.” Pushing the matter further, Peters categorizes media, which often operate quietly as an invisible backdrop to everyday social processes, as “civilizational 443

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ordering devices.” Media are not culturally secondary or inconsequential but are foundational. No society exists without media. Following Peters, an axiom of media studies is that media themselves constitute the very fabric of social organization and cultural discourse. Having defined media and highlighted their importance, I now turn to some of the key metaphors part of discourses about media and religion. First, if you will, face seaward. Imagine the sea breezes brushing against your face, the warm sand under your feet, the salty ocean air filling your lungs. Close your eyes and take it in. Then open your eyes toward the blue expanse. Is that a storm brewing on the horizon?

Seas Part of the task of The Marvelous Clouds is to show how media, writ broadly, reconfigure social and natural ecosystems. “Our environment is so technologically saturated,” Peters (2015, 8, 107) argues, that “our crafts have altered the air and the deep.” To study such ecological shifting, Peters excavates the various naturalistic and infrastructural metaphors that accompany media discourse. Each of his chapters examines “key metaphors for digital media and much more – sea, fire, sky, clouds, books, and God.” In terms of the sea, for instance, not only do suboceanic cable lines conjoin continents, spreading technological infrastructures to create a spidery global network (see Supp-Montgomerie 2021). In the other direction, the sea becomes a productive symbol by which humans seek to understand the media they employ for various purposes. In commentary on the Internet, rhetoric often defers to oceanic metaphors. “Sea metaphors, of course, are pervasive in cyberspace,” Peters writes. “The sea is the preferred imaginary habitat for new media, from radio amateurs ‘fishing the waves’ a century ago to people ‘surfing’ the Internet and its ‘floods’ of information today.” Further, “Computers connect in ‘docks’ and ‘ports.’ Google, once known as a ‘web-portal,’ at first called its plan to scan books and put them online ‘Project Ocean’” (Peters 2015, 107). In my own research, I came across these water allusions so often I began to code them in my fieldnotes as “aquatic metaphors.” “Swimming in this digital sea,” one evangelical writer penned, “we are caught up in a torrent of media, striving to stay afloat and make some headway against the rush of sounds, images, and words that seem intent on drowning us out” (Challies 2015, 35). Others worry about “the churning sea of information” (Hipps 2009, 72) or a “deluge of images and announcements” (Dean 2010, 3). Not all aquatic metaphors are negative, of course. “Docks” and “ports,” for instance, appear relatively neutral. But seawaters have deeply metaphorical value as they allow people to express largely negative media ideologies about the Internet and digital culture. Contemporary metaphors build on deep-seated mythic metaphors. The Hebrew Bible, for instance, contains numerous textual fragments referencing monstrous sea deities and “aquatic forces of evil and disorder” that are in continual conflict with God’s divine order (Doak 2014; Cho 2019, 1). The stormy seas, digital or otherwise, are chaos incarnate.

Clouds Leave the tumult of the ocean waves behind and ascend upward into the sky. Note the sudden coolness of the air and the wispy cumulus formations gathering around you. “What is the cloud? Where is the cloud? Are we in the cloud right now?” one technology writer inquires (Griffith 2020). The short answer is that “cloud computing means storing and accessing data and programs over the Internet instead of your computer’s hard drive.” The cloud is an iconic holdover from the early days of the Internet’s design: “Ultimately, the ‘cloud’ is just a 444

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metaphor for the internet. It goes back to the days of flowcharts and presentations that would represent the gigantic server-farm infrastructure of the internet as nothing but a puffy cloud, accepting connections and doling out information as it floats.” The cloud is an icon of the digital era, but its metaphorical baggage predates Steve Jobs and Ted Nelson. The cloud has a particular Judaic and Christian history. In the Exodus narrative, a pillar of cloud guides the Hebrews by day. This theophany is recorded to have shape-shifted into a pillar of fire at night, but the cloud imagery continues to find resonance in modern Charismatic religious practice. Bethel Church in Redding, California, has released what they describe as live-recorded video footage (Bethel TV 2011) of the Holy Spirit manifesting as a “glory cloud.” Captured by various mobile devices, the video montage appears to depict “clouds” of various sorts, reminiscent of smoke, fog, or even glitter, hovering in the rafters of the church building. Growing up in Charismatic communities on the Great Plains, I recall clouds, visible and not, as frequent subjects of discussion during intense revival services. The Internet, too, is a cloud, as mysterious to us in its operations as the ephemerality of the natural communities of airborne moisture that come and go as they please. We cannot see the Internet, that vast meta-assemblage and invisible network of networks. But we know it is real because of the services it daily provides us. As the aquatic metaphors above suggest, commentators fret about the power of the Internet. The hegemony of the cloud is for many disconcerting, evidence that the cloud’s fleetingness is in fact misleading. Its materiality may be vague but make no mistake: the cloud rumbles and reverberates with power, charged with digital electricity, data content, and social recourse. The cloud does things. It connects. It communicates, dolling out and dispensing information. “Am I really implying that clouds talk to us?” Peters (2015, 4) provokes (Is everything a medium?). Meanwhile, as I type these lines, my dataphone sits apart from me in the other room, a strategy for guarding against distraction as I write. Occasionally chirping and buzzing, the device comes alive with the acoustics and haptics of notification delivery. The object beckons, animated with the data delivered from the transcendent informatics of the cloud, yet I try to resist its pull.

Cathedrals Oceans and clouds are both secular and religious media metaphors, but what about cathedrals? Consider a historic example of religious mass media. Sister Aimee Semple McPherson (1890 – 1944) was one of the most iconic and controversial Charismatic revivalists of the twentieth century (Blumhofer 1993; Sutton 2007; Barfoot 2011). While some Christian entrepreneurs were anxious about adopting the technologies of Hollywood and mass media to spread the gospel, McPherson weighed the pros and cons and found the potential benefits of new media to outweigh its dangers. For this innovative Los Angeles celebrity preacher, writing in 1924 (quoted in Musa 2015, 97), radio was “the messenger of the gospel of God, speeding to the far lands, encircling the globe in one second! Harbinger of faith, and hope, and salvation traveling on the wings of the winds to one million listeners gathered in the Cathedral of God, which is the earth and all who dwell in it.” Observe McPherson’s evocative language applied to then new, cutting-edge radio broadcasting technologies. Note the nouns and verbs on display. Radio is a “messenger” that “speeds” across physical distance. It travels invisibly on “the winds,” knowing no bounds. Elsewhere in the same passage, she categorizes radio as an “invisible spirit” (Musa 2015, 97). From a media studies perspective, most fascinating is McPherson’s description of the global community of listeners as the “one million listeners gathered in the Cathedral of God.” In this universalizing move, the media 445

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entrepreneur anticipates the global scope of radio’s affordances, literally imagining the entire world as a global cathedral for the proclamation of the good news. McPherson was not the only one to apply sky and cathedral tropes in the Charismatic context. E.W. Kenyon, another entrepreneurial preacher, called his radio program, which began broadcasting in 1931, Kenyon’s Church of the Air (Macintyre 1997, 157). Rex Humbard (1975), a pioneering televangelist, built “The Cathedral of Tomorrow” as a home for his preaching ministry and station for a televised broadcasting empire. And writing of the hallmark ritual of Pentecostal and Charismatic communities, speaking in tongues, scholars such as Harvey Cox and Walter Hollenweger describe glossolalia as a protest against “the tyranny of words” and, as a form of linguistic resistance, acting as a “cathedral for the poor” (quoted in Macchia 1999, 18). For McPherson, radio was a “Cathedral of the Air,” a “church with no boundary line” (quoted in Sutton 2007, 80). Radio was an invisible technological miracle, a way to project her ministry into the air across space, time, and distance. Seas, clouds, cathedrals. These metaphors do more than conjure mere mental depictions. They shape and enable the ways people take up and make use of technologies. Some of these changes involve temporality and speed.

Zoom, Zoom! Contemporary televangelist Benny Hinn, one of McPherson’s revivalist progenies, carries on in the tradition of new media experimentation. McPherson had also dabbled with early television in addition to radio broadcasting. But for Hinn television was at first the preeminent new(ish) medium available for the mass dissemination of a divine message. Hinn took television further than pioneering evangelical televangelists like McPherson or Billy Graham and in this radicalization a more uniquely Pentecostal media tradition emerges. Billy Graham’s television audiences knelt in their living rooms and prayed prayers of repentance, but Hinn’s global congregations experienced the metaphysical fluidity of the television, claiming to feel the power of the Holy Spirit pass directly through the medium of the screen (Balbier 2009, 77; Cooper 2014a, 12–13). In Hinn’s dynamic use of television, the medium of the screen conveys or extends the sensory aptitude of touch, in conjunction with sight and sound. Live television transmits a “magnetic or charismatic pull” and minimizes the distance between the speaker and the audience (Morgan 2007, 224–25; Buonanno and Radice 2008, 44). During his televised services, the preacher sometimes exhorts viewers to reach toward the screens. Viewers follow suit, later writing to report their experiences. “I laid my hands on the television screen and I received my healing of a stomach problem,” one person recorded (Hinn 1999, 162–63; Cooper 2014a, 13). In this metaphysically fluid mediascape, screens function as permeable portals for energies and presences. Screens extend human senses and feelings in complex ways. Television is one efficacious medium for this revivalist ministry and celebrity preacher, but in the digital era other contenders have arisen. If television can serve as a flexible medium – a permeable screen, of sorts, through which forces and affects might pass – how much more useful might be Internet-mediated mobile technologies such as laptops, tablets, and dataphones? Since its inception in the era of mass television broadcasting, Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM) has prided itself on being a technologically progressive organization, consistently striving to meld together evangelical theologies with largely positive media ideologies. In the early 2010s, technology-forward methods fueled the creation of the Mighty Warriors Prayer Team, a quasi-public group of dedicated intercessory prayer “warriors” – note the lessthan-subtle metaphor, here, to which we’ll return later – connected by computers and phones. As an extension of BHM, anyone could join the group, hosted through the organization’s 446

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website, provided they established login credentials. Enlisting in the team meant that a prayer warrior had access to a live blog-roll feed of prayers submitted in real time across an international network (Cooper 2014b). By the time of writing this chapter in early 2021, the digital prayer group had become even more inclusive, dropping the militaristic rhetoric and becoming a public “Prayer Wall” (BHM 2021a) that site visitors might contribute to. Like the early version, one can engage in prayerful activities by submitting new requests or by reading through and praying over the feed of requests submitted and clicking the “I prayed for this” button to the right of the request. With these cloud-based prayer technologies, one’s devotional network is always present. New media apps, like television, serve as semi-permeable screens through which moving images, pixels, sounds, forces, and affects might travel. During the 2020 and 2021 Coronavirus Pandemic, BHM, like many other churches and ministries, integrated even more technology to continue hosting services without meeting in person. During these services, Hinn continued to pray for participants via Zoom technologies. Hinn’s in-person services are characteristically emotive and embodied. The revivalist often touches people directly, anointing them with the Holy Spirit to heal them from various physical and psychological ailments. Hinn’s services, in fact, have garnered a controversial reputation over time due to the highly charged revivalist milieus he cultivates. Sometimes penitents sway or wobble under Hinn’s touch or presence. Congregants collapse to the floor after Hinn touches their forehead or lays a hand on their shoulder to impart healing power. But how to extend these prayerful milieus that require what Candy Gunther Brown (2012, 89) describes as proximate intercessory prayer, a ritual of embodied touch? When attendees are not physically present but connected by screens, these new forms of digital connection network to what Josh Brahinsky (2012) calls the pentecostal sensorium. Following Brahinsky’s lead, digital media appear to be amenable to Pentecostal body logics. This Charismatic ministry takes pains to incorporate and theologize digital media for its purposes. During the pandemic, Hinn carried on mostly as usual with his healing services, employing Zoom as a limited yet efficient stand-in for social presence. Filming live in his studio, to the right of the stage projected a large screen with three PC screens of Zoom frames combined (BHM 2021b). After a long period of music and preaching, Hinn tells an attendee that “I’m going to lay hands on you, on your picture, and I’m going to ask God to heal you.” The metaphysics of digital screens hardly differ from television broadcasting. “There is no distance in prayer, dear,” Hinn expresses. “Oh, blessed Son of God, have mercy,” he pleads in this moment, reaching up to the top of the screen, touching the woman’s digital forehead. This penitent reported suffering from heart disease and was having trouble scheduling surgery. “Lord, I rebuke that disease in her body,” Hinn intoned. “Let your mighty anointing flow through her now, Lord.” While he prayed for the woman, Hinn’s audio-visual techs momentarily enlarged the woman’s Zoom image. But to the right of the expanded picture one could view hosts of other Zoom attendees, their hands outstretched toward their webcams, joining Hinn virtually in prayer for the woman with heart trouble. After finishing, Hinn then brooded prayerfully over the group Zoom screen, choosing out others he felt led to pray for and asking staff to enlarge and pin certain user frames when needed. “Can the atmosphere for healing flow around the world through all this technology?” Hinn asks. According to his ministry, “Zoom and Facebook Live now offer an intimate-yet-interactive way to communicate onscreen” (BHM 2020). Zoom is an online video platform that has seen a massive surge in uptake due to the rapid need for videoconference media during the recent pandemic. Zoom capitalizes on what is perhaps the axiom of mediated world-building: instantaneity or simultaneity, that is, a “speeding-up 447

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process” or accelerated “intensity” of communicative exchange (Baudrillard 2004; Marris and Thornham 2004, 387; Tufecki 2017, 116–17). Founded by businessman and entrepreneur, Eric Yuan, the technology originally went by the name of Saasbee, Inc. In 2012, however, inspired by Zoom City, a children’s picture book by Thacher Hurd (1998), Yuan changed the name to Zoom Video Communications, Inc. (Loeb 2020). “For active toddlers exploring their world,” Hurd’s cover description reads, this energetic book bursts with the noisy sounds children love to imitate. Honk! Honk! Beep! Beep! Zoom City zooms with cars – and dogs! – on the go. Active toddlers, busy exploring their world, will love this energetic book that’s filled with the noisy sounds they love to imitate. The onomatopoetic intent of the book tracks closely with its vivid, Warhol-esque backdrop hues, and depictions of anthropomorphic canines zooming about on colorful cityscapes. Linguistically, according to the book itself, “zoom” is a sound and a verb used by children playing with cars and trucks. Vehicles and travelers “zoom.” The word as a sound-verb conveys the speed and intensity of motion. For Zoom Video Communications and its clients, including BHM, “zoom” translates as a metaphor for the potential of speed applied to new media. The rapid efficiency of Zoom aspires to make physical distance between communicants irrelevant. For the purposes of social connectivity, Zoom zooms. The platform intends to afford immediacy, to provide the next best thing aside from meeting face-to-face. BHM is not the only organization to utilize Zoom for religious purposes. And to be clear, not all organizations appreciate the apotheosis of speed and efficiency absorbed and aspired to by the platform. Between 2012 and 2017, I conducted ethnographic research at a small Vineyard congregation in Bloomington, Indiana (see Cooper 2022). Because my attention was on digital religion and new media, I briefly resumed (digital) ethnographic research via Facebook Live and Zoom in late 2020 and early 2021 to observe how the church was responding to the COVID-19 crisis. Like any community that thinks hard about the technologies they employ for various purposes, Church on the Margins (COTM) finds itself in a double bind regarding new media. This small church of youngish progressive families has no interest in lofty cathedrals. But they do know well the power of the cloud. New media, and especially screen-based and Internet-mediated technologies such as PCs and dataphones, are ubiquitous throughout this community’s lived religious practices, both at home and at church. On a par with broader American trends, most COTM congregants carry a personal dataphone on them and use that device as a multipurpose tool for various tasks ranging from entertainment, to organizing daily tasks, to connecting with co-workers and family members, to religious and devotional purposes like accessing weekly lectionary readings and prayers, to reading blogs by Christian writers, to listening to podcasts, to debating theology and politics on Facebook, among many other activities. As an emerging, progressive community, COTM nurtures a tenuous relationship to the broader “evangelical” category it is emerging out of (see Bielo 2011; Martí and Ganiel 2014; Cooper 2017, 2022). Some congregants, in fact, self-identify as “post-” or “ex-evangelical.” Others have classic Pentecostal backgrounds. New media provide the fledgling community with extra-local networks and meaningful links to non-local progressive theologians. The cloud, in other words, has in its omniscience delivered COTM with theological content and extended religious networks that they otherwise would never have had access to. Save for one or two instances spread across my years of fieldwork, they rarely speak directly of the cloud. But employing synonyms, they do frequently discuss the Internet as a frighteningly powerful tool. 448

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Building on this mediated anxiety, these Midwesterners are ambivalent about the technologies on which they rely. During services, dataphones can serve to access scripture readings, but they also distract congregants away from the purpose of gathering. New media are simultaneously useful and distracting. Outside of services, social media are good for arguing about theology and politics – but only to a point. Congregants report that too much contention increases uneasiness and stress, failing to be productive. Occasionally reiterating the rhetoric of the aquatic metaphors discussed above, church leaders preach against the onslaught of information and advertisements, naming capitalistic digital media as a culprit. To ward against some of these built-in problems surrounding new media, COTM members engage in subtle programs of technological restraint by going on limited digital media fasts or even extended periods of social media abstinence. The COVID-19 crisis provides a clear example of the duality of new media for this local community. Like most American churches when the pandemic began, the community quickly transitioned to online church formats. Through experimentation with content and programming, the church over the year developed a relatively successful, collaborative online service in which congregants met together weekly, read scripture, listened to short teachings, sang, prayed, and took communion together. The weekly Zoom service also involved more intimate discussion and small prayer groups that met after the main service. Over time, congregants grew to appreciate the consistency and convenience of the Zoom format even though they noted dearly missing meeting in person. Zoom Church, it seems, offers a new spin on the idea of the house church, an ecclesial genre COTM was already comfortable with. But even as the church appreciated Zoom’s convenience, they longed for the “authentic,” “real,” flesh-and-blood aspects of their past gatherings. As leaders and congregants reflected on the experience, it was clear that for many Zoom contradicted the community’s values and consonance with missional church practices such as the Slow Church Movement (Smith and Pattison 2014). To this effect, during one March 2021 service Pastor Garret closed the gathering, pronouncing that Zoom church “is not a full expression. It’s not a full expression of a church community” nor a “legitimate way forward” for the congregation in the long term. Zoom had done its job of maintaining and nurturing community while direct physical connection was not possible, but the church for the most part experienced the sociality of the mediation as too thin and not entirely authentic. “This medium feels more and more strange,” Garret explained, as pandemic numbers plummeted and the church began to discuss a possible return to physical gatherings.

Frontiers So which metaphors do these Charismatics employ in their discussions of new media? BHM uses the terminology of the “frontier.” In one newsletter written during the first months of the 2020 pandemic, Hinn expressed (BHM 2020) that “this new digital frontier will be our greatest mission field.” He explained that even amid the “seismic shifts” and “unprecedented challenges” wrought by the biomedical crisis, digital technologies were providing a means by which to continue to reach the masses: Several weeks ago, with quarantines and limited sizes for gatherings in so many regions of the globe, we decided to tap into the new video communications opportunities. Zoom and Facebook Live now offer an intimate-yet-interactive way to communicate onscreen. Since we can’t go to the masses to hold in-person meetings, why not use this new platform to hold Miracle Services? 449

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“Will it work?” we thought. Some wondered, “Can the atmosphere for healing flow around the world through all this technology?” Others asked, “Will people respond to share their faith-building testimonies live, just as they do in the in-person services?” The answer to all those questions has been a resounding “Yes!” From the instant we announced our first Zoom and Facebook Live meeting, thousands quickly sought to register – people from American Samoa to Zimbabwe … over 130 nations in all! The worldwide healing service, the first of its kind at this magnitude, exceeded all expectation, and an explosion of testimonies of salvation and healing poured in. As we have continued with more live services and as they have exploded in both size and scope, many amazing stories of God’s miracle-working power have continued to arrive. For Hinn, and this is a consistent element of his ministry’s position on technology, new media are a means – currently, the means – of fulfilling the Great Commission. In this direction, digital media are a crucial way to go to the ends of the earth with the good news. “God has already shown me that we will reach more people through social media than all the massive, historic, record-setting crusades of the past!” Hinn exclaims (BHM 2020). The biblical symbolism of the cloud carries through into Hinn’s ministry and teaching. Riffing off the pillar of cloud and fire passage from Exodus 13, the preacher expresses that “we are about to see the greatest demonstration of the Holy Spirit in the history of man, yet some will not see it because it will pass them by. The cloud is moving, and you can’t afford to be late” (BHM 2022a; 2022b). Elsewhere he teaches that the Cloud is one of the most powerful emanations of the Holy Spirit found in the Bible (BHM 2022c). But by far the most prevalent metaphorical language Hinn uses is that of the frontier. “This new digital frontier will be our greatest mission field,” he writes in one recent newsletter (BHM 2020). “And as disease, turmoil, and lawlessness spread like wildfire, harnessing this new technology is helping us overcome the barriers, even as we are able to reach nations once completely closed to the Gospel!” BHM is striving to “build the new frontier of interactive digital media.” “Help me fulfill the Great Commission in freshly anointed ways as we step into new, unlimited frontiers together!” he admonishes readers (emphases added). The frontier metaphor bears with it a sense of optimism and untapped potential. These digital networks are something to be experimented with, appropriated, cultivated, stewarded, and harnessed. Frontier language, we might point out, is the language of colonizers, missionaries, and empire. Predating the new media turn, Jean Baudrillard described the international milieu as “penetrated by the predatory and globally colonialist media” (Marris and Thornham 2004, 387). Frontier rhetoric correlates with what historians categorize as a pervasive “settler colonialist” mentality that seeks to perpetually expand the reach of the market by colonizing every available locale (Veracini 2010). Theologians have deepened the critique by arguing that settler colonialism “enables the ongoing process of destroying to replace” (Laurie 2020). While we can and should critically analyze Charismatic new media applications through post-colonialist lenses, BHM’s choice metaphor is not surprising. Hinn’s adoption of the violent rhetoric of settler colonialism and expanding empires, given the history of his healing “crusades” rhetoric, is at least consistent. His digital prayer team, after all, first went by the term “warriors.” Yet, coupled with the instantaneity of the zoom metaphor, it is the potential of spread and growth that I find the most fascinating regarding the frontier. On a short ethnographic trip to South Africa several years ago, I encountered the reality of the expanding media frontier up close and personal. My research took place mainly in 450

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metropolitan centers like Johannesburg and Pretoria, but on occasion we ventured out into the less metropolitan (but sometimes equally dense) townships and stayed with local host families connected with rural church communities. In each home I entered, illuminated, flashing flatscreen televisions displayed on walls. Those televisions, surprisingly without exception, tuned into the Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN), a major televangelist broadcaster. Even at the southernmost tip of the African continent, Hinn’s revivals broadcasted to the masses, alongside Joyce Meyers and other celebrity preachers. The optimistic frontier is in the same category as the cathedral and the zooming screen-portals. At the same time, as I discuss below, the frontier concept also accurately evokes a sense of danger regarding the potential effects of new media in the service of charismatic religion. Even as prosperity televangelism colonizes global media frontiers (Attanasi and Young 2012), social media afford for new venues of critique that may undermine rather than embolden a revivalist’s authority.

Analysis Up to this point we have encountered churning seas and invisible cathedrals, omniscient clouds, and vast, expansive frontiers. We have discussed zooming media screens, large and small, screens that function as fluid portals. But what are we to make of these wordimages? What do these media metaphors mean? To answer these questions and examine these metaphors in the context of Charismatic media requires turning to several key concepts from the anthropology of media and communication. In the following paragraphs, I briefly situate and apply the concepts of media ideologies, affordances, media ambivalence, and media sincerity. The term media ideology builds out from the linguistic concept of the language ideology, which anthropologists define as assumptions about how language works or claims as to the types of language communicants consider effective and appropriate (Keane 2002, 66; Bialecki 2017, 123). A media ideology, rather, is a more specific subset of the broader semiotic ideology concept. As anthropologist Ilana Gershon defines the concept, a media ideology is at its simplest an assumption about how certain media perform (or ought to). In short, media ideologies are normative ideas about appropriate and inappropriate usage, ideas that shape how media are taken up and applied by users. All technologies have restraints, limitations, and possibilities built into them by designers, but such affordances are rarely so rigid that they fully determine how people put them to use. From an anthropological perspective, use is decidedly plastic and beholden to cultural nuance. Media ideologies, in other words, are just as important, and possibly more so, than a technology’s telos of design intent. Going even further, I argue that media ideologies are applied techno-theologies. Working in the context of African Pentecostalism, anthropologist Birgit Meyer (2011, 29) has usefully applied the concept of the sensational form to describe “relatively fixed modes for invoking and organising access to the transcendental, offering structures of repetition to create and sustain links between believers in the context of particular religious regimes.” But while modes of practice are important, less attention has been directed to the culturally and religiously specific ideas and concepts – i.e., ideologies – that generate, structure, and define those modes. I argue that the concept of the media ideology fills this conceptual gap and does the work needed to study global Pentecostal media ecologies even more holistically. Semiotic ideologies are about signs, words, texts, images, ideas, materials, representations, objects, bodies, and things – all the interconnected elements related to human representations (Keane 2007, 2018). Sensational forms concern modes of practice and connection (Meyer 2007, 2011). But media ideologies (Gershon 2010) are normatively specific to how religious people engage technologies and media. 451

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Metaphor, furthermore, offers a direct view into the workings of the Charismatic media ideologies. Commentators at one time wrote off metaphors, both spoken and written, as superfluous and distracting “frill” and “embellishment” (Geary 2011, 3). More recently, however, metaphors have reentered the scholarly gaze as central to social, cultural, and religious experience. Following the paradigm-shifting work of Lakoff and Johnson (1980) (see also Lakoff 1993), we can no longer afford to ignore metaphor. Lakoff and Johnson argue that metaphor is central to the human experience. Human cognition at the most primal level operates metaphorically. The human body itself and its orientations in its lifeworld work along metaphorical continuums. Our understandings of space, place, and time are metaphorical in texture (Boroditsky 2000; Goldhagen 2017, 75–77, 255–57). Language – indeed, thought and ideation itself – is metaphorical. We cannot think without metaphor. Neither can we communicate (Geary 2011). For these reasons, I argue, we need to take the wordimages of oceans and frontiers seriously. Clouds and cathedrals are the nuts and bolts of Pentecostal media ideology construction. How to identify a media ideology in operation? Locate the metaphors that shape the discourses surrounding them and the practices they ultimately inform. Metaphorical images orient and define the ways Pentecostals use media, establishing various sensational forms and relating to words, images, and things along the broader parameters of semiotic ideologies. To bring this chapter full circle, how might we compare the Charismatic media ideologies discussed in this chapter? Media ideologies, for one, are always multiple and contested (Gershon 2010, 283). It follows that not all Pentecostal and Charismatic communities around the globe, or even in the United States, would produce identical media ideologies. Progressive American Charismatic communities will have culturally specific media ideologies that may contrast those from communities in Europe or South Asia. Assemblies of God media ideologies may differ from Vineyard or Church of God in Christ iterations. It is not surprising, then, that the media ideologies proffered by BHM and COTM are not identical and may even diverge at points. Yet, both expressions apply forms of what we might categorize as media ambivalence, that is, usage that ranges on a scale from unease, distrust, or suspicion all the way to full resistance (see Ribak and Rosenthal 2015; Syvertsen 2017). In the case of COTM, the use of Zoom contradicts the church’s deeper Slow Church, emerging Christianity values. For this small community seeking after authentic, local, thickly mediated sociality, Zoom as a tool of mass mediation is an admitted contradiction. For these reasons, it makes sense that the community’s use of the platform during the pandemic was nothing short of begrudging. The church experimented with Zoom church formats and some members even grew to appreciate and adapt to the mode’s home-based convenience. But church leaders consistently pointed out Zoom’s social anemia, writing it off as only a temporary stand-in until the pandemic is over. BHM’s applied media ideologies play out differently regarding ambivalence. For Hinn, the efficacy of healing prayer can mediate authentically over the Zoom network. Conceiving of the platform as a metaphysically fluid medium hospitable to the workings of the Holy Spirit, Zoom is an effective conduit of revivalism and healing. Again, Hinn’s media ideology is largely, although not exclusively, positive. Hinn, too, however, entertains some ambivalence but along differing lines from the COTM community. In his newsletters written during the pandemic, Hinn discusses digital media as an open frontier that is full of promise. But at the same time, my research on BHM since 2011 shows that the ministry has been using social media consistently since that time and that not all developments have been positive regarding the ministry’s aims. Scholars have observed that new media have radically contradictory effects regarding power and authority (Cooper 2022). In the case of Hinn and his 452

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controversial ministry, social media have given Hinn’s critics the platform by which to publicly question his status as “God’s anointed.” On one segment of Hinn’s televised program from 2012, for instance, he and an interview guest characterized Twitter as “thumbs gone wild.” Hinn alludes to the fact that he has received opposition through the Twitter platform. His guest, visibly not happy about this, makes it clear that people ought to be “protecting the man of God from even hearing [or reading Tweets on] these things.” “That’s why, before a service, I won’t even look at a Tweet,” Hinn agreed (Cooper 2014a, 15–16). Social media may effectively broadcast global media empires, but they also provide an unpredictable, even volatile platform for corrosive discourse and challenges to a preacher’s legitimacy (see Lincoln 1994, 78–79). Twitter can simultaneously both publicize one’s ministry and undermine a preacher’s public authority by calling into question their legitimacy in the public marketplace of religious voices.

Conclusion I have made the provisional attempt in this chapter to approach the study of Pentecostal and Charismatic media through the lenses of the admittedly enigmatic, speculative linguistic creatures we categorize as metaphor (Borges 2010, 45). Metaphor, I argued, both structures thought and delineates practice. It is in and through metaphorical operations that media ideologies, specific to socioreligious nuance, emerge. Along the way, the two North American case studies showcased in these pages reveal much about global Charismatic media culture. Seas, clouds, cathedrals, and frontiers are central to the mediated Charismatic experience, as are the more onomatopoetic allusions like zoom and zooming. Yet, this research reveals that there is contestation within Charismatic Christianity over how digital media should be properly used. Divergent media ideologies are at play. In response to the erasure of physical gatherings during the COVID-19 pandemic, one televangelist organization employed Zoom and Facebook Live to host its healing services. Another local Charismatic community used Zoom throughout 2020 and 2021 but did so begrudgingly. Complicating superficial understandings of Pentecostals and Charismatics as being blind and eager adopters of new technologies, this research shows that a considerable measure of ambivalence and suspicion is at play in both groups. BHM made use of Zoom’s meeting-hosting affordances but on the flip side is wary of new media’s potential to undermine authority and public image. COTM used Zoom but was suspicious of what they experienced as the medium’s mass mediated inauthenticity. Among the two groups compared in this chapter alone, then, we observed radically different Charismatic media ideologies. But what other ideologies are at work? What additional metaphors exist within the global Pentecostal and Charismatic milieu at large? These are pressing questions requiring further research. To understand changing media practices, let us look to the clouds and the sea – and beyond.

Acknowledgments Much of the research for this chapter was supported through a Research Associate affiliation with the Anthropology Department at Indiana University Bloomington between 2018 and 2021. I presented portions of this chapter, ironically, during a Zoom panel talk on American religious responses to COVID-19 at Pennsylvania State University in early 2021 and at a conference hosted by the University of Toronto’s Department for the Study of Religion in 2013. Many thanks to the attendees and organizers of these events. Finally, I’m deeply appreciative of my ethnographic interlocuters in both South Africa and southern Indiana. 453

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References Attanasi, Katherine, and Amos Young. 2012. Pentecostalism and Prosperity: The Socio-Economics of the Global Charismatic Movement. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Balbier, Uta Andrea. 2009. “Billy Graham’s Crusades in the 1950s: Neo-evangelicalism Between Civil Religion, Media, and Consumerism.” Bulletin of the GHI 44: 71–80. Barfoot, Chas. H. 2011. Aimee Semple McPherson and the Making of Modern Pentecostalism, 1890–1926. New York, NY: Routledge. Baudrillard, Jean. 1994. Simulacra and Simulation. Translated by Sheila Faria Glaser. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM). 2020. “Miracles in the Midst of Unprecedented Opportunities.” https://www.bennyhinn.org/enewsletter/miracles-in-the-midst-of-unprecedented-opportunities/. Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM). 2021a. “Prayer Wall.” https://www.bennyhinn.org/prayer/prayerwall/. Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM). 2021b. “LIVE Zoom Healing Service with Pastor Benny Hinn!” YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hz29gvEqc7A. Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM). 2022a. “Power from on High, Part 3.” https://www.bennyhinn.org/ enewsletter/power-from-on-high-part-3/. Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM). 2022b. “The Joshua Generation, Part 1.” https://www.bennyhinn.org/ enewsletter/the-joshua-generation-part-1/. Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM). 2022c. “Foundations of the Holy Spirit in the Old Covenant.” https:// www.bennyhinn.org/shop/all-products/foundations-holy-spirit-old-covenantdd/. Bethel TV. 2011. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvJMPccZR2Y. Bialecki, Jon. 2017. A Diagram for Fire: Miracles and Variation in an American Charismatic Movement. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Bielo, James. 2011. Emerging Evangelicals: Faith, Modernity, and the Desire for Authenticity. New York, NY: New York University Press. Blomberg, Kristian. 2014. “Metaphors in Film.” Eurozine, June 25. https://www.eurozine.com/ metaphors-in-film/. Blumhofer, Edith. 1993. Aimee Semple McPherson: Everybody’s Sister. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. Borges, Jorge Luis. 2010. “On Metaphor.” In On Writing, edited by Suzanne Jill Levine, 42–5. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Boroditsky, Lera. 2000. “Metaphoric Structuring: Understanding Time Through Spatial Metaphors.” Cognition 75: 1–28. Brahinsky, Josh. 2012. “Pentecostal Body Logics: Cultivating a Modern Sensorium.” Cultural Anthropology 27 (2): 215–38. Brown, Candy Gunther. 2012. Testing Prayer: Science and Healing. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012. Buonanno, Milly, and Jennifer Radice. 2008. The Age of Television: Experiences and Theories. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Challies, Tim. 2015. The Next Story: Faith, Friends, Family, and the Digital World. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Cho, Paul K.K. 2019. Myth, History, and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Cooper, Travis Warren. 2014a. “Benny Hinn’s Media Empire: Image and Presence in Global Televangelism.” Symposia 6: 1–14. Cooper, Travis Warren. 2014b. “ePrayer and Online Prayer Rituals.” Reverberations: New Directions in the Study of Prayer. https://forums.ssrc.org/ndsp/2014/01/13/eprayer-and-online-prayer-rituals/. Cooper, Travis Warren. 2017. “Emerging, Emergent, Emergence: Boundary Maintenance, Definition Construction, and Legitimation Strategies in the Establishment of a Post-Evangelical Subculture.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 56 (2): 398–417. Cooper, Travis Warren. 2022. The Digital Evangelicals: Contesting Authority and Authenticity After the New Media Turn. Indianapolis and Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Dean, Jodi. 2010. Blog Theory: Feedback and Capture in the Circuits of Drive. Malden, MA: Polity Press. Doak, Brian R. 2014. Consider Leviathan: Narratives of Nature and the Self in Job. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

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Metaphor and Ambivalence in Charismatic Media Ideologies Geary, James. 2011. I is an Other: The Secret Life of Metaphor and How it Shapes the Way We See the World. New York: HarperCollins. Gershon, Ilana. 2010. “Media Ideologies: An Introduction.” Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 20 (2): 283–93. Goldhagen, Sarah Williams. 2017. Welcome to Your World: How the Built Environment Shapes Our Lives. New York, NY: HarperCollins. Griffith, Eric. 2020. “What is Cloud Computing?” PC Mag. https://www.pcmag.com/news/what-iscloud-computing. Grothe, Mardy. 2008. I Never Metaphor I Didn’t Like: A Comprehensive Compilation of History’s Greatest Analogies, Metaphors, and Similes. New York, NY: Collins. Han, Byung-Chul. 2017. In the Swarm: Digital Prospects. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Hinn, Benny. 1999. He Touched Me: An Autobiography. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson. Hipps, Shane. 2009. Flickering Pixels: How Technology Shapes Your Faith. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Humbard, Rex. 1975. To Tell the World. Englewood-Cupps, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Hurd, Thacher. 1998. Zoom City. New York, NY: HarperFestival. Keane, Webb. 2002. “Sincerity, ‘Modernity,’ and the Protestants.” Cultural Anthropology 17 (1): 65–92. Keane, Webb. 2007. Christian Moderns: Freedom and Fetish in the Mission Encounter. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Keane, Webb. 2018. “On Semiotic Ideology.” Signs and Society 6 (1): 64–87. Lakoff, George. 1993. “The Contemporary Theory of Metaphor.” In Metaphor and Thought, edited by Andrew Ortony, 202–51. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Laurie, Cassidy. 2020. “Starting with the Land Under Our Feet.” In What is Constructive Theology? Histories, Methodologies, and Perspectives, edited by Marion Grau, and Jason Wyman, ebook. London: Bloomsbury. Lincoln, Bruce. 1994. Authority: Construction and Corrosion. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Loeb, Steven. 2020. “When Zoom Was Young: The Early Years.” Vatornews. https://vator.tv/news/ 2020-03-26-when-zoom-was-young-the-early-years. Macchia, Frank. 1999. “The Struggle for Global Witness: Shifting Paradigms in Pentecostal Theology.” In The Globalization of Pentecostalism, edited by Murry W. Dempster, Byron D. Klaus, and Douglas Petersen, 8–29. Carlisle, CA: Regnum Books. MacIntyre, Joe. 1997. E.W. Kenyon and His Message of Faith: The True Story. Lake Mary, FL: Charisma House. Marris, Paul, and Sue Thornham. 2004. Media Studies: A Reader. New York, NY: New York University Press. Martell, Luke. 2010. The Sociology of Globalization. Malden, MA: Polity. Martí, Gerardo, and Gladys Ganiel. 2014. The Deconstructed Church: Understanding Emerging Christianity. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Meyer, Birgit. 2007. “Religious Sensations: Why Media, Aesthetics, and Power Matter in the Study of Contemporary Religion.” In Religion: Beyond a Concept, edited by Hent De Vries, 704–23. New York, NY: Fordham University Press. Meyer, Birgit. 2011. “Mediation and Immediacy: Sensational Forms, Semiotic Ideologies and the Question of the Medium.” Social Anthropology/Anthropologie Sociale 19 (1): 23–39. Morgan, David. 2007. The Lure of Images: A History of Religion and Visual Media in America. New York, NY: Routledge. Musa, Bala A. 2015. “Mediating Faith Through Popular Culture: The Voice of Aimee Semple McPherson in the New Media Marketplace.” In From Twitter to Tahrir Square: Ethics in Social and New Media Communication, edited by Bala A. Musa, and Jim Wallis, 87–101. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger. Peters, John Durham. 2015. The Marvelous Clouds: Toward a Philosophy of Elemental Media. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Raine, Michael. 2016. “From Hybridity to Dispersion: Film Subtitling as an Adaptive Practice.” In Media and Translation: An Interdisciplinary Approach, edited by Dror Abend-David, 151–72. New York, NY: Bloomsbury.

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35 PROBLEMATIZING THE STATISTICAL STUDY OF GLOBAL PENTECOSTALISM An Evaluation of David B. Barrett’s Research Methodology Adam Stewart Introduction In this chapter, I do five things. First, I describe what I call the “Pentecostal growth paradigm,” initially promulgated by David B. Barrett, and now ubiquitous within the field of Pentecostal studies, as well as four common critiques of the paradigm, which reveals an – as of yet – unsubstantiated claim regarding the validity of Barrett’s research methodology in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia (1982). Second, I describe the complicated typology conceptualized by Barrett in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia in order to classify and measure Pentecostals around the world. Third, I describe the – very limited – information that Barrett provides regarding the data collection techniques that he used to gather the data contained in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia. Fourth, I explain the construct validity threats contained within Barrett’s typology of Pentecostalism and data collection techniques, which, I argue, provide sufficient evidence to substantiate previous claims that the Pentecostal growth paradigm lacks the methodological rigor required to provide valid research results. Finally, I conclude by summarizing my main findings and proposing an unanswered question requiring further research.

The Pentecostal Growth Paradigm It has now become almost mandatory when writing a book about Pentecostalism to emphasize the religion’s seemingly miraculous growth, especially during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. “Virtually every article and book on Pentecostalism,” Todd M. Johnson explains, “makes some allusion to demographics” (2021, xiii). A brief, non-scientific survey of twenty academic books written about Pentecostalism over the last thirty years reveals a trend of steadily increasing estimates of global Pentecostal adherence ranging anywhere from 250 to 694 million (Cox 1995, 14; Hollenweger 1997, 1; Miller 1997, 5; Synan 1997, ix; Martin 2002, 1; Jacobsen 2003, ix; Miller and Yamamori 2007, 19; Bergunder 2008, 1; Wilkinson 2009, 4; Kay 2009, 12; Robins 2010, 141; Alexander 2011, 27; Anderson 2013, 2; DOI: 10.4324/9781003108269-42

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2014, 3; 2018, 3; Miller 2013, 9; Espinosa 2014, xv; Stewart 2015, 1; Johnson 2021, xiii; Wilkinson 2021, vii). “It is by now a commonplace in sociology, anthropology, and comparative religious studies,” Robert Hefner aptly summarizes, “to observe that Pentecostalism is the fastest growing religious movement in the contemporary world” (2013, 1. See also Sanchez 2003, 180; Wilkinson 2006, ix; Alexander 2009, 103; Westerlund 2009, vii; Jacobsen 2011, 354; Stewart 2012, 1; Green 2013, 329; Vondey 2013, 1; Robeck and Yong 2014, i; Anderson 2018, 256). The genealogy of this authorial ritual can be traced back to David B. Barrett’s original attempt to enumerate all of the various forms of global Christianity published in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia in 1982, which, he argued, revealed the substantial numerical growth of Pentecostalism between 1968 and 1981 (Barrett 1982, 14, 792–93). This is confirmed by Johnson who writes that “virtually all estimates for the number of Pentecostals in the world are related to Barrett’s initial detailed work” (2021, xiv). Barrett persisted in this project for another two decades, which was continued by his closest academic successors, namely, Todd M. Johnson and, more recently, Gina A. Zurlo, who continue to record the ostensibly boundless growth of Pentecostalism around the world, a perspective which I refer to here as the Pentecostal growth paradigm (Barrett 1988a, 1988b; Barrett, Kurian, and Johnson 2001; Barrett and Johnson 2002; Johnson 2009, 2013, 2014, 2021; Zurlo 2017, 2018a, 2018b, 2019; Johnson and Zurlo 2019, 2020; Zurlo, Johnson, and Crossing 2021). The Pentecostal growth paradigm was subsequently adopted and more widely disseminated by Pentecostal clergy and scholars – mostly in the Global North – who flaunted estimates of Pentecostal growth in an attempt to legitimate their particular religious organizations, proselytistic efforts, beliefs, and/or practices (Synan 1992, 1997; McGee 1994, 275–82). NonPentecostal scholars of Pentecostalism, of course, also played no small role in reifying the Pentecostal growth paradigm. Estimates of the dramatic numerical growth of Pentecostalism served “to legitimate their work among their disciplinary peers who largely understood Pentecostalism as either a social compensatory mechanism for the poor, uneducated, and oppressed or – from the opposite perspective – an oppressive form of cultural imperialism that homogenizes vulnerable poor and uneducated global populations” and who, as a result, largely thought of Pentecostalism “as a distasteful religious tradition not meriting serious academic examination” (Stewart 2021, 614–15). The Pentecostal growth paradigm was eventually so thoroughly accepted that it became not only an implicit assumption among Pentecostals and scholars of Pentecostalism, but also, as Michael Bergunder explains, “the received view in academia” more broadly (2010, 53). One might even argue that the Pentecostal growth paradigm has played an important role in helping to rationalize a number of large grants awarded to support major research initiatives investigating the extent and causes of the growth of Pentecostalism around the world (Atlas of Pentecostalism n.d.; University of Southern California n.d.; Pew Research Center 2006; 2011; Miller, Sargeant, and Flory 2013). Some scholars of Pentecostalism – even when sometimes citing the continually ballooning estimates of global Pentecostalism themselves – are critical of the Pentecostal growth paradigm, and, especially, of Barrett’s contribution to this discourse. In my review of the academic literature, I detect four common critiques of the Pentecostal growth paradigm. First are concerns that Barrett’s early research methodology might not have been sufficiently sophisticated to provide valid results. Second is the charge that Barrett’s use of the three waves metaphor carries an ahistorical, Americentric, and teleological bias that understands Pentecostalism as originating around 1900 in the classical Pentecostalism of the United States, then providentially expanding further beginning around 1960 through the Charismatic movement within non-Pentecostal denominations, and, finally, reaching its most progressive stage of 458

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development beginning around 1980 through the more global Neo-Pentecostal movement. Even when it substitutes revised terminology for the problematic three waves metaphor, critics claim, the Pentecostal growth paradigm’s persistence in funneling an extremely diverse number of religious traditions into a tripartite typology makes it overly reductionistic. Third, is a more specific critique closely related to the more general second critique, which asserts that, although the increasing prevalence of Pentecostal adherence around the world is not seriously debated by scholars of Pentecostalism, a significant portion of increasing Pentecostal growth estimates are the result of definitional sprawl rather than an increase in the actual number of adherents. Or, to put this in more social scientific parlance, critics suggest that some of the increase in global Pentecostal adherence reported by advocates of the Pentecostal growth paradigm is caused by the adoption of a more inclusive operational definition of Pentecostalism – especially a more expansive definition of the second wave/Charismatics and the third wave/Neo-Pentecostals – which would, obviously, cause an increase in any measurement of Pentecostalism. Finally, some scholars have charged the Pentecostal growth paradigm as being guilty of Pentecostal triumphalism. Barrett directly addresses and emphatically rejects what he calls the “folly of triumphalism” in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia, and, instead, claims that the work’s goal, “is to present an objective and empirical picture of numerical expansion and decline” (1982, 40). Despite this assurance, Barrett’s occupation as a missionary, stated belief that all of the world would be evangelized by the end of the twentieth century, and, not least of all, his development of a “theology of Christian enumeration” that explains the purpose of his work as helping “the followers of Christ to discern at what points to commit their resources in order to implement their commission” (1982, 39), serve to make this, probably, the least debatable criticism of the Pentecostal growth paradigm. The particular strength of this last critique might also possibly explain why, in his recent dismissal of the critiques commonly levied against Barrett’s work, Johnson (2021, xv–xvi) elects not to address the accusation of triumphalism (McGee 1994, 275–82; Anderson 2004, 1, 10–13; 2010, 13–14; 2013, 1–5, 252–53; 2014, 1–12, 200; 2018, 256; Bergunder 2008, 1–20; 2010, 51–73; 2021a, 174–77; 2021b, 298; Kalu 2008, 13–15; van der Laan 2010, 204–205; Hwa Yung 2011, 30–45; Zurlo 2017, 324–28, 332, 335–38, 340–44, 347–55, 366, 369; Iap̍ 2021, 626; McClymond 2021, 450; Stewart 2021, 614–17; Wilkinson 2021, vii, ix). Based on my assessment of the academic literature, I believe that it is safe to conclude that the second, third, and fourth critiques of the Pentecostal growth paradigm are firmly established. Although further analyses are certainly welcome, as they might reveal new discoveries or interpretations, they are not required in order to corroborate these three critiques of the Pentecostal growth paradigm. The most vocal advocate of the first critique of the Pentecostal growth paradigm regarding the validity of Barrett’s research methodology, is, undoubtedly, Allan Anderson, who has characterized Barrett’s estimates of global Pentecostalism as, variously, “wild guesses,” “debatable,” “inaccurate or inflated,” “considerably inflated,” “wildly speculative” “controversial and undoubtedly inflated,” “inflated wild guesses,” and “statistical speculations” (2004, 1; 2010, 13, 14; 2013, 2, 253; 2014, 1, 4). My review of the existing academic literature, however, was unsuccessful in uncovering any meaningful evidence to support Anderson’s claim, which appears to confirm Johnson’s assertion that these allegations “were not accompanied by any substantial evidence” (2021, xv). It seems to me, then, that the principal question at hand is – even if Johnson is correct in pointing out that existing critiques of Barrett’s research methodology are presently unsubstantiated – whether or not Anderson’s claim is either true or false. The simple fact of the matter is that, currently, we simply do not know the answer to this question, because no one has actually bothered critically to examine Barrett’s research methodology in any significant detail. Although Zurlo 459

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does helpfully acknowledge some of the common critiques that reviewers made of Barrett’s research methodology when the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia was initially published, she hesitates to assess the merits of these claims, and provides a largely sympathetic view of Barrett’s work and its reception (2017, 307–70). In what follows, then, I will assess the research methodology employed by Barrett in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia in order to determine if there is any basis to Anderson’s claim.

Classifying Pentecostalism in the World Christian Encyclopedia Ecclesiastical Blocs, Traditions, and Types To describe Barrett’s enumeration of Pentecostals – let alone of Christians as a whole – in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia as confusing would be a drastic understatement. Guiding the entire work is Barrett’s conceptualization of Christianity as consisting of seven basic types, or what he also called “ecclesiastical blocs,” “ecclesiastico – cultural major blocs,” or “streams.” These seven types are: (1) “Anglican”; (2) “Catholic (non-Roman) (of Western origin)”; (3) “Non-white indigenous,” “Non-white indigenous Christians,” or “Non-white or black/third-world indigenous”; (4) “marginal Protestant (para-Christian of Western origin)”; (5) “Orthodox (eastern, oriental, or nestorian)”; (6) “Protestant (sometimes called evangelical)”; and (7) “Roman Catholic,” and were identified in Barrett’s many statistical tables using the one-letter codes, “A,” “C,” “I,” “M,” “O,” “P,” and “R,” respectively (Barrett 1982, 14–15, 34–35, 70–71, 125–26, 791, 816, 820, 825, 832, 836, 837, 840, 842). Barrett further subdivided these seven basic types of Christianity into 156 subtypes, or what he called “ecclesiastical traditions,” each containing their own unique three-letter code, which I will spare the reader from listing here individually. A one-letter ecclesiastic bloc code, then, can be combined with a three-letter ecclesiastic tradition code in order to create a four-letter code that Barrett called an “ecclesiastic type.” It might seem unnecessary to combine ecclesiastic bloc and ecclesiastic tradition codes in order to produce a third level of hierarchy in the form of an ecclesiastic type code, since each ecclesiastical tradition code, one might reasonably assume, is hierarchically subordinated under an ecclesiastical bloc code. A large number of ecclesiastical tradition codes, however, such as those for Baptist, Coptic, Pentecostal, or Syrian, can be combined with more than one ecclesiastical bloc code, thus requiring an ecclesiastical type code to differentiate when, for instance, the ecclesiastical tradition code for Syrian “Syr” is referring to either Orthodox or Roman Catholic Christians, which, of course, are differentiated by different ecclesiastical bloc codes (Barrett 1982, 14–15, 34–35, 125–27, 792–93). Within Barrett’s system, a four-letter ecclesiastical type code can then be applied to every one of the 20,780 Christian organizations – associations, churches, conferences, congregations, conventions, denominations, dioceses, fellowships, missions, patriarchates, societies, synods, unions, and many others – that he identified around the world. This codification ostensibly allows readers to describe both the basic, superordinate type – at the oneletter ecclesiastical bloc code level – as well as the more granular, subordinate subtype – at the three-letter ecclesiastical tradition code level – of Christianity to which a specific Christian organization belongs. The ecclesiastic type for the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada, for instance, is “P Pe2.” The ecclesiastical bloc code “P” tells us that this religious organization is, broadly speaking, “Protestant,” and the ecclesiastical tradition code “Pe2” tells us that this religious organization might more specifically be understood as, in Barrett’s words,

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“Baptistic-Pentecostal or Keswick-Pentecostal: 2-crisis-experience (conversion, baptism of the Spirit)” (Barrett 1982, 14–17, 34–35, 126–27, 216, 792–93, 818). This hierarchy can be visualized in the following way: P [one-letter ecclesiastical bloc code for Protestant] Pe2 [three-letter ecclesiastical tradition code for Baptistic-Pentecostal or Keswick-Pentecostal: 2-crisis-experience (conversion, baptism of the Spirit)] P Pe2 [four-letter ecclesiastic type code indicating that a specific Christian organization is classified as belonging – at a superordinate level – to Protestantism, and – at a subordinate level – to Keswick-Pentecostalism]

Three Types of Pentecostals In the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia, Barrett – most likely unintentionally – constructed two different schemata of Pentecostalism, the first containing two types and seventeen different sub-types of Pentecostals, and the second containing three types and the same seventeen different sub-types of Pentecostals. The two types of Pentecostals contained in Barrett’s first schema are “Pentecostal” and “pentecostal.” He defined “Pentecostal” in the following way: “With a capital ‘P,’ the noun or adjective refers here to charismatic Christians in separate or distinct Pentecostal denominations of white origin.” Barrett used the term “Pentecostals” with an upper-case “P,” then, to refer to exclusively white “Classical Pentecostals,” which he describes as a “Blanket term for traditional types of Pentecostal (Pentecostal Apostolic, Oneness-Pentecostal, Baptistic-Pentecostal, Holiness-Pentecostal, Perfectionist-Pentecostal) as contrasted with neo-pentecostal, Catholic pentecostal, Nonwhite pentecostal, etc.” (1982, 821). He then defined “pentecostal” as follows: “With a small ‘p,’ the noun or adjective refers here to charismatic Christians (1) still within mainline, non-Pentecostal denominations, and (2) those in Non-white indigenous pentecostal denominations” (1982, 838). By further subdividing the second type of Pentecostals contained within his first schema from one to two types of Pentecostals, Barrett constructed a second schema of Pentecostalism that included the following three types of Pentecostals: (1) Pentecostals in self-identifying Pentecostal denominations thought to be of white origin; (2) Charismatics in non-Pentecostal denominations; and (3) Pentecostals in self-identifying Pentecostal denominations thought to be of non-white origin. I agree with Johnson that this second schema placing, first, Charismatics, and, second, Pentecostals thought to be of non-white origin, at the same hierarchical level as Pentecostals thought to be of white origin, probably best represents how Barrett actually understood Pentecostalism ( Johnson 2021, xiv). Barrett’s overall treatment of Pentecostalism in the World Christian Encyclopedia confirms this basic tripartite understanding of Pentecostalism. His definition of what he calls “Pentecostalcharismatics,” which he defines as “a blanket term for all Pentecostals, pentecostals, neopentecostals, and charismatics,” bears this out further (1982, 838). In order for this to make sense, it is first important to note that Barrett treated the terms “neo-pentecostals” and “charismatics” somewhat synonymously, sometimes using “neo-pentecostals” to refer exclusively to Charismatics in specifically Protestant non-Pentecostal denominations, and, at other times, to refer to Charismatics in all Christian non-Pentecostal denominations, but, in either case, as Pentecostals in non-Pentecostal denominations (1982, 820, 835). When one treats Barrett’s use of the terms “neo-pentecostals” and “charismatics” as synonyms, then

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his definition demonstrates a preference for three broad types of Pentecostals. Barrett, of course, was not the first to suggest a tripartite typology of Pentecostalism, and was very likely influenced by the work of Walter J. Hollenweger who, a decade earlier, distinguished between “classical Pentecostalism” originating in the United States, the “Charismatic revival” in Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant denominations, and “independent Pentecostals” around the world, but especially in Africa (Hollenweger 1972, 3–20, 65–67, 71–72, 149–75, 244–50. See also Hollenweger 1997).

Seventeen Subtypes of Pentecostals Barrett was not satisfied with a simple threefold typology of Pentecostalism, but, rather, subordinated under these three types an additional seventeen more specific subtypes using a combination of theological, historical, denominational, and/or racial criteria. Under “Pentecostals,” Barrett included the following six subtypes each identified with a three-letter ecclesiastical tradition code: (1) “Oneness (Unitarian)-Pentecostal” or “Pe1” (also called “Unitarian-Pentecostals” and “Jesus-Only Pentecostals”); (2) “Baptistic-Pentecostal” or “Pe2” (also called “Keswick-Pentecostals” and referring to Pentecostals adopting what he called a “2-crisis-experience” of conversion and Spirit baptism); (3) “Holiness-Pentecostal” or “Pe3” (referring to Pentecostals adopting what he called a “3-crisis-experience” of conversion, sanctification, and Spirit baptism); (4) “Radical Pentecostal” or “Pe4” (also called “Perfectionist-Pentecostal,” “Free Pentecostal,” “Deliverance Pentecostal,” and “RevivalistPentecostal” and referring to Pentecostals adopting what he called a “4-crisis-experience” which he described as including “deliverance/ecstatic confession/ascension/perfectionism/ prophecy”); (5) “Pentecostal Apostolic” or “PeA” (referring to Pentecostals emphasizing a “complex hierarchy of living apostles, prophets and other charismatic officials”); and, finally, (6) “Pentecostal” or “Pen” (referring to “Classical Pentecostal of unspecified type”) (1982, 793, 837, 818, 829, 840, 838, 127). Under “pentecostals,” Barrett included six subtypes very similar to those just mentioned, however, the lower-case “p” “pentecostals” indicated that they were categorized under the “Non-white indigenous” rather than the “Protestant” ecclesiastical bloc, which meant that they referred exclusively to what Barrett called “non-white indigenous pentecostal denominations.” These six subtypes included (1) “indigenous oneness-pentecostal” or “pe1,” (2) “indigenous baptistic-pentecostal” or “pe2,” (3) “indigenous holiness-pentecostal” or “pe3,” (4) “indigenous radical-pentecostal” or “pe4,” (5) “indigenous pentecostal-apostolic” or “peA,” and (6) “indigenous charismatic/pentecostal” or “pen” (which, similar to “Pentecostal” or “Pen,” functioned as a loose category to code non-white denominational Pentecostals who did not neatly fit into one of the other five subtypes of “Non-white indigenous pentecostals”) (1982, 127, 792, 838). Because Barrett’s methodology did not permit the measurement of multiple religious identities from a single individual, his method for enumerating Charismatics affiliated with a non-Pentecostal denomination differed substantially from that of denominational Pentecostals, which, he believed, could simply be counted by adding the total number of members reported by these denominations (1982, 41, 44). Since Charismatics are, within Barrett’s schema, exclusively members of non-Pentecostal denominations, they, obviously, cannot be enumerated simply by transposing affiliation figures from their denominations. Barrett, instead, counted Charismatics by attempting to assess the number of members within non-Pentecostal denominations who either participated in some kind of recognized Charismatic renewal movement or, rather oddly, were who he described

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as “active charismatics … in the non-pentecostal black denominations of the United States.” Following these criteria, Barrett settled on five types of Charismatics including (1) Anglican pentecostals, (2) Black neo-pentecostals (a sort of catch all for Charismatics within Protestant non-Pentecostal African American denominations), (3) Orthodox pentecostals, (4) Neo-pentecostals (Charismatics not captured in any of the other four types), and (5) Catholic pentecostals (1982, 70–71, 818, 835).

Data Collection Techniques in the World Christian Encyclopedia Barrett’s description of the data collection techniques that he used in order to gather the data contained in the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia was incredibly short – just two paragraphs – given the immense size of the overall work which totaled 1,010 pages in all. Barrett lists the following twelve broad types of data and their collection techniques that he relied on when writing the World Christian Encyclopedia: (1) “around 5,000” responses to a questionnaire completed by denominational leaders between 1968 and 1976; (2) participant observation and personal interviews in “over 200 countries” conducted between 1965 and 1975; (3) sixteen years’ worth of “extensive correspondence”; (4) “a mass of ” unpublished documents; (5) “a large collection of ” primary published documents; (6) “300 directories” from religious organizations; (7) “400 printed contemporary descriptions” of religious organizations; (8) “reports of 500 government-organized national censuses of population … in over 120 countries, covering most decades over the period 1900–1976”; (9) unpublished data from “unprocessed” or “incomplete” national censuses of population in fifty countries; (10) data mining of “8,000 dissertations on Christianity and religion”; (11) “bibliographic listings”; and (12) “a series of in-depth focused interviews with bishops, church leaders, theologians, and others” (Barrett 1982, 45). Barrett summarized these by explaining “The sources used in this survey were so numerous and diverse (often a different one for each number in a table) that it proved impossible to insert them or document them in either the text or the tables” (1982, 45). Another notable characteristic of the data collection techniques employed by Barrett is a very liberal approach to estimation. He wrote, for instance, “The word ‘approximately’ is the operative word in this survey; absolute precision and accuracy are not to be expected, nor in fact are they necessary for practical working purposes. This means that although the tables and other statistics may help readers who want specific individual figures, they are mainly designed to give the general-order picture set in the total national and global context. To this end, where detailed local statistics compiled from grass-roots sources have not been available or were incomplete, the tables supply general-order estimates provided by persons familiar with the local statistical situation.” Barrett even admits to extrapolating estimates of the total national populations of those Christian organizations that largely recorded only either child (e.g., Catholics who mainly record baptized infants) or adult (e.g., Baptists who mainly record confessing adults) adherents. He explained, “the missing figure … has been estimated and added either by the churches themselves or the editors.” Barrett explained, for instance, that he estimated the total number of Catholic adherents within a country “by multiplying total affiliated Catholics (baptized plus catechumens) by the national figure for the percentage of the population over 14 years old” (1982, 45). I will discuss the implications that Barrett’s data collection techniques have for assessing the validity of his research results in greater detail in the following section, however, suffice

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to say for now, that his cavalier approach to data collection and estimation raise significant red flags regarding the validity of his work.

Threats to Construct Validity in the World Christian Encyclopedia Construct Validity At its core, construct validity describes, in the words of Michael Schnegg, “the extent to which the conceptualization and operationalization of a theoretical construct are really measured by the instrument” or, put slightly differently, “whether the complexity of constructs like religiosity or environmental awareness is adequately reflected in the instrument designed to measure it” (2015, 27, 28). Construct validity is a highly complex concept with well-established assessment criteria and is crucial to determining whether or not the results produced by a specific research instrument or measure can be trusted (Shadish, Cook, and Campbell 2002, 73–82; Edmonds and Kennedy 2017, 10–11). As one might expect, there typically is a much higher degree of consensus regarding the validity of instruments commonly used to measure concrete objects (or real objects) than there is for those instruments used to measure abstract objects (or theoretical constructs) (Zinov’ev 1973). Michael Wagner and John Skowronski explain, “When measuring concrete stuff, no one typically doubts that the measurement procedure is measuring the concrete object … The presence of the concrete object is perceivable during measurement, so it seems obvious that the data from the measurement procedure is measuring the object. Moreover, for many physical measures (length, time) there are consensually accepted tools for measurement.” “In comparison,” they elaborate further, “providing evidence for the validity of measures assessing hypothetical constructs requires an especially high degree of effort and attention from researchers” (2019, 29, 30). Because religion is probably one of the most difficult abstract objects or theoretical constructs to define, tremendously careful and thorough theorization must precede its eventual translation into “highly specific operational definitions” that are used to attempt to measure it empirically (Leavy 2017, 115). It might surprise non-social scientists to know that the simple fact that several scholars within the field of Pentecostal studies seriously question the validity of Barrett’s construct of Pentecostalism is generally understood within social science as a sufficient enough foundation on which to reasonably challenge the construct validity of his measurement of Pentecostals. As H. Russell Bernard explains, “Getting people to agree that a particular measure has high construct validity requires that they agree that the construct is valid in the first place” (Bernard 2011, 45. See also de Vaus 2001, 30). In other words, if scholars do not agree that an instrument adequately measures a construct, it can be said to have low construct validity, and, therefore, is not a generally trustworthy source of knowledge. That being said, the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia shows evidence of at least seven more specific threats to construct validity, which frees us from having to rely only on scholarly opinion in order to evaluate its trustworthiness.

Barrett’s Typology of Pentecostalism as a Threat to Construct Validity Even a cursory examination of Barrett’s typology of Pentecostalism reveals that it suffers from the construct validity threat called inadequate explication of constructs, which describes too general, too specific, empirically incorrect, and/or inaccurately labeled constructs (Shadish, Cook, and Campbell 2002, 74–75). A common critique of Barrett’s typology of 464

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Pentecostalism is that it is too general. Anderson, for instance, argues that Barrett’s estimates of global Pentecostalism “are considerably inflated by including such large movements as African and Chinese independent churches and Catholic Charismatics” (2010, 14). Anderson elaborates, for instance, that African independent churches have more of what he describes as an “eclectic” rather than a direct relationship with Pentecostalism originating in the Global North, which raises serious questions about the appropriateness of classifying these groups as Pentecostal (2018, 30). Another, I think, even more serious example of the inadequate explication of constructs found within Barrett’s typology of Pentecostalism, is that some of his ecclesiastical blocs and types and subtypes of Pentecostalism are empirically questionable. Barrett’s decision to (1) create a “non-white indigenous” ecclesiastical bloc of world Christianity, (2) designate seven “Non-white indigenous pentecostal” ecclesiastical traditions, and (3) subordinate a large portion of African American Christians under the “Non-white indigenous” ecclesiastical bloc, appears to be based much more strongly on his goal of representing Christianity in the Global South, generally, and global Pentecostalism, specifically, as especially vigorous, than it does on any clear theoretical or empirical justification. Consider, for instance, the implications that Barrett’s decision to subordinate African American Pentecostals – who he calls “black neo-pentecostals” – under the “Non-white indigenous” ecclesiastical bloc instead of under the “Protestant” ecclesiastical bloc with their white co-religionists in the United States, would have for representing Pentecostalism in the Global South as fast-growing. Take, as just two examples, the first self-identifying Pentecostal denomination founded in the United States in 1907, the Church of God in Christ, which Barrett coded as “I pe3,” and the first Oneness Pentecostal denomination in the world also founded in the United States in 1907, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, which Barrett coded as “I pe1” (1982, 723, 724). The Church of God in Christ and the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World were both founded and headquartered in the United States, but, nonetheless, Barrett decided – misleadingly – to categorize these important and unambiguously African American, Pentecostal denominations as “Non-white indigenous,” which, according to Barrett, referred to “black/third world indigenous Christians in denominations, churches, or movements indigenous to black or non-white races originating in the third world, locally founded and not foreign-based or Western-imported, begun since ad 1500, black/non-white-founded, black/non-white-led, forming autonomous bodies independent of Western and Eastern churches, with no Western ties, often schismatic, separatist, anti-establishment, sometimes anti-Western, anti-white or anti-European in reaction to Western influences” (Barrett 1982, 836). Interestingly, Barrett similarly classifies African American evangelicals – who he calls “black evangelicals” – as “non-white indigenous” instead of as “Protestant,” which would have further inaccurately inflated the size of Christianity in the Global South (Barrett 1982, 71, 818). Those who have studied the development of the Pentecostal growth paradigm will be aware that, in the second edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia, David Barrett, George Kurian, and Todd Johnson transposed the term “Non-white indigenous” into “independents” and conflated it with the original ecclesiastical bloc “Catholic (nonRoman) (of Western origin),” which softened some of the highly racialized tones of the first edition. This change in terminology, however, did not result in any substantive revision, as African American Pentecostals were still, inexplicably, segregated from their white co-religionists in the United States in the second edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia (2001, 4, 5, 9–10, 16–18, 20–21, 28, 34, 37). Johnson’s and Zurlo’s claims that within the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia, respectively, “Pentecostals outside of the Western World who had split off from established Protestant denominations were labeled 465

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as Non-white indigenous (I-),” and “The denominations, churches, and movements in the ‘non-white’ or ‘black/third-world indigenous’ category were initiated, founded, and controlled by black, non-Europeans in the global South,” are not entirely accurate, as Barrett also included other groups of Christians here outside of the Global South, which conformed to his overarching racialized typology of both world Christianity and Pentecostalism, and also helped to substantiate his claim of Christian and Pentecostal growth in the Global South (Zurlo 2017, 346; Johnson 2021, xiv). William Shadish, Thomas Cook, and Donald Campbell correctly explain that “Construct validity is fostered by (1) starting with a clear explication of the person, setting, treatment, and outcome constructs of interest; (2) carefully selecting instances that match those constructs; (3) assessing the match between instances and constructs to see if any slippage between the two occurred; and (4) revising construct descriptions accordingly” (2002, 66). Barrett, at the very least, failed to adequately perform the third and fourth steps of this construct validity process, which, if properly performed, would have caught, and allowed him to repair the slippage that occurred between his construct of Pentecostalism and his empirical research results.

Barrett’s Data Collection Techniques as Threats to Construct Validity My analysis of the data collection techniques employed by Barrett revealed the following six threats to construct validity: (1) monomethod bias; (2) reactivity to the experimental situation; (3) experimenter expectancies; (4) attention and contact with participants; (5) cues of the experimental situation; and (6) timing of measurement (Shadish, Cook, and Campbell 2002, 73–82; Edmonds and Kennedy 2017, 10–11). I will describe the first of these threats in the most detail, as I think that it is the most serious, before briefly summarizing the other five threats. All social scientific research can be classified as existing under one of two mutually exclusive, overarching approaches to research design which Charles Teddlie and Abbas Tashakkori call monomethod research designs and mixed methods research designs. As their names suggest, monomethod research designs only use either qualitative or quantitative research methods, while mixed methods research designs use both qualitative and quantitative research methods (Teddlie and Tashakkori 2009, 29–43). Barrett’s use of multiple data sources or a variety of data collection techniques in order to enumerate Pentecostals and other Christians around the world, then, is clearly not a threat to construct validity. It is important for social scientists to try to triangulate, or confirm, their empirical findings whenever possible by comparing multiple both diachronic and synchronic data sources and using as wide a variety of collection techniques as possible (Denzin 1978). By his own admission, however, Barrett frequently used unique data sources (i.e., just one source) and unique data collection techniques (again, just a single method of data collection for a single source), to generate his population estimates. His estimate for the number of Pentecostals in a particular organization or country, for instance, was often based on a unique or single data source collected using a unique or different method than those used to generate estimates from other organizations or countries. Some might argue that Barrett was an early proponent of a parallel mixed methods research design that combines the simultaneous use of different qualitative and quantitative data collection techniques. There are, however, two problems with this hypothetical claim. First, as John Creswell and J. David Creswell explain, “the key idea with this design is to collect both forms of data using the same or parallel variables, constructs, or concepts. In other words, if the concept of selfesteem is being measured during quantitative data collection, the same concept is asked during the 466

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qualitative data collection process, such as in an open-ended interview” (2018, 300, emphasis original). Because Barrett often relied on unique or single data sources, and obscured the conceptualization of Pentecostalism in the original instruments used to collect these data through a process of post hoc coding using the classification schema provided by his typology of Pentecostalism, we will never know how the original instruments conceptualized or operationalized Pentecostalism, and, as a result, if they were, in fact, measuring the same thing. Second, as David de Vaus explains: “The data in a variable by case matrix can be collected using any method: questionnaires, face-to-face interviews, observations, archival records, telephone interviews, and so on. There is no reason why a mixture of methods cannot be used to complete the matrix. It is, nevertheless, important that the same mix of methods be used for each case … Since the method by which data are collected can influence the way people answer questions we at least must ensure consistency” (2001, 185). Because Barrett frequently relied on unique or different data collection techniques between organizations and countries, we can have very little confidence that the results provided by these original instruments can be accurately compared with one another because the different conditions of their collection may have influenced the results. To summarize, if we are not sure that the instruments used by Barrett were measuring the same phenomena, or how the different data collection techniques used between cases were influencing the results, then, obviously, comparing these data as categorically equivalent is highly problematic. The presence of significant monomethod bias represents a catastrophic failure of Barrett’s research design, which, as a result, does not meet the minimum standards of valid social scientific research. In addition to this more fundamental construct validity threat, the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia also contains evidence of five other threats to construct validity relating to data collection techniques, namely, reactivity to the experimental situation, experimenter expectancies, attention and contact with participants, cues of the experimental situation, and timing of measurement. In short, Barrett’s extensive travel to 212 countries between 1965 and 1975, where he often personally interviewed religious leaders and other gatekeepers of local knowledge, combined with his hopeful expectation of experiencing world evangelization within his own lifetime (Zurlo 2017, 2, 310, 317, 321, 324, 363, 369), do not make it difficult to understand how (1) informants may have tried to anticipate what it was that he was looking for and, as often happens, tell him what he wanted to hear (i.e., reactivity to the experimental situation), (2) he might have, unconsciously, interpreted data in such a way that confirmed his expectations (i.e., experimenter expectancies), (3) the differential either quantity or quality of attention that he might have given to some informants could have influenced their responses (i.e., attention and contact with participants), (4) information shared by previous informants with yet-to-be-interviewed informants may have influenced their responses (i.e., cues of the experimental situation), and, perhaps, most obviously, (5) data collected more than a decade apart (i.e., timing of measurement), could be potential threats to construct validity. I think that Zurlo aptly summarizes the source of these problems when she writes that: “Although Barrett aimed for objectivity and relied on empiricism, his theology still pushed through” (2017, 352). Complete objectivity within social science is impossible. That being said, it is still important to adopt a self-critical, reflexive approach to social scientific research in order to, at the very least, minimize the effect that the particularities of one’s biography has on their research, otherwise, as I think we clearly see in the case of Barrett’s work, one’s research begins to resemble more closely a mirror than a lens. 467

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Conclusion There is no doubt that the first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia was an ambitious undertaking producing a tremendous amount of information that previously did not exist. There is also no denying that Barrett successfully identified growth that was occurring within Pentecostalism in the Global South during the latter half of the twentieth century. Unfortunately, the research methodology employed by Barrett – specifically his typology of Pentecostalism and data collection techniques – was simply too flawed in order to provide valid social scientific research results that can be trusted and longitudinally or geographically compared. My analysis confirms Anderson’s claim that, “Scholars should no longer assume that there are some 600 million pentecostals in the world without further qualification” (2013, 4). I am not in any way ideologically opposed to the possibility that there are a great number of Pentecostals around the world, or that Pentecostalism is fast-growing, but, rather, am arguing that Barrett’s original research design is not capable of validating these claims, and, more importantly, that this fact raises serious questions regarding the validity of the broader Pentecostal growth paradigm which heavily relies on Barrett’s original research design. One question that lies beyond the scope of the present study that requires further research, is whether or not, or to what extent, the threats to construct validity present within Barrett’s first edition of the World Christian Encyclopedia are found within its subsequent second and third editions (Barrett, Kurian, and Johnson 2001; Johnson and Zurlo 2019). The results of Barrett’s original research may be invalid; however, it remains uncertain whether scholars of Pentecostalism can reasonably rely on the results provided by later iterations of the Pentecostal growth paradigm.

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Problematizing the Statistical Study of Global Pentecostalism Westerlund, David. 2009. Preface to Global Pentecostalism: Encounters with Other Religious Traditions, edited by David Westerlund, vii. London: I.B. Tauris. Wilkinson, Michael. 2006. The Spirit Said Go: Pentecostal Immigrants in Canada. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Wilkinson, Michael. 2009. “Pentecostalism in Canada: An Introduction.” In Canadian Pentecostalism: Transition and Transformation, edited by Michael Wilkinson, 3–12. Montreál and Kingston: McGillQueen’s University Press. Wilkinson, Michael. 2021. “Introduction.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Global Pentecostalism, edited by Michael Wilkinson, Connie Au, Jörg Haustein, and Todd M. Johnson, vii–xii. Leiden: Brill. Zinov’ev, Alexander Alexandrovich. 1973. Foundations of the Logical Theory of Scientific Knowledge (Complex Knowledge). Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing Company. Zurlo, Gina A. 2018a. “More than Numbers: David B. Barrett and the Twentieth-Century Historiography of World Christianity.” Journal of World Christianity 8 (2): 89–108. Zurlo, Gina A. 2018b. “The Legacy of David B. Barrett.” International Bulletin of Mission Research 42 (1): 29–39. Zurlo, Gina A. 2019. “The Study of World Christianity Past, Present, and Future: History, Theology, Social Sciences, and Beyond.” Journal of World Christianity 9 (1): 34–47. Zurlo, Gina A., Todd M. Johnson, and Peter F. Crossing. 2021. “World Christianity and Mission 2021: Questions about the Future.” International Bulletin of Mission Research 45 (1): 15–25. Zurlo, Gina A. 2017. “‘A Miracle from Nairobi’: David B. Barrett and the Quantification of World Christianity, 1957–1982.” PhD diss., Boston University.

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36 CONSTRUCTING GLOBAL PENTECOSTALISM The Role of the Academy Allan Heaton Anderson Introduction The academic study of Pentecostalism has made enormous strides since its pioneers emerged in the 1960s. The situation today is fluid and dynamic. As Cartledge (2020, 92) writes: “Scholars from many different backgrounds and disciplines are studying one of the most dynamic and influential movements in the history of Christianity.” The question this chapter seeks to answer is how these studies have contributed to a construction of what the term “Pentecostalism” is and how it has been essentialized. It does not attempt to give a comprehensive history of academic studies, but highlights some of its key features. To understand how Pentecostalism is studied academically, however, we need to know what scholars have meant by the terms “Pentecostal” and “Pentecostalism,” and where they originate. This is at the heart of identity questions and definitions but is an elusive task. There is no consensus about how Pentecostalism is to be understood or whether such an understanding is even possible, complicated by all the varieties of Pentecostalism across the world. Whatever criteria, formulae, or distinctive features are used in such a task have many exceptions and modifications that make any attempt to define Pentecostalism fail. Amos Yong (2014, 314), a Pentecostal scholar, alludes to the challenges posed by the definition of Pentecostalism including those who “self-identify” as Pentecostal around an exclusive theological definition, such as speaking in tongues as evidence of Spirit baptism; those who focus on another exclusive organizational view or “sectarian categorization” such as that adopted by many “Oneness” Pentecostals; and those whose involvement in social, political, financial, and/or ecumenical interfaces lead them to take “more inclusive views” of what and who constitutes Pentecostalism. Yong’s point is that we must know who is doing the defining and the counting of numbers, and why. Over the years I have tried to overcome these difficulties by adapting Robert Anderson’s definition of Pentecostalism as “a movement concerned primarily with the experience of the working of the Spirit and the practice of spiritual gifts” – the operative words here are experience and practice (Anderson 2014, 6). This allows for broad inclusion, but this too is a subjective construct. Nevertheless, scholars of Pentecostalism have constructed a picture of Pentecostalism and seem to know what they are writing about. This construction is evident even when they do not give precise definitions or assume a particular understanding based on historical links, theological distinctives, or phenomenological 472

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observations. The construct is sometimes applied to movements that often have a totally different view of their identity. The academic study of Pentecostalism is constantly in disjuncture with the rank-and-file people who make up Pentecostal churches. Scholarly discussions about Pentecostalism and what it is do not always mirror how ordinary Pentecostals see themselves, or whether they see themselves as Pentecostals at all. I discuss the question of definition and Pentecostalism’s identity here with reference to the history and development in scholarly studies, from its theological and historical beginnings to its current diversity. Different disciplinary approaches, the tensions between global and local, potential conflicts in scholarly understandings of Pentecostalism, the key scholars, academic journals, societies, and seminal publications (and their role) are included. This addresses how various factors including scholarly societies and institutions have contributed to global articulations of Pentecostal identity and to the academic study of Pentecostalism.

Literary Beginnings From the early publications on the new Pentecostal movement at the turn of the twentieth century, there was an implied focus on a Pentecostal identity. This is seen in the early literature, especially the many Pentecostal periodicals that make a distinction between the movement and other Christians. That distinction was usually expressed by whether a Christian had received their personal experience of the baptism in the Spirit, their personal Pentecost, usually (but not always) accompanied by speaking in tongues (glossolalia). The speaking in tongues view gradually took a prominent place and one could say it became the distinguishing feature of “classical” Pentecostalism in the United States, and to a lesser extent in Europe. Euro-American missionaries took this understanding to many parts of the world. Simultaneously, there were indigenous movements led by charismatic African, Asian, and Latin American leaders that emerged in many parts of the world that would become known as movements of the Spirit that sometimes challenged classical Pentecostal notions of identity. Pentecostals themselves have engaged in defining who they were from the earliest stages, as the first periodicals show. Charles Parham, who is credited with the first formulation of speaking in tongues as the “initial evidence” of Spirit baptism, laid this out as the distinctive feature of the new “Apostolic Faith” movement. Parham’s tongues, however, were deemed to be known languages for the preaching of the gospel in foreign lands (xenoglossia). He also espoused British Israelism, soul-sleep, and other theories rejected by Pentecostals since.1 William Seymour, African American leader of the Azusa Street Revival in Los Angeles, followed Parham’s initial evidence and xenoglossia theories as the distinguishing marks of the movement, but abandoned them later. The missionaries sent out from Azusa Street were mostly unprepared for their task in cross-cultural and linguistic communication because they believed that they had received various known languages to preach the gospel in foreign lands (Anderson 2007, 57–65). It was the last days after all, and there was little time left for language learning. The periodicals proclaimed a “new” movement, an outpouring of the Spirit in the “last days,” the “latter rain,” to precede the imminent return of Christ. The early periodicals proliferated and served a threefold purpose: consolidating a disparate movement, raising funds, and reporting on the rapid spread of the movement. Like all writings, these early hagiographic accounts were not without bias, and played a significant role in the early spread of Pentecostal ideas across the world (Anderson 2007, 5–13). At first the periodicals were “ecumenical” in that they did not encourage new denominations but promoted the Pentecostal experience of Spirit baptism to all Christians. Indeed, the editor of the first Pentecostal periodical in Britain, Alexander Boddy, remained an Anglican minister. 473

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The periodicals were intended for public consumption and were not academic in nature. Indeed, there was an early apathy, even hostility, toward theological education. There was no time to lose, for the Lord’s return was imminent and the urgent task was to go and preach the Pentecostal message to the nations. Most early Pentecostal preachers had little education. The implied Pentecostal identity was not articulated. What was needed, argues Vondey (2010, 26), “was a comprehensive narrative that would offer a self-understanding of their own identity that could be communicated to the orthodox theological establishment of the day.” Vondey (2010, 31) correctly states what has been the identifying feature of American “classical” Pentecostalism, speaking in tongues: “Tongues speech was the central element of the Pentecostal articulation of meaning, a means to communicate the Pentecostal selfunderstanding more tangibly.” This was articulated through the biblical image of baptism in the Spirit. Making Pentecostalism theologically articulate has been the agenda of Pentecostal scholars, but to what extent it has succeeded is debatable. Part of the challenge has been a tendency for Pentecostal scholars, especially theologians, to see their discipline as fundamentally different from that of other scholars because of its “pneumatological” dimension. This sometimes creates a defensive position against perceived threats to Pentecostal identity. Some academic studies have adopted a negative attitude to the new movement. The earliest known one was an undergraduate (AB) thesis at the University of Southern California completed in 1916 by Charles W. Shumway (1886–1934), a Methodist pastor, titled “A Study of the Gift of Tongues”— a not insignificant study of 386 pages. He followed this with a PhD thesis at Boston University in 1919, “A Critical History of Glossolalia.” At the beginning of this study, Shumway (1919, 1) states his presuppositions: For well over a decade a sectarian movement has been seeking to gain and hold the attention of the Christian world, a movement which, for a time, attracted widespread attention and excited abundant criticism and comment. It is sometimes known as “The Tongues Movement,” sometimes as “The Apostolic Faith Movement,” … The sect has been troublesome to thousands of pastors; its teachings have divided scores of churches in different parts of the world; and its rise has created fresh interest in certain passages in the New Testament. Shumway’s main purpose is to prove that the “Tongues Movement” is schismatic, deviant, and unstable in its foundation and membership. It is noteworthy that he does not refer to this movement as “Pentecostal” – indeed, the only early American Pentecostal denominations to use the term were the Pentecostal Holiness Church and the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World; and in the former case the name was already that of a nineteenth century holiness denomination. The three largest American “Pentecostal” denominations to emerge in the first two decades of the twentieth century did not choose the term for their official names. Shumway (1919, 3), however, does refer to “those who belong to the modern ‘Pentecostal’ following” and thereafter uses the term within quotation marks. Before Shumway, Pentecostal authors were publishing histories and apologies about themselves, usually hagiographical and informal, but revealing their attempts at self-identification. Perhaps the first to do this was T.B. Barratt, whose highly polemical In the Days of the Latter Rain was published in 1909. Barratt, pastor of a church in Christiania (Oslo), was educated and credentialed in the Methodist Episcopal Church, and was the acknowledged leader of the early Pentecostal movement in northern Europe. In his book, mostly a collection of earlier tracts, Barratt uses “Pentecostal” only as an adjective, such as “Pentecostal Power,” “Pentecostal Baptism of the Holy Spirit” (1909, 4, 8–9, 15, 27, 75), “Pentecostal Revival” (12, 141), 474

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“Pentecostal pastor” (28), “Pentecostal meetings,” “Pentecostal fire” (65), “Pentecostal outpouring” (73), and so on. The noun “Pentecost” describes an experience, the “blessing” of “the full Pentecost” (6, 25), “seeking your personal Pentecost” (10), “the experience of Pentecost” (11). The word “Pentecostal” is not used as a noun. Barratt makes a clear distinction between those who had received the “full Pentecost” and those who had not. The obvious purpose of his writing and that of the early periodicals was to link the movement with the experience of the early church on the Day of Pentecost. Barratt is reported to have said that the baptism in the Holy Spirit was what made the movement “Pentecostal,” in contrast to doctrines shared with other Protestants (Bloch-Hoell 1964, 175). The chronicler of the Azusa Street Revival, Frank Bartleman, in his How Pentecost Came to Los Angeles (1925), refers to “the Pentecostal people” (9, 18, 19), but also to “the present Pentecostal manifestation” (44), again using the term only as an adjective. Stanley Frodsham, whose book “With Signs Following”: The Story of the Latter Day Pentecostal Revival (1926) also uses “Pentecostal” only as an adjective, but more frequently than the other early authors did. All these authors refer to “Pentecostal” as indicative of the return to the church of the experience of the disciples. Around the 1940s, the term “Pentecostal” began to be used as a noun by Pentecostals themselves as a mark of their identity. The movement still did not have an easy relationship with academia. As Vondey (2013, 133) notes, early Pentecostalism signaled “a persistent stance of anti-intellectualism, a rejection of higher education and learning, and criticism of the academic world.” As a result, Pentecostals were slow to introduce Bible schools and colleges. When they did, the first schools were very basic, with one- or two-year training programs in the denominations’ particular doctrines, added on to the fundamentalist and literalist biblical studies of conservative evangelicals and premillennialists. There was no real departure from the mistrust that Pentecostals had in intellectual pursuits, and their ethical aspirations were limited to personal morality issues, even as has been the case in the present day. Eventually, societal demands and greater cooperation with other Christians after the outbreak of the Charismatic movement in the 1960s pushed these colleges to improve and expand their curricula. In the United States, some Bible schools evolved into liberal arts universities, and seminaries were created in the major denominations. Most of these colleges, universities, and seminaries are strictly controlled by the denominations they represent, with corresponding limitations on academic freedom. The American Assemblies of God has a history of ostracizing those in its ranks who disagree with its tenets, going right back to the resignation of F.F. Bosworth over “initial evidence” in 1918 to the exclusion of Gordon Fee in the 1980s. Both figures would consider themselves conservative evangelicals, and more “liberal” scholars have received even harsher treatment.

Sundkler and Bloch-Hoell After Shumway there was little academic research on Pentecostalism until after World War II. Scandinavians led the way. Swedish Lutheran bishop Bengt Sundkler, with many years’ experience in Africa, published Bantu Prophets in South Africa in 1948, with a revised edition in 1961. He links the African independent Zion movements in South Africa with the “apocalyptic” movement in Zion City, Illinois under John A. Dowie, which in turn has clear historical antecedents with early Pentecostalism (Sundkler 1961, 48; Anderson 2007, 38–39, 168). The first “Apostolic Faith” missionaries in South Africa used their own Zionist contacts as a launching pad for introducing Pentecostal experiences, and their first African converts were Zionists. Sundkler makes it clear that all these South African Zionists 475

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“received their ‘Pentecost’,” although he shows more sympathy in the later edition and his subsequent book Zulu Zion (1976), where he tends to exoticize the African churches as “bridges back” to traditional religion. The Norwegian Lutheran scholar Nils Bloch-Hoell’s The Pentecostal Movement was published in Norwegian in 1956, the English translation appearing in 1964. The subtitle includes its “distinctive character” and reveals that, by the 1950s, the “Pentecostal movement” was clearly distinguishable. In his Introduction (1964, 1), Bloch-Hoell states that this “designation is used by British, American, German, and Scandinavian scholars as well as by representatives of the Movement itself.” But he also notes that the terms “Pentecostals” and “Pentecostalists” are used in English-speaking countries. His book, however, concentrates mostly on EuroAmerican Pentecostalism. Although he conducts extensive and interesting historical research, Bloch-Hoell’s work (1964, 173–75) is intended to show that Pentecostalism is primitive, emotional, ecstatic, rather ignorant, and diverse: There are very few members with an academic education … The Pentecostal Movement still lacks university-trained ministers, scholarly theology, liturgical tradition, and Church art, and because of its strong emotionalism, presents the picture of a primitive form of Christianity. … In this connection may be mentioned the high percentage of women and Negroes found in American Pentecostalism, which may provide a reason for its marked emotionalism. … The unscholarly biblicism of the Pentecostal Movement is open to subjective interpretation, and it would be difficult to formulate a creed which would be accepted by the entire Pentecostal Movement. Bloch-Hoell’s disparaging remarks aside, he was one of the first to use the term “Pentecostalism” in academic writing.

The Towering Influence of Walter J. Hollenweger We cannot speak of the beginnings of the academic study of Pentecostalism without the influential figure of Walter Hollenweger, Professor of Mission at the University of Birmingham from 1971 to 1989, where he supervised some of the first doctoral students in the study of Pentecostalism. More than anyone else, he was founder of the academic study of Pentecostalism, particularly because of his wide international influence. Like many subsequent scholars of Pentecostalism, Hollenweger was a former Pentecostal, who joined the Swiss Reformed Church during his doctoral studies at the University of Zurich. His magisterial ten-volume thesis on Pentecostalism, Handbuch der Pfingstbewegung, was completed in German in 1967 and abridged as Enthusiastisches Christentum in 1969, which was then translated and published in English in 1972, using the simple title The Pentecostals (Hollenweger 1969). Most of the time, Hollenweger refers to the “Pentecostal movement,” but gives a clear statement of who the “Pentecostals” are in his preface, and this is mostly a theological definition (1972, xix): Thus this book includes as Pentecostals all the groups who profess at least two religious crisis experiences: (1. baptism or rebirth; 2. the baptism of the spirit), the second being subsequent to and different from the first one, and the second usually, but not always, being associated with speaking in tongues. Hollenweger’s definition is inclusive and would be acceptable to most Pentecostals, both those who hold to the “initial evidence” theory and those who do not. One could argue, 476

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however, that many people who consider themselves “Pentecostal” would not have had one or other of the two “religious crisis” experiences, and that in today’s world the definition would be limited to “classical” Pentecostals. Hollenweger (1972, xix–xx) also states what is still true of Pentecostal self-identity, that they “have a tendency to deny that groups which represent a type of Pentecostal belief and worship different from their own belong to the Pentecostal movement at all.” Thus, they would describe some as “mainstream” and some as “marginal,” but “need to be aware that they are using as a standard the practice and doctrine of their own group.” Pentecostals still need this warning. There is a tendency for Pentecostals, especially in the American Assemblies of God, to hold as a standard their own understanding of Pentecostal identity, even when it sometimes differs from that of their own members and pastors. The differences between doctrinal statements and practical experiences are sometimes stark. Because they are the largest Pentecostal denomination worldwide, their view of Pentecostal identity has been stamped on the movement outside the United States. Hollenweger was one of the first to move away from a Euro-American centered understanding of Pentecostalism, introducing a wider range of Pentecostal movements outside the Western world. In The Pentecostals (1972, 149) he refers to Zionists in South Africa as “independent African Pentecostal churches.” This inclusion is a less exotic view than that of Sundkler and fully supports Hollenweger’s origins theory in the African American-led Azusa Street Revival. His inclusiveness was considerably developed in his major work on the movement three decades later (Hollenweger 1997), Pentecostalism: Origins and Developments Worldwide. There he outlines his five “roots” of Pentecostalism: black/oral (arguably his most significant one), Catholic, evangelical, critical, and ecumenical. He expresses his desire that the book will result in helping “Pentecostals and non-Pentecostals to a more genuine understanding of what it means to be a Pentecostal” (1997, 1–2). In this, Hollenweger remains true both to his ecumenical experience working for the World Council of Churches and his academic experience as a doctoral researcher in Zurich and research supervisor in Birmingham. The book explores and sometimes extols the work of Pentecostal scholars; but as one observer pointed out at a conference, it also has a “subversive” element in challenging this scholarship to be more inclusive and critical. Hollenweger tends to idealize a concept of Pentecostalism that he had not found in either his personal or his academic journey. But in his overarching picture of what he thought Pentecostalism should look like (via an ideological view of the Azusa Street Revival) and how it should be studied, his influence was enormous. In this he challenged both mainline, particularly theological, scholarship and the emerging Pentecostal academia. He acknowledges that his decision to place the Azusa Street Revival as the origin of Pentecostalism and its leader Seymour as its “founder,” was a “theological” one, and indeed, it was ideological: In the final analysis the choice between Parham and Seymour is not an historical but a theological one. Where does one see the decisive contribution of Pentecost: in the religious experience of speaking in tongues as seen by Parham, or in the reconciling Pentecostal experience of Pentecost as seen by Seymour (which of course includes glossolalia and gives it an important role)? (1997, 23) Hollenweger’s ideological view of Seymour as the “founding father” of Pentecostalism received wide acceptance but ignored some of the historical facts. Early Pentecostals saw themselves with no human founder, but historically Parham was the earlier figure and there were other figures who preceded the Azusa Street Revival. Parham in particular has been 477

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written out of the histories by many accounts, perhaps because of his racism and the scandal that caused other Pentecostals to dissociate with him. There was tension between what happens in many Pentecostal churches every Sunday and Hollenweger’s claims of an antiracist, ecumenical, and historical-critical core of Pentecostalism. This was one of the tensions that led Hollenweger and many Pentecostals in academia after him to leave Pentecostal churches. Many, like Hollenweger, argue that its contemporary forms have departed from the original aims and characteristics of Pentecostalism. Nowhere was this more apparent than among many white American Pentecostals in their support for Donald Trump (Ramirez and Payne 2020). Hollenweger’s work was certainly transformational in the academic study of Pentecostalism, but his overarching criteria was probably more idealistic than the reality. He certainly influenced all that followed, and during the 1970 and 1980s his work in Birmingham made it the first secular university where Pentecostalism could be studied. Hollenweger, his disciples, and many that followed him, had a clear, ideological, and universalized idea of who the Pentecostals are. This was their identity that was to influence much academic work thereafter. The lines drawn by Hollenweger, however, were blurred with the rise of the Charismatic movement in the 1960s, especially in the Roman Catholic Church. The new movement certainly confused the “classical” Pentecostals, who did not believe that Roman Catholics could be Christians, much less Spirit-baptized. Significantly, the first Catholic Charismatics called themselves “Catholic Pentecostals” (Ranaghan and Ranaghan 1969); but later when the term “Charismatic” was in vogue and there was a desire to avoid confusion with classical Pentecostals, it became known as the Catholic Charismatic Renewal. The term “neo-Pentecostal” was also used to describe what might be termed “Charismatic” today. The increase in new independent Charismatic churches and megachurches worldwide in the 1980s, the rapid spread of the “prosperity gospel” or “Word of Faith” message among these churches, made the situation all the more bewildering. It is still a difficult, if not an impossible task to identify what Pentecostalism does and does not consist of, and there is certainly no unanimity among scholars.

Scholarly Associations In 1947, a gathering of 3,000 Pentecostal leaders met in Zurich, overwhelmingly from Western countries, and this became a triennial conference named the Pentecostal World Fellowship (PWF) in 1961. The international office recently moved from classical Pentecostal circles to be housed at Oral Roberts University in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The PWF has a statement of faith, which follows that of most Trinitarian evangelicals, but the distinctive “Pentecostal” element is stated here: We believe in the baptism in the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in other tongues as the Spirit gives utterance according to Acts 2:4, and in the operation of the spiritual gifts and ministries. (PWF) In November 1970, one of the most significant events in the academic study of Pentecostalism occurred when the Society for Pentecostal Studies (SPS) was formed in Dallas, Texas, during the conference of the PWF. At first it was named the Society of Pentecostal Scholars, which showed its original intention to be an association of Pentecostals with graduate degrees, although it was quickly changed to the more inclusive name. It was formed by individuals from the three largest white American Pentecostal denominations (Assemblies of God, Church of God, and Pentecostal Holiness Church), and it later adopted a “Pentecostal” statement of 478

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faith as a condition for membership. The statement of faith has changed over the years but, in the March 2019 by-laws, all members are to subscribe to a confessional “purpose,” making clear its distinction from most academic societies. Although some of the distinctive doctrines like “initial evidence” are absent, one of these purposes is “To promote and maintain the scriptural purity of the Society by Bible study and prayer” (SPS). Such statements may be aimed at keeping the SPS on a more exclusive path with its denominational and confessional origins. It has sometimes had the effect of excluding scholars who study Pentecostalism from a non-confessional perspective, and thereby isolate members of the SPS from meaningful dialogue with the wider academic community. The by-laws also include “Charismatic” in the definition of “Pentecostal” in the society’s name. The SPS has encouraged scholars from the Charismatic renewal, particularly Roman Catholics, to get involved in its conferences and publications. In doing so there was a time when it was a more inclusive association. Dominant voices in the SPS today are from the largest, mostly white American denominations, and there has been a drift away from the society by some of the more critical and progressive scholars. It remains difficult for scholars in classical Pentecostal denominations to express themselves publicly, especially if their views might not be favored by their denominational leaders. As these classical Pentecostal scholars form the majority of SPS members, academic freedom of expression in the SPS is somewhat limited. The SPS is the first and largest academic society in Pentecostalism. Out of it emerged the Pentecostal representatives for the first Roman Catholic/Pentecostal dialogue; and later it initiated dialogue with Oneness Pentecostals, some of whom became members of the society. In 1979, the SPS launched its journal Pneuma, a significant publication for scholarly debate on the movement. Although the SPS has non-Pentecostal members, it is still largely a society of Pentecostal scholars, mostly Americans. Over the years, the SPS has been a somewhat reluctant forum for gender, LGBTQ+, socio-political, and ecumenical issues, but not without considerable internal controversy and division, and external opposition from Pentecostal denominational leaders. Denominations have even prohibited the society at the last minute from holding its annual meetings on their college grounds because of controversial speakers and topics in the program. Over the years, the SPS has given a platform to leading academics in the study of Pentecostalism, but its programs have often been American-centered, and tend to have Pentecostal scholars debating with each other and not often exposed to wider critique. There remains a tension between what is perceived as “liberal” Pentecostal scholarship and denominational leadership. SPS was followed by a few other associations of Pentecostal scholars, including the European Pentecostal Theological Association, also with its own journal and annual conferences, an association created in 1979 by teachers at European theological colleges. Various other academic societies for the study of Pentecostalism in Latin America, Asia, Africa, and Australia have since been set up, but these have been small in comparison and of less influence. It is, however, noteworthy that the emergence of recent studies of Pentecostalism outside the Western world have departed significantly from the American-centered accounts of origins in Los Angeles or Topeka, Kansas, as indeed have some of the histories of Pentecostalism in Canada, Australia, and Europe. At least we have come to understand more clearly the nuances in the early history of the movement.

The Establishment of Pentecostal Studies The SPS may have been the first to use the term, but by the mid-1990s there was a distinct academic subdiscipline within theological and historical studies that assumed the term “Pentecostal Studies.” A chair in “Global Pentecostal Studies” was granted in Birmingham in 2005, the 479

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first of its kind, to be followed by VU Amsterdam and others. Accompanying the burgeoning growth of Pentecostalism worldwide and the increase in theological and historical studies was a rising interest among social scientists. These tended to be studies by Western social scientists of Pentecostalism outside the Western world. One of the first was David Martin, a British sociologist, Anglican lay preacher, and secularization theorist whose Tongues of Fire, about Latin American Pentecostalism, appeared in 1990 (Martin 1990). He followed this with a global view in Pentecostalism: The World Their Parish (2002), where he also acknowledges many other scholars who had emerged in recent years, mostly in the social sciences. Martin (2002, 5) sees Pentecostalism as “so potently ambiguous” because “it brings together the most ancient and the most modern, and unites the modernizing thrust to the deep structure of spiritual ‘animation’.” This echoes Harvey Cox’s Fire from Heaven (1996, 219), which refers to Pentecostalism’s ability to “include and transform at least certain elements of preexisting religions” and “equip people to live in rapidly changing societies.” Martin’s intent is to show what social and cultural “niches” are favorable to the growth of Pentecostalism, and he places this within his discussion of secularization and globalization. It is typical of social scientists like Martin with his sweeping and complex themes, that the identity of “Pentecostalism” is never stated but everywhere assumed. The closest Martin gets is to show the likeness of Pentecostalism to (early) Methodism “in its entrepreneurship and adaptability, lay participation and enthusiasm, and in its splintering and fractiousness … in the place it offered to blacks and women.” But significantly, to explain the differences from Methodism, Martin resorts to theological criteria: “in the ‘third blessing’ of Holy Spirit baptism, in the intensity of millennial expectation, and in the shift to a Christ of power rather than the Man of Sorrows” (2002, 8–9). In this, Martin does not depart from his predecessors, even when his sociological analyses are ground-breaking. However, Martin also represents a more sympathetic analysis of Pentecostalism than that which is typical of the agnostic and neutral values of social scientists. Since the early 1990s, there has been a proliferation of similar studies on Pentecostalism, including those that fell under the emerging studies in the anthropology of Christianity based at the University of California in San Diego and led by Joel Robbins, now based in Cambridge. These and other social scientific studies received little attention from theologians and historians, except in Europe in forums like GloPent. William Kay, a British Assemblies of God scholar, brought social scientific methods into the study of his denomination, and later to the “Apostolic” networks in Britain. Mark Cartledge, who studied under Kay, uses the tools of social sciences in his practical theology and “ordinary theology” analyses of Pentecostalism. Pentecostalism was studied in Amsterdam, where André Droogers supervised a group of doctoral students in anthropology of religion; in Heidelberg, where Michael Bergunder led a group of history of religion researchers; and by the early 2000s, Birmingham had a significant number of doctoral students in the history and theology of Pentecostalism from four continents. Not all the doctoral researchers in these universities studied Pentecostalism, but many did. In 2004, a scholarly network was created between these three European universities (VU Amsterdam, Heidelberg, and Birmingham) to work together holding conferences and supporting the journal PentecoStudies, now the journal of the organization, the European Research Network on Global Pentecostalism (GloPent). A book was published based on the first two conferences, Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods (Anderson et al. 2010). Occasional conferences have been held at participating universities, approximately every one to two years, and the network has broadened to include other universities across Europe, first adding academics from Uppsala, then Basel, SOAS London, and Cambridge to the network. GloPent is strictly non-confessional and multidisciplinary and tends to focus on sociopolitical and historical aspects of Pentecostalism rather than theological ones. 480

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The network engages with “non-confessional” scholars of Pentecostalism, particularly in the social sciences, and brings different disciplines into dialogue, something that the more confessionally Pentecostal academic societies had not achieved. In its emphasis on “global Pentecostalism,” there has sometimes been a reluctance to study Euro-American forms, and this network has a strong emphasis on diversity and difference. Its journal has continued to be a forum for more controversial and non-confessional studies on Pentecostalism, but there remains the implicit understanding of what Pentecostalism is. It has outgrown its roots and now connects around 300 scholars of Pentecostalism internationally, with the majority based in European universities. Like other academic institutions, it has limited itself to anglophone studies and studies in other languages are unwittingly ignored. As its landmark publication Studying Global Pentecostalism (Anderson et al. 2010) shows, it too has a clear understanding of what a “Pentecostal” identity is and operates within these self-imposed restrictions. The statistics of the Gordon-Conwell seminary on the growth of Pentecostalism are widely quoted in academic studies. Started by David Barratt in 1985, later led by Todd Johnson and most recently by Gina Zurlo, these statistics have been updated every year and published, inter alia, in the International Bulletin of Mission Research. The database goes much wider than Pentecostalism alone to include all Christian forms and other religions, but its statistics on Pentecostalism have received wide publicity. The terminology used over the years in their statistical charts is revealing. The first chart did not use the term “Pentecostal” at all but lists “Charismatics in Renewal” with a figure of 16 million (Barrett 1985, 31). Three years later, the term “Pentecostals/Charismatics” was used, and the figure jumped exponentially to 332 million (Barrett 1988, 17). By 2000, Barrett and Johnson (2000, 25) estimated that “Pentecostals/Charismatics” were 523 million, and two years later they added “Neocharismatics” to the other two terms (Barrett and Johnson 2002, 23). During the years that followed they began using the term “Renewalists” and the most recent statistics have returned to “Pentecostals/Charismatics,” estimating that there were 656 million “Pentecostals/Charismatics” worldwide in 2021, of which 86 percent were in the Global South. They divide the movement into three types: Pentecostal denominations, Charismatics (which include Catholics), and “independent Charismatics,” which include a vast number of independent churches (Zurlo et al. 2021). The footnotes on the latest statistics show that there is now more clarity on the use of terms, but several prominent Western Pentecostal scholars have used these statistics to bolster their claims for the growth of their own “classical” form of Pentecostalism, when there are even greater numbers of Catholic Charismatics and independent churches in the same figures. There are indications of a decrease of the numbers of classical Pentecostals in the Western world, numbers only maintained by migrants from the Global South. This threefold classification, originating with Hollenweger, has been widely accepted by Western scholars but does not always fit the movement globally. I have also pointed out the necessity of having “blurred edges” in categories of Pentecostalism, because the “criteria are always subjective and arbitrary” (Anderson 2010, 15). The criteria may not be significant to the people on whom academics impose them; and the categorization often means that important differences are overlooked.

Conclusion The reader might notice that almost all the scholars named above are white men. In recent years, there has been a welcome emergence of women scholars, first in the United States and now in many parts of the world who bring a fresh and different perspective to the study 481

Allan Heaton Anderson

of Pentecostalism. Furthermore, scholars from the Global South are beginning to articulate a very different picture of Pentecostalism than that reflected in the Euro-American literature. In West Africa, prominent scholars of Pentecostalism emerged, first Ogbu Kalu, then Kwabena Asamoah-Gyadu and Nimi Wariboko. These have been followed by others. In East Asia, scholars like Simon Chan and Wonsuk Ma have led the way. New academic associations to study Pentecostalism have recently been formed in places like India, South Korea, and South Africa. A certain tension exists between what some academics consider to be the “global” identity of Pentecostalism and what the “local” perception is. The “prosperity gospel”, for example, is based on different premises in Africa than it is in the United States. The emerging histories with many beginnings of Pentecostalism point to a very different picture than that of the earlier “made in America” theories. There is an ever-increasing and bewildering array of books and dissertations appearing annually on some aspect of Pentecostalism. It is noteworthy that although many Western Pentecostal academics (particularly theologians and biblical scholars) have a fairly uniform idea of what Pentecostal identity is, often framed in a “fourfold” or “fivefold” gospel framework, on a global level one looks in vain for many Pentecostal scholars in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Oceania who use such a framework. It is often the people in the pews and even ordinary pastors who have a very different view and experience of what are regarded as their denominations’ “core” principles, especially regarding speaking in tongues, healing, and other spiritual gifts. Ultimately, academic studies of Pentecostalism belong to an important but, sadly, also a marginal circle often a world away from the objects of their research.

Note 1 British Israelism was the teaching that the Anglo-Saxon-Celtic peoples were physically descended from the ten “lost” tribes of Israel and therefore had a special place in God’s favor. Soul-sleep was the belief that the soul “slept” upon death and would not “awaken” until the resurrection of the dead at the second coming of Christ.

References Anderson, Allan H. 2007. Spreading Fires: The Missionary Nature of Early Pentecostalism. London: SCM & New York, NY: Orbis. Anderson, Allan H. 2010. “Varieties, Taxonomies, and Definitions”. In Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods, edited by A. Anderson, M. Bergunder, A. Droogers & C. van der Laan, 13–29. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Anderson, Allan H. 2014. An Introduction to Pentecostalism, 2nd edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Anderson, Allan H., Michael Bergunder, André Droogers, and Cornelis van der Laan (eds). 2010. Studying Global Pentecostalism: Theories and Methods. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Barratt, T.B. 1909. In the Days of the Latter Rain. London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Barrett, David B. 1985. “Annual Statistical Table on Global Missions: 1985.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 9(1): 30–31. Barrett, David B. 1988. “Annual Statistical Table on Global Missions: 1988.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 12(1): 16–17. Barrett, David B. and Todd M. Johnson. 2000. “Annual Statistical Table on Global Missions: 2000.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 24(1): 24–25. Barrett, David B. and Todd M. Johnson. 2002. “Annual Statistical Table on Global Missions: 2002.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 26(1): 22–23. Bartleman, Frank. 1925, 1980. Azusa Street: The Roots of Modern-Day Pentecost. S. Plainfield, NJ: Bridge Publishing.

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The Role of the Academy in Constructing Global Pentecostalism Bloch-Hoell, Nils. 1964. The Pentecostal Movement: Its Origin, Development and Distinctive Character. London: Allen & Unwin. Cartledge, Mark J. 2020. “Review Essay: Global Renewal Christianity in Four Volumes.” Pneuma 42: 91–106. Cox, Harvey. 1996. Fire from Heaven: The Rise of Pentecostal Spirituality and the Reshaping of Religion in the Twenty-First Century. London: Cassell. Frodsham, Stanley H. 1926. “With Signs Following”: The Story of the Latter Day Pentecostal Revival. Springfield, MO: Gospel Publishing House. Hollenweger, Walter J. 1969. Enthusiastisches Christentum: die Pfingstbewegung in Geschichte und Gegegenwart. Zurich: Zwingli Verlag. Hollenweger, Walter J. 1972. The Pentecostals. London: SCM. Hollenweger, Walter J. 1997. Pentecostalism: Origins and Developments Worldwide. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Martin, David. 1990. Tongues of Fire: The Explosion of Protestantism in Latin America. Oxford: Blackwell. Martin, David. 2002. Pentecostalism: The World Their Parish. Oxford: Blackwell. Ramirez, Erica and Leah Payne. 2020. “President Trump’s Hidden Religious Base: PentecostalCharismatic Celebrities”. https://religionnews.com/2020/08/27/president-trumps-rnc-religiousbase-pentecostal-charismatic-kari-jobe-paula-white/. Accessed 13 September 2022. Ranaghan, Kevin and Dorothy Ranaghan. 1969. Catholic Pentecostals. New York, NY: Paulist Press. Shumway, Charles W. 1919. “A Critical History of Glossolalia.” https://open.bu.edu/ds2/stream/?#/ documents/60133/page/1. Accessed 28 July 2021. Sundkler, B.G.M. 1961. Bantu Prophets in South Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sundkler, B.G.M. 1976. Zulu Zion and Some Swazi Zionists. London: Oxford University Press. Vondey, Wolfgang. 2010. Beyond Pentecostalism: The Crisis in Global Christianity and the Renewal of the Theological Agenda. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans. Vondey, Wolfgang. 2013. Pentecostalism: A Guide for the Perplexed. London: Bloomsbury. Yong, Amos. 2014. “Instead of a Conclusion: A Theologian’s Interdisciplinary Musings on the Future of Global Pentecostalism and its Scholarship.” In The Cambridge Companion to Pentecostalism, edited by Cecil M. Robeck, Jr. and Amos Yong, 313–20. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zurlo, Gina A., Todd M. Johnson and Peter F. Crossing. 2021. “World Christianity and Mission 2021: Questions about the Future.” International Bulletin of Mission Research 45 (1): 15–25.

483

INDEX

Note: Page references in italics denote figures and with “n” endnotes. Abodunde, Ayodeji 132 Aboriginal Protections Act, Australia 325 Abu’ofa, Peter 33 A.C. Nava Foundation 51 Adams, E. A. 276 Adams, Leonard P. 276 Adeboye, Enoch 355, 356, 358, 363 Adeboye, Foluke 356 Adedibu, Babatunde 357, 358 Adelakun, Adewale 291, 294 Adenuga, Olaide 356 Adjaye, David 345 aesthetic culture 433 affordances 443, 446, 451, 453 Africa 82; Charismatic Christian movements 88; high fertility rate 82; improved healthcare 82; studies of prosperity gospel in 344–345; urban, ethnic, and Christian identities 86–89 Africa Missions 356 African Americans 47–48, 270, 277–281, 283–286; anti-Black terrorism of Whites 278; as bishops 280; black Oneness pastors 47; Christian movement 270; Christians 275–276, 284, 465; civil rights for 279; congregations 276; evangelicals 465; governing Whites 286; inclusionary practices of 275; inter-racialism by 278; Pentecostalism 12, 39–40; Pentecostals 12, 39, 282–283, 290, 465; racial barriers to 279; in White-led interracial organizations 279 Africana worlds: eschatologizing sexuality 292–294; missionizing sexuality 294–295; Pentecostal plurality and sexual politics in 288–296; spiritualizing sexuality 290–292 African Christian communities 270, 301

African Christianity 82–83, 88, 123–124, 366, 374 African Initiated/Instituted Churches (AICs) 83, 323, 369, 423 Africanization 323, 372 African Pentecost 84 African Pentecostalism 343, 345, 451; and ambivalence of female pastoral leadership 303–304; in Belgium 299–313; churches 294, 299–300, 302–306, 308, 310–313, 477; family rupture and divorce 305; African Pentecostals 290, 295, 300, 311, 394, 423; reconfigurations of gender in 299; transnational 305; Western accounts of 123 African religious heritage 344 African spiritualities 372, 374 Afri-spirituality 369–371, 372 “age of mobilization” 245 Agostini, Giovanni Maria de 55, 56–59 Akerele, Anthony 291, 292 Akindayomi, Josiah 355–356, 358 Akufo-Addo, Nana 344, 345, 348 Alberoni, Francesco 241–242, 247 Alexander, C.A. 35, 36 Alexander, Estrelda 265 Alexander, Kimberly Ervin 45 Algranti, Joaquín 383, 384 All Christians Fellowship Mission 128 Allen, A.A. 178 Allende, Salvador Guillermo 379 All Nations Pentecostal Assembly 276, 279 All-Union Council of Evangelical Christians and Baptists (AUCECB) 109–111, 112 Althoff, Andrea 239 Alvarez, Carmelo 385n1

484

Index ambivalence: in charismatic media ideologies 442–453; of female pastoral leadership 303–304; ambivalent femininities 299–313 Ambode, Akinwunmi 362 Ambrose, Linda 138 American Christianity 283, 285; American Baptist Mission 160; American Bible Society 60; American Christian Right 293, 296n5; American culture 191–192; American evangelicals 25, 294, 442; American Methodist Church 20; American Protestantism 275 Anacondia, Carlos 382 Andermanis, Karlis 63 Anderson, Allan H. 64, 199, 289, 459–460, 465, 468 Anderson, Neil 181 Angami, Pelhoutsü 163 Anglicanism 302, 354 Anglican Pentecostals 463 Anglin, Ava Patton 148 Anglin, Leslie Madison 148 Angolan Pentecostal churches 391 Annacondia, Carlos 179 anthropology 32, 345, 383, 451, 453, 458, 480 anti-Americanism 101 Anti-Christian movement 146, 151, 153 anti-Westernism 98, 101 Antoine, Jude 396 Antonio Nava 48–49 Ao Baptist Arogo Mundang (ABAM) 162, 165, 167 Ao Naga Baptist Association 162 Aos 158 AOXV network 432, 435, 437, 439–440 Apartheid oppression 323 apocalyptic homophobia 289, 292–293 apocalyptic movement 475 Apostle Paul 259 apostles 47, 136–138, 141–142, 215, 307, 311; baptisms of 45; contemporary 135; LRM 139–140; workplace 140 Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus 49, 50–51 apostolic churches 139 Apostolic Churches of Pentecost (ACP) 100, 105n1 Apostolic Church of Christ (ACC) 104–105, 118 The Apostolic Faith 70, 74, 77 Apostolic Faith Mission (AFM) 77, 264–265, 375n1, 423, 424, 473, 475 Aquino, Benigno, III 332 Archer, Melissa 71 Argentina 379, 381; 1950-75 380; 1990-2000 380–381; audiovisual culture in 14, 433–434, 437, 439–440; democratic recovery process, 1983–90 380; disputes/tensions in dictatorial

period 380; institutional political influence, 1983–90 380; minoritization/dispute and antagonism 381–385; Pentecostal material culture in 431–440; territorial expansion and public visibility 380; territorial extension and reach during neoliberal period 380–381 Argentina Oramos por Vos (AOXV) see AOXV network Argentine Pentecostalism 381–382, 385 Arnott, John 179 Aroolappen, John Christian 224 Arpaio, Joe 52 Arroyo Seco revival 44, 46, 49 Asamoah-Gyadu, J. Kwabena 343, 345, 482 Asberry, Richard 264–265 Asberry, Ruth 264–265 Asian Theological Seminary 336 Assemblies of God (AG) 131–132, 135, 257, 478; American 126, 138, 475, 477; Assemblies of God Monthly (AGM) 149, 152; Chinese interpretation of 147; Christian military leaders 152–153; glocalization of 146–155; networking across China 151–153; Nigeria (AGN) 126; overview 146–147; Pentecostals 419; periodicals 152; in Queensland (AGQ) 35–36; regional councils 151–152; sectarian perspective of 419 Association of Vineyard Churches 186–189 atheism 24, 25 Atlantic slave trade 375 Atta, Ken-Ofori 350 audiovisual culture 14, 433–434, 437, 439–440 Austin, John 436 Australasian pneumatic Christianity 32–41; indigenized Christian revitalization movements 34–36; missionary mental maps 33–34; Pentecostalism integration into global networks 39–40; see also Christianity Australia: Aboriginal spirituality 34; Catholicism in 34; Charismatic leaders in 34; decoloniality 324–325; indigenous peoples 34 Australian Christian Churches (ACC) 320 Australian Reconciliation Action Plan 325 Ayers, Mary Florence “Molly” 35 Azusa Street Revival 19, 22–23, 44, 48, 49, 55–56, 64, 70, 265, 271, 277, 291, 295, 378, 473, 475, 477 Badua, Zenaida 336 Bahamondes, Luis 383 Bakhtin, Mikhail 285 Ballasteros, Samuel 238 Balogun, Bolaji 398 Bambera, Joseph 423 Bantu Prophets in South Africa (Sundkler) 475 baptism 24, 45; of apostles 45; Holy Spirit 131, 132, 182; Oneness 46; spirit 1, 190

485

Index Baptist Church 354 Baptist Missionary Society 63 Baptist World Alliance 426 Barbosa, Gilberto Gomes 407 Barratt, T.B. 56, 108, 474 Barrett, David B. 3, 457–468, 481; data collection techniques 466–467; ecclesiastic type 460; neo-pentecostals 461–462; research methodology 457–468; typology of Pentecostalism 464–466 Bartleman, Frank 475 Bashobora, John 393, 395–396, 398 Bauman, C.M. 228 Bediako, Kwame 369 Belanger, Arthur 276 Belgium 302; African Pentecostalism in 299–313; Federal Constitution 302; Flemish Pentecostal Union in 303; Gender Act 302; gender regimes 301–303; place of Pentecostal women 301–303; Race Act 302; state recognized religions 301–303 Bell, E. N. 418 Bell, William 276 Bellini, Peter 182 Belykh, V. 110 Bemba people 368–370 benevolent sexism 255 Bennett, Shyne 415n10 Benny Hinn Ministries (BHM) 443, 446–452 Berg, Daniel 55, 58 Bergoglio, Francis José Maria 408 Bergoglio, Jorge 243 Bergunder, Michael 5, 458, 480 Bernard, David 51 Bernard, H. Russell 464 Bernardino da Silva, André 63 Bethel Church, Redding, California 182, 445 Beyer, Peter 27 Bhils: as criminal tribes 224; growth of Pentecostalism among 224–225; Pentecostalism and aspects of discontinuity 227; see also India; Rajasthan bhopa 227, 231, 234, 235n13 Bialecki, 195 Bible 59–62, 324, 357, 433, 434; biblical nationalism 337; reading, in Global South 175–177; reading and Civil War Revival 128–129; translation in local Kenyan languages 83; biblical typology 140–141 Bible Society 59, 60 Bickle, Mike 139, 141 Bidash, A. 110 bindi (forehead dot) 231 bisexuality 272 Blachnicki, Franciszek 392 Black American Pentecostalism 264 Black Americans see African Americans

Black-led interracialism 277; and Pentecostalism 276–285 Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement 12, 323 “Black Madonna” 394 Black neo-pentecostals 463, 465 Black Oneness pastors 47 Black Progressives 10, 47–48 Black tokenism 278 Blair, J.H. 257 Bloch-Hoell, Nils 475–476 Blumhardt, Johann Christoph 175 Boateng, Victor Kusi 350 Boddy, Alexander 39, 473 Bonnke, Reinhardt 86 borderlands pastor 48–49 “born-again” faith commitment 129–130, see also conversion Bosworth, F.F. 475 Bottari, Pablo 179 Bourdieu, Pierre 247, 383 Brahinsky, Josh 447 Brandão, Carlos Rodrigues 58 Brazier, Arthur 51 Brazil 19; church scandals in 28; healing conferences in 179; and João Maria 57; Latvian Baptists 55–56, 62–64; Protestant population in 239 Brazilian Catholics 238 Bread of Life Church International (Bread of Life) 372 The Bridegroom’s Messenger 70, 72, 74, 78 British Columbia 253 British Empire 354 British Israelism 482n1 Britton, Bill 136 Bronson, Miles 158 Bundy, David 300 Burgess, Richard 318, 362 Burgess, Stanley M. 3 Burity, Joanildo 379, 385–386n2, 385–386n2 Burns, Thomas 37 Bush, George H.W. 51 Bush, George W. 52 Butler, Judith 334 Cabrera, Omar 382 Cabrita, Joel 344 Cáceres, Andrés 60 Cadeddu, Antonello 396 Calisi, Matteo 407, 408, 414n2 Calvinism 189 Cambridge Seven 33 Cameroon 293, 306–307, 309, 396 Campbell, Donald 466 Campos, Bernardo 140 Campus Crusade for Christ Movement 301, 392

486

Index Canadian Pentecostalism 253; gender roles of 253–262; governing 260–261; guarding power in governance structures 260–261; making rules 260–261; male gatekeepers 254–258; male measures of success 258–260; women preachers 254–258 Canadian regionalism 50 Canon Law 13 Canudos War 58 CanZion Group 439, 440n2 Carbajal, Romanita 55–56 Carbonelli, Marcos 383 Cardinal Bea, Augustine 421–422 Carlson, G. Raymond 426 Carter, Jimmy 51, 103 Cartledge, David 139 Cartledge, Mark 472, 480 cathedrals 445–446 Catholic Apostolic Church (CAC) movement 34–35 Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 335 Catholic Charismatic Renewal (CCR) 3, 39, 242, 240, 241, 246, 407–414, 478, 481; and popular religious indigenous context 244–247; Charismatic Catholics 238, 242, 244, 248n4, 414; growth in Latin America 238–241; in Latin America 237–247; and Pope Francis 408–411 Catholic Charismatic Renewal International Service (CHARIS) 13, 407–408, 411–414 Catholic Church 12, 56–59, 174, 178, 237, 247, 335, 339, 354, 371, 378, 381, 390, 393–395, 400, 414n2, 422, 423, 478; Australia 34; peasant 56, 58–59; ultramontane 62 Catholic Duquesne University (Pittsburgh, USA) 238 Catholic folk culture 247 Catholic Fraternity of Charismatic Covenant Communities and Fellowships (CFCCCF) 407, 410, 411–413, 414n2 Catholic-Pentecostal Dialogue 423 Catholic Pentecostals 463, 478 Catholic piety 240 Catholic pluralism 391 Catholic sacramentalism 174 Ceasefire Agreement 164 CEIL-CONICET’s Society, Culture and Religion Program 434 Centro Editor de América Latina (Latin America Publishing Center) 382 Cerillo, Augustus 55 Cerullo, Morris 100 Changs 158 Chang Xiuzhen 148 Chapman, J.W. 36 Charismatic Christianity 1, 3–4, 10, 39, 173, 194, 245–247, 344, 351, 400, 453

Charismatic communities 443, 446 Charismatic demonology 177–180 Charismatic ecumenism 411, 415n8 charismatic healing 178 charismatic media ideologies: ambivalence in 442–453; analysis 451–453; frontiers 449–451; metaphor in 442–453; seas 444; Zoom 446–449 Charismatic mega-events 242 Charismatic Orthodoxy 10 Charismatic prayer groups 242 Charismatics 1–4, 10, 20, 36, 142, 180, 241–242, 409, 413–414, 461–463; Brazilian Catholics as 238; Catholic 240, 244, 338, 391, 407–408, 411, 414, 465; full scale 248n4; popular Catholicism 244; Protestant 239, 407, 421; soft 248n4; see also Pentecostals Charismatic spirituality 41, 408–409 Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union 302 chauvinism 258, 337 Chavda, Mahesh 177, 182 Cheng, Patrick 272 Chen Songshan 149 Chiang Kai Shek 146 Chicago Pentecostal movements 379 Chile 379–382, 384; dictatorship 24–25; early Pentecostalism in 20–23; and globalization 25–29; Methodist Episcopal Church in 20; Methodist Pentecostal Church 19, 20, 23; Methodist Pentecostal Church in 379; Pentecostal diversity in 25–30; Pentecostalism history in 19–20; Protestant religion 21 Chilean Pentecostalism 379, 381, 383, 385; and American Pentecostal organizations 22; birth of 23, 29; diversification of 24; history of 19, 22; and Hoover 22; internal debates in 27; in twentieth century 23–25; see also Pentecostalism Chiluba, Frederick Jacob Titus 373 China: Assemblies of God (AG) 146–155; church planting 154; evangelism in rural areas 153– 154; independent preachers 155; Pentecostal print culture in 68–71; stagnation 146; woodblock printing 69 China’s Christian Association 151 Chinese Christianity 78 Chrisco 89 Christ Embassy 356 Christian(s): African-Americans 275–276, 284; demons/demonology 175; healing 192; identities 86–89; military leaders 152–153; mission in Zanzibar 213–214; Naga 159–160; student movements 84, 88; unity and LRM 141–142 Christian Alliance of Evangelical Churches (Alianza Cristiana de las Iglesias Evangélicas) 435

487

Index Christian ethics 152 Christianity 1, 12, 273, 325, 338, 344, 346, 367, 368, 369, 440, 480; African 82–83, 88, 123–124; Australasian pneumatic 32–41; “born-again” 130; Charismatic 173, 194, 245–247, 344, 351, 400; Chinese 78; contemporary 2; Crypto 231–233; Evangelical 104; forms of 61; and Ghana 175; and Nagas 158–159; in Tanzania 11; and Zanzibar 213–214 Christian missionaries 351, 354 Christian Missionary Fellowship International (CMFI) 396 Christian North/South relations: coloniality in 316–317 Christian rock music 433 Christians for National Liberation 338 Christian Unity Commission (CUC) 414, 427 Christ Temple Apostolic Faith Assembly 47 church institution 241–243; and Charismatic lay movement 241–243; and Charismatic Renewal 242; and popular religion 237–247 Church of England 176 Church of God 478 Church of God in Christ (COGIC) 264, 265, 267, 276, 277, 279–280, 283, 465 Church of God of Prophecy 100 Church of God of the Full Gospel 100, 106n4 Church of Greece (CoG) 97–98, 101, 102–104 Church of Jesus Christ (CJC) 126, 420 Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ 48 Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ of the Apostolic Faith 279 Church of Pentecost (Ghana) 423 Church of Scotland mission 369 Church of the Latter-Day Saints 240 Church on the Margins (COTM) 448–449, 452–453 Ciciliot, Valentina 410, 415n10 “city church” concept 142 civil rights activism 279 Civil War Revival 122–123, 125, 126–132, 133; Bible reading 128–129; “born-again” faith commitment 129–130; gospel evangelism 129–130; Pentecostal appropriation 130–132; Scripture Union 128–129; story of 126–128 Clark, Edward W. 158 Clark, Randy 179, 182 Clart, Philip 69 classical ecumenism 411, 415n8 classical Pentecostalism 462, 473, 481 classical Pentecostals 372, 417, 422–423, 426, 427n9, 477, 478 Cleary, Edward L. 237 Cold War 333, 419; geopolitics of 339; politics 337–338, 340 Coleman, Monica 273 colonialism 317, 368–369

coloniality: in Christian North/South relations 316–317; ideological 316–326 Communism 25, 52, 146, 337 Community of Humanist Freethinkers 302 complementarianism 266 Conceição, José Manoel da 61 Conference of Latin American bishops (CELAM) 243 Confidence 39, 74, 75 Conner, Kevin J. 140 Connor, Kevin 136 conservative ethics 12 consuming 431–440 contemporary Christianity 2 Contestado War 58 “Continental Mission” for Latin America 243 continuity: in conversion 225–227; and Crypto Christianity 231–233; and India 225–227; with past identity 231–233 conversion 269–270; of Antonio Nava 49; born-again 129–130; to Christianity 83–86; continuity and discontinuity in 225–227; to Islam 213; Pentecostals of Rajasthan 223–234; and Roman Catholic piety 61; and rupture 226–227; seen as problem in India 223 “The Conversion of the Pharisee” (Flunder) 269 Cook, Glenn 47 Cook, Thomas 466 Coombe, John 36 Copernican revolution 139 Cordes, Paul Josef 410 Cornish, Harold 276 Coronavirus Pandemic see COVID-19 pandemic corporate anointing 350 Corten, André 181 cosmopolitanism 316 COVID-19 pandemic 320, 332, 443, 447–449, 453 Cox, Harvey 370, 446, 480 Crawford, Florence 77 Crawley, Ashon 271–272 Creamer, Lloyd G. 152 CRECES (Comunión renovada de evangélicos y católicos en el Espíritu santo) 408 credibility 179, 190; and race 284 creole Pentecostalism 383, 385n1 Creswell, J. David 466 Cristo tu Unica Esperanza 26, 27–28, 29 “A Critical History of Glossolalia” (Shumway) 474 critical intercultural theological issues: and internal negotiations 311–312; and social relevance 311–312 Crozier, G.G. 160 Cruz, Virgie 337 Crypto Christianity 231–233 Cullmann, Oscar 410

488

Index cultural conflict 21 “culturalist gaze” 383 culture: aesthetic 433; American 191–192; audiovisual 14, 433–434, 437, 439–440; cultural amnesia 293; cultural amnesia 293; drug 187–188; iconographic 433; iconographic and aesthetic 433; Kyrgyz 213; and Pentecostal mission(s) 212–213; Pentecostal print (see Pentecostal print culture); written 433 Cunningham, Robert C. 419, 421 Daniels, David 265, 273 Darby, John Nelson 189 Davis, E.N. 152 Day, Keri 291 Dayton, Donald W. 22, 424 Death and Dying (Kubler-Ross) 193 The Debt 435, 437 de-charismatization 143 Declaration of Zambia 373 decoloniality 316, 320; described 317; South Africa 323–324; Sydney, Australia 324–325 Deeper Life Bible Church 356 Deiros, Pablo 182 Delano, R.F. 162 Deleuze, Gilles 367 Deliverance Church 87, 89 deliverance/deliverance practices: biblical foundations 173–174; discontinuity through 227–228; disenchanted biblical reading 174; global patterns 180–182; and healing 202–204; overview 173; reenchanted biblical reading 174–175; theology of 186–196; in United States 173–182; U.S. Particularities in 180–182; see also demons/demonology Delk, James Logan 276 democracy 25, 28, 158, 338; interracial 281; overt advocacy for 339; political configurations in 384 Democratic Republic of the Congo 309 democratization 191; and Greece 102 demons/demonology 11, 180–182, 195–196, 291, 331, 393, 397, 400; casting out 182, 186, 190; Charismatic 177–180; Christian 175; healing 194–196; Pentecostal 177–180; possession 204–205, 207, 290; of self-denial 292; territorial spirits 338; Third Wave 177–180; U.S. 173–182; and witchcraft 206–207; see also deliverance Dennis, Annie 35, 36 Dennis, T.J. 129 d’Epinay, Lalive 381–382 Derrida, Jacques 334 Destiny Church movement 39 de Vaus, David 467 Dickson, Pastor 216–219

Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements 3–4 Dieter, Theodore 424 digital media 442, 444, 447, 449–450, 452, 453 Dinkins, Etta 276 Dinkins, J.J. 276 discontinuity: and Bhils Pentecostalism 227; in conversion 225–227; through deliverance 227– 228; through disciplining 228–229; through displacement 230–231; through erasure 230– 231; through replacement 230–231 dis-othering 398 dispensationalism 189 Dittus, Gottliebin 175 diversity: Oneness Pentecostals 50–52; Pentecostal 25–29, 114–118 Divine Healing Movement 34 dominion theology 136, 333, 338 Dooley, Lucinda 323, 325 Dooley, Phil 323, 325 Dorrance, John 276 Dowie, John Alexander 34–35, 47, 475 Droogers, André 480 drug culture 187–188 DuBois, W.E.B. 279 Dubrovskii, Mikhail 118 Duda, Andrzej 394 Dulles, Avery 427n7 Duncan-Williams, Nicholas 347, 348, 349–350, 352n8, 352n10 du Plessis, David 99–100, 419–421, 427n8; and Catholic Church 421–423 du Plessis, Justus 422, 426 Durasoff, Steve 107 Durham, William 50, 55, 56 Duterte, Rodrigo Roa 331–332 early Black-led Pentecostal interraciality 275–286 East Africa Revival 84 Eastern European settlement 34 Ecclesial Base Communities (CEBs) 382 Ecclesiastical blocs, traditions, and types 460–461 ecclesiastical centralization 407–414 ecumenism 417–427; and Pentecostals 417–427 Edgell, Penny 6 Edwards, Jonathan 37 Egzorcysta 400 El Mercurio 24 Elsmore, Bronwyn 38 Elton, Sydney 125–126, 132 Emesim, J.M.J. 131–132 Engelke, M. 226 entanglements 8, 29, 38, 97, 212, 340, 371; global 20–23, 331–340; transnational 10 Enticknap, Charles 35–36 Enticknap, W.J. 35–36 equal rights language 281

489

Index erasure 230–231 ethics: Christian 152; conservative 12; Pentecostal 12, 273, 289, 296; progressive 12 ethnic identities 86–89, 231, 234 Euro-American missionaries 473 Euro-American Pentecostalism 476 Eurocentrism 333 European colonialism 175, 402n15 European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) 102–103 European Methodist missionaries 379 European Pentecostal Theological Association 479 European Research Network on Global Pentecostalism (GloPent) 480 Evangelical Christian Aid (ACE) 424 Evangelical Free Church 424 Evangelicalism 104, 302, 358, 431–432, 436–437, 439 Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland 424 Evangelical Service for Ecumenical Development (SEPADE) 424 Evangelicals Today 335 Evangelical Union of Latin America (UNELAM) 424 Evangélico 28 evangelism: gospel 129–130; power 4; in rural areas, China 153–154; and Wimber’s theology 189–191 evil spirits (dushtatma) 227–228 Ewart, Frank 45, 50 Ewelike, Tony 132 exorcism 4, 11, 141, 158, 167, 174, 176, 178–180, 226, 311, 370–372 Eze, Emeka 128 Ezeh, James 399 faith healer 38, 47 Far East Broadcasting Company 100 Farrell, Kevin 413 Faulkner, Homer J. 149 Federal Government of Nagaland (FGN) 164 Fediakova, Evguenia 26 Feick, August D. 276, 277–278 Fellowship Global 270 The Fellowship of Affirming Ministries (TFAM) 267–270, 289; Fellowship Global 270 Fellowship of Christian Unions (FOCUS) 84–85, 91 female African migration, to Flanders (Belgium) 300–301 female African Pentecostal actors 305–311 female converts and preachers 149–150 female pastoral leadership 303–304 Fengos, Leonidas “Louis” 100 Feng Yuxiang 152 Ferm, Olaf Sigfrid 148

Ferm, Pauline L. Gleim 148 Fiesta Misionera 243 Fifteenth Amendment 281 Filadelphia Bible College 225 finance, and Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) 359–361 Finnish Pentecostals 424 Fire from Heaven (Cox) 480 First Sky Group 352n15 Fiske, Susan T. 255 five-fold ministry 139–140 Flanders (Belgium): critical intercultural theological issues 311–312; female African migration to 300–301; female African Pentecostal actors in 305–311; internal negotiations 311–312; social relevance 311–312 Flemish Pentecostal Union (Belgium) 303 flow: cultural 11; of evangelistic missions 84; global cultural 317; global religious media 60–61; ideological 56; lopsided 79; noncoordinated 11; transnational 55–56, 62; Western cultural 319 Floyd, George 12, 322 Flunder, Yvette 268–271, 289, 291–293 Focus on the Global South 333 folk Catholicism 12, 57–59, 393–394, 400 Foucault, Michel 334 Fourteenth Amendment 281 Francescon, Louis 55, 58, 379 Franciscan friars 238 Free Apostolic Church of Pentecost (FACP) 100–102 Freeman, Dena 359–360 French, Talmadge 44, 47 Friends of Jesus (FOJ) program 356 Frigerio, Alejandro 382 Frodsham, Stanley 138, 475 frontiers 449–451 Frost, Michael 39 Fuller Theological Seminary 179, 188, 190 fundraising: and prayer networks 349–350; prosperity gospel 349–350 Galaraga, Jovelio 335–336, 338, 339 Gallagher, Patty Mansfield 407 Gatũ, John 88 Gaxiola-Gaxiola, Manuel 423 Gee, Donald 419–421 Geivett, Douglas 140 gender: male chauvinism 258; male gatekeepers 254–258; male measures of success 258–260; matricentricity 368–369; politics 257, 259; regimes, in Belgium 301–303; roles of Canadian Pentecostalism 253–262; women preachers 254–258 Gerard, Bernice 253–257, 260–261 Gerloff, Roswitt 301

490

Index Gershon, Ilana 451 Gezahagne, Teklemariam 52 Ghana 13, 343–351; Basel Pietist mission 175; and Christianity 175; Fourth Republic of thanksgiving 347; as majority Christian country 346; Giddens, Anthony 7 Gifford, Paul 347 Gilkes, Cheryl 265 Gimenez, Héctor 382 Gitari, David 84, 88 Glick, Peter 255 Global Christian Forum (GCF) 425–426 global development, and Pentecostalism 354–364 global entanglements: globally entangled discursive constraints 338–339; Global Religious History 333–334; Ministry Digest 334–335; prayer warriors in 331–340; revolutionary church politics 334–335; warfare, kingdom, and politics 335–338 globalization 5–9, 41, 176; and Chile 25–29; and Greece 102; Roland on 20 globally entangled discursive constraints 338–339 Global North 316, 374, 458 global Pentecostalism 2–6, 55–56, 432; constructing 472–482; establishment of Pentecostal Studies 479–481; literary beginnings 473–475; scholarly associations 478–479; statistical study of 457–468; Global Pentecostal Studies 479–481 Global Racial Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI) Committee 323, 326 Global Religious History 333–334 Global South 11, 299, 316, 317, 318–324, 340, 393, 465–466, 468, 481–482; anti-democratic politics in 333; and colonialism 317; migrants from 393; Pentecostalism in 10, 392; and Polish Charismatic imaginary 393–396; reading Bible in 175–177; theologians 324; and Ukrainian nexus in Pentecostal communities 396–397; women in 299 Global Southerners 334, 338 glocalization 9; of Assemblies of God (AG) 146–155; of Pentecostal religion 19–30; Roland Robertson’s concept of 20; self-propagation 153–155 glossolalia 1, 4, 27, 35, 83–84, 90, 110, 114, 119, 242, 442, 473–474, 477; multiplicity of unruly tongues 371–373 Glover, Kelso 39 God, and witchcraft 200–202 Good News of the Gospel 189 Gorge, Mossman 35 gospel evangelism 129–130 Gospel of John 60 Goss, Howard 47, 282

governance structures: governing in 260–261; guarding power in 260–261; making rules in 260–261 governing 260–261 Grace of God Mission 128 Graham, Billy 339, 446 Gramsci, Antonio 124 Granada, Gary 336–337 Graudins, Peteris 63 Great Commission 336, 450 Great Depression 48 Great Terror (1937–1938) 109 Greece: beginnings and consolidation of Pentecostalism 98–100; Church of Greece (CoG) 97–98; liberalization 102–105; Pentecostalism in 97–105; secularization 97; stagnation 102–105 Greek Evangelical Alliance 105 Greek Pentecostalism 97, 99–100, 104–105 Green, Nathanael 325 Green, Robyn 325 Greenway, Alfred 39 Griffiths, Michael 40 Group Areas Act 323 Guangdong and Guangxi Assemblies of God Council (GGAGC) 151 Guatemala 237, 239, 242–244, 246 Gulliksen, Kenn 186–187 Hagin, Kenneth 26, 132, 343 Hall, Franklin 136, 137, 138 Hamilton, Diana 349 Hammond, August 276 Hammond, Frank 178 Hamon, Bill 136 Han, Byung-Chul 442 Hanciles, Jehu 318, 319 Hansen, Harold Emil 152 Harkness, Robert 35, 36 Harlem Renaissance 48 Harris, Clive 400 Harrison, Addell 149 Hausa-Fulani 122 Hawkins, Walter 268 Hawtin, George 125, 136, 137 Haynes, Naomi 333 Haywood, Garfield T. 46, 47–48, 49, 276–277 healing 4, 10–11, 21, 34, 38; Charismatic 178; Christian 192; and deliverance practices 202–204; the demonized 194–196; forms of 192–193; inner 176, 179, 181, 192, 194–195; kingdom 191–194; physical 194, 228; spiritual 38, 228; theology of 186–196 Hebrew Bible 444 Hefner, Robert 458 Hefner, R.W. 229 hermanos 27–28

491

Index heterosexuality 272, 293 heterosupersensitivity 373 Heyling, Dick 187 Hicks, Tommy 380 Hickson, James Moore 34 Hiebert, Paul 179 Hillsong Church: Australian Hillsong Conference 324–325; coloniality in Christian North/South relations 316–317; decolonial efforts at 322–323; decolonizing worship practice at 316–326; Hillsong Church Online (HCO) 320–321; Hillsong congregation(s) 320–322; Hillsong Sydney 324–325; ideological coloniality at 316–326; methodology 319–320; mission of 317–319; positioning 317–319; religion, branding, and mission 317–319; South Africa 323–324; Sydney, Australia 324–325 Himitian, Jorge 408, 414n4 Hindle, Thomas 150 Hinduism 11, 228, 234n6, 333 Hindu nationalism 223–224 Hinn, Benny 446–447, 450, 452–453 historical Protestantism 435 HIV/AIDS 268, 356 Hochstetler, Dean 175 Hocken, Peter 411 Hoekstra, Raymond 139 Holiness Evangelical Church 128 Hollenweger, Walter J. 5, 265, 267, 446, 462, 476–478, 481 Holt, William B. 276, 277–278, 282 “Holy Ghost Fire” 291, 296 Holy Ghost Service 356 Holy Nazarene Church of the Apostolic Faith 276, 279 Holy Spirit 3–4, 21, 35–36, 56, 64, 82–84, 102, 108, 130, 147, 176, 226, 230, 233, 246, 290, 369, 372, 410, 421, 445, 447, 450, 475; baptism 131, 132, 182, 480; movements 395 Homewood, Nathanael 290 homosexuality 291–296, 374 Hong Kong: Pentecostal movement in 68; Pentecostal Network of 72, 75, 76; pillars of Pentecostal print 71–79 Hong Kong Pentecostal Mission 69, 73, 74, 76 Hoover, Willis Collins 20–21, 55, 379; and Chilean Pentecostalism 22 Hoser, Henryk 402n9 hostile sexism 254 Hour of Deliverance College of Evangelism 132 Hour of Freedom Evangelistic Association 127 The Household of God 75 House of Rainbow 289 Houston, Bobbie 320, 325 Houston, Brian 136, 320, 323 Howard-Browne, Rodney 179

Hughes, Ray 426 human cognition 452 Humbard, Rex 446 Hurd, Thacher 448 Hutchinson, Mark 136 iconographic culture 433 Idahosa, Benson 132 Idahosa, Elton 132 ifibanda 370 Igboland 123; neo-Pentecostalism 130; Pentecostalism in 124–126 Iglesia Apostólica de la Fe in Cristo Jesús 49 Iglesia Pentecostal de Chile 424 Iluyomade, Idowu 357, 359–360 imipashi yakowela 370 immigration 48–49, 52–53 Independent Charismatics 4 independent Pentecostals 462 India: Christianophobia 223; continuity and discontinuity in conversion 225–227; conversion seen as problem in 223; Rajasthan, Bhils in 223–234 indigenized Christian revitalization movements 34–36 indigenous peoples 21, 34, 62 indigenous spirituality 369 Indo-Burma Pioneer Mission 160 Industrial Areas Foundation 51 Inkis, Janis 63–64 inner healing 176, 179, 181, 192, 194–195 Inner Mongolia 150 institutionalization 241–242, 265, 371, 383–384, 392, 409, 413, 415n10 intensive prayer and worship 140–141 International Association of Healing Rooms 177–178 International Bulletin of Missionary Research 3, 481 International Catholic Charismatic Renewal Services (ICCRS) 407 International Church of the Foursquare Gospel 100 International Congress on World Evangelization 335, 339 International Council of Apostolic Leaders 140 International Fellowship of Evangelical Students (IFES) 84, 91 International House of Prayer (IHOP) 141 International Students Christian Fellowship (ISCF) 84 interracialism: by African Americans 278; Black-led 277; distinguishing forms of 278–279; White-led 278 Iron Curtain 118 Islam 302, 333, 345; inadaptable 208; and Muslim healers 203; in Tanzania 11; in Zanzibar 212–220; see also religion

492

Index Islander peoples 34 Ivanov, Alexander 108 Iverson, Dick 136, 140 Jacobs, Cindy 331–332, 334, 340 Jacobsen, Douglas 135, 273 James, Thomas 151 Janson, Marloes 218 Jaoko, Luke 90 Jeffreys, Stephen 39 Jehovah’s Witnesses 240 Jesús (Brazilian serial drama) 433 Jesus and the Kingdom (Ladd) 190 Jesus Christ 243, 272, 276–277, 279, 363, 368, 373, 426 Jesus’ Name baptismal formulas 49, 50 Jesus of Nazareth 173–174 Jesus People Movement 187–188 João Maria see Agostini, Giovanni Maria de Jobs, Steve 445 John Paul II 409, 410 Johnson, Mark 452 Johnson, Todd M. 4, 139, 457–458, 459, 465, 481 Judaism 302

King, Martin Luther, Jr. 51 kingdom 335–338 Kitonga, Arthur 87 Knights of John Paul II 393 Knowles, Florence 276 koinonia 324 Kokkinakis case 103 Koltovich, Vasilii 108 Kom Kukis 160 Kościół Ewangeliczny Zgromadzenia Bożego (KEZB) 397 Kraft, Charles 4, 179 Kubler-Ross, Elizabeth 193 Kuhlman, Kathryn 71, 178, 179 Kuki Rebellion of 1917–19 159 Ku Klux Klan 48 Kumah, John 350 Kurian, George 465 kutulutsa ingulu 370 Kwateng-Yeboah, James 345 Kydd, Ronald A.N. 194 Kyiv Council of Bishops 110–111 Kyiv Episcopate see Kyiv Council of Bishops Kyrgyz culture 213

Kalu, Ogbu 123, 131, 199, 366, 482; historiography of African Christianity 123–124 Kanzo 220n10 Karetnikova, Marina 117 Kariuki, Mark 89 Kashpirovsky, Anatoly 400 Kaunda, Kenneth 369, 370 Kay, William 480 Kelley, George 149, 151 Kelley, Margaret 149 Kenn, Along 166 Kenya 10, 12, 288–289; conversion to Christianity 83–86; cosmopolitan environments 91; indigenous Pentecostal spirituality 91–92; Pentecostalism in 82–92; role of youth in Pentecostalism 89–90; spiritual identity 82–92; student movements 82–92; urban, ethnic, and Christian identities 86–89 Kenya Assemblies of God (KAG) 86 Kenya Student Christian Fellowship (KSCF) 84–85, 91 Kenyatta University Christian Union 89 Kenyon, E.W. 446 Kenyon’s Church of the Air 446 Kęskrawiec, Marek 398 Keswick Bible 130 Keswick teaching 130–131 Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug-Yugra 114–115 Khrushchev, Nikita 112

La Casa del Senor 26 Laclau, Ernesto 334 Ladd, George Eldon 186, 187, 189, 191 La deuda (The Debt) 432 Lake, John G. 177 Lakoff, George 452 Lancuza, Manuel 62 language ideology 451 Larissis case 103 Latin America: Catholic Charismatic Renewal (CCR) in 237–247; Continental Mission for 243 Latin American Council of Churches (CLAI) 424 Latin American Evangelical Pentecostal Commission (CEPLA) 424 Latin American Network of Pentecostal Studies (RELEP) 424 Latin American Pentecostalism 55–64, 237, 339, 385n1, 480; and Azusa Street Revival 56; and Bible 59–62; Catholicism 56–59; and Chilean revival 55; ethnic flows 62–64; idea flows 56–59; Latvian Baptists 62–64; media flows 59–62; overview 55 The Latter Rain Evangel 70, 74, 75 Latter Rain Movement (LRM) 11, 39; apostles 139–140; biblical typology 140–141; Christian unity 141–142; commencement of 135; five-fold ministry 139–140; and global Pentecostalism 135; intensive prayer and worship 140–141; Latter Rain Controversy 256; Latter Rain Revival 125; overview

493

Index 136–138; prophets 139–140; radical primitive Christianity 147–150; spiritual warfare 140–141 Latvian Baptists 55–56, 62–64 Lausanne Committee for World Evangelization 339 Law, May 149 Lawson, Robert C. 47–48, 276 Layzell, Reg 136, 141–142 Leatherman, Lucy 56 Ledbetter, Mattie 149 Lediaev, Aleksei 115 Leeming, Bernard 421 Leiva, Sandra 384 Lenshina, Alice 369, 370, 374 Levchuk, I. 110 Lewin, Ellen 291–292 LGBTIQ Kenyan Christians 288–289 LGBTIQ Pentecostal activists 12 LGBTQ: marriage 264; people 266; persons 264, 270; rights 264 LGBTQ+ people 400, 402, 479 Liang Diesheng 153 liberalization: Greece 102–105; of religious governance 103, 105; theological 188 Lin Daosheng 153 Lindsay, Gordon 126, 132 Lineham, Peter 39–40 Liu Huansheng 153, 154 Liu Lin En 155 Liu Yongsheng 154 Living Faith Church Worldwide (Winners’ Chapel) 356 Livingston, David 177 localization 19, 20 Lombardi, Giacomo 379 London Missionary Society 33 Long, Retta 35 Love, Joseph 276 Luen, M.I. 165 Luikham, T. 161 Lukose, W. 227 Lum, Clara 77 Lumpa Church 369 Luther, Martin 174 Lutheran World Federation 424, 426 lycanthropy 158 Ma, Nathan 152–153 Maan Leung 155 MacGavran, Donald 4 MacMullen, Ramsay 174 MacNutt, Francis 175, 180–181, 192 MacRoberts, Iain 265 Mae, Ida 178 Magalit, Isabelo 336–337 Magesa, Laurent 371

Makhlouf, Charbel 58 Maline Documents 409 Maniparambil, Jose 396, 400 Manjackal, James 396 Mansilla, Miguel 26, 384, 385 Māori movements 37–39 Mao Zedong 332 market model theories of Pentecostalism 7 Maronite Catholics 58 Marostica, Matt 382 Marshall, Ruth 181, 340, 363 Martin, David 245, 480 Martyn, Henry 176 martyrological ecumenism 411 Marxism 24, 25; atheistic 24, 25 Masinde, J.B. 89, 91 Mason, Charles Harrison 265, 276, 277–278, 282 Massachusetts Bay Company 34 Master’s Vessel Church 128 material erasure 230–231 materialities/materialization 340, 373, 432–433 Mathews, Thomas 224–225 matricentricity 368–369 Maxwell, David 344 Maya-Catholic costumbre (custom) 244 Mba, Edozie 128 Mbembe, Achille 374 Mbiti, John 318, 366 McAlister, R.E. 45, 50 McColl, Jean 256 McColl, Velma 256 McDonnell, Kilian 422, 427n9 McGee, Gary 3 McIntosh, Thomas J. 72, 73, 151 McLeod, Norman 37 McMasters, J. W. 276 McPherson, Aimee Semple 63, 318, 443, 445–446 Mebius, Fredrik 58 media: ambivalence 443, 451, 452; and Argentina 431–440; ideologies 442–443, 451, 453; marking strategies 435–437; materialities and divisions 432–433; overview 431–432; preaching gospel without naming 437–439; preferences and dismissals 434–435; print culture 68–71; reflexive leadership 435–437; sincerity 451; system of objects with religious markings 432–433; unmarking strategies 437–439; Zoom 446–449 Mello, Awi 412 Menna, Lucia 379 Methodism 22, 354, 379, 480 Methodist Episcopal Church 21, 379, 474 Methodist Pentecostal Church 19, 20, 23, 24, 379 Mexican Revolution 49 Mexico 48–49 Meyer, Birgit 175, 213, 226–227, 229, 451

494

Index Meyers, Joyce 451 mfiti 370 Mighty Warriors Prayer Team 446 migration 8, 10, 41, 391–393; “blackbirded” labor 33; and indigenizing Pentecostalism 32; mass 34; religious 34; transnational 12 Míguez, Daniel 382 Milingo, Emmanuel 369–371, 374, 375n2 militant Christians 332 Milne, Andrew Murray 60 Ministry Digest 333, 334–335 Minniecon, Ray 36 minoritization 380, 381–385, 385n2 Minuck, A. J. 276 Minuto de Dios 238 Missen, Alfred F. 422 missionary Pentecostalism 385n1 Mission Iglesia Pentecostal 424 mizimu yoipa 370 Mok Lai Chi 67–68, 69, 71–73, 75, 78–79 Mongolia 150 Montenegro, Steve 52 Moody Church 47 Moore, Florence 276 Morales, Óscar Julio Vian 248n7 Moran, Michelle 407 Morford, Lester 276 Mosqueira, Mariella 384 Mosse, D. 232 Mountain of Fire and Miracle Ministries (MFM) 289–295, 356 “Movement and Institution” 241 Movement for National Transformation 331 Mulenga, Alice Lenshina 369 multiplicity of unruly tongues 371–373 Mungathia, Stanley 90 Muñoz, Wilson 384 Murashko, Ivan 119n8 Museum of the Bible (Washington, D.C.) 346, 349 mushimu ingulu (Chewa) 370 Mwangi, James K. 288 Nagas: Christians 158–160; Naga Hills District Tribal Council (NHDTC) 161–162; Nagaland Baptist Church Council (NBCC) Peace Mission 164; Nagaland Christian Revival Church (NCRC) 157, 159, 164, 167; Nagaland Missions Movement 164; Naga National Council (NNC) 162; Naga People Convention (NPC) 164; overview 157–158; revival movement of 1920s 159–161; revival movement of 1950s 161–164; revival movement of 1970s 164–166; revival movements in North East India 157–167; tribes 158 Nairobi 86–87

Natanek, Piotr 394 National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference 52 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) 278–279 National Association of Evangelicals (NAE) 419, 423 National Cathedral (Accra, Ghana) 344–346, 347–348, 350–351, 352n10 National Cathedral Prayer Network 350 National Evangelical Mission 128 National Football Stadium (Warsaw) 393 nationalism 336, 337 National Latter Rain Convention 137 National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN) 164 Native Missionary Movement (NMM) 224 negative dualism 384 Nelson, Ted 445 neo-Pentecostalism 1, 4, 10–11, 13, 26, 383, 463 Nevius, John 176 New Age-oriented groups 240 New Apostolic Reformation 139 New Catholic Charismatic Renewal International Service (CHARIS) 411–414 new ecclesiastical movements 409 New Evangelicalism 190 New Evangelization Movement 240, 247, 393 New Generation Association of Churches in Russia 115 New Patriotic Party 347–348 new religious movements 382 Newsweek 398 New Zealand: historiography of Pentecostalism 37; Māori movements 37–39 Ng’anga, Luchele 368–369 Nigeria 309, 354; corporate anointing 350; decolonization 122; ethnic groups 122; Pentecostal witchcraft theology 199–208; politics in 361–363 Nigeria-Biafra civil war 122–123 Nigerian Faith Tabernacle Church 125 Nigerian Pentecostal churches 355 Nigerian Pentecostalism 345 Nigerian Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) 396 Nkrumah, Kwame 350 Nkwoka, Anthony 129 Noll, Mark 189 non-Charismatic orthodox Catholics 245 non-Western spirituality 372 North, Gary 336, 338, 339 North American Holiness movement 23 North American Methodism 20, 23 North American Pentecostalism 254, 255, 379 North American Pentecostals 14 North China Council 151

495

Index North East India (NEI): revival movements among Nagas 157–167; revival movements in Naga Churches 166–167 Northmead Assembly of God (Northmead) 372 Nwachukwu, Paul 128 Nwafor, Charles 128 Nwodika, Augustine 128 Obama, Barack 51, 53 Oceanian Pentecostalism 32–33, 40 Odede, Calisto 89 Odessa Regional Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith 108 Odnowa w Duchu Świętym (Catholic Charismatic Renewal) 392 Oestmann, Eduardo Aguirre 242 off-brand Pentecostals 256 Oginde, David 89 Okafor, Raphael 127 Okafor, Stephen 127, 131 Oladipupo, Jacob Kehinde 294 Olamijulo, Muyiwa 131 Old Testament 203–204, 435, 437 Olukoya, Daniel K. 289 Onadipe, Olufunmilayo 362 On Decoloniality (Mignolo and Walsh) 317 Oneness Pentecostals 10, 44–53, 423, 479; A.D. Urshan 46–47; Antonio Nava 48–49; Black Progressives 47–48; Canadian regionalism 50; diversity 50–52; global implications 52–53; Oneness baptism 46; overview 44–45 “On Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations” 113 Opare, Frema 349 Opocensky, Milan 424 oralitology 367–368 Oral Roberts University, Tulsa, Oklahoma 478 O’Reilly, Thomas B. 276, 277, 278 Organized Christianity 245 Orr, Edwin 224 Orthodox Church 97 orthodoxy 27, 273, 302, 359; Charismatic 10; Ethiopian 52 orthopathy 27 orthopraxy 27 Oruizu, Arthur 127 Osborne, T.L. 86, 126, 132 Otago Settlement 37 Othering: in Pentecostal complex in Poland 398–400 Oviedo, David 26 Oye, Mike 131 Ozolnikevich, Ianis 111 Pacific Rim 32, 40 Padroado regime 58 Paino, Thomas 278

Pan African Fellowship of Christian Students (PAFES) 84 Pan-African Pentecostal Christianity 295 Pan Jingchu 153 paramparik biswas (traditional faith) 231 Parham, Charles 47, 265, 473, 477 Parker, Cristian 382 parousia 37 Pasek, Zbigniew 392 Pasieka, Agnieszka 392 pastoral openness 407–414 Pastor Peace, Zellik and Brussels 310–311 Paulk, Earl 136 Peace Vigil 243 peasant Catholicism 56, 58–59 Pędziwiatr, Konrad 397 Pelkman, Mathjis 213 Pentecost 419–420, 421 Pentecostal and Charismatic Churches of North America (PCCNA) 423 Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC) 8, 50, 86, 135, 138, 141, 254, 256, 372, 460 Pentecostal Assemblies of God (PAG) 86 Pentecostal Assemblies of God in Zambia (PAOGZ) 372 Pentecostal Assemblies of Jesus Christ 46 Pentecostal Assemblies of the World 45, 47–48, 50–51, 276, 277, 279, 465, 474 The Pentecostal Evangel 138, 419 Pentecostal Evangelical Fellowship Federation (Federación Confraternidad Evangélica Pentecostal) 435 Pentecostal Evangelical Fellowship of Africa (PEFA) 86 Pentecostal Fellowship of Nigeria (PFN) 363 Pentecostal Fellowship of North America (PFNA) 422, 423 Pentecostal Holiness Church (PHC) 76, 375n1, 474, 478 Pentecostalism 1–2, 4–5, 9, 56, 391–393, 431; African-Americans 282–283; and Assemblies of God 419; attitudes toward other churches 417–419; Barrett’s typology of 464–466; black 47; in Chile 20–29; Chilean (see Chilean Pentecostalism); classifying, in World Christian Encyclopedia 460–463; communities 396–397, 446; complex in Poland 390–401; cultural analysis of 9; demonology 11, 177–180; diversity 25–29, 114–118; David du Plessis and Catholic Church 421–423; Donald Gee and global perspective 419–421; du Plessis and global perspective 419–421; Ecclesiastical blocs, traditions, and types 460–461; and ecumenism 417–427; ethics 12, 273, 289, 296; in Fiji 41; global 2–6, 55–56; and Global Christian Forum (GCF) 425–426; and global development 354–364; and globalization

496

Index 8–9; in Greece 97–105; growth paradigm 14, 457–460; historiography of 10; in Igboland 124–126; implications for studying 142–144; integration into global networks 39–40; in Kenya 82–92; Latin American (see Latin American Pentecostalism); market model theories of 7; mission 211–220; in New Zealand 37–39; North American 14; Oceanian 32; Oneness 10, 44–45, 47, 49–50, 52; and Protestant Dialogues 423–424; rise of 34; role of youth in 89–90; Russian 108–109, 112–114; and Secretaries of Christian World Communions 426; sensorium 447; and social development 354–364; in socioanthropological studies 380–385; sociopolitical history of 13; within Southern Cone 380–385; subtypes of Pentecostals 462–463; testimonies 259; theology 273–274, 281; three types of Pentecostals 461–462; tribal religious movement 227; witchcraft theology 199–204; women 256, 301–303; working toward unity 421; world 1–2, 5–14; and World Council of Churches 424–425 The Pentecostal Mission (TPM) 159 “Pentecostal Paradigms of National Economic Prosperity in Africa” (Wariboko) 344 Pentecostal periodicals 68–70, 71; distribution networks 76–78; lack of financial support 74–76 Pentecostal plurality 288–296 Pentecostal politics 13, 378–385; overview 378–380; in socio-anthropological studies 380–385; within Southern Cone 380–385 Pentecostal spirituality 4; indigenous 91–92 Pentecostal Studies 479–481 Pentecostal Truths 67–69, 70, 71, 75; article republication 75; and Chinese Christianity 78; distribution of 78; financial sustainability of 74; monopoly on Chinese Pentecostal print 77; production of 72; translated articles from English 73 Pentecostal World Conference (PWC) 419, 420, 422–423, 427n5 Pentecostal World Fellowship (PWF) 421, 427n5, 427n11, 478 PentecoStudies 1, 480 Penzotti, Francisco 56, 59–62 People Power Revolution 333, 335 Pereira, Agostinho José 61 Perfect, George 125 Perón, Juan Domingo 380 Peters, John Durham 443–445 Peterson, Bartlett 420 Pethrus, Lewi 99–100, 137 Pettigrew, William 160–161 Philippine House of Representatives for Citizens’ Battle Against Corruption 332

Philippines 331; prayer warriors 340 Philippines for Jesus Movement (PJM) 331, 336 Pierce, Cal 177 Piggin, Stuart 37 Pinkstergroepen 423 Pinochet, Agosto 24, 25 Pivec, Holly 140 Plaisier, Bas 423–424 pluralization 5–9 Pluss, Jean-Daniel 424 Pneuma 1, 5, 479 Poewe, Karla 368, 374 Poland: nation, religiosity, and the occult 398–400; Othering in Pentecostal complex in 398–400; Pentecostal complex in 390–401 Polish Pentecostalism 390–401; folk Catholicism 393, 394, 400; and Global South 393–397; Hegemonic Catholic Matrix 391–393; and migration 391–393; modes of presence 396–397; nation, religiosity, and the occult 398–400; Othering in Pentecostal complex 398–400; overview 390–391; Polish-Catholic Charismatic movement 391; Polish Catholicism 391, 394, 396, 398; Polish Charismatic imaginary 393–396; and Ukrainian nexus 396–397 politics 335–338; in Nigeria 361–363; Pentecostal 378–385; racialized 279–285; Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) 361–363; sexual 288–296 Polityka 398 Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity (PCPCU) 425 Pope Francis 407–414; Catholic Charismatic Renewal and 408–411 Pope John Paul II 241 Pope John XXIII 421 Pope Paul Vl 25 Popov, Aleksander 111 popular religious indigenous context 244–247 positive dualism 384 postmodernism 294 post-Pentecostal community 384 Power, Graham 350 power evangelism 4 praxis of radical love 271–274 prayer: networks 349–350; Prayer Wall 447; warriors in global entanglements 331–340 preaching 211, 242, 248n5, 248n7, 311, 354, 395–396; in Florida 256–257; gospel without naming it 437–439; lay 242; open-air 214; and Pentecostal churches 354; unmarking strategies 437–439 Primitive Apostolic Church of Pentecost 98 Prince, Derek 176–177, 178 progressive ethics 12 progressive premillennialism 293

497

Index Prophetic Period 38 prophets 38, 135–138, 462; false 28, 293; LRM 139–140 Prophet Samuel 201 prosperity gospel 1–2, 13, 343–351, 478; fundraising and prayer networks 349–350; and a personal vow 346–348; Protestant Dialogues 423–424; Protestant-Evangelicalism 302; Protestantism 139, 239, 244, 275, 301, 435; Protestant Reformation 189; Protestants: in Brazil 239; Charismatics 239, 407, 421; Russian 107, 116–117, 119; proximate intercessory prayer 447; teachings 26–27, 29, 343–345, 347, 351n1; and thanksgiving 346–348; and unity 346–348 Qi Wenyuan 150 Quaker Pennsylvania 34 Queensland Kanaka Mission (QKM) 33 queering 271; theology and praxis of radical love 271–274; U.S. Black Pentecostalism 264–267 Qur’an 204 race: and credibility 284; early Black-led Pentecostal interraciality 275–286; theorizing 275–286 racialized polities 279–285; Black-led Pentecostal interracial alternative 279–282; Black-led Pentecostal interracial denomination 282–285; countering 279–285 racism 12, 41, 258, 265, 282, 369, 374; anti-Black 284; biological 398; institutional 282; lived and structured 398; structured 398; white 317 radical inclusion 268, 293 radical love: praxis of 271–274; theology of 271–274 radical primitive Christianity: charities for the poor 148–149; Chinese version of 147–150; female converts and preachers 149–150; Inner Mongolia 150; Latter Rain Movement 147– 150; see also Christianity Rajasthan 223–234 Ramírez, Daniel 423 Ramos Mejía, Francisco Hermógenes 61–62 Rātana, Tahupōtiki Wiremu 38–40 Rawlings, Jerry John 347, 352n7 Reagan, Ronald 51, 103 recharismatization 143 reconciled diversity 410 Record TV Network 433 Redeemed AIDS Programme Action Committee (RAPAC) 356 Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) 13; background information 355–356; City of David model parish 356; CSR Department 364; finance 359–361; politics 361–363; RCCG Vocational Institute 356; theologies 357–359

Redeemed Church of God 26 Redeemed Gospel Church 87, 89 Redeemed People’s Mission 128 Redeemer’s College of Technology and Management (RECTEM) 356 Redeemer’s Health Centre (RHC) 356 Reed, Romulus 276 reenchanted biblical reading 174–175 reflexive leadership 435–437 Reformed Churches 423 regional councils: Assemblies of God (AG) in China 151–152; northern 152; southern 151 regionalism: Canadian 50; federated 301 Reid, Marcella Althaus 272 relativism 294 religion 7; and cultural conflict 21; and globalization 7; Hillsong 317–319; and Pentecostal mission(s) 212–213; pluralism 240; religious migration 34; Smoleńsk 395; state recognized 301–303; see also Christianity; Hinduism; Islam; specific entries religious markings: on materialities and divisions 432–433; system of objects with 432–433 Republic of Guinea 309 Resane, Kelebogile T. 318 revival movements: of 1920s 159–161; of 1950s 161–164; of 1970s 164–166; in Naga Churches 166–167; Nagas, North East India 157–167 revolutionary church politics 334–335 Reynolds, Zella 152 Richman, Naomi 290, 293 Rieff, Philip 191 Righteous Brothers 187 Robbins, Joel 317, 319, 480 Robbins, Richard 7, 230 Robeck, Cecil M., Jr. 423, 424–425, 426 Roberts, Bill 123, 130–131 Roberts, Oral 26, 86, 178, 343 Robertson, Roland 6, 8; concept of glocalization 20; on globalization 20 Rogers, Nelson 256 Rolim, Francisco Cartaxo 58 Rolls, C.J. 37 Roman Catholic Church see Catholic Church Rose, Lena 319 Ruch Światło Życie (Light and Life Movement) 392 rupture and conversion 226–227 ruqiah 204 Russia: Oneness Pentecostalism 47; Pentecostals in 107–119 Russian Assembly of God 117 Russian Church of Christians of Evangelical Faith (RCCEF) 112, 114, 117 Russian invasion of Ukraine 401n3, 401n4 Russian Oneness movement 108 Russian Pentecostals 46, 107–119; common identity 114–118; overview 107–108;

498

Index Pentecostal diversity 114–118; Pentecostals in the USSR 109–111; see also Russia Russian Protestants 107, 116–117, 119 Russian United Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith (RUUCEF) 113, 117 Saasbee, Inc. 448 Sabbatarian Pentecostals 109 Sackey, Elizabeth 350 Sagastibelza, Josefa Joaquina 59 Sahoo, S. 227 Sainam United Charity Association 149 Saint Zionist Pentecostals 109 Salonga, Jovito 337 Samizdat 112, 119n13 Sanders, Cheryl 265, 273 Sanford, Agnes 181, 192 Sanneh, Lamin 368 Santiago 244–245 Saracco, Norberto 381 Save the Lost Mission 128 Scheduled Castes (SCs) 231 Scheduled Tribes (STs) 231 Scheppe, John G. 45 Schnegg, Michael 464 scholarly associations 478–479 Scott, Gregory Adam 69 Scott, R.J. 45 Scripture Union (SU) 84, 126–129, 130–131, 133 Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) 238, 240, 418, 422 Secretaries of Christian World Communions 426 secularization 97 Segraves, Daniel 46 Sekerdej, Kinga 392 self-propagation 153–155 self-transcendence 233 Semán, Pablo 382 semiotic ideologies 443, 451–452 Sepúlveda, Juan 21, 25, 382–383, 424 Setton, Damián 384 Seventh Day Adventists 52 Severin, Carl Gustaf 113 sexuality: eschatologizing 292–294; missionizing 294–295; spiritualizing 290–292 Seymour, William J. 177, 265–266, 427, 473, 477 Shadish, William 466 shalom 436 Shepherd, James 224 Shepherding Movement 139 Shillong Accord 164, 166–167 Shumway, Charles W. 474 Siegrist, Louise 150 Siekierski, Konrad 391 Sierra Leone 309 “Signs, Wonders, and Church Growth” 4 “Signs and Wonders” (Villanueva) 335

Simon Chan 482 Simon Commission 161 Simpson, William Wallace 152 sindur (vermilion) 231 Skowronski, John 464 Sleebos, Peter 423 Slow Church Movement 449 Small, Frank 50 Smith, Chuck 186–187 Smoleńsk religion 395 Smorodin, Nikolai 108 Smorodintsy 108 social development 354–364 Social Peace 436 Society for Pentecostal Studies (SPS) 5, 478–479 Society of Pentecostal Scholars 478 socio-anthropological studies: Pentecostalism and politics in 380–385; from the Southern Cone 378–385 sociology 6, 383, 458 Soja, Edward 285 sola Scripture 69 Somdal Baptist Church 160 Soong Chan Rah 322 soul-sleep 482n1 South Africa: decoloniality 323–324; Group Areas Act 323; Hillsong 323–324; as “Rainbow Nation’’ 323 Southern Cone 379, 383, 385 Southern missionaries 396, 402n14 South Sea Evangelical Mission (SSEM) 33 Soviet Pentecostals: activism of 111–112; everyday life of 111–112 Spanish Influenza 38 Spence, John Rutherford 154 spirituality: Aboriginal 34; Charismatic 41, 408– 409; ecumenism 411; gifts 255, 259; healing 38, 228; healing 38, 228; identity 82–92; indigenous Pentecostal 4, 91–92; unity 419; warfare 140–141, 178, 334, 340 Stafford, John 276 stagnation 98; China 146; Greece 102–105 state recognized religions 301–303 statistics: construct validity 464; data collection techniques as threats to 466–467; typology of Pentecostalism as threat to 464–466 Staudinger, Jatham 324 Stephenson, Christopher 273 Stevens, John Robert 136 student movements: anti-Marcos 338; Christian 84, 88; foreign missionary-led 85; Kenya 82–92; and Pentecostalism 91–92 “A Study of the Gift of Tongues” (Shumway) 474 Suenens, Léon-Joseph 408 SU Enugu 132 Summers, Cary 350 Sundkler, Bengt 475–476

499

Index Sun Yat Sin 146 Swedish Filadelfia Church 100 Swiss Reformed Church 476 Sydney, Australia 324–325 Syriac-Orthodox Church of Antioch 242 Tallinn Awakening 111, 118 Tamaki, Brian 39–40 Tang Dynasty 69 Tangkhul Nagas 160 Tanzania Assemblies of God (TAG) 212, 214 Tashakkori, Abbas 466 Taylor, Charles 245–246 Taylor, William 20 Tea Party populism 331 Teddlie, Charles 466 Ten Boom, Corrie 178 Tennekes, Hans 381 Ter Haar, Gerrie 375n2 “Territorial Spirits” (Wagner) 336 thanksgiving: and personal vow 346–348; and unity 346–348 theology 11; of deliverance/deliverance practices 186–196; dominion 136; of healing 186–196; Oneness of God as 46; prosperity 13; of radical love 271–274; Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) 357–359; see also Pentecostal witchcraft theology Thompson, John F. 60 Thompson, Muriwhenua (Muri) 39 Thong, Tezenlo 166 Tianjin AG Council 151 tilak (vermilion mark) 231 Timchenko, Pavel 117 Tippett, Alan 40 Tolton, Joseph 293, 295 Tongues Movement 474 Tongues of Fire (Martin) 480 Tonstad, Linn 271–272 Toronto Blessing 179 Torrey, R.A. 36 trans-charismatization 143 Trattino, Giovanni 408, 414n3 trauma 195 Trinitarianism 47 Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN) 451 True Jesus Church 52, 68 Trump, Donald 52, 478 Trzeszczyńska, Patrycja 397 Tuchman, Barbara 253 Tutu, Desmond 323 Ufuma Practical Prayer Band (UPPB) 127–128 Ukah, Asonzeh 292 Ukraine, Russian invasion of 401n3, 401n4 Ukrainian communities 397 Ukrainian missionaries 399

Ukrainian Pentecostal communities 397 Ukrainian refugees 402n6 ukutuntula ingula 370 Union of Christians of Evangelical Faith 110 Union of the Assemblies of God (Unión Asambleas de Dios) 435 United Church of Christ 268 United Church of Christians of Evangelical Faith (UCCEF) 107, 112–113, 114, 117 United International Famine Relief Committee 150 United National Independence Party (UNIP) 369 United Nations Agencies for Food and Agriculture 52 United Pentecostal Church 50, 51, 52 United Pentecostal Council of the Assemblies of God 276, 279 United States (U.S.): Black Pentecostalism in 264–274; Christian Right 13, 293, 331, 336, 339; Constitution 281, 283; Supreme Court 264 Universal Church of Kingdom of God (UCKG) 26–29, 431, 433 urban identities 86–89 Urshan, A.D. 46–47, 48, 49, 51, 52, 108 Urshan, Nathaniel 51 U.S. Black Pentecostalism: The Fellowship of Affirming Ministries (TFAM) 267–270; Orthodox view 264–267; queering 271–274; theology and praxis of radical love 271–274 U.S. demonology 173–182; biblical foundations 173–174; disenchanted biblical reading 174; overview 173; reenchanted biblical reading 174–175 U.S. Immigration Act 178 Uuemõis, Rein 111 Valdez, A.C. Sr 37 Valenzuela, Romana Carbajal de 49, 58 value system, and North American Pentecostal 12 Vancouver Sun 253 Várguez, Luis 246 Varner, Kelley 136 Vatter, Stefan 140 Vaughan, Idris 125 Villa, Pancho 49 Villanueva, Eddie 331–333, 335, 338, 339, 340 Vineyard Movement 443 Vingren, Gunnar 55, 58, 63 Viswanathan, Gauri 223 Vitebsky, P. 225–226 Vladimir Lenin All-Union Pioneer Organization 119n11 The Voice of God 99 Vondey, Wolfgang 474, 475 Voronaev, Ivan 108–109

500

Index Wacker, Grant Wacker 70 Wagner, Charles Peter 3–4, 136, 140, 141, 143, 179, 190, 331, 334, 338, 339, 340; MC510 course 188; Signs, Wonders, and Church Growth 188; third wavers 4 Wagner, Doris 179, 180 Wagner, Michael 464 Wairimu, Teresia 86 Walker, Luisa Jeter 427n3 Wang Huanmin 153 Wanjiru, Margaret 86 warfare 335–338 Wariboko, Nimi 265, 316, 340, 344–345, 346, 347–349, 372, 373, 482 Warner, Elmer 276 Warnock, George 136, 137–138 Washington, Booker T. 48 Washington, James Melvin 284 wasomi 83 Waukegan Daily Gazette 427n2 Way-Way, Dibudi 301 Webber, Marie 276 Weber, John 276 Weber, Max 143, 246 Wei Enbo/Paul Wei 52 Wei Zhiyu 152, 154 Wells, David 256, 426 Wesley, John 21, 22, 175 West African Pentecostalism 292 Western Christianity 368 Western Christian pneumatology 271 Western colonialization 423 Western culture 295 Westernizing homogenization 317 Western neocolonial imperialism 293 Western political theologies 340 Western Protestantism 3 Western societies 319, 390 White, Hugh 176 White congregations 276 White governance 278 White-led interracialism 278 Wigglesworth, Smith 37, 39 Wiktor-Mach, Dobrosława 397 Wilkinson, Michael 20, 27, 138 Willebrands, Johannes 422 Willem Visser’t Hooft 421 William, Don 195 Wilmot, Tony 131 Wilson, Monte 336, 338, 339 Wimber, John 4, 136, 175, 179; story of 186–189; theology of healing and deliverance 186–196; version of Christian healing 192 witchcraft: bodies of 204–206; discourses 11; and God 200–202; materiality of 204–206; sex and gender of 206–207

“With Signs Following”: The Story of the Latter Day Pentecostal Revival (Frodsham) 475 Witt, Marcos 440n2 Women’s Strike 402n11 Wonsuk Ma 482 The Woodlawn Organization 51 Woodworth-Etter, Maria 45, 277 Woon, William 38 Word and Witness 75 “Word of Faith” message 478 Word of God 59 Word of Life Association of Churches 114 World Alliance of Reformed Churches 424 World Christian Database 4–5 World Christian Encyclopedia 3; classifying Pentecostalism in 460–463; data collection techniques in 463–464; Pentecostal growth paradigm 457–460; threats to construct validity in 464–467; also see statistics World Christianity 1–2, 3 World Communion of Reformed Churches 426 World Council of Churches (WCC) 25, 335, 338–339, 418, 477; Joint Consultative Group ( JCG) 424–425; Pentecostals and 424–425 World Evangelical Alliance (WEA) 425 World in Between 370–371 World War I 45, 52, 64, 402n15 World War II 26, 52, 83, 109, 161, 392, 475 Wprost 398 written culture 433 Wynarczyk, Hilario 382, 384 Wyszyński, Stefan 394 Yip, Jeanne 318 Yong, Amos 212, 265, 344, 372, 375n3 Yoruba 122, 131, 206 Young, Florence 35 Young Christian Ambassadors Fellowship 89 Yuan, Eric 448 Yuan Shi Kai 146 Zambia 13, 366; African Instituted Churches (AIC) in 323; Declaration of Zambia 373; exorcism in 370; indigenous spiritualities 374; Ministry of National Guidance and Religious Affairs (MNGRA) 373 Zambian Pentecostalism 366, 371, 372, 375; multiplicity of unruly tongues 371–373; overview 366–368; unruly Afri-spirituality 369–371; unruly matricentricity 368–369; unruly signification 373–375 Zanzibar: Christian mission 213–214; Islam 213–214; overview 211–212; Pentecostal missionaries in 214–217; Pentecostal mission(s) in 211–220 Zanzibar International Christian Center (ZICC) 216

501

Index Zapata, Emiliano 49 Zhang Tiejun 154 Zhang Xingyou 148 Zhang Yuecheng 148 Zhang Zhijiang 147 Zhang Zuolin 152–153 Zhaorui/Nathan Ma 148 Zhigankov, Oleg 117

Zimmerman, Thomas F. 419, 420–421, 422, 427n5 Zionist Pentecostals 109 Žižek, Slavoj 367 Zjednoczony Kościół Ewangeliczny (United Evangelical Church) 392 Zurlo, Gina A. 4, 139, 458, 481

502