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Brother Jim had ultimately decided to steer
clear of the topic of the revival when it came to the pulpit, but
he had to admit that curiosity was getting the better of him.
Perhaps, he thought, he just might attend one of the meetings, just
to get an idea of what to expect questions about. Purely research,
you understand, and completely within his rights as pastor and as a
preacher of the Word.

So Thursday night, he made his way with the
others outside town to where the tent had been set up in a large
meadow. He scanned the crowd as he came in. He recognized several
of his own church members, some of whom looked down sheepishly as
they caught sight of him. Across the tent, he saw Father Louis and
Reverend Stanley. They weren't sitting together of course, but they
were both there. They caught his eye, gave a "What can I say?"
shrug and sat down. He found himself a chair toward the back, on
the left, where he could make a quiet exit if it all proved too
much for him.

At 7:00 p.m. sharp (
well, at least he's
punctual
, thought Brother Jim), the World-Traveling Evangelist
known as Albert Chamberlain hit the stage. And stage it was; no
simple lectern or pulpit here. He had the whole stage to work with,
save for two areas occupied by an organ and a set of bleachers,
respectively. On the bleachers stood a choir of about twenty-five
to thirty members. He also had a sound system that was so loud that
Brother Jim still could have heard him even if he'd stayed home
that night.

There was no prayer to start this revival
off. No "Please bow your heads as we ask the Lord's blessing on
this service." Uh-uh. Instead, Albert Chamberlain grabbed the
microphone off the stand and shouted, "ARE YOU READY TO EXPERIENCE
THE
LORD
TONIGHT?" He emphasized "Lord" so that
it came out in three syllables: "Low-uh-duh!"

The choir and audience responded with a
hearty scattering of YEAHs and AMENs. But that apparently wasn't
enough for Mr. Chamberlain.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I SAID, ARE YOU READY TO
EXPERIENCE THE
LORD
TONIGHT?!" Again with the
three syllables.

This time, the response was loud and
enthusiastic. Some whistles and applause were included with the
previous response.

"I HOPE YOU CAME WITH EARS TO HEAR, EYES TO
WITNESS, AND A VOICE FOR PRAISIN'! WE'RE GONNA GIVE THE DEVIL WHAT
HE'S GOT COMIN' TO HIM, AND ALL THE GLORY IS GOIN' TO THE
LORD
! AMEN?"

The crowd responded with an enthusiastic
"AMEN!"

Brother Jim rubbed his temples. It was going
to be a long night.

From there, Chamberlain launched into his
show, without ever actually giving anything close to a sermon. It
was mainly a lot of “healings”, speaking in tongues, and audience
participation. Occasionally, for no reason, he would call out with
a "CAN I GET AN AMEN?" for something that he did not say. Brother
Jim believed "amen" to be a response to a comment made or the end
of a prayer. It was not to be used lightly.

The choir would periodically break into song;
loud, long gospel songs that had the audience clapping along and
occasionally joining in. These, too, were audience-participation
oriented, rather than worshipful hymns. No "Sweet, Sweet Spirit" or
"In the Garden" here.

Finally, just as it got to be too much and he
was about to quietly sneak away, Chamberlain grabbed the microphone
and spoke in an out-of-breath voice. "Can we all just take our
seats for a moment?" Brother Jim was a bit surprised. He was
beginning to wonder whether Chamberlain had a volume control.

The crowd took their seats, and the choir
even shuffled off the bleachers and took a position to the side of
the stage. Chamberlain patiently waited until everything was back
in order until he spoke.

"Friends, we are all gathered here tonight
for one reason and one reason only; and that is for the glory of
the Lord. All of this – the healing, the speaking in heavenly
tongues, the praise and worship, would be for naught if it weren't
for the Lord God and His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ."

Amen
, thought Brother Jim, in spite of
himself. At last, the man said something that he agreed with.

"I am able to do all of this for the simple
reason that the Lord has saved me, and because the Lord Jesus
Christ gave his life in exchange for mine on a hill called Calvary.
John 3:16 says 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish,
but have everlasting life.' And we are all very blessed, and so
unworthy, that God should love us that much."

Amen
, Brother Jim thought again.
Hallelujah
.

"I would just like to take a few moments here
to reflect on that fact. But also, the same Good Book that assures
us that we can have everlasting life also assures us of eternal
damnation if we do not accept that gift. Romans 6:23 tells us ‘the
wages of sin is death. But...’, my friends, it goes on to say,
‘...but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our
Lord..’"

Brother Jim, who had been standing all this
time near the back of the tent, quietly sat back down.

"I know that there are many here tonight who
don't believe what I do. They think it's all a show, that the
people I heal have been planted in the audience; that the 'speaking
in tongues' part is gibberish. Maybe it is." And at this, it seemed
to Brother Jim that Chamberlain was looking right at him.

A murmur passed through the crowd as people
turned to look at each other.

"Maybe it is," Chamberlain repeated. "And
maybe it isn't. But that's not the point. If I do not have the love
of God in my heart, it doesn't mean a thing. For Saint Paul tells
us: 'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have
not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And
though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries,
and all knowledge: and though I have all faith, so that I could
move mountains, and have not love, I am nothing.'

"So, friends, all of this..." and here, he
gave a broad gesture encompassing everything on the stage, "...all
of this means nothing if I do not have the love of God in my heart.
And it would all mean nothing if I did not tell you of the
wonderful gift of salvation. Would you please bow your heads?"

And every head in the tent bowed, Brother
Jim's included.

"Now, with every head bowed, and every eye
closed, if you have never asked the Lord Jesus Christ to come into
your heart and be your personal Lord and Savior, you can change
that. Just repeat this prayer silently to yourself as I pray."

And here, he launched into a sinner's prayer;
perfectly adequate in Brother Jim's opinion, though a little on the
flowery side. He wasn't too sure how many of the younger people (or
even some of the older people, for that matter) would use phrases
like "forgive me my many transgressions" and "sanctify my heart",
but it would do.

After this, the choir got back on the stage
and sang a little longer, but the better part of the service was
over. So Brother Jim quietly snuck out of the tent to make his way
home. He had some things to think about.

Just as he reached the main road and was
turning left to head back into town, a voice stopped him.

"Brother Jim?"

He turned, and there behind him was Tommy
Wallace. Little Tommy Wallace, ten years old, the holy terror of
the First Baptist Church Sunday School classes. All of little
Tommy's teachers had interesting memories of disrupted classes, of
Tommy crawling under the tables, and of Tommy punching the other
little boys (and, when he was younger, some of the girls) when he
thought they weren't looking.

And now, here he was, standing before him.
But he didn't look like the same Tommy. He looked ...
changed
somehow.

"Yes, Tommy?"

"You came to the revival?"

"Well..." he fumbled for an answer and
finally found one. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Pa said he didn't think you'd show up, on
account of you don't agree with a lot of that stuff."

Brother Jim chuckled a little at that. "Well,
that's true, Tommy. I didn't agree with a lot of it. But some of it
I did agree with. I wish there had been more of that."

Tommy was silent for a moment. Then he
spoke.

"Brother Jim?"

"Yes, Tommy?"

"I got saved in there tonight. I asked the
Lord Jesus to come into my heart."

Brother Jim was speechless. Here was this
little boy, who had sat in his services for eight years, hearing
him put forth the same message that Chamberlain had, and finally
the boy had responded. He didn't know whether to be happy that the
boy had been saved, or upset that it hadn't been at one of his
services.

But slowly and methodically the Lord spoke to
him (as the Lord likes to do) and reminded him that sometimes one
doesn't reap what he sows. Sometimes a seed is planted by one and
the fruit is harvested by another. His sermons and the Sunday
School lessons had played their part, but it took someone with a
viewpoint he couldn't communicate to put it in a way where Tommy
would respond.

And he was happy.

"Tommy, I am so glad for you. And I welcome
you into the family of God as my brother." He felt like hugging the
little boy, but he settled for a handshake. He stuck out his hand,
and Tommy put his little hand into it.

A loud "AMEN" came from the tent.

"You'd better run along back to your Pa
now."

"Okay, Brother Jim." Tommy turned and started
to go.

"Hey, Tommy?" Brother Jim called.

Tommy turned. "Yes, sir?"

"See you in church on Sunday?"

The boy smiled. "You bet."

Brother Jim turned around and started back
for home. From the back of his mind came the nagging question.
Is Tommy really saved, or does he just
think
he's saved?

But this time, there was an answer, and he
said it out loud.

"Well, I guess that's between him and God,
isn't it?"

His real name is Philip Blakeney, but
everyone calls him Cap’n, or Cap for short. He’s about 45 or 50
years old, and is known by everyone in town, whether you’ve lived
here for years or weeks. Cap is mildly retarded; a little on the
slow side, but once he has learned something, he retains it for
life. He knows more about the railroads, forestry, firefighting,
and Indians than most people will ever forget. And he will freely
distribute his knowledge to everyone.

He can read, but writing comes a little hard
to him. He can do it, but sometimes he gets a little confused as to
whether the tail on a “g” goes to the left or right.
(Or is that
a “q”?)
But he loves to read. Books are an endless fascination
to him, and he reads everything (nonfiction, of course; he could
never understand the appeal of “fake stuff”). Still, he has an
amazing amount of determination, a trait picked up from his mother.
Cap’s father had died when he was seven, leaving Cap’s mother to
raise him and a baby sister. She worked two jobs, but they made it
through.

Cap drives a 1967 Ford pickup truck that Rick
Murchison at the Texaco gave him for Christmas one year. Rick told
him it was payment for all the work Cap had done throughout the
year. Rick always has an odd job or two for Cap when he stops by,
and whenever a new load of tires comes in, he’s there to help
unload them and roll them to the storage shed off the left of the
tire shop. Sometimes, he lets Cap ride along and help if they have
to go out and help change a tire for a stranded motorist.

No matter what the weather is like, unless
he’s laid up in bed with a near-fatal illness or a broken leg, he
has a set schedule that he follows every day. Every morning at
8:00, he brings coffee and donuts to the men at the Volunteer Fire
Department. He hangs around for about an hour, chatting with the
firemen and listening to their tales of the fires and catastrophes
they’ve dealt with, be it in the past twenty-four hours or
twenty-four years. He might have heard some of the stories dozens
of times, but he never tires of them. He’s such a permanent fixture
that they made him an honorary captain, hence his nickname.

From there, he drives out to the railroad
depot in Koval (about ten miles away) and greets the engineers as
they come into the station. While the train is being unloaded and
prepped for the next leg of its journey, he sits, enraptured by the
tales the engineers have to tell. Some of the engineers have been
“on the line” working for one railroad or another for over fifty
years, so they have plenty of them. Tales of traveling all night
through three states to make sure a carful of fertilizer was
delivered to Amarillo. Having to stop the train for hours to get a
heifer off the tracks near Fort Wayne, Alabama. A few horrifying
tales of near-collisions with stalled cars and trucks. Sometimes
Cap would sing for them: one of his favorite songs was “Rock Island
Line”, and they all got a good laugh at the “pig iron” part.

When the trains are ready to go, he walks
along with the engineer as he boards the engine and starts it up.
Cap stands on the platform with his hands in his pockets, whistling
“Rock Island Line”. Eventually, the whistle blows, and the train
makes its way down the line. The engineer will usually lean out and
wave as he leaves. Cap waves back, then stands there silently
watching until the train is just a dot on the horizon.

About this time, he goes home and has lunch
with his mother. His mother is in her late 60s, and is beginning to
have trouble getting around, but she keeps up with him well enough.
Occasionally, when she can convince him, they’ll go out of town and
go to old historic houses and antique shows; sometimes a flea
market or two, but that takes a lot of convincing. Cap is pretty
adamant about following his schedule, so she usually has to couch
her plans for these trips with an appeal to visit to his sister’s
house in Lewiston.