In “Pentecost2017,” Stream editors share personal stories of the ways their fellow believers have changed their lives. Here managing editor Al Perrotta writes about the church which showed him the power of the Holy Spirit.

Growing up outside the church, there’s one question I never, ever thought I’d have to answer. Come to think of it, time in a seminary didn’t quite prepare me either.

What do you do when you’re leading worship and your wife gets slain in the Spirit right next to you?

His Presence Filled the Room

It happened at a Thursday morning “Prophetic Workshop” at Living Faith Christian Church in Northridge, California. I was just playing and singing along, letting God lead the way. His presence filled the room. Suddenly down Rusty went, as did the other female singer.

Somewhere between shock and wonder I had the thought, “I bet this never happened to Bruce Springsteen.”

Flash forward ten years. By now, Living Faith was more than our church. It was our family. And on this particular Sunday morning, we had one of our brothers coming back to lead worship. It was Charlie Jordan, the extraordinary bassist who had left LFCC to join the ministry of the prophet-musician Kim Clement. I jumped at the opportunity to play percussion. Rehearsals started at around 7 a.m. We worked up nine songs. The band was tight. The set list was ready.

Worship began. Thirty seconds into the first song, Charlie looks around, shouts, “Take it to the E!” Suddenly he’s laying down this thunderous baseline in the key of E. A riff so funky it’d make Prince sound like Pat Boone. The Bible talks about singing “psalms, hymns and new songs.” Well, this here was a new song and we were off to the races. The Holy Spirit took over worship and didn’t let go for 90 minutes. You could cook steaks on the fire that was set loose in the sanctuary.

My hands needed ice for days, but the joy of the Lord filled my heart.

Not all days on that church platform were as joyful.

God Being God in My Grief

My mother died on a Good Friday. I had traveled back home to Maryland two weeks earlier to spend time with her. Seeing my seemingly indestructible mom so weakened was difficult. (I mean, this is a woman who even when dying of lung cancer was asking if she’d be allowed to use the weight room in the rehab part of the facility. “We don’t know, Mrs. Perrotta. Nobody with your, uh, condition has ever asked.”)

To steel myself for each visit, I would play the Kim Walker version of “He Loves Us.” It’s a song we did often in worship. I loved its message and its 3/4 waltz time was like being rocked in an emotional cradle. Walker’s version is 9 minutes long, exactly the drive from my sister’s house to the hospice. Every time when I drove to the facility, “He Loves Us.” Every time on the way back, “He Loves Us.”

I’d take those Southern Maryland roads belting the second verse:

So heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss, my heart churns violently inside of my chest.
I don’t have time to make plain these regrets when I think about the way He loves us!

The Wednesday after Mom’s death I went to church. I’d be flying home for her funeral in the morning. Still, I wanted to play with the worship team. When I saw the set list I nearly dropped my bass. Third on the list? “He Loves Us.”

He Loves Us

We get to the song, and tears are pouring down my face as we sang, “He loves us, oh, how he loves us. Oh, how he loves us, oh how he loves.” I look over and the worship leader (now lead pastor) Paul has this big ol’ Irish grin on his face.

I’m bawling my eyes out, trying unsuccessfully to express over the volume that I can’t believe we’re doing this song. He’s enthusiastically bobbing his head up and down, “Yeah!” What in the world is he giddy about?

Worship ends and I make my way out to the atrium. I’m drenched, emotionally spent. And not a little astounded and grateful to God that I got to play “He Loves Us” in honor of my mom. In walks Paul, still with the doofy grin. “Hey, buddy!”

“Paul! You don’t understand! That’s the song I played every time I went to see my mother!”

“Yeah, buddy.” Then came the kicker. “Three times I wrote that song down to play, and three times I crossed it out. Didn’t want to play it because we’ve been playing it so much. But every time I scratched it out, the Lord told me, ‘Put it back!'”

He loves us. Oh, how He loves us.

Gratitude

By welcoming God to dictate each service, Living Faith made those miracle moments possible. Worshiping, prophesying, laying on of hands, digging into Scripture, praying. Fellowshipping. Thy will be done, Lord. Pastors Bob, Graham and Paul Cathers, the entire Cathers clan and extended, beloved LFCC family, thank you. It was with you at Living Faith that I learned what it meant to have a faith that’s alive.

I am so grateful to have grown in a church that was so open to the work and power of the Holy Spirit. It’s a power that can knock you off your feet. A power that could take hold and carry you and others to the throne room. A power that could hug a hurting orphan, rock him back-and-forth in 3/4 time and assure him, “I love you. Oh, how I love you.”