09 - My Personal Experience of the Revival

9 MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OF THE REVIVAL

THESE MINERS, when they came to the surface, at the end of their shift, used to flock to the churches wheth­er it was night or day. They always found the sacred places open. Hours were spent thus in holy fraternity in the house of God. Hurriedly bathing, partaking of their meals, rushing through the streets toward the place of worship, they created a sensation, for this was entirely new for them. But it was happening all over the country.

One Sunday evening in our church, as November was drawing to a close, an announcement was made that Siloah Congregational Chapel was open daily for such meetings as the miners on the night shift cared to attend. A meet­ing for the miners at such a chapel was certainly a novelty, but all were warmly invited. I thought it would be a novelty to attend, especially if these illiterate miners-as many of them were reputed to be-would make known their experiences in the revival. At that time the town was only partially influenced by the revival-the floodtide came later. The twenty-third of November proved to be my day of destiny. It was a Wednesday morning, I be­lieve, when I thought of the services in Siloah Chapel again. Little did I dream that there lay buried in that unobtrusive reminder a veritable revolution. As I recall, I had no urgent business engagements that morning. There was no presentiment of an approaching crisis in my life. It was like any other morning except that I felt listless and aimless. About nine-thirty, I left my room and walked toward the center of the town, puff­ing nonchalantly at my fragrant cigar. My thoughts were heavy; an inexplicable sadness was in my heart. When I reached the square, involuntarily I turned in the direc­tion of the main street. On this street there lived a dear friend of mine, an accomplished pianist, oboe player and organist. His home was our rendezvous when practicing some of the oratorio solos for our great competitive meet­ings. Scarcely ever did I pass that door without entering. As I was passing, my friend came out, hailed me joyfully, and urged me to come in for a song. But there was no song in my heart, so I declined, and sauntered aimlessly onward.

Reaching the end of the street I hesitated, not knowing which direction to take. There was not the faintest thought in my mind regarding divine guidance, neither had I asked for any. Where should I go? If I took the left turn, it would lead through the poorer streets back to my home. Surely I did not intend to return home. If I went to the right, the road would lead to Trecynon-the place where I had first contacted the revival and where its fires were still burning. No! that did not seem to be my direction. Should I turn back again and visit my friend in the music store? Yes, that seemed to be the way. When I was in the act of following that impulse, some­one seemed to whisper, No, you must go straight forward. Without more ado, I crossed the road, took the street that lay before me, and went on to my Bethel, the church where the revival services were.

Those who are familiar with the neighborhood know how poor were the houses surrounding this fine Congrega­tional church. Undoubtedly when the church was erected, the locality was different. To reach this church, where Silyn Evans ministered to a large congregation, it was necessary to pass through this neighborhood contrast. I went quietly and unconcernedly, wondering what power was leading me in this strange direction. I was to make the greatest discovery of my life, the greatest in time and for eternity!

Familiar revival melodies reached my ears. It seemed as if an angelic choir had come from heaven to drown earth’s sorrows in a sea of song. It was marvelous! Could the singers be miners? The sweetness of the air, "O! say, will you take up your cross? O! say will you take up your cross?" captured me. Yes, I was actually turning the little refrain over in my mind when I met a young woman, greatly agitated. She was well known to me. But what power had stirred her to the extent that she seemed be­side herself? This was so unusual for her that I felt startled. Had someone molested, insulted, or frightened her? That could hardly be on such a bright, snowy morning, with the sun bathing the old earth with majestic glory. With an appealing tremble in her voice she ex­claimed, "You must come-you must come at once-you must come at once to the revival!" She pointed excitedly to Siloah Chapel, the source of the glorious music. "It is wonderful-wonderful-in there! Come quick!" Amaze­ment took hold of me. For once in my life the power of speech deserted me-I simply looked on. I must have looked at her incredulously for she persisted in exclaim­ing, "It is wonderful-wonderful-wonderful!" Like one in a dream, I accompanied her to the chapel-or rather, the vestry door. Again the rapture of the singing thrilled me. Lustily they sang "The law has now been crowned;

Stern justice stands exalted; The Father calls us blessed through the blood, And Zion has been ransomed through the blood."

(Such is a rough translation of the words by these inspired miners.) Such marvelous singing, quite extempore, could only be created by a supernatural power, and that power the divine Holy Spirit. No choir, no conductor, no organ-just spontaneous, unctionized soul-singing! An irresistible attraction, resembling a tremendous mag­netic force, drew us inside the vestry. All the seats were occupied, except a few right in the front. Directed by this woman, I tiptoed up the aisle to a seat. It must have been about ten o’clock and lo! the vestry was a mass of worshipers absorbed in the adoration of God. Almost as soon as we were seated, the woman slipped to her knees, breaking forth in such passionate prayer as I had scarcely ever heard, certainly not outside of the revival meetings. No one would have credited her with such eloquence. Indeed, no one had ever heard her engage in public prayer. Words poured from her lips. She was like Gad of old, of whom it was prophesied that "a troop shall overcome him; but he shall overcome at last." The power of God had overwhelmed her, and she was now overcoming. All shy­ness, timidity, frailty, and human weakness had vanished.

Petrified with fear, I wondered what was going to hap­pen next. I became conscious of one thing, that I was sitting perilously near the "fire"-nearer than ever before in my life. What could I do? Escape? Even if contemplated, that would have been an ungracious act, if not cowardly. Besides, had I not been somewhat familiar with these unearthly proceedings during my visit to the revival in Trecynon? This was only another edition-a second edition of the services which had so intrigued me in Ebenezer. This woman’s prayer continued in fervency and passion. Seriously reflecting upon the situation which was momentarily developing into a spiritual crisis before my eyes, I could only indulge in a quiet, inward, mental observation: What a place is this! Everybody seemed to have been affected by this prayer, for all were engaging in intercession, without let or hindrance. One person, with a yearning for communion with God, had mightily moved this congregation heavenward. It would need more bra­vado than bravery for any man to have dared to interfere with this inrush of divine power.

Singing, sobbing, praying intermingled and proceeded without intermission. When this glorious commotion seemed to have reached a peak, there came through the air a small melodious voice softly singing, "Come to Jesus; come to Jesus; come to Jesus now." It persisted until the people joined in the sweet refrain, inviting sinners to take the irrevocable step that meant salvation. It must have commenced in one of the back seats. But all hearts were soon completely captivated. People joined heartily in the invitation which echoed and re-echoed through the building. It was producing results. In the middle of this singing, a man was heard sobbing and saying, "Pray, pray, pray, please pray for me! I am lost-lost-lost!" He fell on his knees exclaiming passionately, "0 God! I am lost-last-lost!" "Come to Jesus, come to Jesus, come to Jesus just now. Just now, come to Jesus, come to Jesus just now," sang the inspired congregation.

Many of us were now deeply concerned and occupied with this awakened soul, wondering what was going to happen to him. Someone whispered his name, "W-P-." Another picked it up, and passed on the message. Before long, many in that congregation were saying, "It’s W-­P-." Soon Silyn Evans left his seat and went straight to the stricken man. His usually cheery countenance was grave. Placing his hand upon the quivering form he whispered words of comfort, and the struggling soul became quiet. Lifting up his hand, Mr. Evans returned thanks to God for recovering this wandering sheep who had long deserted the fold for the enticing plains of Sodom, where he had been ruined.

W-P- was now only a phantom of his old self. He was the prodigal son of an old deacon of that church, a godly deacon whose Christian character was known throughout all the churches in the valley. His heart had been broken by this reckless boy who had wasted his sub­stance with riotous living. He had died with this lad’s name on his lips. W-P- came back in a pitiful condi­tion, broken in health, ruined in body, destitute, friendless and forlorn. His clothes were worn garments patched and strung together. His toes protruded through the gaping holes of what had once been shoes, now only pieces of leather strung together with cords and bits of old shoe­lace. An outcast of the town, drink had done its deadly work in the life of this former Sunday school boy. He had not darkened the door of a church for years. His appearance in the miners’ service that morning constituted a challenge-how did he get there? What had induced him to come? Had anyone exercised any influence for good upon him and persuaded him to visit the scene of the revival at least once? Or had news of the wonderful meet­ings held in all parts of the country created within him an irresistible curiosity? We can only conclude that the hu­man derelict had somehow been prompted by an inner monitor to come, with the glorious result recorded. The young revivalists soon gathered around him. News had gone around the town like wildfire. By the close of the day almost everybody had heard that poor William had been converted in the revival in Siloah. It made great news. His wretched destitution was remedied immediately. The townspeople collected funds to secure for him a new suit of clothes. Underclothes were provided to cover his pathetically shrunken body. Shoes and stockings for his feet were purchased so that in a few hours he was appear­ing in the streets "clothed and in his right mind." It was a great triumph. This evidence of the wonder-working power of the Holy Spirit upon this benighted soul produced marvelous re­sults. Christians gave themselves up to unrestrained re­joicing, almost frenzied delight. "Diolch, Iddo-Diolch Iddo" sang the people. An elderly gentleman shouted, "A brand plucked from the burning," over and over again. He evidently was acquainted with the case-perhaps more so than any others present. My poor mind was tossed about with every extraordi­nary manifestation of the Holy Spirit’s working upon the hearts and minds of these people. Sometimes I felt like shouting; again I felt like doubting. At all times I was puzzled. There was no gainsaying the fact that the prayers of these comparatively illiterate people must have been divinely inspired; one felt convinced that simple, ordinary worshipers of themselves could never have composed such sublime sentences-as were expressed. The petitions were divinely indited. Some of them fell upon my spirit like red-hot coals, and I was troubled. My heart became heavy. Almost unaware of what I was doing, I sighed continually. The burden increased with the progress of this service until I felt myself crushed. From some part of the building came the words: "Seek ye the Lord while he may be found; call ye upon him while he is near." Surely He was "near" enough just then, never so near as at that moment. But the voice continued with emotion, "Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the Lord." W-P- had done that. What about me? No one would ever accuse me of having run the gauntlet as he had, for I felt certain that I was far removed from the prodigality of his life. Yet I could not but feel that this call to "return" was meant for me, although I had not the faintest idea how to "return." Morally there was no need for me to do so; but spiritually-ah! that was where I felt pinched and humiliated. Inwardly I was convinced that I had "come short of the glory of God" in spite of my boasted morality. "And he will have mercy upon him," went on the voice; then, as if in a mighty crescendo: "And to our God, for HE WILL ABUNDANTLY PAR­DON!" These words produced a great effect upon my disturbed mind; I hesitated-Jacob-like, I halted on my "shrunken thigh." In every prayer there seemed to be Scripture for me-­l was literally "mobbed" with the words of God. Beyond a doubt it was the ministry of the Holy Spirit. "Comfort ye my people, saith the Lord," said another. And was I not in desperate need of some comforting word at that moment?

Heavier and still heavier became the burden. Lower and still lower drooped my proud head. Sometimes I felt like falling in a heap on the floor, bewailing my state. Two were praying, a man and a woman. The first was evi­dently making his great surrender, for he was quoting Scripture: "Ephraim is joined to idols: let him alone." He went on, "What have I to do any more with idols?" Idols of different kinds were troubling him and he was busy disposing of them. His words struck me in my ten­derest spot, although the worshiper was utterly ignorant of the stabs. The woman was pouring out her very soul before God. She also had evidently been wandering from her Lord. Was she returning? Listen to her, as I did, with awe: "I was brought low, and he helped me. Return unto thy rest, 0 my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bounti­fully with thee. For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling." She was jubilant at last. Oh, to enter into such boundless liberty!

How it happened I do not know. Whence it came, God alone knows. It has always remained a mystery as the years have come and gone. Visions were talked of among the young converts. Imagination, in some cases, seemed to be running riot. Some vowed solemnly that they were seeing crosses and stars beckoning them onward. No one cared to condemn, although many were incredulous, as I was. Was it something disturbing my sub-conscious mind, flinging upon the screen of my mind a scene of gospel­-days with which I had been familiar since boyhood in Sunday school? The passing of the years has produced no satisfactory answer; "the day will declare." The reality of it has lasted through forty-three years of the most stren­uous labors in the Master’s vineyard, on three continents. My soul was utterly overwhelmed with the sense of awful sin. Deliverance tarried long, while unbelief mocked. My eyes were fast closed. A panorama passed before the eyes of my mind, whether a vision or a mental impression. In those moments I saw more with my eyes shut than I had ever seen in my previous life.

There appeared a huge multitude, varied in costume but differing little in features, interested in a central Personality whose presence was the sole cause of their as­sembling. Moving majestically among the people, He ap­peared to speak words of encouragement. Suddenly, a blind beggar, staff in hand, pushed his way through the crowd, and knelt in the pathway of the Speaker crying, "Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on me!" Some reached to pull him out of the way, but a hand was ex­tended to protect the defenseless man. Standing with royal bearing, the central figure encouraged the people to bring the poor fellow to Him. Again, dropping his staff and extending his hands, the beggar evidently repeated his cry.

Then something within snapped-my bonds were gone. I jumped to my feet, extended my arms, and took up the poor man’s words. Oh! how I cried! Was ever such a cry heard anywhere? Desperately, passionately, fervently, I cried, "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" over and over again, un­able to continue with petition. With that one word, I held on like a drowning man clutching a straw-it seemed to be my last chance, absolutely the last.

"Jesus! Have mercy! Have mercy! Have mercy on me!" I cried. How many times, I do not know. This I do know, that no argument of a psychological nature can ever disturb the serenity of my faith. A sweet voice spoke within my spirit so clearly, unmistakably, audibly, that the voices of all creation could never succeed in drowning its message: "Be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee."

Heaven came into my heart that very moment. Blind Bartimaeus heard the words, "Be of good comfort, rise; he calleth thee. And he, casting away his garments, rose, and came to Jesus" (Mark 10:47-50). My message was: "Be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee." Un­like Bartimaeus, there were no garments to be shed. But there were sins to be banished, and they were banished. There were burdens to be dropped, never to be picked up on any pretense again. But like Peter, of whom it is re­corded, "and his chains fell off from his hands" (Acts 12:7), so my sins went. No chain has since been forged that was strong enough to hinder my service for the Master or to retard the advancement of my spiritual progress. Delirious joy possessed my soul instantaneously. Henceforth there was no keeping quiet. Revival had swept shyness away. So possessed was I with the "new wine of the kingdom of God" that I, like many others in the re­vival, seemed to have lost my mental equilibrium and self-control. This great miracle within me must have taken place in the neighborhood of eleven-fifteen, as near as an estimate of the time can be made. According to that calculation, I had been in the church about an hour and fifteen minutes. It seemed to me like eternity, since the burden on my spirit had been so heavy.

Now everything was changed! Had anyone prophe­sied in my hearing that such a thing could have happened to me, I would have unhesitatingly christened him Balaam, the hireling prophet. Everyone in the service that morn­ing knew full well what had happened to me. And at the time of this writing, there are at least some living who know about it. For instance, the lady who sat at my side, my sister-in-law, is a living witness, although advanced in years. Throughout that service my voice was heard. How could one be silent when waves of joy were submerging him!

Hundreds in that building felt exactly as I did. Wor­ship according to the old dignified order was banished unceremoniously. On and on and on went that glorious miners’ meeting, leaving a golden trail behind. Is it not still going on? While my heart beats, that revival service will neither slumber nor sleep. It is fadeless, endless, eternal! Ah! this is something that even the grave can­not stop. "When time shall be no more" this deathless experience will still have the dew of youth upon it. The two converts of that service, though poles apart morally and socially, were like twins thereafter. It was with joy that I embraced my new-found brother when we parted at the conclusion of that eventful meeting.

Before I left the church, a woman spoke words that staggered me. She was known in the town as a spiritual woman, the wife of one of the ministers and highly re­spected. During the service, words had passed my lips that had impressed her. Under the impulse of the moment, she said that I ought, or that I would, join Evan Roberts in his great work. She felt impelled to say that my life-work would lie in that direction. I had not dreamed that any words of importance had been spoken by me in the several prayers that I had offered, and I never asked her what they were. The secret remains unrevealed.

"Ap Tudor;" said she, (using the title by which I was known in the world of music, meaning "son of Tudor"), "I want you to promise me one thing. Will you?" Actu­ally I was in a mood to promise anything within reason. It seemed to me as if I would have given away a kingdom, had I possessed one. So I assured her that I would give the promise immediately if the fulfillment of such a promise were humanly possible. "Without hesitation she said, "I want you to give all your rich gifts and talents to the service of the Lord Jesus Christ." In a subdued tone I inquired: "Do you think I have any?" With con­fidence she averred: "God has enriched you and equipped you for His work. Will you give your talents to Him?"

Confronted so suddenly with such a situation-a situa­tion pregnant with solemn consequences-I demurred. Who could blame? I hesitated. No one had ever issued such a challenge. I pondered, calculated, waited. "Will you not give the answer now?" Her voice trembled, sincerely apprehensive lest I should make the wrong choice. Sud­denly the choice was made. I declared, "I will give all to the Lord Jesus Christ." Imagine my apprehension when she declared, "My husband will write Mr. Evan Roberts making the suggestion that you should join him." This was more than I could stand. I pleaded with her not to move too rapidly, at least to wait until I had time to find my bearings.

Nothing came of it. The proposal was frightening. I never mentioned it to a soul. Whether the proposal ever reached the harassed revivalist, I do not know. As the days and weeks passed without indication of the divine direction for my sphere of service, I felt relieved. AIthough I followed Mr. Roberts from place to place, tak­ing quite a prominent part in all the meetings, we never met personally. And yet, some things that I mentioned in prayer had evidently caught his attention and made an impression, for he drew attention to them, spoke on the words, as was his invariable custom, re-emphasizing them in a remarkable manner. Thus he drove the message home to the hearts of the attentive people who would not willingly miss one word from him who spoke infrequently. When he did speak, there was no escaping the import.

Afterward when the revivalist reached Pontycymmer, a town in one of the famous mining valleys of Wales, news reached us daily through the press of the marvelous things that were happening there. Commencing his work in the Calvinistic Methodist Church, the building had in a few hours become quite inadequate to hold the people clamoring to both see and hear. Every chapel was requisi­tioned for the purpose of at least attempting to accom­modate the crowds. Even then, multitudes could not find admission, and people were standing for hours in the cold, wintry mountain air hoping, perchance, that by someone’s leaving the church they could push in to witness the scenes that were taking place inside. Exactly nineteen years later, standing in the very same pulpit, I witnessed similar scenes with churches crammed during an evangelistic cam­paign I was then conducting. Those dear old deacons were never tired of comparing this campaign with the high days of "the great revival." A new departure appeared in the plans of Evan Roberts after his visit to Pontycymmer. The minister, T. Mardy Davies, undertook to become the organizing secretary of the work, arranging services throughout the country as the overwhelming demands came in. These abnormal demands necessitated someone’s taking matters in hand and planning the visits consecutively, so that each might be gratified by the result. There was then some semblance of arrange­ment. Evan Roberts followed the plan worked out for him, and a triumphal tour followed. No king was ever more honored than this simple-hearted young servant of the King of kings. Throngs followed him day and night, making life almost unendurable, until the approach of Christmas (the ever blessed "Christmas of the Revival," as it came to be remembered), when the program mapped out permitted him a homecoming. No question but that his soul would be yearning for this. Was it not the place "where the fire fell"? Was it not the neighborhood where the conflagration first caught on? Was it not the locality from whence he had gone to set afire his beloved Wales? But the homecoming did not mean rest. People had been waiting, and some of the lively, impetuous young converts had even dared to pray for it. Who can blame them? Whatever spiritual experience had become theirs would be forever associated with the name of their young friend and neighbor, Evan. Paul’s converts in some of the Galatian churches were prepared to express their joy at a tremendous cost. Would one blame the young believers in Loughor if they essayed to honor the man whom heaven had de­lighted to honor? The revival in Loughor must have received a new im­petus with the return of Evan Roberts-not that there was any evidence that the fire had been banked during his absence. Night and day the meetings had continued with little, if any, abatement. Years later when I was preach­ing in the district, I was assured that the chapel, now famous throughout the world, had not been closed night or day for months. Where is the power that can extinguish the fire that has been kindled by the hand of God? Let the Baal prophets try it! "Fill four barrels with water," said Elijah, to the chagrined prophets of Baal. "Do it again! Do it again!" he mockingly urged. "The water ran round about the altar; and he filled the trench also with water." Here is enough water to damp any fire! "The fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood, and the stones, and the dust, and licked up the water that was in the trench." That’s the answer that God gives. Have you seen a fire that can burn stones? In Wales we saw stoical-stone-icol, to coin a word­-hearts, burned by the divine fire.

Certain it is, although he had very little privacy during this visit, Mr. Roberts must have recuperated somewhat during the experience, for he appeared in public, like a giant refreshed.