Finally, at three or four o'clock in the morning, with aquiet peace that I had never known before, I fell asleep.
BELONGING The next day at school I sought out those "fanatics" andsaid, "Hey, I'd like you to take me to your church." They told me about a weekly fellowship they attended andoffered to take me just a couple of days later.That Thursday night I found myself in "The Catacombs." That's what they called it.
The service was just like that morning prayer meeting at school people had their hands lifted, worshiping the Lord. This time, though, Ijoined right in."Jehovah Jireh, my provider, His grace is sufficient for me," they sang over and over. I liked that song from the first time I heard it and loved it even more when I found out it was written by the pastor's wife, Merla Watson.
Her husband, Merv, was the shepherd of this most un usual flock.The Catacombs was not a typical church. The people who went there were just an exuberant throng of Christians that met every Thursday night in St. Paul's Cathedral, an Anglican church in downtown Toronto.These were "Jesus Movement" days when the so-called "hippies" were getting saved faster than they could cut their hair. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a barber's chair either in quite some time.I looked around.
The place was packed with kids just like me. You should have seen it. They were jumping up and down, dancing and making a joyful noise before the Lord. It was hard for me to believe that a place like that really existed. But somehow, from that very first night, I felt I belonged. "Go Up There"At the conclusion of the meeting, Merv Watson said, "I want all of you who would like to make a public confession of your sin to step forward. We're going to pray with you asyou ask Christ to come into your heart."I began to shiver and shake. But I thought, "I don't think I should go down there because I'm already saved." I knew the Lord took charge of my life at five minutes to eight on Monday morning.
And this was Thursday.You guessed it. Within seconds I found myself walking down that aisle as fast as I could. I didn't quite know why I did it. But something inside was telling me, "Go up there."It was at that moment, at a charismatic service in an Anglican church, that this good little Catholic from a Greek Orthodox home made a public confession of his acceptanceof Christ. "Jesus," I said, "I'm asking you to be the Lord of my life.
"The Holy Land couldn't compare with this. How much better to be where Jesus was, than where he used to be.That night when I got home, I was so filled with the presence of the Lord, I decided to tell my mother what had happened. (I didn't have the courage to tell my dad.)"Mama, I've got to share something with you," I whispered. "I've been saved!"In a flash, her jaw was set. She glared and said crisply,"Saved from what?""Trust me," I said. "You'll understand."On Friday morning and all during the day at school, at the kiosk, everywhere I went, a picture kept flashing beforeme. I saw myself preaching.
It was unthinkable, but I couldn't shake the image. I saw crowds of people. And there I was, wearing a suit, my hair all trimmed and neat,preaching up a storm.That day I found Bob, my "weird" friend who had on ceplastered the kiosk walls with Scripture.
I shared just a little about what had happened that week. And I told him that I even saw myself preaching."Bob," I said, "all day long it's been like this. I can't shake the picture of me speaking in huge open-air rallies, in stadiums, in churches, in concert halls." Beginning to stutter, I told him, "I see people, as far as the eye can see? I must be losing my mind! What do you think it means?""There can only be one thing," he told me. "God is preparing you for a great ministry. I think it's wonderful.
And that can't be forgiven. The family told me, "Benny, you're ruining our family name." They pleaded with me not to dishonor their reputation. My father had been a mayor and he reminded me of it. The family "name" was at stake.Please understand me when I say this, but Greek Orthodox, and people from other Eastern "high" church orders, are perhaps the most difficult people to bring to a"personal" Christianity.When I became a born-again Christian, it was actually shameful to them. Why? Because they believe they are the real Christians.
And they have the historical documentation to prove it. They have been Christians longer than anyone else.But here is the problem, and I have been raised with it.Their faith is long on form, ritual, and dogma, but short on God's anointing. The power is missing. And as a result,they have virtually no comprehension of what it means to hear from the Lord or to be "led by the Spirit."It became obvious that if I was to remain in my own home, I would have to close the door to conversations about Christ.Nothing, however, could dampen the fire of my newfound faith. I was like a glowing ember that never stopped burning.
Early in the morning my big Bible was open. The Holy Spirit continued to reveal the Word. But that was not enough. Every night that I could "escape" the house, I was in a church service, youth fellowship, or prayer meeting.And on Thursday nights I was back at The Catacombs.I can never erase from my memory the day I mentioned"Jesus" in our home. My father walked over to me and slapped my face. I felt the pain. No, it wasn't the Jerusalem rock this time. It was a different kind of pain. But the hurt I felt was for my family.
I loved them so much and agonized for their salvation.Actually, it was my fault. My daddy had warned me,"You mention the name of Jesus just once again, and you'll wish you hadn't." He snarled with hatred as he threatened to kick me out of the house.I began to tell my little sister, Mary, about the Lord.Somehow my dad found out about it, and his anger boiled over again. He forbade me to ever talk to her about spiritualthings.
He'll come out of it."His next tactic was to get me a job that would keep me so busy that I wouldn't have time for this "Jesus." He wentto one of his friends and said, "I'd like for you to offer my son, Benny, a job." Daddy drove me to his place and waited in the car while I went in. The man was one of the rudest, roughest, most mean-spirited men I had ever encountered. It was obvious Icouldn't work for such a person.I got back in the car and said, "Father, I could neverhave him for a boss."I actually felt sorry for my dad that day.
He was at theend of his rope. He said, "Benny, what do you want me to do for you? Tell me what it is. I'll do anything you ask if you'll just please leave this Jesus of yours.""Dad," I said, "you can ask me anything you want, but I would die before I'd give up what I've found."It was an ugly scene. He turned from a friendly father into a sarcastic stranger. All he had to offer was another torrent of hate, another tongue-lashing. For the next year nearly two my father and I had almost no communication.
At the dinner table he wouldn't look at me. I was totally ignored. It finally became unbearable even to sit down and watch the evening new swith my family.So what did I do? I stayed in my room. But looking back on it, I can see that the Lord knew exactly what Hewas doing. I spent hundreds of hours thousands alone with God. My Bible was always open. I prayed. I studied. I worshiped. I feasted on heavenly manna that I would needin the years to come.
You'd have thought someone had shothim. And he seemed to bristle even more.Out of respect, I did my best to be obedient. I'd ask him,"Can I go to the meeting tonight?" He'd say no, and I would go to my room and pray, "Please, Lord, please change his mind."Then I'd go back downstairs and ask again. "Can I go?""No," he'd growl. And back up I'd go.Little by little, he began to give in. He knew it was a losing battle.
The Catacombs rented another building for services on Sunday, and I was right there. Bible studies were on Tuesday and Friday, and a youth meeting on Saturday night. These meetings became my whole life.In the two years after my conversion, my spiritual growth was like a rocket's moving into orbit. By the end of1973 Merv and Merla Watson were inviting me to join them on the platform to help lead in worship and singing.
But I couldn't speak in public.Jim Poynter, the spirit-filled Free Methodist pastor, had seen me there. And one day he stopped by the kiosk at themall just to talk about the things of the Lord. That's when he invited me to go with him to the Kuhlman meeting in Pittsburgh. My personal encounter with the Holy Spirit after thatmeeting was awesome. But it took a few days for me to realize the dimensions of God's revelation to me. About this same time I changed jobs. I accepted a position as a filing clerk for the Catholic school board in Toronto. I'm sure they wondered about me at times.
I had a smile on my face just thinking about what God was doing in my life.The minute my work was finished, I went home and rushed upstairs and just started talking to Him. "Oh, HolySpirit, I'm so glad to be back here alone with you." Yes, He was always with me, but my bedroom became a verysacred, special place. Sometimes, when I wasn't working I stayed home all day just having a personal communion with Him. What was I doing? Having fellowship. Fellowship withthe Spirit. And when I wasn't at work or in my room, I triedto get to church.
But I didn't tell anyone what was happening to me.When I left the house in the morning, He left with me. I actually felt someone beside me. On a bus I'd feel the urge to start talking with Him, but I didn't want people to think I was crazy. Even at work, there were times when I whispered things to Him. At lunch, He was my companion.But day after day, when I got home, I hopped up those stairs, locked the door to my room, and said, "Now we arealone." And my spiritual journey continued.
Then I heard Jim honking the horn. As I ran down the stairs and to the car, I actually felt the Lord's presence running with me.The moment I jumped into the front seat and shut the door, Jim began to weep. He began to sing that chorus,Hallelujah! Hallelujah! He turned to me and said, "Benny,I can feel the Holy Spirit in this car.""Of course His presence is in this car," I said. "Where else would it be?" To me it had become the norm. But Jim could hardly drive.
He continued to weep before the Lord.Once, my mother was cleaning the hallway while I was in my room talking with the Holy Spirit. When I came out,she was thrown right back. Something had knocked heragainst the wall. I said, "What's wrong with you, Mama?"She answered, "I don't know." Well, the presence of the Lord almost knocked her down. My brothers will tell you of the times they came near me and didn't know what was happening—but they felt something unusual. As time went on I lost my desire just to go out with theyoung people at church to have fun.
I just wanted to be with the Lord. So often I said, "Lord, I'd rather have this than anything the world can offer." They could have theirgames, their entertainment, their football I just didn't need it."What I want is what I have right now," I told the Lord."Whatever it is, don't let it quit." I began to understand more fully Paul's desire for "the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. ( "Henry, Mary, Sammy, and Willie) Now, even members of my family were asking questions.
The Spirit of the Lord so permeated our home,that my brothers and sisters began to develop a spiritual hunger.One by one, they came to me and began to ask questions. They'd say, "Benny, I've been watching you.This Jesus is real, isn't He?"My sister Mary gave her heart to the Lord. And within the next few months my little brother Sammy got saved.Then came Willie.All I could do was to shout, "Hallelujah!" It was happening and I had not even begun to preach.By this time my father was nearly ready for an asylum.Was he losing his whole family to this Jesus? He didn't know how to handle it.
But there was no question that my mom and dad could see the transformation that had already taken place in me, in two of my brothers, and in Mary.When I first gave my life to the Lord, I had some wonderful encounters with Him. But these were nothing compared with my daily walk with the Holy Spirit. Now the Lord really visited my room. The glory would fill that place. Some days I'd be on my knees worshiping the Lord for eight, nine, or ten hours straight.
The year of 1974 unleashed a never-ending flow of God's power on my life. I'd just say "Good morning, Holy Spirit," and it would start all over again. The glory of the Lord stayed with me. One day in April I thought, "There must be a reason forit." I asked, "Lord, why are you doing all of this for me?" I knew that God doesn't give people spiritual picnics forever.Then as I began to pray, here is what God revealed tome. I saw someone standing in front of me. He was totally in flames, moving uncontrollably; his feet were not touching the ground.
The mouth of this being was opening and closing like what the Word describes as "gnashing ofteeth."At that moment the Lord spoke to me in an audible voice. He said, "Preach the gospel."My response, of course, was, "But Lord, I can't talk."Two nights later the Lord gave me a second dream. I saw an angel. He had a chain in his hand, attached to a door that seemed to fill the whole heaven. He pulled it open, andthere were people as far as the eye could see. Souls
. They were all moving toward a large, deep valley and the valley was a roaring inferno of fire.It was frightening. I saw thousands of people falling into that fire. Those on the front lines were trying to fight it,but the crush of humanity behind them pushed them intothe flames. Again, the Lord spoke to me. Very clearly He said, "If you do not preach, everyone who falls will be your responsibility." I knew instantly that everything that happened in my life was for one purpose to preach the gospel. ( It Happened in Oshawa ) The fellowship continued.
The glory continued. Thepresence of the Lord did not depart; it actually intensified.The Word became more real. My prayer life became more powerful.Finally, in November 1974 I couldn't avoid the subject any longer. I said to the Lord, "I will preach the gospel onone condition: that you will be with me in every service."And then I reminded Him, "Lord, you know that I can't talk." I worried continually about my speech problem and the fact that I was going to embarrass myself.
It was impossible, however, to erase from my mind the picture of a burning man and the sound of the Lord saying,"If you do not preach, everyone who falls will be your responsibility."I thought, "I must begin to preach." But wouldn't passing out little tracts be good enough? Then one afternoon, the first week of December, I was sitting in thehome of Stan and Shirley Phillips in Oshawa, about thirty miles east of Toronto."Can I tell you something?" I asked.
Never before had I felt led to tell anyone the full story about my experiences,dreams, and visions. For nearly three hours, I poured outmy heart about things only the Lord and I knew about.Before I had finished, Stanley stopped me and said,"Benny, tonight you must come to our church and share this." They had a fellowship called Shilo about a hundred people at the Trinity Assembly of God in Oshawa.I wish you could have seen me.
My hair was down to my shoulders, and I hadn't dressed for church because the invitation had been totally unexpected.But on December 7, 1974, Stan introduced me to the group, and for the first time in my life I stood behind apulpit to preach.The instant I opened my mouth, I felt something touch my tongue and loosen it. It felt like a little numbness, and I began to proclaim God's Word with absolute fluency.Here's what was amazing. God didn't heal me when I was sitting in the audience. He didn't heal me when I was walking up to the platform.
He didn't heal me when I stood behind the pulpit. God performed the miracle when I opened my mouth.When my tongue loosened, I said, "That's it!" The stuttering was gone. All of it. And it has never returned.Now my parents didn't know I was healed because we had so little communication around the house. And, ofcourse, there had always been times when I could speak without a noticeable problem for a short time before something set the stuttering off again.But I knew I was healed. And my ministry began to mushroom. It seemed as if every day I was invited to a church or fellowship group to minister. I felt in the perfect center of God's Will.
I was preaching at a littlepentecostal church on the west side of town, and the pastor wanted to attract some visitors.It worked. Cost andi and Clemence saw the ad.I was sitting on the platform that Sunday night. During the song service I looked up and could hardly believe myeyes. There were my mother and my father being usheredto a seat just a few rows in front of the platform.I thought, "This is it. I'm going to die."My good friend Jim Poynter was seated on the plat form next to me.
I turned to him and said, "Pray, Jim! Pray!" He was shocked when I told him Mother and Dad were there. A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind, not the least of which was, "Lord, I'll know I'm really healed if I don't stutter tonight." I can't remember another time that Iwas so nervous during a service and anxiety always made me stutter.As I began to preach, the power of God's presence began to flow through me, but I couldn't bring myself tolook in the direction of my parents not even for a fleetingglance. All I knew was that my concern about stuttering was needless. When God healed me, the healing was permanent.
Toward the end of the service I began praying for those who needed a healing. Oh, the power of God filled thatplace.As the meeting was ending, my parents got up andwalked out the back door.After the service I said to Jim, "You've got to pray. Doyou realize that in the next few hours my destiny will be decided? I may have to sleep at your house tonight."That night I drove aimlessly around Toronto. I wanted to wait until at least two in the morning to get home. By that time I knew my parents would be in bed.I really didn't want to face them. But more about that later.
BELONGING The next day at school I sought out those "fanatics" andsaid, "Hey, I'd like you to take me to your church." They told me about a weekly fellowship they attended andoffered to take me just a couple of days later.That Thursday night I found myself in "The Catacombs." That's what they called it.
The service was just like that morning prayer meeting at school people had their hands lifted, worshiping the Lord. This time, though, Ijoined right in."Jehovah Jireh, my provider, His grace is sufficient for me," they sang over and over. I liked that song from the first time I heard it and loved it even more when I found out it was written by the pastor's wife, Merla Watson.
Her husband, Merv, was the shepherd of this most un usual flock.The Catacombs was not a typical church. The people who went there were just an exuberant throng of Christians that met every Thursday night in St. Paul's Cathedral, an Anglican church in downtown Toronto.These were "Jesus Movement" days when the so-called "hippies" were getting saved faster than they could cut their hair. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a barber's chair either in quite some time.I looked around.
The place was packed with kids just like me. You should have seen it. They were jumping up and down, dancing and making a joyful noise before the Lord. It was hard for me to believe that a place like that really existed. But somehow, from that very first night, I felt I belonged. "Go Up There"At the conclusion of the meeting, Merv Watson said, "I want all of you who would like to make a public confession of your sin to step forward. We're going to pray with you asyou ask Christ to come into your heart."I began to shiver and shake. But I thought, "I don't think I should go down there because I'm already saved." I knew the Lord took charge of my life at five minutes to eight on Monday morning.
And this was Thursday.You guessed it. Within seconds I found myself walking down that aisle as fast as I could. I didn't quite know why I did it. But something inside was telling me, "Go up there."It was at that moment, at a charismatic service in an Anglican church, that this good little Catholic from a Greek Orthodox home made a public confession of his acceptanceof Christ. "Jesus," I said, "I'm asking you to be the Lord of my life.
"The Holy Land couldn't compare with this. How much better to be where Jesus was, than where he used to be.That night when I got home, I was so filled with the presence of the Lord, I decided to tell my mother what had happened. (I didn't have the courage to tell my dad.)"Mama, I've got to share something with you," I whispered. "I've been saved!"In a flash, her jaw was set. She glared and said crisply,"Saved from what?""Trust me," I said. "You'll understand."On Friday morning and all during the day at school, at the kiosk, everywhere I went, a picture kept flashing beforeme. I saw myself preaching.
It was unthinkable, but I couldn't shake the image. I saw crowds of people. And there I was, wearing a suit, my hair all trimmed and neat,preaching up a storm.That day I found Bob, my "weird" friend who had on ceplastered the kiosk walls with Scripture.
I shared just a little about what had happened that week. And I told him that I even saw myself preaching."Bob," I said, "all day long it's been like this. I can't shake the picture of me speaking in huge open-air rallies, in stadiums, in churches, in concert halls." Beginning to stutter, I told him, "I see people, as far as the eye can see? I must be losing my mind! What do you think it means?""There can only be one thing," he told me. "God is preparing you for a great ministry. I think it's wonderful.
( "CAST OUT)
I didn't get that kind of encouragement at home. Of course, I really couldn't tell them what the Lord was doing.The situation was dreadful.
( Humiliation and Shame )
My entire family began to harass and ridicule me. It was horrible. I expected it from my father, but not my mother. When I was growing up, she had showed so much affection. So had my brothers and sisters. But now they treated me with disdain like an intruder who didn't belong.
"Tradition! Tradition!" says the song in Fiddler on the Roof. If an Easterner breaks tradition, he has committed an unpardonable sin. I doubt that the West will ever truly understand its seriousness. He brings humiliation upon his family.And that can't be forgiven. The family told me, "Benny, you're ruining our family name." They pleaded with me not to dishonor their reputation. My father had been a mayor and he reminded me of it. The family "name" was at stake.Please understand me when I say this, but Greek Orthodox, and people from other Eastern "high" church orders, are perhaps the most difficult people to bring to a"personal" Christianity.When I became a born-again Christian, it was actually shameful to them. Why? Because they believe they are the real Christians.
And they have the historical documentation to prove it. They have been Christians longer than anyone else.But here is the problem, and I have been raised with it.Their faith is long on form, ritual, and dogma, but short on God's anointing. The power is missing. And as a result,they have virtually no comprehension of what it means to hear from the Lord or to be "led by the Spirit."It became obvious that if I was to remain in my own home, I would have to close the door to conversations about Christ.Nothing, however, could dampen the fire of my newfound faith. I was like a glowing ember that never stopped burning.
Early in the morning my big Bible was open. The Holy Spirit continued to reveal the Word. But that was not enough. Every night that I could "escape" the house, I was in a church service, youth fellowship, or prayer meeting.And on Thursday nights I was back at The Catacombs.I can never erase from my memory the day I mentioned"Jesus" in our home. My father walked over to me and slapped my face. I felt the pain. No, it wasn't the Jerusalem rock this time. It was a different kind of pain. But the hurt I felt was for my family.
I loved them so much and agonized for their salvation.Actually, it was my fault. My daddy had warned me,"You mention the name of Jesus just once again, and you'll wish you hadn't." He snarled with hatred as he threatened to kick me out of the house.I began to tell my little sister, Mary, about the Lord.Somehow my dad found out about it, and his anger boiled over again. He forbade me to ever talk to her about spiritualthings.
( Time for the Psychiatrist )
Even my brothers persecuted me. They called me everyname under heaven—and a few below the earth. It went on for such a long time. In my room I prayed, "Lord, will it ever end? Will they ever come to know You?"It got to the place where there wasn't a member of my family I could talk to. I didn't have to look up the definition of ostracized.
They flew my grandmother over from Israel just to tell me I was crazy. "You are an embarrassment to the family name," she said. "Don't you understand the shame you're causing?"My father made an appointment for me to see apsychiatrist. Evidently Dad thought I had lost my mind.And what was the doctor's conclusion? "Maybe your son is going through something.He'll come out of it."His next tactic was to get me a job that would keep me so busy that I wouldn't have time for this "Jesus." He wentto one of his friends and said, "I'd like for you to offer my son, Benny, a job." Daddy drove me to his place and waited in the car while I went in. The man was one of the rudest, roughest, most mean-spirited men I had ever encountered. It was obvious Icouldn't work for such a person.I got back in the car and said, "Father, I could neverhave him for a boss."I actually felt sorry for my dad that day.
He was at theend of his rope. He said, "Benny, what do you want me to do for you? Tell me what it is. I'll do anything you ask if you'll just please leave this Jesus of yours.""Dad," I said, "you can ask me anything you want, but I would die before I'd give up what I've found."It was an ugly scene. He turned from a friendly father into a sarcastic stranger. All he had to offer was another torrent of hate, another tongue-lashing. For the next year nearly two my father and I had almost no communication.
At the dinner table he wouldn't look at me. I was totally ignored. It finally became unbearable even to sit down and watch the evening new swith my family.So what did I do? I stayed in my room. But looking back on it, I can see that the Lord knew exactly what Hewas doing. I spent hundreds of hours thousands alone with God. My Bible was always open. I prayed. I studied. I worshiped. I feasted on heavenly manna that I would needin the years to come.
( "I Must Obey the Lord" )
Getting to church was a gigantic problem. How I longed to go, but my father said, "Absolutely not!" time and timeagain. In fact, those were practically the only conversations we had arguments about the house of the Lord.
Easterners consider it unthinkable to disobey parents.But now I was nearly twenty-one. And I vividly recall the night I summoned the boldness to tell my father, "I'll obey you on anything you want, but on the matter of going to church I will not obey you. I must obey the Lord!"He was stunned.You'd have thought someone had shothim. And he seemed to bristle even more.Out of respect, I did my best to be obedient. I'd ask him,"Can I go to the meeting tonight?" He'd say no, and I would go to my room and pray, "Please, Lord, please change his mind."Then I'd go back downstairs and ask again. "Can I go?""No," he'd growl. And back up I'd go.Little by little, he began to give in. He knew it was a losing battle.
The Catacombs rented another building for services on Sunday, and I was right there. Bible studies were on Tuesday and Friday, and a youth meeting on Saturday night. These meetings became my whole life.In the two years after my conversion, my spiritual growth was like a rocket's moving into orbit. By the end of1973 Merv and Merla Watson were inviting me to join them on the platform to help lead in worship and singing.
But I couldn't speak in public.Jim Poynter, the spirit-filled Free Methodist pastor, had seen me there. And one day he stopped by the kiosk at themall just to talk about the things of the Lord. That's when he invited me to go with him to the Kuhlman meeting in Pittsburgh. My personal encounter with the Holy Spirit after thatmeeting was awesome. But it took a few days for me to realize the dimensions of God's revelation to me. About this same time I changed jobs. I accepted a position as a filing clerk for the Catholic school board in Toronto. I'm sure they wondered about me at times.
I had a smile on my face just thinking about what God was doing in my life.The minute my work was finished, I went home and rushed upstairs and just started talking to Him. "Oh, HolySpirit, I'm so glad to be back here alone with you." Yes, He was always with me, but my bedroom became a verysacred, special place. Sometimes, when I wasn't working I stayed home all day just having a personal communion with Him. What was I doing? Having fellowship. Fellowship withthe Spirit. And when I wasn't at work or in my room, I triedto get to church.
But I didn't tell anyone what was happening to me.When I left the house in the morning, He left with me. I actually felt someone beside me. On a bus I'd feel the urge to start talking with Him, but I didn't want people to think I was crazy. Even at work, there were times when I whispered things to Him. At lunch, He was my companion.But day after day, when I got home, I hopped up those stairs, locked the door to my room, and said, "Now we arealone." And my spiritual journey continued.
( Anointing in the Car )
Let me explain that many times I wasn't aware of His presence. I knew He was with me, but I became soaccustomed to Him that I did not feel the electricity of those special times.But other people felt it. Many times when my friends came to see me, they began weeping because of thepresence of the Holy Spirit. Once Jim Poynter called to say, "I want to pick you upand take you to a Methodist church where I'm singing. You can sing with me if you'd like." I wasn't really a singer, but I helped him out once in a while.
That afternoon I was once again lost in the anointing of God's spirit.Then I heard Jim honking the horn. As I ran down the stairs and to the car, I actually felt the Lord's presence running with me.The moment I jumped into the front seat and shut the door, Jim began to weep. He began to sing that chorus,Hallelujah! Hallelujah! He turned to me and said, "Benny,I can feel the Holy Spirit in this car.""Of course His presence is in this car," I said. "Where else would it be?" To me it had become the norm. But Jim could hardly drive.
He continued to weep before the Lord.Once, my mother was cleaning the hallway while I was in my room talking with the Holy Spirit. When I came out,she was thrown right back. Something had knocked heragainst the wall. I said, "What's wrong with you, Mama?"She answered, "I don't know." Well, the presence of the Lord almost knocked her down. My brothers will tell you of the times they came near me and didn't know what was happening—but they felt something unusual. As time went on I lost my desire just to go out with theyoung people at church to have fun.
I just wanted to be with the Lord. So often I said, "Lord, I'd rather have this than anything the world can offer." They could have theirgames, their entertainment, their football I just didn't need it."What I want is what I have right now," I told the Lord."Whatever it is, don't let it quit." I began to understand more fully Paul's desire for "the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. ( "Henry, Mary, Sammy, and Willie) Now, even members of my family were asking questions.
The Spirit of the Lord so permeated our home,that my brothers and sisters began to develop a spiritual hunger.One by one, they came to me and began to ask questions. They'd say, "Benny, I've been watching you.This Jesus is real, isn't He?"My sister Mary gave her heart to the Lord. And within the next few months my little brother Sammy got saved.Then came Willie.All I could do was to shout, "Hallelujah!" It was happening and I had not even begun to preach.By this time my father was nearly ready for an asylum.Was he losing his whole family to this Jesus? He didn't know how to handle it.
But there was no question that my mom and dad could see the transformation that had already taken place in me, in two of my brothers, and in Mary.When I first gave my life to the Lord, I had some wonderful encounters with Him. But these were nothing compared with my daily walk with the Holy Spirit. Now the Lord really visited my room. The glory would fill that place. Some days I'd be on my knees worshiping the Lord for eight, nine, or ten hours straight.
The year of 1974 unleashed a never-ending flow of God's power on my life. I'd just say "Good morning, Holy Spirit," and it would start all over again. The glory of the Lord stayed with me. One day in April I thought, "There must be a reason forit." I asked, "Lord, why are you doing all of this for me?" I knew that God doesn't give people spiritual picnics forever.Then as I began to pray, here is what God revealed tome. I saw someone standing in front of me. He was totally in flames, moving uncontrollably; his feet were not touching the ground.
The mouth of this being was opening and closing like what the Word describes as "gnashing ofteeth."At that moment the Lord spoke to me in an audible voice. He said, "Preach the gospel."My response, of course, was, "But Lord, I can't talk."Two nights later the Lord gave me a second dream. I saw an angel. He had a chain in his hand, attached to a door that seemed to fill the whole heaven. He pulled it open, andthere were people as far as the eye could see. Souls
. They were all moving toward a large, deep valley and the valley was a roaring inferno of fire.It was frightening. I saw thousands of people falling into that fire. Those on the front lines were trying to fight it,but the crush of humanity behind them pushed them intothe flames. Again, the Lord spoke to me. Very clearly He said, "If you do not preach, everyone who falls will be your responsibility." I knew instantly that everything that happened in my life was for one purpose to preach the gospel. ( It Happened in Oshawa ) The fellowship continued.
The glory continued. Thepresence of the Lord did not depart; it actually intensified.The Word became more real. My prayer life became more powerful.Finally, in November 1974 I couldn't avoid the subject any longer. I said to the Lord, "I will preach the gospel onone condition: that you will be with me in every service."And then I reminded Him, "Lord, you know that I can't talk." I worried continually about my speech problem and the fact that I was going to embarrass myself.
It was impossible, however, to erase from my mind the picture of a burning man and the sound of the Lord saying,"If you do not preach, everyone who falls will be your responsibility."I thought, "I must begin to preach." But wouldn't passing out little tracts be good enough? Then one afternoon, the first week of December, I was sitting in thehome of Stan and Shirley Phillips in Oshawa, about thirty miles east of Toronto."Can I tell you something?" I asked.
Never before had I felt led to tell anyone the full story about my experiences,dreams, and visions. For nearly three hours, I poured outmy heart about things only the Lord and I knew about.Before I had finished, Stanley stopped me and said,"Benny, tonight you must come to our church and share this." They had a fellowship called Shilo about a hundred people at the Trinity Assembly of God in Oshawa.I wish you could have seen me.
My hair was down to my shoulders, and I hadn't dressed for church because the invitation had been totally unexpected.But on December 7, 1974, Stan introduced me to the group, and for the first time in my life I stood behind apulpit to preach.The instant I opened my mouth, I felt something touch my tongue and loosen it. It felt like a little numbness, and I began to proclaim God's Word with absolute fluency.Here's what was amazing. God didn't heal me when I was sitting in the audience. He didn't heal me when I was walking up to the platform.
He didn't heal me when I stood behind the pulpit. God performed the miracle when I opened my mouth.When my tongue loosened, I said, "That's it!" The stuttering was gone. All of it. And it has never returned.Now my parents didn't know I was healed because we had so little communication around the house. And, ofcourse, there had always been times when I could speak without a noticeable problem for a short time before something set the stuttering off again.But I knew I was healed. And my ministry began to mushroom. It seemed as if every day I was invited to a church or fellowship group to minister. I felt in the perfect center of God's Will.
( "I'm Going to Die")
For the next five months I was a preacher, but my mother and father had no inkling. Keeping it quiet for solong was a miracle in itself. My brothers knew, but they didn't dare tell Dad because they knew it would be the end of Benny.In the Toronto Star in April 1975, a newspaper ad with my picture in it appeared.I was preaching at a littlepentecostal church on the west side of town, and the pastor wanted to attract some visitors.It worked. Cost andi and Clemence saw the ad.I was sitting on the platform that Sunday night. During the song service I looked up and could hardly believe myeyes. There were my mother and my father being usheredto a seat just a few rows in front of the platform.I thought, "This is it. I'm going to die."My good friend Jim Poynter was seated on the plat form next to me.
I turned to him and said, "Pray, Jim! Pray!" He was shocked when I told him Mother and Dad were there. A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind, not the least of which was, "Lord, I'll know I'm really healed if I don't stutter tonight." I can't remember another time that Iwas so nervous during a service and anxiety always made me stutter.As I began to preach, the power of God's presence began to flow through me, but I couldn't bring myself tolook in the direction of my parents not even for a fleetingglance. All I knew was that my concern about stuttering was needless. When God healed me, the healing was permanent.
Toward the end of the service I began praying for those who needed a healing. Oh, the power of God filled thatplace.As the meeting was ending, my parents got up andwalked out the back door.After the service I said to Jim, "You've got to pray. Doyou realize that in the next few hours my destiny will be decided? I may have to sleep at your house tonight."That night I drove aimlessly around Toronto. I wanted to wait until at least two in the morning to get home. By that time I knew my parents would be in bed.I really didn't want to face them. But more about that later.
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