Sunday, May 09, 1999
A joyful faith, unafraid to be different
Pentecostal church small but energetic
BY KAREN SAMPLES
The Cincinnati Enquirer
COVINGTON — You notice the women first. They are so plain that they stand out. No makeup. No jewelry. Long hair twisted into buns.
This is the way of the faithful at First United Pentecostal Church. It isn't easy. On this Thursday night, there are just 21 of them scattered among the pews, even though a man has come all the way from Bowling Green to preach. The occasion is the 15th anniversary of the church's regular pastor, the Rev. Fred Turner.
I am here because springtime makes me hanker for the Appalachian Mountains. Rightly or wrongly, this religion reminds me of that country, where tiny, white-sided churches hug the hollows and keep all of their secrets inside.
On Wednesday nights in Eastern Kentucky, you can drive by one of these churches and sense the commotion within — the jangle of the tambourines, the “alleluias!” of the people. But their exteriors give nothing away. There are no portable signs with black letters announcing bingo games or telling riddles about Jesus. Faith works differently here.
Except for its red shag carpeting and fancy chandeliers, First United Pentecostal could be one of these mountain churches. It certainly sounds as if it belongs in the country, instead of at the corner of 18th and Greenup.
The preachers use words like “backslid” and reminisce about the days when they could “skin the devil with a dull knife.” The women's plainness is both comforting and mysterious, as if they had accidentally wandered into 1999 and, instead of turning back, decided to form a club.
In Northern Kentucky, there are five churches in the United Pentecostal denomination and a number of others that have similar beliefs but are more loosely organized.
Pentecostals believe people will speak in tongues when baptized by the Holy Spirit. They also believe in faith-healing and exorcism. The devil is as real a presence as God.
For all its otherworldliness, Pentecostal worship is remarkably unpretentious. At First United, the faithful are not wondering how they look or what their neighbors will think. They pray with hands in the air and eyes closed. One woman runs up and down the aisles, whooping joyfully.
There are songs, prayers and sermons, but also spontaneous expressions of faith, which seem to scoot around the room like a bolt of energy.
“Honestly, I was laughing,” says Connie Hartman, 33. “I was like, "What are these people doing?'”
She was raised Catholic in Hebron and remembers making fun of “holy rollers” as a kid. Then she dropped out of church and lost her way. Her boyfriend's sister brought her here.
“It's small and everybody cares about you,” Ms. Hartman says. “In other churches, they say, "Peace be with you,' and then you get outside and they snub their noses at you.”
Charlene Swope, whose hairbun and shawl make her look like a grandmotherly Betty Crocker, says she was on drugs and in prison before her 1979 conversion. Now she has so much to say that she leaves some sentences unfinished.
“The worst thing about OD'ing ...” she'll begin, and then rush on to another part of her story.
Pentecostals do not smoke or drink alcohol. Thursday's congregation included Florence and Diane Johnson, who attend Holmes High School. They have never worn makeup, jewelry or pants to school.
It's not easy for some to be so different. The Rev. Mr. Turner refuses to water down his message or pretend his church is thriving. He has about 35 people who regularly attend. Dozens of others have come and gone.
They are “just like typical people,” the reverend says. “They're blessed, and then they forget God.”
It hurts to see them go, he says. An electrician by vocation, he has thought about leaving the ministry “a million times.”
But he stays. So do the few women in their dresses with the puffy sleeves. On Thursday night, I counted 16 of them, with five or six men.
This, too, reminds me of the mountains. The little Pentecostal churches are never full. Six, seven, maybe 10 people, mostly women.
For such small congregations, they make an awful lot of joyful noise.
Karen Samples is The Enquirer's Kentucky columnist. Her column appears on Sundays and Thursdays in The Kentucky Enquirer. E-mail her at ksamples@enquirer.com
Karen Samples is The Enquirer's Kentucky columnist. Her column appears on Sundays and Thursdays in The Kentucky Enquirer. She can be reached at 578-5584 or email
her at ksamples@enquirer.com
SAMPLES ARCHIVE
