Chapter 5: Church Life

For me, life in Isla Vista whirled with new experiences and sensations. It all came in a rush, at once heady and disturbing and transcendent. The brothers and sisters displayed a love for the Lord that was beautiful to me. They treated one another, and me, as family. From Gene’s messages, from the Scriptures, from the lives of saints around me, I was learning more about the Lord each day.

I remember going with all of the sisters to sing to the brothers, who were together in an upstairs room for a weekend retreat. I didn’t know anything about the content of that meeting, but it was a good feeling to be part of it all. We women gathered under the window and sang, and the women’s faces around me were shining with joy. One of the songs we sang was a call-and-response with parts for the sisters and the brothers. On the chorus, the brothers sang a line: “Wonderful the matchless name of Jesus,” and the sisters echoed, “the matchless name of Jesus” and so on. We would often do that in the meetings as well, standing in a circle belting out the words.

In the summer, saints from Memphis and elsewhere came to Isla Vista for a conference. They stayed with the Isla Vista saints in their apartments, sharing in the frequent meetings and the church life. After that conference, I and others drove to Memphis for a conference there. Shirley Siler, another single sister, and I drove with the Winterburns, a young Memphis couple. When they found out we had never tasted grits, the first thing they did when we arrived at their house in Memphis was to make us grits. Memphis saints showed us royal hospitality, putting us up in their homes and taking us out to eat typical Memphis food – fried chicken and greens slow cooked in bacon fat. 

The meetings were held at the palatial home of an older couple who were part of the church. The speaker was Stephen Kaung, a former co-worker of Watchman Nee who had his headquarters in Richmond, Virginia. He spoke about the divine principles of recovery. I wouldn’t have remembered that, except that I have the transcribed messages in front of me. What I do remember is that, toward the end of the conference, we sang the glorious song, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Lift up your gates and sing, Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to your King!” I was transported with the vision of the glorious city of God, where the Lamb will reign on his throne and we will feast forever on the life He provides for us.

In December, Gene held a retreat for new arrivals that I attended eagerly. At a beautiful lodge in the mountains, Gene taught from the book of Romans chapters 6, 7, and 8. He said that our souls – our hearts, minds and will – are a battleground where God and Satan vie for control. There is no neutral ground. We belong to one or the other. I devoured it all, hungry and thirsty to absorb all I could of the truths and riches of my still-new faith.

Over Christmas, we again went to Memphis for a conference with Stephen Kaung. I tagged along with some folks who went to the airport to meet some arriving saints. In those days we could go right to the gate to greet people getting off the plane. As they entered the room, we all sang loudly, “Behold the redeemed of the Lord have returned . . .” We did so much that was fun and free. The Memphis saints had rented a fraternity that was empty over the holidays, and we shared in cooking and cleaning.

Then and in years to come, holidays were times to hold conferences. For the most part, we didn’t go home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. In fact, we were encouraged not to go home. There was an urgency about everything, a sense that we were embarked upon something of the utmost importance, that there was no time to waste. 

To say it was a very full year would be an understatement. And over and around and through all of this, was a sense of being part of another kind of life, with a welcome at any saint’s door and love poured out in many forms. For instance, the brothers in the apartment across from ours invited us to dinner, and made a baked Alaska for dessert – quite a challenge! The sisters downstairs included real sisters of Greek heritage, who made us a Greek lemon soup called avgolemono. Sisters welcomed me to their places and introduced me to the Narnia Chronicles of C.S. Lewis, and Hind’s Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard. As we all walked to meetings in the small town of Isla Vista, we would meet each other and sing worship songs on the way to the meeting place.

Singles shared Chinese food around big tables in an upstairs room in a Chinese restaurant. We all went to the beach together. The guys played touch football and baseball, with the girls cheering and a picnic afterwards. It was a busy social schedule, and everyone was included, and the Lord Jesus was part of it all.

At any time, someone might break out in a joyous song or a shout of praise, and everyone else would pick it up. Joy took tangible form in our daily lives. We were all there for one reason only: the Lord Jesus Christ. He filled and defined our lives – our worship and our devotion, but also our jobs, our leisure, and all our interactions with each other.

The meetings – it’s hard to describe them adequately. From the moment we entered the room, we were in worship mode. Several brothers almost always came through the door with a shout of praise on their lips: “Hallelujah! Jesus Christ reigns!” “Praise the Lord!” The songs we sang arose from the messages we were hearing from Gene. Someone might put new words to a Broadway musical number, or a pop song, or even an ad jingle. If we sang hymns, we would tweak them to express the fulness of our current experience. Someone would start a song, and we would all join in. Then someone else would start another song, and on and on. We had songbooks that were often updated to reflect new additions, so everyone could quickly find the suggested song. We sang without accompaniment, which gave us freedom to do this. We often stood in a circle with our arms around each other, with big smiles on our faces.

We didn’t meet on Sunday mornings. Evening meetings did not follow a regular schedule, but were more like mini-conferences. We might meet three nights in a row, or sometimes on a Saturday morning. Anyone was free – encouraged! – to stand up and declare the goodness of the Lord, or start a song, or offer a prayer. Often the things we shared reflected what Gene was teaching at the time. And what a teacher he was!

Gene was a story teller. He brought the Scriptures to life, and made them relevant to our lives. As he told the story, the church – the body, the building – had been God’s desire from the beginning. And we were the church. Gene told us stories about the Israelites in the desert, the return from exile, the rebuilding of the wall of Jerusalem, and the church that sprang up after Pentecost. Every episode, whether about the ancient Israelites or the young church, had lessons and pictures for us. We saw ourselves as a unit – not I, but we.

Gene’s delivery was unique and dynamic. He commanded attention whether he whispered or shouted. Sometimes he would shout himself hoarse, gesturing with his whole body, wiping sweat from his face. And he expected – demanded – a response. He had taught for some years about how to meet. That meant – how to be engaged, how to sense a response in our spirits to the Word of the Lord. Our songs reflected the fact that where the Lord Jesus reigns in our hearts, His kingdom has come. We sang songs that celebrated His victory and gave no attention to our weakness and unworthiness. We were forgiven. We were the New Man.

We received printed calendars each month or so at the end of a meeting, to arrange for early morning meetings with the Lord and another person. We would mill around filling in our squares for each day, deciding on times. Someone might have to meet at 5:30 because of an early work schedule. Another couple of people might decide to meet on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. Two men or two women might get together, but also a man and a woman. In my mind, anyway, there was no thought of impropriety in that. We were living in another kingdom. We were living by a higher life. My passion was for the Lord, and I was hungry for more experiences with Him.

During those early morning meetings, most likely in an apartment living room, we would often read a Scripture passage, and dwell there for a while. Gene taught us how to “eat the Lord” – to savor a passage, drawing the life from it until we were ready to move on to the next verse. Our aim was not so much to pray, as it is normally understood. We seldom asked the Lord for anything except to know Him more. In fact, Gene taught us not to pray for “Aunt Fanny’s boils,” which included prayers for healing or for a job or for anything material. We were to set our minds on things above, not on things of this earth. Prayer for us was communion with God, for entering into the heavenly realms with Him.

In the years ahead, many things happened that are now painful to remember. I have to hold tight to the Lord and the hope that I have in Him when I remember those things. I try not to linger there long – not anymore, at least. But that year – 1972 – I can recall with wonder and gladness. The Lord taught me and showed me high and deep realities – who He is, who I am in Him, His love, His purposes. He laid a foundation for the relationship we share. The foundation cannot be shaken. It has stood the test of time, and it will stand for eternity. That year I recall with joy.