2 of 4

By 1880, scant decades before Pentecostalism emerged out of the holiness movement, the problem of hyper-verticality had not gone away. In an article that year titled "Religious Restlessness," the influential holiness editor George Hughes admonished:

"When the Spirit fills us with inexpressible liberty . . . we hardly know how to contain ourselves; we can hardly attend to ordinary duties; we want to be preaching, teaching, witnessing, running through the land in an unearthly ecstasy, blazing the story of full salvation. But it is impracticable to do this. We are hedged about by an imperial fence of Divine providences; home duties and daily toils must be recognized. Now in such cases it requires great grace to hold ourselves in and not let this surcharge of fire tear our nerves to pieces."

Hughes agreed with Matlack's previous assessment that back home, in the more burdensome atmosphere of "duties, responsibilities, trials, and care," too many saints were guilty of "wilful neglects of duty." The family, Matlack had concluded, was "a severer school of training than is anywhere else to be found," and many holiness believers were flunking out of it—failing to manifest the sanctified love that had seemed to flow so naturally in the supportive community of the holiness worship service.

This struggle with family ties and family affections had deep roots in the holiness movement. An early instance relates to an event in the life of Phoebe Palmer, narrated in our Issue 82: Phoebe Palmer and the Holiness Movement. On July 29, 1839, Palmer—a key early figure in the movement—wrote, "Through a distressing casualty, our darling youngest born has suddenly been translated from earth to heaven." The casualty was a crib-fire. Palmer had rushed to the scene moments after the crib's gauze curtains had caught alight, and "grasped my darling from the flames. She darted one inexpressible look of amazement and pity, on her agonized mother, and then closed her eyes forever," leaving Palmer to make sense of the tragedy.

The way Palmer did make sense of the event echoes through the annals of the movement she helped found. She concluded that a mother could love a child too much—the child could become, in effect, an idol in the mother's life. To become freed from this idol was to be freed to serve Christ. So it was that after her daughter's death, Palmer claimed: "Never before have I felt such a deadness to the world, and my affections so fixed on things above. God takes our treasures to heaven that our hearts may be there also."

Typically, this shift heavenward in her affections led Palmer to resolve that the time she would have spent rearing her child would now be dedicated to "work for Jesus." Perhaps, she mused, the fruit of her new evangelistic resolve could explain her tragedy. If by this circumstance she could now become "diligent and self-sacrificing in carrying out my resolve," she comforted herself, "the death of this child may result in the spiritual life of many."

This evangelical alchemy of domestic affection into pure love towards God showed up again and again in the testimonies of holiness believers. Typically the believer, during the struggle for entire sanctification, was brought face-to-face with the idolatry of his or her human loves. In a crisis moment, the struggling Christian faced the sort of challenge Abraham faced when God instructed him to sacrifice Isaac. It was a challenge to place God first by accepting his will for family members—spouses, children, or parents—even should that will be the loved one's death. Only after accepting this could the believer "break through" and receive the joy of the sanctified—uninterrupted communion with Jesus.

next page... |  2 of 4

share this page

September (Web-only) 2004, Vol. 48