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Recently media have paid much attention to two distinct religion stories. One is the surge of global Pentecostalism. The other is the visibility of mainline Protestantism in U.S. culture wars. Yet the two stories rarely connect, and for good reason.

Pentecostals and mainliners generally glide around each other like icebergs passing in the night. Over the years, Pentecostals have viewed mainliners with deep skepticism, judging them theologically lax and culturally spineless. Mainliners, for their part, have viewed Pentecostals—when they viewed them at all—with disdain, judging them theologically primitive and culturally unwashed. No one took prisoners.

My aim is modest. It is not to foster ecumenical dialogue (though that would be nice), nor ecumenical worship (though that would be even nicer). I only hope to suggest that the standoff should cease—not for reasons of Christian unity, but so that each tradition can be more true to itself. Pentecostals can become better Pentecostals, and mainliners can become better mainliners, by paying attention to each other's strengths.

Healing. Pentecostals have made two enduring contributions to the Christian healing tradition.

First, along with healing as physical and psychological restoration, they have emphasized healing as release from addictions. They understand that addictions, no less than illnesses, entrap. Hence addictions too are subject to God's release.

Second, Pentecostals have esteemed healing as the first, not just the last, privilege of the Christian. Early Pentecostal preachers liked to tell a story. A young woman asked a ship captain during a storm if anything could be done. The captain responded, "No, ma'am, it is in God's hands now." To this she replied, "Oh my, has it come to that?"

Pentecostals teach that it always "comes to that." God controls our lives not just at the end but also at the beginning and the middle of every day.

Pragmatism. Pentecostals are willing to adjust principle to the needs of the moment in order to accomplish their larger aims. There are countless examples, but one stands out. Several years ago I received an invitation to talk at the Assemblies of God Theological Seminary in Springfield, Missouri. Just before I stood to speak, the president asked if anyone needed prayer.

One woman said that she had been diagnosed with cancer. The president looked around the pulpit for anointing oil. Finding none, he turned to the students and asked if anyone had hair spray. Someone passed a small canister to the front. He sprayed a bit on his finger and touched her forehad. I do not know if the woman was healed. I do know that the service affirmed the priority of human needs over prescribed forms.

Inclusiveness. By inclusiveness I mean that Pentecostals have sought to embrace everyone, men and women, white and black, rich and poor, able-bodied and physically challenged. To be sure, the track record is mixed, but on the whole, it outshines mainliners'. At the grassroots level of higher education, for example, the Pentecostal Regent University in Virginia Beach enrolls 22 percent African Americans. My own Duke University publishes an African American enrollment of 8.5 percent. The public may perceive Regent as very conservative and Duke as very liberal—but in reality, which is which?

Fullness. Deep in the Pentecostal tradition stands an emphasis on the amplitude of God's grace. That idea, growing out of 19th-century precursors, has taken various forms, sometimes described as "deeper life," sometimes as "higher life," sometimes as the "completeness" of God's blessing. The fullness idea names the nourishing undercurrent that leads to practices ranging from Holy Spirit baptism to speaking in tongues. It names the aspiration that lies behind Pentecostals' remarkable determination to work and witness, often at great personal cost.

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March 2005, Vol. 49, No. 3