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I recently attended a Midwestern Baptist church in which the pastor directed his congregation to pray with hands extended toward a "pray-ee"—a man standing at the front. Since I'd worshiped in a Pentecostal church for ten years after my conversion as a young adult, I immediately recognized the gesture as a mark of Pentecostal spirituality. Indeed, I discovered later that the Baptist pastor had once been a Pentecostal pastor.

Two thoughts sprang to mind that Sunday morning. First, I realized there are dozens of visible clues associated with Pentecostal churches. People fall "under the power." Congregants stand to prophesy, speak in tongues, or interpret. Arms are raised during prayer and worship. People dance in the Spirit. Pentecostalism is nothing if not physical and active.

Second, while most of these practices remain confined to Pentecostal churches, many non-Pentecostal (and non-charismatic) congregations have become "Pentecostalized" in other ways. Contemporary worship style is an oft-noted influence of Pentecostalism, with congregations of all stripes now singing choruses and praise music, even raising their hands in adoration. But "Holy Spirit religion" is leaving its deepest mark in less visible, more significant ways.

A typical Pentecostal service follows no printed order; bulletins, if present, contain only announcements. After all, why should an order be needed? "All the members expect anyone of the local assembly to follow the Spirit's leading," Pentecostal scholar Russell Spittler has written, "and to do so at once."

This sort of congregational freedom has marked Pentecostalism from its beginning, along with a unique emphasis on the "priesthood of all believers." Azusa Street pastor William J. Seymour, the driving force behind the earliest Pentecostal revival, typified a new breed of church leader. He allowed and encouraged worshipers to exercise their gifts during services, providing what Fuller professor Cecil M. Robeck has called "a forum for various members of his congregation to make their case or to demonstrate their charism in the context of the worshiping community, without fear of recrimination." When someone moved beyond the bounds of accepted order, Seymour corrected him or her in a manner that, while firm, was also "gracious and soft-spoken."

Seymour also worked with a diverse team of volunteers and gave them a great deal of autonomy within certain boundaries. His leadership model was decentralized and open to genuine moving of the Spirit in his co-workers and in the entire congregation. Lay ministers were encouraged and empowered, because the Holy Spirit blew wherever he wanted to—and God forbid anyone stand in the way.

This style of ministry is seen today in many churches. A professor of religion at the University of Southern California, Donald E. Miller, noted in Reinventing American Protestantism (University of California, 1999) that Pentecostalism's transparent personal style and non-hierarchical corporate structure had migrated to three prominent California churches: Calvary Chapel, the Vineyard Christian Fellowship, and Hope Chapel. These neo-Pentecostals "truly did believe in the priesthood of all believers," Miller reported. "People were not only having their needs met, but they were finding an avenue for service. That created a lively sense of community—something that many people yearned for."

In his 1990 book Tongues of Fire, sociologist David Martin alerted English-speaking readers to the phenomenal growth and distinctive character of Pentecostalism in Latin America—a character consistent with Miller's California findings. In a review of Martin's book, religion scholar Philip Jenkins summarized: "The new churches offer transformations that are both personal and cultural. Converts feel free to speak and think for themselves in a way that was not possible when they were required to show deference to the old hierarchies of church and state."

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September 2006, Vol. 50, No. 9