A. A. Allen
Born in Sulphur Rock, Arkansas, in 1911, he grew up with an alcoholic father and an unfaithful mother who lived with a series of men. âBy the time I was twenty-one,â recalled Allen, âI was a nervous wreck. I couldnât get a cigarette to my lip with one hand. . . . I was a confirmed drunkard.â (Lexie Allen, Godâs Man of Faith and Power, p57, 1954). Two years later he served a jail sentence for stealing corn in the midst of the depression and thought of himself as âan ex-jailbird drifting aimlessly through life.â It was at this point that Allen was converted in a âtongues speakingâ Methodist church in 1934 He met his wife, Lexie in Colorado and she became a powerful influence in shaping him for his future ministry.
Licensed by the Assemblies of God as a minister in 1936 began an effective evangelistic ministry at a small church in Colorado. After a two year pastorate he spent four-and-a-half years during World War II, as a full-time revivalist. He was the worship leader, musician and preacher but low finances and mediocre results took their toll on this father of four children. He left the itinerant ministry in 1947 when he was offered the security of a pastorate in a stable Assemblies of God church in Corpus Christi, Texas.
Soon after moving to Texas he heard news of the revival and read a copy of âThe Voice of Healingâ magazine which he found incredulous and labelled the revivalists âfanatics.â However, in 1949, he attended an Oral Roberts campaign in Dallas where he was enthralled by Robertsâ power over the audience and left convinced that the revival was from God
Back in Texas, when his church board refused to sponsor a radio program, he resigned and began conducting revivals again with the hope that he too might develop a major healing ministry. In, He sent his first report to The Voice of Healing in May 1950, from Oakland, California, âMany say this is the greatest Revival in the history of Oaklandâ in what was to become typical AAA style.
He said, âAlthough I do not claim to possess the gift of healing, hundreds are being miraculously healed in this meeting of every known disease. I do not claim to possess a single gift of the Spirit nor to have the power to impart any gift to others, yet in this meeting, as well as in other recent meetings, all the gifts of the Spirit are being received and exercised night after night. (The Voice of Healing May 1950)
Observing the burgeoning ministry of others he noticed that the evangelists who were drawing the largest crowds were doing so under canvas. In the summer of 1951 joined the ranks of the tent ministries giving a down payment and commitment to pay off the remaining amount as the ministry grew â and it did. He established his headquarters in Dallas and in 1953 launched the Allen Revival Hour on radio. He conducted overseas campaigns in Cuba and Mexico regularly, and by1955 was broadcasting on seventeen Latin American radio stations as well as eighteen American ones.
Allenâs sanguine personality expressed itself in his enthusiastic reports, unparalleled showmanship and startling miraculous claims. He was a persuasive preacher, with a compelling presence and unusual empathy and rapport with the common people. He preached an old-time Pentecostal message with consummate skill. His message of holiness resonated in the hearts of those reared in austere Pentecostalism.
His stage presence and theatrical approach endeared him to the economically deprived working class and also to black communities. Ever the showman he made religion enjoyable and church-going fun.
But, above all, it was the power of God which attracted the huge audiences over the years. Thousands were converted in the midst of dramatic public healings and deliverances from evil spirits. Nothing was âdone in a cornerâ but all was employed to support the message that Jesus was alive and interested in the needs of ordinary people.
A. A. Allen considered himself the most persecuted preacher in the world. The Assemblies of God were not happy with his apparently questionable, or at least exaggerated, claims. His readiness to publicly counter-attack his accusers brought a continual stream of criticism and alienation from mainline Pentecostals.
But the accusation that he drank abusively was the straw that broke the camelâs back. In the fall 1955, he was arrested for drunken driving while conducting a revival in Knoxville, Tennessee. The local press took the opportunity to attack and expose Allen and the beleaguered minister forfeited his bail rather than stand trial on the charge.
Whatever the truth was Allen called the incident an âunprecedented persecutionâ aimed at ruining his ministry. As always he employed even the worst accusations to reinforce his claims that his commitment to Godâs work in Godâs way was truly from heaven, despite the fact that the Devil continually tried to destroy his ministry. His Miracle Magazine published his defense:
Allen declares that all this is but a trick of the devil to try to kill his ministry and his influence among his friends at a time when God has granted him greater miracles in his ministry than ever before. . . . If ministers pay the price of real MIRACLES today, they will meet with greater persecution than ever before. The only way to escape such persecution is to fold up and quit! But we are going on! Will you go on with us? (Miracle Magazine October, 1955)
Gordon Lindsay felt that the Voice of Healing had to take âa strong stand on ethics.â Allen resigned from the group, pre-empting their imminent dismissal. He immediately began publishing his own magazine, and, although he affected a cordial relationship with his former colleagues in the Voice of Healing, feelings remained strained.
In some ways independence suited Allen. His daughter recalled:
The Knoxville event also led to Allenâs separation from the Assemblies of God. It was suggested that he âwithdraw from the public ministry until the matter at Knoxville be settled.â Allenâs response was to surrender his credentials as âa withdrawal from public ministry at this time would ruin my ministry, for it would have the appearance of an admission of guilt.â
By the mid-1950âs many of the more moderate ministers tried to continue to work with the Pentecostal denominations â or at least to remain friendly â but Allen repeatedly attacked organized religion and urged Pentecostal ministers to establish independent churches which would be free to support the revival. He charged that the Sunday school had replaced the altar in the Pentecostal churches and that few church members were filled with the Holy Ghost:
âRevivals are almost a thing of the past. Many pastors, and even evangelists, declare they will never try another one. They say it doesnât work. They are holding âSunday School Conventions,â âTeacher Training Courses,â and social gatherings. With few exceptions the churches today are leaning more and more toward dependence upon organizational strength, and natural ability, and denominational âmethods.â They no longer expect to get their increase through the old fashioned revival altar bench, or through the miracle working power of God, but rather through the Sunday School.â
In fall 1956, Allen announced the formation of the Miracle Revival Fellowship, an alternative fellowship intended to license independent ministers and to support missions. Theologically, the fellowship welcomed all who accepted âthe concept that Christ is the only essential doctrine.â Allen urged laymen as well as ministers to join his fellowship, through his âEvery Member an Exhorter plan.â Although Allen announced that âMRF is not interested in dividing churches,â he also disclosed that âthe purpose of this corporation shall be to encourage the establishing and the maintenance of independent local, sovereign, indigenous, autonomous churches.â The fellowship listed more than 500 ministers in its âfirst ordination
Interestingly, as other ministries were struggling and the revival was waning, Allenâs charisma and ministry skills coupled with well-staged revivals and an amazingly gifted team, enabled him to re-establish his ministry and rebuild a substantial and effective work.
Miracle Magazine was resounding success. At the end of a yearâs publication in 1956, it had a paid subscription of about 200,000,and, according to Mrs. Allen, was âthe fastest growing subscription magazine in the world today.â In 1957, Allen began conducting the International Miracle Revival Training Camp, an embryonic ministerial training centre. In 1958, he was given land in Arizona where he began building a permanent headquarters and training centre. At the height of the 1958 crisis in the revival, Allen announced a five-pronged program for his ministry: tent revivals, the Allen Revival Hour radio broadcast, an overseas mission program, the Miracle Valley Training Centre, and a âgreat number of dynamic books and faith inspiring tractsâ published by the ministry. In 1958, Allen purchased Jack Coeâs old tent and proudly announced that he was moving into the âlargest tent in the world.â His old-time revivalism, up-beat gospel music and anointed entertainers continued to attract the masses.
Allan died at the Jack Tar Hotel in San Francisco, California on June 11, 1970 at the age of 59. Some claim that Allen died an alcoholic because the coronerâs report concluded Allen died from liver failure brought on by acute alcoholism. Others know that he had battled with excruciating pain from severe arthritis in his knees, for over a year. It is true that Allen had undergone surgery on one of his knees and in June of 1970, was considering surgery on the other knee. They believe that the Coronerâs Report of âfatty infiltration of the liverâ was a result of the few times he used alcohol in his last days to alleviate the excruciating pain of his arthritis.
Whatever is true of his death the life of A. A. Allen was one of extraordinary commitment to Jesus Christ which brought victory over the enemy of mankind. A. A. Allen was a true survivor. Even though the revival was declining in the late 1950âs and 1960âs his commitment to old-time faith-healing campaigns ensured the continuing testimony of signs and wonders to the next generation. He may have had his personal âquirks and foiblesâ but the testimony of thousands of the blessing they received, the enduring love for God that resulted and the demonstration of the power of the Gospel are good reasons to give God thanks for such an amazing life!
What Does Ongoing Sin Say About Me
One of the most common questions a Christian can ask is also one of the most troubling: What does my ongoing sin say about me? The question is common because all Christians deal with ongoing sin, and many with patterns of repetitive sin. And the question is troubling because it ushers us into one of the great tensions of Scripture. We know, on the one hand, that âif we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in usâ (1 John 1:8). And we know, on the other hand, that âno one born of God makes a practice of sinningâ (1 John 3:9). Every Christian sins â even every day (Matthew 6:11â12) â yet some practices of sin throw doubt on a personâs claim to be born of God. So, what distinguishes Christians from the world when it comes to sin? Puritan pastor Richard Baxter, writing to âmelancholyâ (or depressed) Christians, offers one fruitful answer: Remember what a comfortable evidence you carry about with you that your sin is not damning while you feel that you love it not but hate it and are weary of it. Scarce any sort of sinners have so little pleasure in their sin as the melancholy, or so little desire to keep them, and only beloved sins undo men. ( The Genius of Puritanism , 88â89) Christians commit sins. At times, they may even commit grievous sins, as David and Peter did. But Christians do not love their sins. And only beloved sins undo us. Our Complex Hearts Of course, Baxterâs answer forces us to ask another question: How can we know whether we hate or love sin? Answering that question requires great care. We find many people in Scripture, for example, who only seemed  to hate their sin. Israelâs wilderness generation ârepented and sought God earnestlyâ at times, but in the end âtheir heart was not steadfast toward himâ (Psalm 78:34, 37). The Pharisees likewise appeared to hate sin â yet beneath their religious exterior they were âlovers of moneyâ (Luke 16:14). The love of sin, though smothered for a time, was never quenched. Alternatively, we can find cases where genuine Christians, often immature ones, seemed for a time to love sin. Some surprising sins appear in Paulâs letters to the Corinthians, for example, yet godly grief could also follow, and with it a restored indignation against sin (2 Corinthians 7:10â11). How then can we tell whether, under all our conflicting feelings and internal wrestlings and contradictory actions, our fundamental attitude toward sin is an increasing hatred  or love ? We might begin by prayerfully asking ourselves four smaller questions. How do you commit your sin? Although we all sin, we do not all sin in the same way. The Old Testament distinguishes between types of transgressions, ranging from less severe unintentional sins to sins committed âwith a high handâ (Numbers 15:22, 30). Our own sins likewise fall on a spectrum between defiant and reflexive â between those we pursue  and those that pursue us . If sin is a snare (Proverbs 5:22), then sometimes we walk into it with eyes wide open, and other times we find our foot caught before we know what happened. A mother may speak a harsh word, for example, after slowly brewing the cauldron of her self-pity â or she may do so in a rush of unlooked-for impatience. Similarly, a husband may indulge an illicit sexual image because he went looking for a website â or because a billboard went looking for him. The mother and the husband sin in both cases, but how  they do so â especially as a characteristic practice â reveals much about their heartâs orientation. Ongoing patterns of planned, premeditated sin expose a heart whose affections are dangerously entangled. âChristians commit sins. But Christians do not love their sins. And only beloved sins undo us.â In one sense, of course, we play the role of both pursuer  and pursued  whenever we sin. Even the most defiant sins have spiritual forces of evil behind them (Ephesians 2:2); even the most reflexive sins reveal a twisted inner willingness (James 1:14). More than that, genuine Christians still can fall into patterns of pursuing  sin for a season. At times, we contradict the life of Christ within us and step into snares that we see. But in general, those who hate sin move â gradually but genuinely â farther from planned, pursued sins the longer they are in Christ. How far have you come? Now for a complication. Although everyone who hates sin gradually moves away from planned, pursued sins, we start moving from different spots. Some begin walking toward Mount Zion from Moab; others from as far as Babylon. And as with any journey, distance  (though important) matters less than direction . Some people, by virtue of Godâs common grace, enter Christ with great degrees of decency and discipline. And others enter Christ with self-control threadbare, a conscience almost seared, and a soul still bearing the claw marks of addiction. Both receive in Christ the same Spirit, one âof power and love and self-controlâ (2 Timothy 1:7). But if we expect their progress toward Christlikeness to look the same, we deny their radically different starting places. Imagine, for example, the sin of drunkenness, which falls nearer the defiant  side of the spectrum. A night of drunkenness for the first Christian may raise a serious concern: here is a planned, pursued sin unknown even in his pre-Christian days. But for the second Christian, a night of drunkenness may be only one brief backward step on an otherwise forward journey. (Which is no reason, of course, for resting satisfied with even one backward step: repentance means opposing all known sin now , not on a gradually reduced schedule.) The Christian life goes âfrom one degree of glory to anotherâ (2 Corinthians 3:18); the sky above us âshines brighter and brighter until full dayâ (Proverbs 4:18); we travel âfrom strength to strengthâ (Psalm 84:7). But as important as asking, âHow far along are you?â is âHow far have you come?â How do you confess your sin? Just as we can commit sin in more ways than one, so we can confess sin in more ways than one. While some confess with sincere resolve not to commit that sin again, others confess with silent resignation to sinâs power in their lives. The second kind of confession, as John Piper puts it, expresses guilt and sorrow for sinning, but underneath there is the quiet assumption that this sin is going to happen again, probably before the week is out. . . . Itâs a cloak for fatalism about your besetting sins. You feel bad about them, but you have surrendered to their inevitability. Those who confess in this way often treat forgiveness as only a balm for a wounded conscience, and not also as a sword for the fight against sin. They hate the guilt  that sin brings, but they may not hate the sin itself , or at least not enough to rage against the lie that sin is ever inevitable. To be sure, those who hate sin often need to confess the same sins repeatedly (especially sins of the more reflexive kind), even over years and decades. But apart from some regrettable seasons, their confessions hold no hints of fatalism or inevitability. Rather, their confessions match the pattern of Proverbs 28:13: Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper,      but he who confesses and forsakes them  will obtain mercy. Those who confess sin sincerely also strive to forsake sin completely. So, when they rise from their knees and return to the battle, they do not hold their weapon loosely, as one who expects defeat. They enter with head held high, shielded with new mercy, clothed with fresh power. How do you fight your sin? Some of the clearest displays of our loves and hates appear on the battlefield. While some fight their sin half expecting and (if truth be told) half hoping to lose, others learn to fight like their souls are at stake â like Jesus spoke seriously, even if not literally, when he talked about cutting off hands and tearing out eyes (Matthew 5:29â30). Sin haters walk through this world armed with spiritual weapons (Romans 8:13; Ephesians 6:17) â not to harm others, but to harm every enemy within themselves. They watch and pray against temptation, needy enough to ask for daily deliverance (Matthew 6:13). They resolve to make no provision for the flesh, even if doing so requires abstaining from otherwise neutral substances, situations, and forms of entertainment (Romans 13:14). Their battle plans are not vague (âRead the Bible and pray moreâ) but specific (âWake up at 6:00 to read and pray for an hourâ). And though they know that no wall of accountability can rise higher than their sin, they also live like they are dead without help (Hebrews 3:13). âSin seems beloved to us only when Christ does not.â And whatâs more, they do not fight for a day or a season or a year, but for a life. They know this warfare ends only when their breath does (2 Timothy 4:7). So, though they sometimes feel weary in the war, they refuse to lie down on the battlefield. In time, fresh strength comes from above, fresh resolves fire from within, and despite many discouragements and defeats, they make progress. Those who, at bottom, still love their sin will not fight their sin like this . They may raise a resistance of sorts, but not a whole-souled war. We cannot kill what we still love. Better Beloved So then, how do you commit your sin? How far have you come? How do you confess your sin? How do you fight your sin? Questions like these call for our attention â but only some of our attention. Self-examination can help us discern the state of our souls, but it cannot change the state of our souls. Wherever we find ourselves in these questions, if we would hate sin increasingly, then only one path lies before us: love Christ increasingly. Richard Baxterâs contemporary John Owen once wrote, Be frequent in thoughts of faith, comparing [Christ] with other beloveds, sin, world, legal righteousness; and preferring him before them, counting them all loss and dung in comparison of him. ( A Quest for Godliness , 206) Sin seems beloved to us only when Christ does not. So go ahead and compare your sins to him: their blackness with his light, their shame with his glory, their cruelty with his mercy, their hell with his heaven. For now, we see only the rays of Christâs beauty. But even the faintest of them outshines the most attractive sin. Only beloved sins undo us. And the only Savior from beloved sins is a beloved Christ.
