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5C. Marching Orders to Colton and San Diego 
Brimming with enthusiasm, I arrived in Colton. I soon discovered, however, that the Vicar and Parish Committee were not too keen at all on having a revival! The Warden, Chuck Weidman, was also the Operational manager of the Bank of America and questioned me intensively, "How much will the mission cost?" His steely eyes betrayed that I needed to choose my words carefully. "The Dean" I replied precisely, "has given us a blank check!"
After a moment's startled silence, a broad grin spread across Chuck's face and he retorted, "Then what's stopping us" As a start, we suggested holding a silent witness procession around Colton on the evening of the first service. Certain of the planning group, however, were mildly shocked at the thought. One middle-aged man became tired of our endless haggling but retained his sense of humour. He hustled us out of our seats and led us, pied piper style, in a parade around the back of the church. Marching us about singing, "Onward Christian Soldiers," in his croaking base voice seemed to break the ice. The witness procession was reluctantly agreed and allowed to go on.
On the afternoon of the march, the Vicar of Colton called me into his office. He was a giant of a man and towered over me. He thrust a neatly written letter into my hand with the words, "We've got to call it off!" "Episcopalians," it read, "do not do things like this. It is not dignified to parade our religion down the streets. It will ruin the church in Colton. I beg you to cancel it!" Reading these words made me more determined than ever. Without a moment's hesitation I vowed, "I consider this march like an appointment with God! We can't call it off any more than we could call off a celebration of holy communion!"
The day of the miracle, a sprightly ninety years old Bishop Gooden came early and became excited as he watched us preparing. Chuck Weidman, the Warden at Colton, paraded the Cross in front with our robed choir and people processing behind. The stately and dearly loved Bishop Gooden, with his shepherd's staff in hand, smiled and waved to the crowds as he passed by. "When I'm among the people out of doors," he confided later "I really feel I'm doing the work of an Apostle." "Our quiet witness with the Cross of Christ through town can touch sinners' hearts. It is what we become through Christ, not what we do ourselves that matter."
God blessed the Colton mission not with greater numbers, but with a refreshing newness of Spirit. Chuck Weidman, by carrying the Cross that night past the marbled entrance to his own Bank, was prompted to think about his own commitment to Christ. Later he left the banking business and joined the ranks of the Church Army to tell others of the Saviour who meant more to him than wealth. A strange reversal occurred. The lady who had written objecting so vehemently to the march in the first place, became a most enthusiastic supporter. We did not embarrass her by telling her that we had noticed her peering curiously around her curtains as the procession passed by!
San Diego's Power House
After Colton, the Bishop sent me to see a mission town on the outskirts of San Diego. Hidden from the main highway, the new housing estates of Poway lay in a natural dip surrounded by five hills. Going from door to door was easy for an evangelist. Every home, from the smallest apartment on the lower slopes to the palatial mansions on the hill top boulevards, was my field of action. Though we possessed no church or meeting place then, soon five "Jesus meetings" had sprung up in the different areas. Eventually these groups ventured out from the hillsides to worship together. This happened in a little shop front in Poway, over which hung the original electrical store sign, the "Power House."
God empowered us by our oneness in Christ, and warmed us by the Holy Spirit's presence among us. We were soon established as St. Bartholomew's Church, a community of Jesus people. Like Jesus, I liked to disappear at times into the high desert. The Joshua trees froze like the leader of Israel with his javelin outstretched in victory. In the sandy sparseness up there, I imagined I was back in Galilee. As the warm breeze wafted across the rocky landscape, my mind summoned up little flat roofed houses, with crowds milling around Jesus as he preached and healed the sick. During these excursions God was ministering to me personally and building me up for something even more wonderful. Its climax came one evening, when Louis Weist invited me to dinner at his home with a group of his friends, including an Episcopalian minister from Arsto.
The Holy Spirit's Gift in San Diego
Our discussion ranged everywhere that night, including the gifts of the Holy Spirit and speaking in tongues. I felt so embarrassed whenever this was mentioned, however, that I changed the subject immediately! My plan was succeeding. Suddenly the clergyman rounded on me to ask pointedly, "Do you believe in the gifts of the Holy Spirit or not, Ray?" He waited intently for my answer one way or the other. Hoping to divert his attention yet again I tried another trick. "Sure," I said casually, and began to turn away. "Then what about asking for the baptism of the Holy Spirit yourself."
Stunned by his directness, I garbled, "But it is not for me, I'm too proud!" In disbelief he asked me to repeat what I had said. "I'm too proud," I answered, then "I want to know what my lips are saying!" "You say that you're too proud, Ray, but isn't that a terrible sin? You have been an evangelist all these years!" The Lord had caught me in my own trap that night. I had always vowed that I would have nothing to do with this so-called "elitism of the Holy Spirit" without an Anglican priest being present. Yet here in Louis' sitting room was one challenging me now! Awake, I said, "I'm willing and open to any blessing God might have for me." At this, the minister, Louis, his wife and children gathered around my chair and laid their hands upon my head to pray for me.
Initially nothing happened until after an hour or two I felt my resistance melting and the fear ebbing away. From sheer joy I praised God with an open heart in the Spirit. That night in Louis Weist's, God plucked my vocal chords to orchestrate a heavenly language of praise that seemed to refresh me to the core of my being. My newly discovered blessing with the Holy Spirit of God remained with me although his gift of tongues ebbed away the next day. God taught me, a self-satisfied churchman as I was, a valuable lesson that night. He showed me that he could bless me anywhere and any time he chose, irrespective of the ministrations of the church. Later he gave me this gift of speaking in tongues again and then the continual blessing of the Holy Spirit's glow.
"You've gotta have a glory in the things you do, an alleluia chorus in the heart of you"