LAistory: Bonnie Brae St. and The Birth of Pentecostalism

In case you're a non-practicing something-or-other like myself, here's a little background: Traditional Pentecostals believe in the phenomenon known as speaking in tongues, or Glossolalia, as well as the sudden enlightened use of a language foreign to the speaker, otherwise known as Xenoglossy. (These do sound like they could be Scientology terms, I’ll admit.) In the Book of Acts in the Bible’s New Testament, the Day of the Pentecost is described as a vision of the Holy Spirit by a very large group of disciples who were assembled in a temple on Mount Sinai. They all testified to experiencing a divine wind throughout the chamber, as well as visions of fiery tongues, after which the crowd began speaking in languages they didn’t know. This event was determined to be the Descent of the Holy Spirit, and is hailed as a symbol of the extension of Christ in all of his believers. It's an experience that is especially important to Pentecostals. Their teachings emphasize the “personal experience of God” (Wiki), through which great wisdom, prophecy and miracle workings can all be exhibited by believers.

In 1901, a midwestern U.S. preacher by the name of Charles Fox Parham had begun to preach "that the 'Bible evidence' of the baptism with the Holy Spirit was speaking in tongues. He called his message the Apostolic Faith" (Religion-Online). Similar beliefs were spreading widely, and by 1905, there were reports of congregations around the world experiencing the phenomenon of Glossolalia. When a black Texas preacher and follower of Parham by the name of William J. Seymour, who reportedly had only one good eye, was invited to preach at a small church in Los Angeles, (9th St. & Santa Fe), he was initially banned for preaching Parham's beliefs. He quickly built up a following, however, preaching at the home of believers Richard and Ruth Asberry, at 214 North Bonnie Brae St. in Echo Park, near the corner of Alvarado St. and Beverly Blvd.

It was then that Seymour and his followers began to experience the phenomenon themselves:

"News of the events at North Bonnie Brae St. quickly circulated among the African American, Latino and White residents of the city, and for several nights, various speakers would preach to the crowds of curious and interested onlookers from the front porch of the Asberry home. Members of the audience included people from a broad spectrum of income levels and religious backgrounds... Soon the crowds became very large, and were full of people speaking in tongues, shouting, singing and moaning. Finally, the front porch collapsed, forcing the group to begin looking for a new meeting place." (Wiki)

The congregations moved into an abandoned African Methodist Episcopal Church at 312 Azusa St. (now part of the Japanese-American Cultural and Community Center, according to Wikipedia, but it's just an alley if you make the drive and the JACC's site has a San Pedro Street address), which had basically deteriorated into a barn or shack. The building was cleaned out and turned into a very modest place of worship called the Apostolic Faith Mission, where the first meeting of the famous Azusa Street Revival was held on April 14, 1906. It’s worth emphasizing that the members of this revival welcomed black, Latino, Asian and white followers, and even encouraged women to be leaders, obviously long before Women's Suffrage and the Civil Rights era. A newsletter called The Apostolic Faith publicized the revival widely, and the world took notice. Negative criticism of the inter-racial congregation was high, as well as skepticism on the part of other Christians, who claimed that the Pentecostals’ focus on the Holy Spirit instead of Christ was misguided, and disapproved of the wild activity of the revival. The meetings were called such lovely things as “the last vomit of Satan” and accused of being “founded by a Sodomite” (Wiki). The L.A. Times described them thus:

“Meetings are held in a tumble-down shack on Azusa Street, and the devotees of the weird doctrine practice the most fanatical rites, preach the wildest theories and work themselves into a state of mad excitement in their peculiar zeal. Colored people and a sprinkling of whites compose the congregation, and night is made hideous in the neighborhood by the howlings of the worshippers, who spend hours swaying forth and back in a nerve racking attitude of prayer and supplication. They claim to have the "gift of tongues" and be able to understand the babel.”

Another report:

“...disgraceful intermingling of the races...they cry and make howling noises all day and into the night. They run, jump, shake all over, shout to the top of their voice, spin around in circles, fall out on the sawdust blanketed floor jerking, kicking and rolling all over it. Some of them pass out and do not move for hours as though they were dead. These people appear to be mad, mentally deranged or under a spell. They claim to be filled with the spirit. They have a one eyed, illiterate, Negro as their preacher who stays on his knees much of the time with his head hidden between the wooden milk crates. He doesn't talk very much but at times he can be heard shouting, ‘Repent,’ and he's supposed to be running the thing.”

Charles Parham himself, a figure plagued with accusations of racism, denounced the Azusa Street Revival for its mixed congregation, calling it a “Horrible, awful shame!” (Wiki)

The revival’s notoriety and popularity had waned by 1913, and many who were devout followers eventually left to become evangelists. William J. Seymour died of a heart attack in 1922, and the Apostolic Faith Mission was torn down in 1938, but the house at Bonnie Brae St. still stands, although it was restored by the Pentecostal Heritage, Inc in 1985, and the front no longer resembles the black and white photographs. It is now owned by the First Jurisdiction of Southern California.

I went to visit on a Saturday, not knowing whether or not it would be open to the public, and managed to arrive just as a couple caretakers were arriving. With a gleam in their eyes, they immediately asked if we wanted to come in and see the house, and I knew we were in for some attempted convertin’, but I took the chance. The tiny house was quiet and cool, and we left our shoes out front as the caretakers did.

I was asked what church I belonged to, and I was quick to say Catholic, leaving out the non-practicing/not-really-anymore, because I knew belonging to a different church was bound to be a whole lot more acceptable than unwashed heathen. But I was told it was without doubt the Lord that had brought me to the house that day, because normally they weren't even open on Saturdays. The lady that spoke to us was one of such faith that she had an otherworldly aura about her, and I almost had to take a step backwards, to not fall in. There are videos here and here, and many more sites where you can hear all about the revival from the believers' point of view.

The Azusa Street revival was actually one of several similar incidents that occurred globally, as Pentecostal beliefs were spreading. There was a Welsh Revival and a Korean revival in 1904 and 1905, respectively, as well as some movements in Africa. But the Azusa Street Revival was one of the most highly publicized, and largely considered the birth of the movement. "And perhaps justifiably so: its immediate global impact, its widely circulated publications, and its networking role kept people aware of its message" (Religion-Online).

The specific focus of the Holy Spirit in the Apostolic Faith was later blended with traditional evangelism, the product being the modern, widespread version of Pentecostalism. But its beginnings are certainly a fascinating part of L.A.'s history. And it all started with a tiny little house, a one-eyed preacher from the south, and a rickety front porch full of people of all colors.

Black & white images courtesy of Wikipedia, Color images by Josh Gilpatrick for LAist