One Saturday when I was seventeen or eighteen, I had an unusual religious experience. I was serving on my church’s board of deacons, and one of the middle-aged members of the board was driving me around so we could drop in and visit some older members of our church. This was during the late seventies, at a time when our congregation was going through some turmoil. A number of people had been caught up in the charismatic movement that was going through a number of churches. They started a Sunday night praise service, sang Scripture songs, and prayed with their hands in the air. The deacon who was driving me around that day was very involved in the movement.

So there we were, driving around the countryside, supposedly visiting shut-ins. We turned down an unmarked dirt road, and to a little …