The Camp Meeting

When I was a boy the Camp Meeting era was nearing its end. For many years various denominations had taken their pulpits and saints to the woods for a season of revival, living in tents, cooking, eating and sleeping in shaded groves for several weeks. Preaching services were held in what was known as brush arbors, structures that were made from timbers and brush that were near at hand. The arbors were open on all sides. Seating facilities consisted of logs or of rough oak boards from some nearby sawmill. Protection from the sun was afforded by brush that had been laid across poles that used as a roof.

People flocked to the camp meetings from far and near, some families taking picnic dinners and suppers, others preparing their food on the grounds. Some who went to scoff and have fun remained to pray, for the preachers constantly warned their hearers to flee from the wrath that was to overtake unrepentant sinners on Judgment day, when sheep were to be separated from the goats. Services continued through most of the day and well into the night. People in the congregation spoke as the spirit moved them, each service being punctuated with prayers, testimonials and exhortations from men and women out in front. Only a very hardened individual could fail to be humbled and impressed by what he saw and heard. Many of our rural churches owed their existence to converts that made in those camp meetings.

The last to hold camp meetings in our county were the Holiness people. In fact, the custom continues to linger with them. Every summer, even in the living present, they hold a state convention in the Mark Twain State Park 12 miles east of Paris. People come from a dozen other states, as well as from all parts of Missouri. They camp on the ground for three weeks. Except for brief periods for cooking and eating, preaching services continue from 10 in the morning until 10 at night. The general public is invited, and many outsiders attend, some because of spiritual interest, others out of curiosity.

Back in the late eighties the Holiness people held a camp meeting at Victor, 10 miles southeast of Paris. Among their converts was Del Calhoon, the village blacksmith, who previously was more disposed to scoff than to profess. With his conversion came an intense disposition to do his share towards evangelizing the regions round about. For many weeks he held Holiness meetings in nearby towns and villages, amazing the public with his knowledge of the Scriptures and his talents fro preaching. When it came to giving reasons for the faith that was in him he never was at a loss for Bible quotations with which to fortify his contention that through repentance, faith and Godly living it was possible to attain to perfection. After an absence of three or four months the old blacksmith returned to his village. He found his family in want and his business all gone. The next day his shop was open and the anvil ringing merry tunes from his hammer. Asked why he had gone back to work, Mr. Calhoon replied that while he was out attending to the Lord’s business the Lord had been neglecting his.

The Holiness people were inconstant disfavor with what was known as the more orthodox sects. Everybody agreed, however, that most of them came about as near showing their faith by their works as was humanly possible. When critics said it was impossible to live perfect lives they retaliated by quoting the Savior’s admonition: “Be ye perfect, even as I am perfect.”

In those camp meetings, and in “protracted meetings” orthodox sects held in houses of worship, what always had, and what always will be recognized as the way of salvation—repentance and a faith which manifests itself by good works—was stressed. Revivals often were characterized by the testimonials of new converts or by people who had been on the rolls for many years.

I recall the case of Coleman Trussell, who professed conversion in our Baptist church during one of those meetings. His family and the Henning family lived on neighboring farms just west of town.

For years there had been constant strife because of a piece of road along their places. The morning after he became a professed Chrisitan, Mr. Trussell went to the Henning home, expressed regret over his part in the feud, begged forgiveness and promised to be a better neighbor in the future. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between the families and a vindication of the Scripture which admonished converts to bring forth fruits mete for repentance.

These revival meetings would result in much personal work. Practically every unconverted person in the community would be visited, first and last, by members of the church or a minister, or both. My mother, a very modest woman who insisted that a woman’s place was in the home, always discarded this philosophy when a revival meeting was in progress at her Church. Every day, after the afternoon service, she would spend an hour or two talking with unconverted people and pleading with them to turn from the error of their ways. I believe that a comparison of results in present day revivals with those of that day would vindicate people who now claim that the only remedy for pews that are empty because people won’t go to church is to go back to the old custom of taking the Church to the people.