”The women should keep silence in the churches. . . . If there is anything they desire to know, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church.”
–I Corinthians 14:35-35.
Aquilla Wilkins picked up her Bible, headed out her hotel door and got in the Cadillac driven by the pastor of the Christian Assembly church in Oklahoma City.
At the church, a crowd was already filing in the front door. When the 47- year-old Wilkins arrived, she joined them, then ducked into a hallway leading to a back room. She raised her arms and hands above her shoulders and stared at the ceiling. She paced back and forth with her arms overhead.
”Excuse me,” she finally said. ”I have to go put on some makeup.”
In the auditorium were more than 500 people waiting for the 6:30 p.m. service to begin. ”It gives me great pleasure to introduce Aquilla Wilkins. . . . Let`s give Aquilla a great, big Oklahoma welcome,” said the pastor. The congregation burst into applause.
As Wilkins walked before the eager congregation, she went over the stories she might share that afternoon–stories about what she has seen in her mind`s eye that later have come true: that six years ago, she envisioned 100 acres of land off a lonely stretch of road in Longview, Tex.; that those acres now are the home of the Dove Christian Retreat and headquarters for her religious ministry, a ministry that features the ”gift of prophecy.”
That ”gift” qualifies Wilkins for membership in an elite sorority of evangelists. They are women who have succeeded in realms that have, through the years, always been the exclusive domain of men. They are women intimately involved with the supernatural, in the most dramatic and controversial kind of fundamentalist Christianity.
They crisscross the country in jets, delivering a swirling brand of religion that promises to heal the sick, bring angels to Earth and split the sky with giant shafts of light. They are the women with the power.
The Oklahoma City audience was diverse–like most of the crowds before which Wilkins and the other women involved in ”power ministries” appear. The audience seemed to be dominated by young people, mostly under 40.
Wilkins` warm reception was partly born out of familiarity. She was appearing for the third time at Christian Assembly. But, just two decades ago, this reaction probably wouldn`t have occurred in fundamentalist circles. Biblical passages and social mores seemed to indicate women should be barred from church altars, especially women who openly claimed to be in touch with higher powers.
In the years that the fundamentalist movement has sprung from America`s heartland, there have been only a few women evangelists who have found success. Perhaps the most famous are Mary Woodworth-Etter, who spread her gospel through the central United States in the early 1900s; Aimee Semple-McPherson, who was a popular California-based evangelist in the 1930s; and Kathryn Kuhlman, a Pittsburgh evangelist who rose to prominence from the 1950s through the 1970s.
Now, in the 1980s, there are a handful of women who have achieved a status that rivals their male counterparts. Texas and Oklahoma, in particular, are home to at least three women with national reputations: Wilkins, Frances Hunter of Houston and Vicki Jamison-Peterson of Tulsa, Okla.
While the number of women evangelists is small, their presence is no longer shocking. That may be because women have regularly appeared before millions of Americans on religious television shows, including the cherubic Tammy Faye Baker on the ”PTL Club” and Jan Crouch on the Trinity
Broadcasting Network.
Still, acceptance has not come easy. Wilkins and the other successful women talk about their humble beginnings, speaking before congregations in barns, small churches and under tents in sweltering heat. They recall a way of life far removed from their present whirlwind, coast-to-coast series of stops at handsome new churches, luxury hotels and good restaurants.
Wilkins began by preaching ”in a country church in Paris, Tex.,” about 20 years ago. Now she is a familiar face on TV, and she makes regular sojourns to Beverly Hills, Calif., to minister to celebrities such as Gavin MacLeod, Pat Boone and Eddie Fisher`s son Todd.
When she travels the country, she tells people things that God had told her would happen–a dangerous plane ride, the injury of her son in a household accident, a friend whose life was threatened by hoodlums.
Wilkins had been a bowling instructor in Durant, Okla. When her second son was born, complications set in a week after the birth. She came close to death and closer to religion.
”Never in my wildest fantasies did I ever imagine I would be doing what I`m doing right now,” Wilkins recalled. ”It would have been too overwhelming to stand up before masses of people. My mind couldn`t comprehend it.”
She was invited to small churches in Texas and Oklahoma to share her born-again experiences. And then the transition from full-time housewife–her husband is a Longview plumber–to minister was easy, she said.
”I don`t think my family has ever suffered from the ministry,” said Wilkins, whose two sons are grown. ”I believe a woman`s first call–from God, by the way–is to her family. I don`t think you will have to make a choice of obeying God or your family.”
Overhead, 19 stage lights beamed down on her. Clutching her microphone, she paced back and forth on the carpeted altar. Her voice dipped up and down in volume, never stuttering, never hesitating, always supremely confident.
”God has spoken to me so often,” she said, raising one hand. ”I believe we are embarking on the greatest revival, the greatest moving of God`s Holy Spirit, this world has ever known.”
Wilkins came to the front of the altar and stopped. She asked everyone to join hands. All the members of the congregation huddled closer to one another and locked hands. ”You`re saying, `Aquilla, I`m accepting Jesus for the first time,` ” said Wilkins, staring at her flock.
For two hours, Wilkins told stories. There was the man who walked into her office and dropped 826,000 Japanese yen (about $3,550 at recent exchange rates) on her desk, which she was able to convert into American money and pay some bills. She introduced a well-dressed couple in the front row; Wilkins had predicted the man would write a book. He beamed, faced the audience and announced that he was writing ”God`s Financial Plan.” She talked about her sons: ”I would not hesitate to lay down my life for my sons.”
Then, Wilkins said that she sensed a great hurt somewhere in the audience. A young woman in a blue dress began crying in the third row. Wilkins called the woman to her, touched the woman`s head, then placed her whole hand flat against the woman`s forehead.
The woman swayed, then fell straight back. Two church members caught her and lowered her to the floor. An usher ran to her side and gently placed a large piece of cloth over the woman`s legs to protect her modesty.
When the service was over, Wilkins shook hands and had private words for some of the faithful. She got back in the pastor`s Cadillac and went to a late-night restaurant for a cheeseburger. The next morning, Wilkins was at Will Rogers Airport, ready to return to Texas.
Charles and Frances Hunter, the high-powered team from Houston, are the Fred and Ethel of evangelism.
On this morning they had traveled to Dallas and were sitting in an office of the Greater Life Christian Center in suburban Farmers Branch, Tex. The pastor of the center, Bob Barker, is the Hunters` son-in-law.
Frances is 70 years old and a grandmother of eight. She and Charles, a 64-year-old former accountant, were up at 5 a.m. so they could get back to Dallas from Pittsburgh. For the last three weeks, they had been on the road.
”Believe it or not,” said Frances, in her loud, gravelly voice,
”evangelism is not the easiest thing in the world to do.”
”Eighty-five to 90 percent of the people who come to us at a miracle service are healed on the spot,” Frances said.
She called herself a ”living example” and described how Charles and others had called out for Jesus to cure her enlarged heart, her bursting headaches, her high blood pressure, her diabetes, her troubled pancreas.
”In Jesus` name, I command a new pancreas,” Charles remembered saying to Frances while he stared down at her on the bed.
”She`s got more new parts than originals,” he said, chuckling.
Frances has been saved for 19 years. Before that, before she and Charles met and began writing the first of their 40 books, she ran a printing shop in Miami.
She drank martinis, smoked five packs of cigarettes a day, ”knew more dirty jokes than anyone” and raised hell instead of condemning it. Then a cataract left her blind in her left eye. She got drunk before going to the hospital for surgery. She looked at a Bible while waiting for the operation. Two pages were blank. Then, on one of those pages, her name suddenly appeared written in blood. On the other page, also in blood, was written, ”I Love You.”
With that, Frances became an ”instant fanatic.” Now, she said, since God came to her in a supernatural way, she has a ”supernatural ministry.”
Though she has been part of a small minority, she said she has never experienced any resistance to being a woman in ministry. ”Some churches have hang-ups about women being in the ministry. There are some women who experience resistance, but I never have,” she said.
She believes women bring special characteristics to the supernatural:
”Women, for the most part, have a more compassionate heart, (are) more sensitive to the gospel than men are. But in our family, Charles and I are on an equal basis.”
Now Charles and Frances oversee the City of Light ministry on 85 acres of land in Kingwood, a Houston suburb. There, a staff of 11 full-time employees handles the production and sales of the Hunters` 40 books (including ”Angels on Assignment,” ”God`s Answer to Fat” and the ”Skinnie Minnie Recipe Book”), the 40 videotapes that they offer (including ”Getting Your Acts Together”) and the Hunters` busy traveling schedule.
Their schedule from May 29 to Nov. 17 was booked with visits to Oklahoma, Ohio, Florida, Nebraska, California, Kansas, North Dakota, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, Georgia, Missouri, Massachusetts, Louisiana, Ontario and Manitoba. There were about 250 people in the congregation, many of whom had never seen the Hunters before, at the modest Sunday service that Charles and Frances were attending in Dallas at the Greater Life Christian Center.
Frances commanded the altar area, and the congregation was fixated on her homespun, down-to-earth delivery. Charles sat with the congregation for much of the service, then took some members to a back room for private ministry.
”I want you to pray, to be obedient to God,” Frances shouted as she asked for people to donate money to her ministry. ”If he tells you to put in a million dollars, what are you going to put in?”
The audience yelled back: ”A million dollars.”
Frances told anecdotes, called people to the front, admonished those who hadn`t read any of her books and even tossed some of the books into the crowd. People tossed the books back and forth to each other.
She led the congregation through a sinner`s prayer: ”I don`t want to go to hell, I want to go to heaven. But Father, I keep having that tacky junk in my life. I call it junk, you call it sin.”
She told everyone to yell out, ”I`m saved.” Finally, she announced that she wanted people to come to the front and tell her ”what you want Jesus to do.”
Children streamed to the front. Frances put her hand on a young girl`s face until it was almost completely covered. ”You get a double dose,” she said with a smile.
Adults crowded in front of Frances. She stood inches away from them, face to face.
”What do you want from Jesus?” she asked a young man in a three-piece suit. He told Frances that he wanted a master`s degree in business
administration. Frances covered the man`s face with her hand. He fell back, two men caught him and lowered him to the concrete floor. The man smiled and stayed on his back for several minutes.
Frances turned to face other requests: a woman who wanted a ”boy baby,” a man who wanted to pay off some bills, an elderly woman who wanted the pain in her neck removed, a man who wanted ”to be more bold.”
With each request, Frances laid her hands on the person`s forehead and face. They fell back. One woman lay down and immediately began laughing loudly. She stood up and embraced anyone who was standing by.
The service over, Frances leaned against a piano on the altar. ”Great things can happen, don`t you think?” she said.
Vicki Jamison-Peterson says she first realized, in September 1972, that she had to follow Jesus. A homemaker at the time, she said, she was at a
”ladies` luncheon” in Dallas that was affiliated with the Full Gospel Businessmen`s group. Suddenly, without understanding why she was doing it, she walked to the front of the group and stared at the audience. Whenever she pointed at someone, the person keeled over.
Women began falling on top of each other, until they were piled three and four deep. Her mother and mother-in-law came to the front with her and began aiming her at the audience. Wherever they pointed her, people collapsed.
As she left the stage, anyone near her also fell. ”This was supposed to be a nice, orderly ladies` luncheon, and there were piles of people on the floor. There were waiters and waitresses coming in and they were falling,”
said Jamison-Peterson, who is 48. ”I walked out the door to the elevator, and everyone I passed fell to the floor. I went into shock and said, `I`m dangerous.` ”
From that point on, Jamison-Peterson began her traveling miracle ministry.
Her headquarters are in Tulsa, Okla., where six people run her office, though for several years she had based her operations in Dallas. She estimates that 15 days of every month she is on the road. For years, she has lived a life of being away from her home for weeks on end, flying from one end of the country to another for one-night services.
Jamison-Peterson said she prefers not to call herself an evangelist. ”It raises questions in people`s minds. It has connotations.” Instead, she would rather be known as a minister.
She said she has thought a lot about the role of women in ministry work, especially in the kind of ”miracle” work that Frances Hunter and Aquilla Wilkins and she specialize in.
”There really aren`t many women doing this kind of work right now,” she said. ”I think in the future we will see more. You know, why aren`t there more women who are in medicine? Why aren`t there more women who are rabbis? I think some people have misinterpreted the Bible. They read into it, thinking that women shouldn`t be out there. But the realm of the spiritual is the same as the natural. We are saying, `Okay, fellas, it`s time for us.` ”
She remembers when she began in the ministry in 1973. After people found out a woman was to address a service, they canceled her appearance. ”But I think the fact that I have survived 13 years shows that I have gotten over any anger, (over) thinking, `Why is it so hard for women?` ”
Jamison-Peterson was sitting in a back room at the Word of Life church in Round Rock, Texas, just outside Austin.
Two hours earlier, she was standing before about 500 parishioners reciting a long list of problems and parts of the body that she said she would heal: the pituitary gland, deafness, cataracts, sinus cavities, the esophagus, the liver, the kidney, the hips, the ankles, the toes, the blood vessels, epileptic seizures, allergies, hernia, tumors, the gums, vocal chords, facial structure.
Rather than laying hands on everyone, she went around the room, had people stand up, then prayed out loud that they be healed. On occasion, she broke into a religious song, accompanied by a woman on the piano. She called three people to the front of the room, including one man who had ”growths on his eyelids.”
She asked for someone to bring her a mirror. She handed it to the man and told him to see for himself that the little growths had shrunk and were on the verge of falling off. He smiled and returned to his seat.
She wheeled around. ”Is there anyone experiencing any problems with your hips today?” Someone answered, and she offered another prayer.
After the service was over, Jamison-Peterson relaxed in the back room, applied some lipstick and sipped water.
”I don`t deal with skeptics,” she said. ”If they don`t want to believe, not all of us are believers. Why should I be disturbed over that?”
Her husband, Carl, a professor of psychiatry at the Oral Roberts University School of Medicine, was sitting nearby. He accompanies her on many of her engagements.
”They need a contrast,” she said of her audiences. ”We have something to reach everyone in ministry. That`s why the Lord has Frances and Aquilla. We are each projecting an aspect of Him. That`s religious freedom.”
