The Heritage

I was born and raised in a rural section of Pennsylvania Dutch country in the eastern part of the state. Belfast United Methodist Church had an average attendance of about 100 every Sunday, and shared a pastor with another Methodist congregation located in Wind Gap, near the Pocono Mountains. Our pastor was typically a seminary student from Drew University in New Jersey. Our family had been a part of that congregation for generations. My father, in addition to being a Boy Scout leader and a baseball coach, was an integral part of the local church. He was Sunday School Superintendent for 27 years, and racked up 43 years of perfect attendance pins in the 52 years before God called him into the ministry. I have those pins mounted in a frame as a testimony to his commitment to consistency and reliability. At the age of 52, God spoke audibly three times to my father while he was at work at Laros Printing. After that moving experience, he entered the lay ministry in the Methodist church, pastoring three small country churches in the Poconos. My mother and I traveled with him every Sunday. On our very first Sunday, an ice storm struck the region. As we came over the top of the final hill before the first of the three churches, the car went out of control on the icy road, went sideways in the road, and slid, still sideways, between the two stone embankments of the little one-car-wide bridge at the bottom of the hill. When the car finally came to a stop in the snow bank beyond the bridge, my father jumped out of the car without a word, and opened the trunk of the car. Curious, I followed him to see what he intended to do. Rummaging through the tools in the trunk, he found a twenty-five foot tape measure. First he carefully measured the exact length of the old green Impala that we were driving. Then he walked to the bridge and measured the inside dimensions of the bridge, from stone abutment to stone abutment. He stood there silently for a second, then looked at me and softly said "An inch and a quarter". Without another word, he walked back to the trunk of the car, placed the tape measure back in the trunk, motioned for me to get in, started the car, and drove the remaining 150 yards to the church, where he preached his very first public sermon. I knew then that if my father could preach the Gospel after that experience, he could make it through anything.

Three years later, an opportunity opened up for him near Vincennes, Indiana in a little two-point charge. He accepted the position, took an $8,000-a-year pay cut, and moved. $8,000 is a great deal of money even today. It was a great deal more back in 1965. I finished my senior year in high school living with my grandparents, then moved to Decker, Indiana to join my parents. That fall I began college at the University Of Evansville.
My father continued in the ministry until he was 80. His faithfulness and willingness to serve God under difficult circumstances was, and still is, an inspiration to me and a standard that I strive to live up to. He suffered through hardships and difficulties that would have broken most other men. Yet, in his retirement sermon, he made this comment : "If I had to go through everything I've been through all over again to come to where I am now, it would still be worth it all". That statement of faith and commitment has been a rallying cry for me ever since then. I am eternally grateful that I am the son of such a man.

The Conversion Experience

Many Christians, particularly those who were once far away from God, often have dramatic conversion experiences. Because such enormous changes occur in such a short time, the events are traumatic (in a positive sense), and produce sweeping, intense emotions. For those of us who have been raised up in church, and whose lives have always centered around the Gospel Of Jesus Christ, often the conversion occurs incrementally, over an extended period of time. In my case, I can clearly recall the first time that the Lord dealt with me, at the age of 7. Our family was at home one evening, watching our black-and-white TV. A Billy Graham crusade was on. I had heard him several times before, but on this particular occasion, he seemed to be speaking directly to me. At the end of the crusade broadcast, he made his now-famous invitation. As he did, I felt my heart "strangely warmed", as John Wesley put it, and began to cry for reasons totally unknown to me. I prayed the prayer of salvation with him. Although my parents urged me to write to him, I never did. From that day on, however, the Gospel became increasingly more important to me. When I was confirmed at the age of 13, I marveled at the other young people who were being confirmed with me. It seemed to me that this event meant nothing to them, yet it meant everything to me. Although I was a typical boy growing up, church and the Gospel always held a special place in my heart.

The Personal Encounter

When I was 16, our family took our summer vacation to travel to Illinois to visit another pastor with whom my father had become friends while taking seminary classes. They had a beautiful 16-year-old daughter, and the two of us immediately hit it off. Looking for a pretext to be together, I asked my father if we could borrow the car to go look at her dad's churches. To this day, I do not know if I pulled the wool over my father's eyes or not. Somehow, I suspect not. But dad was gracious enough to let us use the car. We drove to the first little country church and unlocked the front door. The inside of the church was dark and musty, with the kind of smell that comes from only being used once a week. Only a few random sunbeams came through the stained glass windows, granting enough light for us to make our way down to the front of the church sanctuary. I'm not sure how pure our motives were, or what would have happened had we been there long enough by ourselves, but suddenly God changed all of that. Without any warning, the entire sanctuary was filled with golden, blinding light. The light wasn't actually coming from any one direction. It was as if the air itself was supercharged with energy, and glowing under the power contained in it. I found myself unable to move, locked into place where I stood, with arms and legs frozen where they had been at the point when the light invaded the sanctuary. I was able to move my eyes, however, and I could see that the young lady with me was also frozen in place. Both of us were weeping, but not with fear. As I stood there, I was bathed in the most amazing combination of power and love I had ever felt in my life. The power was like what you see at ground zero of a nuclear blast. It literally poured through my body. I knew somehow that if God were not protecting me, I would have simply ceased to exist, my atoms scattered to the winds by the power and force contained in that room. Yet wrapped around me and protecting me was a sort of cocoon or force field, protecting me from the damaging aspects of the Divine energy. At the same time, I felt a sense of overwhelming love; love so unconditional and so deep that I knew instinctively that nothing I could ever do would ever separate me from that love. How long that incredible experience continued, I do not know. Time seemed to stand still. Finally, the presence of God began to lessen in the room, and the young lady and I were able to slump exhausted into a nearby pew. We shared with one another what each of us had felt, and, to our mutual amazement, found that we had both experienced the same exact event. Shaken by the experience, and uncertain what to do with it, we locked the church back up and headed back to her father's house. I didn't speak to my parents about what had happened, but I certainly "hid the matter in my heart". In the months that followed, I experienced a growing conviction that I was called into the ministry. This coincided with pending arrangements to go to college, and so when I enrolled at the University Of Evansville, I entered what was called the Pre-Theology curriculum, designed for individuals who intended to go on to seminary after their four-year education.

The Prodigal Leaves

Proverbs says, "Raise up a child in the way that he shall go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it". While I totally agree with Solomon about the "when he is old" part, I do wish that he had added that "in between, teenagers tend to go astray". When I arrived at college, I had church background, and a personal experience, but no real Scriptural background to anchor me in my faith. Many of my professors openly mocked the things of God, including the atheistic communist who taught philosophy within the theology department itself. Without an anchor, and with the Vietnam War, drugs and political activism all pulling on me, I quickly became immersed in the hippie culture of the day. I remember giving a ride to a person who had just come from an "…awesome rock concert on some dude's farm, man!" A few days later, Woodstock would hit all the tabloids. Influenced by ungodly peers and instructors, and with no true men of faith anywhere near me, I went from an academic and football scholarship to a near dropout in just a few years. I actually flunked one entire year of college, just by simply not showing up for class. Finally, I started to get my academics straightened out, and retook all the courses I had previously failed. In my final four quarters at the university, I pulled a 4.0, 4.0, 3.75 and 4.0, moving my graduating average from a 1.67 on a 4.00 scale to a 2.31, all with senior hours. I ended up marrying, and actually pastoring a little two-point charge myself in Warrick County, just outside of Boonville. Despite my total lack of experience, and my very limited spirituality, the larger of the two churches grew rapidly. I guess I was just the right person at the right time. I had all my graduation matters settled, except for one class, and had been accepted at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, DC. It was at that point in time that I made the greatest mistake of my life, and one which I have deeply regretted for decades. I decided not to go on to seminary, but rather to take a secular job. Like Jonah, I decided to run from God. Like Jonah, I found that it just doesn't work. My life, cut off from any active involvement in church, became ungodly, profane and carnal. Although I worked a steady job, I was clearly not the kind of man I could be, nor was I serving God in any capacity.

The Prodigal Returns

All of that came crashing to a halt at the age of 25. My wife was pregnant for the first time, and everything seemed to be going well. Then, suddenly, without warning, early on a Thanksgiving morning, my wife went into labor. She gave birth to a stillborn son in the downstairs bathroom before she even realized what had happened. We rushed her to the hospital, only to have our family doctor ask me if I was sure she had miscarried. I became very angry with him, insisting that she had indeed given birth. "Well", he said, "then there must have been two, because there's still a child inside of her!" A few hours later, she would give birth to another child, also a boy. Tragically, because he was only 6 ½ months into term, the child's lungs were not fully developed. He struggled for survival for 8 hours, and then also died. We would later on discover that the twin that had died in utero had not developed a complete umbilical cord. It had sustained the child for about six months, and then the child had died for lack of nutrition and oxygen. When the mother's body moved to expel the dead child in order to protect itself, it also forced the normal twin into delivery prematurely. When I left the hospital later on that day, I went home and fell on a mattress on the floor, crying "Why?" to heaven. As I lay there weeping, it dawned on me that there was a barrier between God and I, and that I had erected it, not Him. After my wife recovered enough to come home from the hospital, we began to attend Oak Hill Presbyterian Church in Evansville. Oak Hill was pastored by one of the finest Biblical expositors I have ever met in my life, Dr. Stanley Meckel. Every Sunday, he would take his place behind the pulpit, open his Bible, and instruct us to open ours (and everyone in that church had one!) to the same place in the Scriptures. He would then teach the Word Of God clearly, methodically and logically for about 45 minutes. When he was done, he would close his Bible and remind us to come back next week for the next installment. He had a church full of born-again, Spirit-filled Christian men. While there had been many men in the church I grew up in, it had always been the women who were the more spiritual of the two groups. I had never really seen any man totally on fire for Jesus Christ. And these men were intelligent, competent professionals who held jobs of responsibility and accountability! It was a totally new experience for me, and I quickly embraced it. As my life began to change, I began to study the Bible. I was later asked to teach the high school class in Sunday School. I grew spiritually by leaps and bounds.

Leaving Ur of the Chaldees

In the midst of all this growth, a job opportunity opened up in Jasper, Indiana. We were sad to leave the church, but knew that God had opened the door for us. After we relocated in Jasper, we searched for a church similar to the one we had left. None of them had the depth of the Word of God or the evangelical energy of the church we had left. Finally, we settled on Salem UCC in Huntingburg. Although the congregation wasn't as deep as Oak Hill, the pastor, Ken Scherry, was a marvelous, loving man of God who was very open to the things of God. We immediately formed a close personal friendship with him, and became active in the church at all levels. I became a Sunday School teacher, a member of the choir, the baritone voice in a Gospel quartet, and involved myself in computerizing the church office records. For almost a decade, we were happy there, and still count as friends many members of the congregation.

We Have Not Even Heard That There Be A Holy Spirit

During our association with Salem, we became close friends with a group of individuals who were experiencing rapid spiritual growth. A Bible study group spontaneously formed among about 8 of us. One day as we were praying, one of our members began to take authority over satan, rebuking him and commanding him to loose his hold over certain issues. Then, without warning, she moved from English into a language which I did not recognize. Although I did not recognize the specific language, I am enough of a linguistics scholar to know that it was a real language, with syntax and grammar, and that it was clearly some sort of Slavic tongue, based on the consonant and vowel combinations used. After we were done praying, I asked her what in the world that other language was that she had used during the prayer. "Oh", she said, "that was my prayer language!" I had never heard of such a thing, and asked her to explain to me what she meant. She took me to certain Scriptures in the Book of Acts and in I Corinthians that I had never really read before. I was amazed, fascinated and curious. Clearly, she had a stronger relationship with Christ than I had seen in anyone in a long time, and I was hungry for more of God. I knew that the powerlessness of my life did not match what I had already been reading in the Book of Acts and the Epistles, and I was at a loss to explain why I felt so empty, when these people I read about seemed so full. This triggered a month-long search of the Scriptures, visits to Bible studies, Full Gospel Businessmen Meetings, and other activities until I finally received the Baptism of the Holy Spirit in Evansville at a FGBMFI meeting. It was the most amazing, electrifying, energizing experience I had encountered since I was 16 and met God in that little country church. The presence of God stayed on me almost constantly for about six months. I began teaching with a new power and energy that I had never had before. And the call to preach that I thought had left me came back to me with full conviction. I began to preach again in the Methodist Church, holding down two separate two-point charges, one early on, the other later. We saw healings, miracles, and extraordinary moves of God, often accompanied by large numbers of people wanting to be baptized. We saw people healed in the water as they were baptized. We saw grown men run crying to the front of the church to give their lives to Christ. It was a wonderful time. But we also saw people harden their hearts to the things of God, and turn on us and betray us. Eventually, broken hearted, we left the two-point charge. The church that had turned its back on the things of God was a plowed field within two years. Attendance dropped from 35 to 6, all the people who had been touched by God left, leaving the church in the hands of the hard-hearted ones who had turned their backs on God. Soon the church had closed, and a local farmer with fields behind the church bought the property, tore the building down, and planted corn.

We returned to Jasper, and started a Full-Gospel church there called The House Of The Lord. It enjoyed moderate success, and, coupled with my involvement in the Full Gospel Businessman's Fellowship, kept me quite busy in the ministry. In the midst of all this, however, two problems began to surface that would eventually cause major problems. Emotionally damaged by the hurt we had suffered in the churches, and disgusted by the irrational, amoral conduct of many individuals who called themselves "Spirit-filled", my wife drew back from the ministry. This began a breach in our marriage that would eventually end in a horrible, hurtful divorce. Serious mistakes in conduct were made by both parties, and prices were paid for those mistakes. I remarried shortly after the divorce was final to my current wife, who, although she sometimes has health problems, remains committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and to the ministry. She is used by God in the healing ministry, and has ministered powerfully to Women's Groups, due to the fact that she tragically lost a 17-year-old daughter some years ago.

Do Again The First Works

After a period of time, we once again began to minister in various places, largely as visiting evangelists. We saw God do many wonderful things, and many people were healed and many lives were changed. But evangelism doors did not stay open, and we began praying about starting another church. As I was praying about the matter, I was contacted out of the blue by a group of believers in the Milltown area about being their pastor. To this day, I still don't know how they heard of me, but they were eager for the deep things of God, and wanted us to be the pastors of a new work. So in August of 1993, Cornerstone Christian Fellowship of Depauw, Indiana was born. Again, the church experienced a remarkable number of miracles, healings, signs and wonders. 27 people were baptized in one session at Graceland Baptist, even through I had never preached a sermon on baptism. A 14-year-old boy who was close to legally blind was spontaneously healed as he came out of the water, even though we weren't praying for healing during the service. Individuals with congestive heart failure were healed, backs and legs were instantly healed, and many other remarkable events occurred. Yet in all of this, the consistent carnality of the Full Gospel movement managed to destroy the effects of one miracle after another. We saw family after family and individual after individual receive miracles from God, only to backslide shortly thereafter. It broke our hearts, but we "took a licking, and kept on ticking". Our church was typical of the average Full Gospel church, which turns its entire membership over every two years. Because of my upbringing, and the shining example which my father had given me of faithfulness and reliability under pressure, I had difficulty understanding how so many people in mainline churches who had never experienced the power and grace of God could remain faithful year after year, doing so much while receiving back so little, yet individuals who received deliverance from drugs, alcohol, perversion, were saved, healed and filled with the Holy Spirit could so quickly turn their backs on God. The church continued to operate effectively, despite no stable location, and frequent betrayal and manipulation by other so-called believers.

Brothers Dwelling Together In Unity

After several years, we began to encounter a number of very significant indicators that pointed to a great move of God which will take place within the coming decade. One of the more remarkable events centered around a prophetic ministry with which we are close friends, an evangelist and missionary to Africa, and a remarkable prophecy from a tribesman in Kenya who knew nothing about American geography, could not speak or write English, yet described the Louisville, KY area and the Ohio River Valley in vivid detail. This area, he said, would be the site of the final great outpouring of the Holy Spirit before the return of Christ, the Final Great Awakening. What followed in the ensuing months was almost as remarkable, as prophecy after prophecy from minister after minister and ministry after ministry came pouring in. None of the individuals giving these words knew one another, yet all said the very same thing : that the metropolitan Louisville area would eventually become ground zero for the Final Great Awakening before the return of Jesus Christ and the snatching away of the church. At the same time, radio and TV ministry opportunities began to open us for us in Jeffersonville. We began traveling to Jeffersonville to record every Saturday, then back to Depauw to hold church services on Sunday. Finally, an opportunity to move to Jeffersonville arose. An old white Christian Church, located downtown in Jeffersonville, near the Presbyterian church and St. Augustine Catholic Church was available for sale. Although we had no money, the owners were willing to sell on contract, and to accept "sweat equity" as rent payments. The church building was in horrible shape, and needed every form of repair possible. The ceiling of the sanctuary had fallen down in three separate places, there was no heating plant in the building, and literally thousands of Indiana brown bats filled not only the attic of the church, but also the walls and ceilings on the lower floors. As a missionary effort, we moved from the Depauw area (we had moved from Jasper a year before), and actually began to live in the church, in the educational building, on the second floor. God had given us a vision for cooperative ministry, and before long two other churches, both Black Pentecostal, had joined forces with us to help rehabilitate the facility. We had not sought them out, but both pastors had been told by the Holy Spirit to come and ask us if we would be willing to share our facility with them. Oddly enough, we had been praying about God sending other ministries to us so that we could share our facility. With 8,000 square feet, there was clearly enough room to go around. All three ministries worked hand in hand rebuilding the church. During that remarkable time, we saw over 70 documentable miracles in one year. Services began at 10:00 in the morning on Sunday and ran almost non-stop till 10:00 at night, as the three different congregations staggered their worship services. Marvelous things happened, but we suffered greatly. The owners of the building broke every promise they made to us, including not installing a heating plant in the sanctuary and in our apartment. That winter was one of the coldest, most bitter winters in recent memory. With no heating, we were forced to try and use freestanding kerosene heaters. When my wife developed kerosene poisoning, she had to be hospitalized for over a week. Desperate, we used space heaters to try and keep the apartment warm. The temperature dropped to 40 degrees in the apartment. All of our bathroom facilities froze up. Somehow, we survived. It was the most difficult time in my life, yet the best at the same time. In the meanwhile, the owners of the building had successfully mismanaged themselves into a $250,000 back tax lien by the IRS. In an attempt to quick-fix the problem, they tried to sell the building, which they were also buying on contract, from underneath the three churches. Since none of us were large enough, individually or collectively, to afford the $2,000 per month they wanted in rent, we were forced out. Ironically, they never were able to sell the building, and ended up defaulting on the contract to the previous owner, a retired, backslidden evangelist who wasn't interested in helping anyone but himself. We ended up sick, exhausted and emotionally drained by the whole experience. We managed to find a rental home, which we lived in, and found another place for the church. Since then, the pattern has continued : wonderful acts of grace by God towards unstable individuals, no appreciable financial support, and no stable place to plant and grow. After eight years in the pastoral ministry, with all of our efforts directed toward the most unstable elements of society, we grew weary. We made a decision to close the pastoral portion of our ministry for the time being, and concentrate on our electronic media ministry, which had experienced a reasonable degree of success.

Come Over Here And Help Us

Because of my 30-year vocational background in the computer industry, we have always tended to be on the cutting edge of technology. I am a firm believer in using every means possible to promote the Gospel of Jesus Christ. As we began to close down the pastoral portion of the ministry, we began to experience significant success in the area of radio. We aired a one-hour program every week at 7:00 AM on Sundays on WLOU, one of the Black Christian radio stations in the Louisville area, for over two years. We saw many remarkable miracles over the air, both during and after the broadcast taping sessions. In addition, we began to send out E-Pistles, a regular weekly email newsletter dedicated to a variety of topics. Our subscriber list grew steadily, with very positive feedback from our reading audience. In addition, our web site, www.schooloftheprophets.com, was constantly under development, courtesy of our brilliant "web-servant" friend, LaVella Kraft. Some of our E-Pistle articles eventually find their way onto the web site. What began as a simple Friday night Bible study in New Albany, IN, eventually turned into a completely separate ministry, called A Place Of Love, which we co-pastored along with our good friends, Owen and Lindsey Wilson. A Place Of Love moved into a 5,600 square foot facility in downtown New Albany. It housed a sanctuary capable of handling about 70 people, along with a complete furniture, food and clothing helps distribution ministry. Owen also handled the Prison Ministry outreach. At the very first service, 20 prisoners dedicated or rededicated their lives to Christ, and 8 were baptized in only 6 services. Some months later, we participated as workshop leaders in the Women At The Well Conference hosted in New Albany by our dear friends L. Eugene and Tammela Vaughn of Diarfa Gospel Ministries in Cincinnati. The explosive manifestation of the Holy Spirit which followed catapulted us to Cincinnati, where we were guests on a TV program hosted by Angela Phillips. That led to a one-day, all-day revival at Ammons United Methodist Church, a Black Spirit-filled church located in the Walnut Hills area of Cincinnati, in which we were the keynote speakers. The power of God was again so strongly manifested that we entered into a working relationship with Dr. Frederick Heath, Jr., pastor of the church. That relationship eventually led to a series of speaking engagements at Calvary United Methodist Church in Milford, OH. After several months of preaching on a week-to-week basis, the church offered us the position of pastor in December of 2002. We accepted the position, and began to commute back and forth between Jeffersonville and Milford. We moved to Milford in March of 2003. Calvary was a Spirit-filled, Black United Methodist Church, and the church grew dramatically during the next two years. Over 60 new members were added, and modern-day giving records were set. God greatly blessed all of us in the process. Multiple signs, wonders and miracles attended this rapid growth. Dozens of documentable miracles occurred, and many lives were permanently changed. But then, just as we though we had come to a point where we could settle down and dig in, tragedy struck again.

A Time Of Suffering

In the fall of 2004, I developed a severe sore throat. I was going night and day, and had worked myself into a state of near-exhaustion. The sore throat eventually developed into a strep throat, and then the infection migrated into my Eustachian tube on the right hand side of my face, and from there into my ear. I began to experience severe ear infections, so bad that I would be up at three in the morning crying in pain. At the same time, Bev's mom, who had been in failing health, took a severe turn for the worse, and Bev had to travel the four hours from Milford to Evansville, IN, to be with her. As her mom's health deteriorated, so did mine. Bev stretched to try and do the impossible and drove constantly between Evansville and Milford. All of us were totally exhausted and totally stressed out. I went from doctor to doctor, trying to find out both the source and the cure of these constant ear infections. At the same time, the leaders of the church had begun to weary of the move of God and wanted to go back to the old ways of doing things. There were constant complaints about the Contemporary service where all the miracles occurred. The service was too long. It was too loud. The people didn't give enough. The utilities were too high. Maintaining two separate choir directors cost too much. An endless string of complaints only added to the stress and trauma. Then, in November of 2004, the bottom fell out of the barrel. It was a typical Sunday. We had arrived at the church at about 9:00, in preparation for the 9:30 Traditional Service. We went through the Traditional Service, and then had the Contemporary Service, which typically ran for two to three hours, with passionate praise and worship. After both services, a core group of believers often "took the show on the road" to the local Golden Corral restaurant. That Sunday was no exception. But while we were at Golden Corral, I began to feel bad, and began to experience pains in my chest. We finished eating, and then excused ourselves and returned to the parsonage. I laid down on the sofa in hopes that it was just stress and indigestion. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The chest pains began to increase, and within another hour or so had become so severe that an ambulance had to be called, and I was taken to one of the local hospitals. Tests were run, and it was agreed that I was to be kept for observation overnight. The following day, the truth became obvious: I had an 80% blockage in one of the arteries leading to my heart, and something would have to be done. A catharization was scheduled, and I was wheeled into the operating room, still very much awake for the procedure. Because of the need for the patient to feed back to the surgical team what he or she is experiencing, a special kind of sedative is administered. The patient is awake, but numbed down, during the procedure. I found myself surrounded by Christian doctors and nurses. Clearly, this operating room was being staffed by the Lord Himself. The blockage was located, and the chief heart doctor gave me two options: I could cancel the procedure right now and have open heart surgery the following day, or have an angioplasty while still in the operating room. I remember saying, "Let me get this straight…you can fix me from the inside, or fix me from the outside, right?" I chose to be fixed from the inside. But more surprises awaited us all. While removing the first balloon from my artery, the artery inexplicably collapsed totally. The doctor asked me, "Rev. Young, are you experiencing any pressure or tightness in your chest?" I replied in the affirmative. "Now don't be worried," he continued, "but you are experiencing a heart attack right now. If this had happened on the street you would have been dead in minutes. But we are going to fix the problem right now." Quickly the surgical team inserted a new balloon with a stent, or expandable tube, into the collapsed artery. The rest of the operation moved quickly to conclusion, and I began concentrating on recovery. But a few days later, more chest pains sent me back into the operating room. The first time I had been filled with faith, but this time I was filled with fear, and I knew that something was going to go terribly wrong. After the catharization, my blood pressure suddenly dropped to 60 over 30, and I had to be taken into ICU to stabilize me. During the recovery period, I was connected to a new Ear, Nose and Throat specialist. Weak as a kitten from the heart procedures, I was helped by my wife into his office. He examined me thoroughly, took time to ask me intelligent questions, and then listened carefully to my answers. He scheduled me for additional tests, which were run over the next week or so. On December 4, 2005, I received the most traumatic news of my entire life: I had a malignant, inoperable tumor in the naso-pharynx region of my head, near my right ear. It was this tumor, which was growing steadily, that had blocked my Eustachian tube and caused all the ear pain. Because the tumor was located too close to critical nerve ganglia, surgery was out of the question. Instead, a series of 35 radiation treatments were scheduled. Although they and lots of prayer destroyed the tumor, they also severely damaged my salivary glands and scarred my upper palate. So severe was the damage to my throat and surrounding tissues that I found it almost impossible to eat, swallow, or do anything else with my mouth and throat. In addition, my right ear drum had ruptured, and I suffered a 50% hearing loss in that ear. All during this time, I still had been preaching on Sunday, at least during the Traditional Service. I had also brought in a young Black pastor to help me with the Contemporary Service, since I didn't have the strength to handle both services. He had a dream in which he found himself in one of our services, sitting up front behind me as I preached to the congregation. In the dream, I suddenly stopped preaching, turned back around to him, and said, "Help me!" We had lost contact with one another about two years before, but still had a common friend in Dr. Heath at Ammos UMC, so he called Doc and found out how to get in contact with us. I viewed this as direct Divine intervention, and gladly received him into my ministry. But instead of being an asset to us, he was about to turn into one of the greatest liabilities I had ever encountered.

Betrayal In The Garden

The damage done by the radiation treatment was severe enough, but now I was scheduled for even more - a series of five chemotherapy treatments. At this point, everything went down the tubes. My body reacted so severely to the chemotherapy that I began to throw up, first once a day, then twice and eventually as often as five times a day. The pain medication that I was on was massively constipating (Sorry to have to discuss this on the web! You'll understand why in just a few minutes!), and I developed severe impaction. It was like the proverbial fifteen pounds of potatoes in a ten pound sack, and the damage that was done to me was severe. I was torn badly inside from trying to pass items larger than my body was designed to handle. I threw up constantly and had constant terrible stomach pains any time I wasn't flat on my back. I had no saliva, couldn't swallow, and, because of another side effect of the radiation, couldn't taste most of my food. Everything I could taste, tasted wrong. Meat tasted like aluminum. Chocolate was bitter. Nothing tasted right, if it had a taste at all. As a result, my weight plummeted from a portly 304 to a much trimmer but much weaker 224, a loss of 80 pounds. I also lost almost all of my muscle mass, and probably 80% of my strength. During this entire period, I was in and out of the hospital at least 20 times. I honestly don't know anymore how many trips I actually took, because I simply got tired of counting. I was so weak that for a period of 30 days I was unable to preach either service, and so my young associate preached both the Contemporary and Traditional Services. And it was at this point in time that the betrayal began to develop. Concerned with my health, worrying about finances, and caught up with the preaching skills of my young associate, the leaders of the church began to plot, quietly and secretly, behind my back, to replace me with him. All the time I sat in a hospital bed, they and the District Superintendent constantly reassured me that everything was all right and that I was still their pastor. Yet meeting after meeting was held between them and the young associate, without my knowledge or involvement. In fact, when I announced that I was feeling well enough to attend one of those meetings, it was mysterious cancelled at the last minute. We had been using my laptop for a variety of tasks in the services, and suddenly the church purchased its own laptop, even though only weeks before there had been a constant complaint that they were running out of money. The Director of Music was fired, as was I. The reason? The young associate could also play the keyboard. How did I find out about my termination? In the most horrible fashion imaginable. I had finally recovered enough strength to attend a service. When the Traditional Service started, I noticed that there were many quiet, private conversations between the leadership of the church and the young associate. They even went into my office and had private meetings while I sat on the front pew, too weak to walk over. I knew then that something was terribly wrong. As long as I had been in the hospital, or sick in bed at home, I hadn't caught on to what was happening. But the minute the service began, I knew that something was afoot. And then one of our close friends came and sat by me. "Pastor Ray," she began, "some very evil things are going on and it's not fair that you don't know. I need to tell you the truth. You were fired last week, and they didn't even have the courage or decency to let you know. Right now, you are no longer the pastor of Calvary, and they have arranged to hire Derrico in your place". My head was spinning. I was filled with outrage. How could they have so totally betrayed me? I got up as best as I could, and walked to the rear of the church, then outside to try and call the District Superintendent. All I got was his voice mail. I tried two more times, all to no avail.

Later on that afternoon, he finally returned my call. He would neither deny nor confirm my suspicions, which all but guaranteed me that I had been told the truth. Instead, Beverly and I were forced to drive to Wilmington, the District Office, on Monday for a 9:00 meeting with him. In ten minutes, our worst fears were confirmed. The leadership of the church had falsified charges against me, none of which were ever documented, and none of which I ever had an opportunity to defend myself against. These unspecified charges had been accepted by the District Superintendent at face value, without any meeting with me, and I had been relieved of my position. As we sat there at the conference table, I asked the logical question, "What will happen to us? I am far too sick and too weak to work a job. I gave up a $53,000 a year job as a programmer in Louisville to come to Milford to accept the pastorate of this church. What do we do now?" His reply? "You're a big boy. You'll think of something." As we drove away, I knew that I would never again return to the church of my birth. I also knew that I could not work a conventional job, and I also knew that I could not abandon all of the people who had come to the Lord and to Calvary during our ministry there.

Come Out Of Her My People

Now came the moral dilemma: Calvary had offered me a "deal" - we could stay in the parsonage for two months with full salary, but could not make any effort to start a new church during that period. I struggled greatly with this decision. I was willing to sacrifice the salary and totally trust the Lord for the sake of the sheep that God had given me to shepherd, but I knew I didn't have the strength to even box things up, much less move. Then, the same precious saint that had let me know the truth gave me some peace of mind. "We will wait for you, Pastor Ray," they said, "take your time and get well." One by one, I talked to the folks who had come to the church because of our ministry. Every single one said the same thing - we will wait. Encouraged by that show of support, Bev and I began to slowly get things ready to move. At that point in time, I was so physically weak that I could only pack two or three boxes a day. After that small amount of effort, I would be totally exhausted. We went everywhere looking for a place to live, and were turned down flat everywhere we went! Not a single door was open, and time was running out. Then, another dear friend in the Lord from Calvary told me that his landlord had a really nice house for rent, and that we should check it out. At first, we were reluctant to look at it because it was in a very nice area of town and doubtless would cost far too much for us to rent it, but somehow the Holy Spirit kept pushing me to go. When we finally saw it, we were amazed. The folks that had occupied it previously had completely trashed a beautiful, three bedroom, ranch-style red brick home with gorgeous landscaping. Animal manure and shredded diapers were spread throughout the solarium, and dirt and filth were everywhere. Yet, even with all the trash, we knew that this was the house that the Lord had set aside for us. We've always been given things that are broken: churches, houses, and people, and assigned the task of fixing it/them and bringing it/them back into a shining finished product. A great deal of work was required, but all or our friends from the church banded together and stood by us. They helped us box things, helped us get the new house ready, helped us move, and did for us all the things that I could not do for myself. And then, when the Lord also provided a place for us to meet, helped to completely fix up our new church, The Fellowship @ River's Edge. The irony of the whole situation was that of the sixty some people who had come to the Lord during our ministry there, not one single person remained with Calvary. They said, "Pastor, if you're not there, we're not there!" Encouraged by this tremendous show of faith and loyalty, we started the new work, and it grew steadily for over a year. We saw multiple healings, signs and wonders, passionate worship, and a remarkable series of events that expanded us into a global ministry.

The Uttermost Parts Of The Earth

At first when we started, our concern was strictly to establish a local fellowship. The Lord had even shown us where we would finally be located, in a growing retail complex called "River's Edge". Hence the name of the church. But before long, the Lord had also given us instructions about expansion and duplication of the model or paradigm that He established there at the church. Eventually, God willing, there will be additional Fellowships located all across the world. Our School of the Prophets web site gave us friends all over the globe. From Geori in Holland to Tim the Samoan in New Zealand to Ruth and Raj and Chapala and Rao and Sarah in India to the Philippines, South America, Finland and many more places, the Lord made us truly global. And we are so very grateful for the local and international brothers and sisters in Christ that He has given us. One of the new additions to this web site was our India connection. Over a period of time, we developed a deep personal relationship with Ruth and Raj, a young native missionary couple in Southeastern India who had started an orphanage with about 50 children in it. The living conditions were horrible for all of them, and many of the children were sick due to the conditions in the buildings in which they lived. We began to recruit assistance for them aggressively and God did a remarkable work. Within a year, a supporter came into our ministry who supplied extensive funds from the estate of her deceased mother. So much money came in that Ruth and Raj were able to construct a brand new orphanage. Eventually, a Junior College was added. I had the privilege of traveling to India with the major donor to help dedicate the orphanage. While there, the Lord shut the sky for three solid weeks during the middle of their rainy season, causing "shock and awe" among many of the local pastors there. In addition, we had the privilege of praying for a girl who had been born mute, unable to speak. After a brief prayer, she was able to speak perfectly for the first time in her life! Her astonished mother quickly abandoned her Hindu faith and became a believer on the Lord Jesus Christ who had just healed her daughter.

A False Report

For quite a while, our efforts in India prospered. Additional supporters were added to our ministry team, and we looked forward eagerly to returning to India. But during this process, we began to suspect that not all was as it seemed to be, and that perhaps were were being deceived about certain things that were happening in India. At the same time, we were preparing to return to the Jeffersonville, IN area, and so I put matters on the back burner until we could accomplish the task before us. Shortly after we moved, a special one-time offering was given for our India outreach. We had been praying for the funds to investigate Ruth and Raj, and this gave us exactly what we needed. After some research, we settled on an honorable, highly credentialed Indian private investigator, also a devout Christian, who quietly and effectively began to look into these matters. Unfortunately, what he found caused our hearts to break. Oh, yes, there was an orphanage. And, yes, there were orphans there. But, without fail, every single time that I had spoken to Ruth about matters there in India, she had lied or grossly exaggerated conditions during our conversation. All in all, we were able to document 16 separate serious violantions of trust. We confronted them with the facts that had been uncovered in a strife-filled meeting. After admitting their guilt on all counts, they have since severed all ties with us, either afraid of anger on our part or because they will not be corrected and want to continue operating the way they have in the past, only this time with new, unsuspecting supporters from America, England or Australia. For those of you who have visited this site in the past and looked through our Foreign Missions link, you will notice that it is no longer present. Their lies and betrayal are the reason for this. Perhaps we will go again into the Third World, but that remains in the Lord's hands, not ours.

Like Sheep Without a Shepherd

As a result of all of these events, we have chosen to focus our ministry attention within the United Stated and within the local region for the time being. The first step in this process is the re-creation of the Ephesians 4 Center for Learning, but this time with a dramatic new twist that will open educational doors for hundreds, perhaps thousands of believers who desperately want more knowledge of the Word of God but lack the finances to attend a conventional university or Bible College. I discuss this matter is far greater detail in our Cirriculum section. Please refer to it for further explanation.

There is such a fire burning in my heart to bring the healing power of Jesus Christ to others. I hate sickness more than I ever have in my life, and particularly cancer and the terrible things that it has done to so many people's lives. The paradox of all this is that the power of God which flows through our ministry is undiminished. When the Bible says that "we have this transcendent power in earthenware vessels to show that the power belongs to God and not to us", it could not be truer. The Lord told Paul that His grace is sufficient, and Paul added that when he was weak, then he was strong. How totally I understand what he is saying!

We are available to do revivals, seminars and conferences, and to be guest speakers and ministers on an as-requested basis. We have significant strength in both the Teaching and Prophetic ministry areas, so the more intelligent our audience is, the more likely they are to appreciate and receive what we have to say. As a former university professor, we know that you don't have to park your brain at the door in order to be a Christian. In addition, the church as a whole has been very weak in its implementation of Paul's admonition to "…study to show thyself approved, a workman not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth…". Our ministry continues to grow on a regular basis. We would love to come to your church, fellowship or group and bring the same power, grace and mercy of Jesus Christ through the agency of the Holy Spirit to you as we have been privileged to do for so many others. Please feel free to contact us. We would love to "impart some spiritual gift to you", as Paul told the church at Rome. Above all else, we remain,

Your Brother and Sister in Christ,
Pastors Ray and Bev Young