Talk of miracle cures draws thousands to Hillsboro revival HILLSBORO, Ore. (AP) -- It's a scene made famous across the South and the Midwest: huge white tents filled with ailing worshipers hoping to be healed by a microphone-wielding evangelist. It's a relatively uncommon sight in Oregon, but thousands of believers have flocked to the parking lot of the Washington County Fair Complex to hear Australian evangelist Dan Nolan. He claims he can heal everything from fear to leukemia, and many say his powers are real. "I no longer need my walker," said 69-year-old Joy Winters of Beaverton, who claims a chronic inner ear ailment vanished after Nolan prayed over her. "Now I can spin around in a circle, like a child likes to play, and I'm not dizzy." Winters has gone to Nolan's revival meetings -- held inside a large white tent, of course -- twice, sometimes three times a week for the last 10 weeks. She's not alone. The Hillsboro revival has become something of a local phenomenon, drawing nearly 8,000 people. "We look at this as a sign," said Ed Forsythe, the 39-year-old pastor of Word of Faith Family Center in Cornelius, the revival's host church. "Great revivals happen every 50 years, and we believe that's what is happening here." The revival began Jan. 21 at the 180-member Word of Faith church, with Nolan hired for a five-day stint. But word of mouth and strong church support swelled the crowds, pushing the revival out of the church and into the tent at the fairgrounds. Revival 2000, as it's called, now has a momentum of its own, perpetuated by hopes of healing and a loyal group of believers who see it as evidence of a larger religious revival taking place in the Northwest. "God told me to go to the Pacific Northwest," said Nolan, who lives in Olympia, Wash., when he's not on the church circuit healing. "He told me to stir people up for a healing revival, that thousands are going to come to know the Lord through the miracles." Ron Kincaid, pastor of the 1,600-member Sunset Presbyterian Church in Cedar Mill, agrees that the Northwest may be undergoing a religious revival of sorts, although he has no evidence to back it up except the growing membership of his own church. "More people than ever are studying the Bible and praying," Kincaid said. "We have had a large increase in attendance during the last year that reflects spiritual hunger in our community." But Marc Marenco, who teaches religious studies classes at Pacific University in Forest Grove, says such fervor can have a damaging effect. "When people sincerely believe these kinds of things over long periods of time, it becomes increasingly difficult for them to see the real world," he said. Still they come: the old and the young, the sick and the well, pouring nightly into the white tent in the fairgrounds parking lot. The evening begins with everybody on their feet, out of the white plastic chairs, belting out gospel music. Arms stretch overhead, bodies rocking back and forth. Song lyrics beam off the front wall by an overhead projector. A church band and singers, sparkling in their turquoise blue jackets, keep the tent jumping. After the singing is done, the recently healed file up to the microphone to testify. Collection buckets then make the rounds. The second half of the three-hour evening belongs to Nolan and his miracles, although he wants it plainly stated that they're not really his miracles. "I'm like a channel," said Nolan, who learned this fact after severely twisting his ankle 22 years ago, when he was 26. "I know it sounds bizarre, but a pillar of fire spoke to me. I don't know whether it was an angel or whether it was God, but it touched my ankle. "And I watched my ankle, which was five times the size of my other ankle, turn around and shrink in front of my own eyes." Nolan says God gives him the power to know who in the audience suffers, something that impresses people. But the actual healing, he says, comes from a much higher power. "It's a bit scary," Nolan said about his job, since people often collapse when he prays over them, claiming they feel heat coursing through their bodies. "How else can I put it?" he said. "It's a certain burden. I feel like I've been working on a pick and shovel for about 12 hours when I'm done. But, I also see all the good. "And that, I suppose, is why I'm here." ©2000 Oregon Live LLC |
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