THE STORY OF THE HEBRIDES REVIVAL
It was three hours past midnight on a dusty moonlit road in Arnol, a small village on Scotland’s Isle of Lewis (that sits closer to the Faroe Islands than it does to London), and “there was a light in every home.”[1] An eyewitness recounted the evening when sleep was stolen from the 400 residents: “I don’t believe there was a single house in the village that wasn’t shaken by God.”[2] Less than forty-eight hours later, the local pub’s doors were closed forever. What could cause this kind of disturbance?
In the years prior, two sisters in their eighties—one blind, the other arthritic—spent their time in their nearly-windowless cottage petitioning the One on the throne[4] to move across their island as He had done before in time past. Remarkably, the isle of Lewis & Harris has seen several awakenings and revivals; by the time the Second World War ended, many adult residents could remember more than one. These sisters were no different. Peggy and Christine Smith felt impressed by the Lord that He would, in fact, do something mighty once again—so they called their pastor and informed him: God is going to move. He would “pour water on the thirsty and floods on dry ground.”[3] Likewise burdened by the pews thinning out as congregants passed into glory, the pastor asked them how he should posture himself to serve however the Lord would reach the youth of the island’s villages.
Well, we pray Tuesday and Thursday evenings from 10pm to 4 in the morning, so grab some guys and do the same.
Jesus did, in fact, again visit Lewis & Harris in a mighty and significant way; the years between 1949-1952 are remembered as a time God met men and women whether they were asking Him for encounter or not. Pastors would hold services in the town sanctuary, seats filled with willing attendees—and God would find the folks who stayed at home, who sought distance between themselves and the Holy. They would be so crippled under the weight of conviction that crowds would fill the roads and find their way either to the church lawn, or the police station. One elderly man was bent over outside the latter, screaming: “Hell is too good for me! Hell is too good for me!” Pastors learned only the Lord could lift that kind of despair; they knew they would see these burdened frames again later, looking as if the world had been lifted off their shoulders and stars were shining in their eyes. God met them in their sin and led them, through His kindness, to repentance.[4] A lack of backsliding became a hallmark of the Hebrides revivals.
So when Duncan Campbell (a primary steward of the movement) was brought to Arnol, expectations were high—as was resistance. Hardly ten percent of the village attended the first meetings, pushing the thirty or so present into such desperate prayer—a worthy use of profound disappointment—that the local blacksmith spent 30 minutes in an already-long prayer meeting demanding God show up. “The Kingdom of Heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.”[5] And then the stone cottage literally shook. Dishes fell from the cupboards and shattered. One present recounted:
We knew something had happened. And when we left that cottage at three o’clock in the morning we learned what it was. Men and women everywhere were seeking God. As I walked along the country road, I found three men on their faces, crying to God for mercy. There was a light in every home; no one seemed to be thinking of sleep.
Think of it: dusty, moonlit paths (on a remote island you’ve likely not heard of until this article) full of fallen Image Bearers,[6] broken mirrors of Holy things, “longing to return to [their] Source.”[7] And they were found by neighbors, friends, and family members who had encountered the Living God and could meet them in their dark nights, on their dusty moonlit roads.
One of the things I love about the Hebrides’ testimony is that God saw those villages, and visited them. We speak much of stadiums and sanctuaries filled for revival, but what if we must first be faithful with the little?[8] Do we even serve our neighborhood? Are we gripped and burdened for the house next door? The Hebrides tell us this: there is hope in the hidden places. God will find the dustiest outpost and apprehend souls. He can, He has, and He will again.
So then I must wonder: what are we available for when He does? I first read these accounts in my early months of living in the Middle East many years ago, and happened to read the account of Arnol right before I took a trip to Ephesus—home to an early megachurch included in the letters of Paul and Jesus,[9] and warned in the latter to return to her first love, “lest her lamp stand be removed.”[10] However the generation who first heard those words responded, she is no more today and, after years under the Ottoman Empire, the ruins of Ephesus are lucky to still stand at all.
But as we began our drive home, we had to improvise a new route due to construction, missed turns, and dying cell phones (that weren’t getting signal anyway). So we ended up making our way through the forests of western Turkey, and happened to drive through one remarkably isolated village just after the summer sun had tucked itself in. This was during Ramadan, so the residents of this village were emerging from their homes to answer their local mosque’s call to prayer before they would eat their midnight meal. I found myself weaving through the dusty, moonlit paths of an unknown, isolated village, swarming with residents leaving their homes in the thick of night to seek God. But they were ending up at a mosque and bowing before an idol.
I immediately thought of Arnol.
I immediately thought of the wonder of language proficiency, the hard work required to finish the task of the Great Commission,[11] and the suffocating frustration that is Islam. I went to bed that night discouraged, to say the least.
Yet I know this: there will indeed be a mighty revival through the Arnols and unknown villages of the Middle East.[12] It will plunder enough souls to fill stadiums that they’ll never step into—but they’ll crowd out the sea of glass, and cast the crowns they earn as they remain faithful unto death,[13] and it will be our privilege to worship alongside them.
May we ourselves be faithful in the meantime.
Stephanie Quick (@quicklikesand) is a writer/producer serving with FAI. She lives in the Golan Heights and cohosts The Better Beautiful podcast with Jeff Henderson. Browse her free music, films, and books in the FAI App and at stephaniequick.org.
[1] Article Bibliography: Floods on Dry Ground: Story of the Hebrides Awakening (Jessica Meldrum) and Sounds from Heaven (Colin and Mary Peckham)
[2] Revelation 4:2
[3] Isaiah 44:3
[4] Romans 2:4
[5] Matthew 11:12; see also “Holy Violence & a Life Above the Fray”
[6] Genesis 1:26-27
[7] Tozer, AW. The Knowledge of the Holy.
[8] Luke 16:10
[9] See Ephesians and Revelation 2:1-7
[10] I am paraphrasing Revelation 2:4-5
[11] Matthew 28:18-20; Acts 1:8
[12] Isaiah 42:10-13
[13] Revelation 4:6, 10; 12:11; 15:2
