In the mid 70s, a group with whom all my time was spent, a grassroots, long-haired sandal-wearing, clan of Jesus People, contained a remarkably stirred bunch of young men. On some nights, one of the brothers would drive his van from house to house to ask other brothers if they wanted to join in praise and worship as he drove his vehicle around the outskirts of town. This would last for maybe an hour or longer. The presence of God that filled that vehicle as God inhabited our praises (call it emotionalism if you'd like) was astonishing, extremely uplifting, and powerful. By the time I was let out of the van, I was always very "drunk" and saturated in the presence of God, in which I would bask for hours. I loved those times. They were very inspiring and created a deep unity among the brethren. On one of these nights, around midnight, while we were singing praises and driving along an unlit street, we encountered a young woman standing on the side of the road screaming and waving for help. She had been driving a convertible with her boyfriend sitting in the passenger seat after having attended a party when she lost control of the car and ended up wrecked, upside down, in the brush about fifty feet off the road. There weren't that many brothers in the van at that time as a few had already been taken home. The girl kept crying out, "I killed him! I killed him!" while she pleaded for our help to get her boyfriend free of the wreckage. The car had to be picked up in order to get the fellow out of that mess, and by the strength of God given to only four brothers that car was lifted and the young man as pulled out. We drove both of them to the hospital, and to this day I know that it was only by the divine intervention of the Holy Spirit that we had the strength to lift that car off that girl's boyfriend. He was alive and pretty badly scratched up. That girl cried and cried in thanks as we headed for the hospital and together the brothers prayed for each of them. Both were healed in time and gave thanks to God.