Before we get started…
I recently overheard, on a webcast, two leaders in what is being labeled the renewal/revival movement discussing just when it is proper to raise people from the dead. I won’t share their conclusions, but simply note how astounding it is that the discussion is even happening.
But then, Jesus did tell one band of disciples to, among other things, “…raise the dead.” So why not discuss the issue? Could it be the same reason we don’t talk much about healing the sick, or casting out demons, and when we do talk about it, it is just talk? Why are so many means and methods out there for building great churches, but the one that really worked in Bible days -the power of God- is so absent?
What follows is by no means a defense of everything being done today in the name of Jesus’ Spirit. By the same token, never shall this tongue or pen come against the workings of that Spirit.
As I peruse the manuscript I realize that I have said nothing revolutionary, in New Testament terms. This is a 100 course as far as the things of the Spirit are concerned. If you have long been walking in the power of God, this treatise can only serve as a refresher. For others it will be an astounding revelation, as so many believers of our era do not subscribe to anything that seems Pentecostal or, shall I say, weird.
I have personal reasons for doing research of this nature at this time in my life. Last summer my world came to a screeching halt. My wife and I were in Seoul, working with North Korean defectors, when suddenly the stresses of the past year caught up with and overtook me. Hunger fled, nights were sleepless, fear controlled all. It seemed I was losing my mind. After seven of the longest weeks of my life, we returned to Chicago.
But the nightmare continued. And worsened. I skipped a full month of work. My life for many weeks was praise music, Christian meetings, resting, waiting, and sometimes despairing. The healing eventually set in, but I knew that God was not restoring me so I could return to business as usual. After my return to normal, which has come, I must go far beyond what I had experienced in Christ before.
A sudden hunger for the power of God and fullness of His Spirit has me seeking the Lord in the normal places, plus a whole lot of places I never would have considered before. The days in which we live combined with my own human frailty demand more of God. I must encounter Jesus. I owe it to myself and to those who will receive from me in the future.
Some would say, “Only believe”, you need no “encounter.” But faith is not opposed to personal and dynamic meetings with the Son of God. Paul had some of the greatest of these meetings, but certainly walked by faith. He obeyed what the Lord told Him in the encounters, by faith. He acted in faith when he performed miracles. Yes, blessed are those who have not seen the resurrected Christ, and yet believe. We must believe God before we can see His works, but I have believed these things since I was a child. I say again, I must encounter this Jesus I have heard of, and read of, and even written and spoken of.
It’s not that I’ve never experienced anything supernatural. It’s just been way too long between events, and I grow hungrier by the day for Divine moments when Heaven invades earth, and when I just happen to be there enjoying it all.
I well remember the early days of this life, about eight years old, parents both gone, and my home, with my sister and me in it, taken over by relatives. Aunt “Izzy” was an okay lady, but her son began to use me for a punching bag when she was not there. He invited a neighbor in to watch. He put boxing gloves on me and proceeded to pound me to the basement floor.
I had enough of that real soon, and started coming home late, to match the time my aunt got off work, since she could protect me. It was during this painful season that a neighbor suggested to me that I should try God. I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but I gave it my best shot. On one of those long evenings, looking for things to do before Aunt Isabel got home, I found a wooded area, dropped to my knees, and tried God. “God,” I said, “if you’re really there, I want to hear from my dad tonight!”
Dad was an alcoholic. The reason he was gone was that every once in awhile he couldn’t stand it any longer. He’d leave his place of employment, and his family, and go get rip-roaring drunk for weeks and months at a time. I knew all that, but missed him anyway. He was the only dad I had. But when he was gone, he didn’t call much. And if he did call, he talked to my sister or mother.
I went on home. I imagine I would have forgotten the prayer episode, except for one thing. It worked. As I walked through the gate of our yard, my sister came to the door, holding a phone in her hand. It was 5:45. Dad was calling, long distance, from California. And he wanted to talk with me. I cried like a kid. Well, I was a kid. I don’t remember a thing he said, but I do remember thinking, “This is God!” God was going to be my Father!
The local Protestant church kept putting groceries on our porch, so my mom, when she returned, decided to pay them a favor and attend one Sunday, Bobby in tow. She never went back after that. And I never stopped attending. I was taught the Scriptures, called into the ministry, ordained, graduated from seminary, and started out my career in the service of the Lord.
One of my first assignments brought me my next power moment from the Lord. Our denomination, which we claimed was no denomination, had very few churches in upstate New York, so I decided to fix that little problem. I’d mix in with the locals, get a job in the public schools there if possible, and start teaching my students about the Lord in Bible clubs after school. From these humble beginnings a great church would arise. The plan was working until a Roman Catholic in this very Roman neighborhood of Troy, New York, complained to the principal. My teaching career, which would eventually be my life’s income, took a long break.
Fired, with no income, not sure at all which way to turn, I sat on a stoop in nearby Albany one night, at the home of a church member, sulking and trying to think my way to an answer. A car stopped in front of me. Passenger got out. Driver drove on. Passenger looked around, focused on me. Came up to me and asked if I was saved.
Even a simple question like that bothered me, because my particular group centered on the plan of salvation more than the salvation. Ours was not a know-so religion, but seemed to be based on doing the right things. I hesitated, but eventually gave what must have appeared to be a reasonable answer. Then he asked if I had received the baptism of the Holy Spirit. That’s when my college-trained brain kicked in and I informed my visitor that what he was suggesting was an impossibility in our day. After all, the Holy Spirit was an automatic response to our being baptized in water. Nothing more was available for the 20th century. Case closed. We went back and forth for awhile. He left, seemingly defeated. The triumphant college grad sat on the stoop, and shook. Inwardly. My mysterious visitor had no idea that I was coming to him from my head, and not giving him an answer from an experience I had had in my heart. Or did he?
I never saw him again. He talked to no one else near me. Just walked off down the street. The way it all happened, the timing, the questions it raised within, cause me to look back on that incident as a very real moment of encounter with God.
And then there was the night at the Christian drive-in. They had such things in Columbus, Ohio in the 70’s. I was married by then, and took my wife to see Billy Graham’s “Shadow of the Boomerang.” When Billy began to preach, as he does in all his movies, the deepest sorrow I have ever experienced about sin welled up within me. Suddenly I knew, I just knew, I was a sinner. I cried copiously and repented profusely. For several minutes. When that initial piece was finished, something else began to rise. Joy. “Unspeakable and full of glory,” the Bible calls it. I became outright obnoxious!
I was so convinced that I was having a Book of Acts occasion, that I called a preacher friend and asked him to meet me at the Scioto River. I wanted to be baptized again, this time not to be saved, but because I was saved. I wanted it to be “the same hour of the night,” like the Bible’s Philippian jailor.
When I came up out of the water, still praising God, I came to the first crisis in my new life. I had heard about speaking in tongues and had been researching it. I was becoming convinced that it was available. So when I came up, I expected that such a thing could occur. Syllables began to form, but I stopped and asked the preacher what to do. He told me to let it come out. So I did. But more questions than answers came from that part of the experience.
From then on I related to the Assemblies of God and other Pentecostal groups. I had some good times praising God. I grew in my understanding of the Body of Christ. I tried to follow leadings. But a dry spell set in, one that hasn’t totally lifted since. I have searched my heart to figure out why. Many possibilities come to my mind, but I have decided to leave the reasons to God. The fact is that finally, as I said, this summer’s tragedy broke loose something deep within that allowed the flow of the Spirit to continue to draw me closer. I’m ready for a new season with God. That I shall have one has been confirmed by several prophecies.
What I shall write, though staying absolutely true to the literal interpretation of Scripture that I have maintained from a youth, are disturbing words for today’s Bible-believers. Now, I use that term “Bible-believers” with respect, in reference to those who are fundamental in doctrine, but absolutely opposed to the gifts of the Spirit for our day. Most of them also do not expect miracles of any kind to happen, though they would not be doctrinally opposed to them. It’s a philosophical thing. The thinking goes that miracles were needed in those first-century days as the Gospel was new and needed confirmed. But we don’t need such things today, they say. So sickness and early death and a host of other tragedies are endured, by referring to Job’s patience and other such passages. Forgotten is the concept that there are, even today, new places for the Gospel to enter, hence the constant and daily need for the supernatural.
So, my Bible-believing church never taught me to expect such Book-of-Acts power as I read about when I was growing up with them. Even the Pentecostal Churches that I have attended for so very long, can only voice the theory, it seems. They are far removed from the actual practice.
But now arises in the church worldwide another claim to a fresh baptism of fire and power, and the heirs of the last revival, in the main, are shutting these voices down and out. There also arises from within a huge cry for more of God that cannot be satisfied with the business-as-usual agenda of most of the churches.
So, the question before me, and the one I wish to place before you, the idea that drives this writing, is: What should I expect of the Spirit of God in my life and my church today? This is not a definitive study of the person and work of the Holy Spirit. As with a study of Jesus, many volumes would not treat that subject fairly. This is about the Spirit and you, and the Spirit and me. Now.
Does the Word address this topic? And if it does can we be honest in our literal approach when we come to verses that rock our boats and throw us into the sea to sink, or swim… or walk? Was all giftedness relegated to special Old Testament events plus the fabled first century plus the Millennium, plus maybe a dark hidden tribe somewhere, where we will never go and see and desire it for ourselves? Is that what we are to expect? Or can we do the works of Jesus, and even greater ones, now and here? Didn’t He say we could, and would?
I’d say these are pretty important questions. Follow me through the Scriptures to take a look at what were always “troublesome” verses that needed to be explained away. I’ve found it much more refreshing just to believe them. I think you will too. Here goes…
