A Holy Spirit encounter. Funny things are happening to this Norwegian boy.

I had a strange experience on Friday. I need to write about it…. Partly to share it, partly to convince myself that it really happened. I can tell something happened to me because as I sat down to write this, I began to weep quietly… Someone turned on the waterworks and I can’t seem to turn it off.

Our church had what they were calling a “Holy Spirit encounter”. A guy came to speak and basically shared a bunch of miracle stories from the times he had gone out to pray for strangers. He used stories to teach about the Holy Spirit and challenge us to live lives of greater faith and power. After his sermon, he and his 17-year-old son started calling out people in the crowd and sharing prophetic messages. My eyes got big when he called on two close friends and said things to them that demonstrated impossible insight into their journey. At the end, he invited the Holy Spirit to “come” and then he shut up for a few minutes. All 400 people stood there, silent.

Out of the silence, the quiet sound of weeping could be heard. Then someone started to shake. Soon the room was erupting with these “manifestations”. He asked anyone experiencing warmth or tingling in their hands to step forward. Dozens did so. Then he invited the sick and those with physical needs to come up and said, “now all you tingly-hand people pray for these sick people,” and everything went crazy. The pastors did their best to manage the chaos as the whole room surged forward to pray or be prayed for.

Now I’ve seen this happen before: a big Christian meeting where some people speak in tongues and others roll around on the floor and everyone basically loses their mind. I just figured a mix of emotion and manipulation created a synergistic explosion of energy and feeling. The difference this time was that I knew the people in this crowd, I trusted the credibility of the leaders, and I knew this was real. There was no manipulation, no heightened state, no background music; just that no-fluff spirituality I’ve come to expect in Vineyard churches. Plus I saw real purpose and fruit in what God was doing: people’s lives were being changed for the better.

I had been watching this documentary on miracles (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qi7atLDcVUg) and finally told God I wanted to live a life full of his power, even if it meant looking crazy (something I try to avoid) like all those nuts on the video. I was primed and expectant that God was going to work. Strangely, I didn’t feel compelled to adjust my expectations to insulate myself from disappointment. I just knew God would show up.

And He did. Almost from the moment I walked into the sanctuary, something felt different. The air was electric. I felt a warm tingling that stayed with me all night. I could tell others felt the same thing. It made my stomach churn and my skin tighten. I feel this way sometimes when God says things to me or when I’m realizing something profound. It is absolutely unquantifiable but absolutely real and very poignant.

When everybody started shaking and crying and surging forward, I figured I’d make myself useful up front. At one point I found myself at the front in a small crowd getting prayer and prophetic words from the speaker who kept going around touching people’s hands and blowing on them (I’m not kidding)! When a few friends started praying for me, I just gave up on maintaining my composure. I found myself crying. No real reason, but tears were streaming down my face. John asked what I was experiencing and I looked up defiantly as though to say, “I don’t care if you see me cry.” I said something about God healing wounds related to my identity, to feeling the need to be someone else to be accepted. Then suddenly I lost it. I fell over on Marc’s shoulder and began all-out weeping, heaving these enormous desperate sobs; something I haven’t done in a long time. I soaked Marc’s sweatshirt for a good minute or two before coming up for air and trying to make sense of what had happened. I looked like one of those crazy people I’d always criticized. But I didn’t mind so much: I felt my critical spirit melting away in that moment with so many other things.

It didn’t end there. I felt on the verge of tears all weekend and it took effort not to blow a gasket in public. Also that sense of God’s presence remained with me until Sunday afternoon; an intermittent electrified warmth zapping me in waves that made my stomach turn and my ankles go numb. I felt a profound boldness and compulsion to go out and pray for people on the street, introducing them to the power I had just experienced.

On my way home that first night, I was praying for opportunities to share what I had experienced when I saw a car pulled off the highway. Without thinking, I pulled over and approached the driver. The 25-year-old Israeli guy thanked me for stopping and I helped him find a tow-truck. Then he warmed up in my car for 30 minutes in which I made small talk and generally avoided the topic of Jesus. Finally, I asked if I could pray for him. He said he was fine, but after some hesitation, he asked me to pray with him about his visa situation. “Do you really think that helps?” he asked when I finished. “I could tell stories,” I mused in response. So finally, just before I left, he confessed a drug addiction and asked for prayer to help kick it. So we prayed quickly and then I left. There was so much I wish I had done differently. But I was on top of the world because I had actually done it. I had defied the fear that has silenced me in so many restaurants and bus terminals. I had found the strength to embody Jesus to hurting and desperate people.

Saturday was characterized by much of the same. By Sunday, those electric feelings were really upsetting my stomach and I began to ask God for peace. After church (in which I watched a yesterday-crippled woman do gymnastics) a couple guys prayed for me and I felt a strange heat pooling in the palm of my left hand. I seemed to hear God say, “Now go give it away.” A friend at church knew a young guy who was in a coma from a drug overdose and we decided to go pray for him. I felt fully expectant that he would be healed but for once didn’t feel my expectation tethered to the looming disappointment of unanswered prayers. After almost an hour of bold prayers for healing, the man remained comatose. But rather than discouragement, I felt determination. I would be back. And even if no physical miracle occurs, I believe God for the larger miracle of a changed heart. After praying for the man, the warm electric feeling finally left me (by now I was grateful to be rid of it) and I felt a peaceful contentment come over me.

That was my crazy weekend. My real excitement doesn’t come from a wild esoteric experience but rather from the hope of an empowered life. I’m already plotting how I can take this powerful love out into the streets. Suddenly evangelism isn’t a manipulation tool mixed with intellectual gymnastics and motivational speaking. It isn’t even the attempt to communicate concepts to people. It is inviting people to a personal experience with a loving and powerful Daddy who can meet their deepest needs and longings. I like that.