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.
