SIX

A Time for Shaking

IMAGINE YOURSELF AT MADISON Square Garden for a college basketball game on a January night back in the mid–1960s. The Rhode Island Rams, my team, have come down to New York to play, say, Fordham or St. John’s. You take your seat down close to the floor a few minutes before the opening tip-off.

After eight or nine minutes, the Rams are losing 23 to 7. We’re committing foolish turnovers, we’re not rebounding aggressively, we’re giving up fast breaks.

The coach calls a time-out. We huddle, and one player says, “Isn’t this fun? We get to play in Madison Square Garden!”

Another says, “I really like the gold trim here on the uniforms. Looks sharp against the white, doesn’t it?”

A third is waving to his Aunt Nellie up in the mezzanine seats, while a fourth runs over to plant a quick kiss on his girlfriend’s cheek.

If this had actually happened, what do you think Coach Calverley would have said to us? “Hey! Would you guys please look at the scoreboard? We’re getting killed! When you go back out there, I want you to go into a tight man-to-man press, in the backcourt as well as up front. No more sleepwalking! This game is going to get away from us if you guys don’t wake up!”

Actually, he wouldn’t have said it that politely.

As a team we couldn’t fantasize or make believe we were doing well. The scoreboard was the inescapable signal that we had to change our game plan.

The Christian world today is not playing nearly as well as we think. We are often confusing faith with fantasy. Although Hebrews 11:6 declares that “without faith it is impossible to please God,” we seem to have grown adept at putting a positive spin on every conceivable situation. “These are wonderful days!” some preachers exult. “What a great time of blessing for God’s people.”

Meanwhile, Christian researcher George Barna reports that 64 percent of “born-again” Americans and 40 percent of “evangelical” Americans say there is no such thing as absolute truth. In other words, the Ten Commandments may or may not be valid, Jesus Christ isn’t necessarily the only way to God, and so forth. With this kind of sloppy thinking, what does “born again” even mean anymore? In the rush for “success” and “growth,” we have revised and distorted the very essence of the gospel.

More than three-fourths of current church growth, Barna adds, is merely “transfer growth”—people moving from one church to another. Despite all the Christian broadcasting and high-profile campaigns, the Christian population is not growing in numbers nationally. In fact, church attendance in a given week during 1996 was down to 37 percent of the population, a ten-year low … even though 82 percent of Americans claim to be Christians.

Yet everyone agrees that the culture is becoming more promiscuous, more violent, and more hateful by the day. So what has happened to the church as light and salt in the earth? What do spin doctors in the body of Christ make of these things?

WELCOME TO LAODICEA

I SAY WE ARE in trouble. It is high time to wake up and look at the scoreboard.

With some exceptions, we are like the church at Laodicea. In fact, we have so institutionalized Laodiceanism that we think lukewarm is normal. Any church winning more than a few people to Christ is considered “outstanding.”

The stern words of Jesus apply to us as much as to Christians at the end of the first century: “You are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing’” (Rev. 3:15–17). In other words, they were voicing a wonderful “positive confession.” They were proclaiming victory and blessing. The only trouble is, Jesus was unimpressed. He responded:

“But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked…. Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent” (Rev. 3:17, 19).

Strong language, to be sure. Jesus always deals strongly, however, with those he loves. “What son is not disciplined by his father?” asks the writer of Hebrews (12:7).

Notice that the Laodiceans were saints of God, with all the promises to claim. They were part of Christ’s body—singing hymns, worshiping on Sunday, enjoying physical benefits, and no doubt viewing themselves as more righteous than their pagan neighbors. Yet they were on the verge of being vomited out. What a wake-up call!

THE FIRST FACE-OFF

WHENEVER THE BODY OF Christ gets into trouble—whether through its own negligence, as in Laodicea, or through some special attack of Satan—strong action is required. We cannot merely sit by and hope the problem will resolve itself.

We can benefit from studying what the early church did when it got into trouble.

The disciples had enjoyed three years of teaching from Jesus. They had been discipled by the Master Discipler. But mere teaching is never enough, even if it comes directly from Jesus. Because they did not have the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, the disciples acted like cowards on the night of Jesus’ arrest.

Once they were empowered on the Day of Pentecost, however, they became the church victorious, the church militant. With the gracious manifestation of God’s Spirit in the Upper Room, the disciples encountered their first audience. Peter, the biggest failure of them all, became the preacher that day. It was no homiletical masterpiece, to be sure. But people were deeply convicted—“cut to the heart,” according to Acts 2:37—by his anointed words. Three thousand were gathered into the church that day.

Which church? Baptist? Presbyterian? Pentecostal? There were no such labels at that time—and in God’s view of things, there still aren’t. He ignores our categories. All he sees when he looks down is the body of Christ, made up of all born-again, blood-washed believers. The only subdivisions he sees are geographical—local churches. Other distinctions are immaterial.

I find it curious that we Christians will vigorously defend what Ephesians 4 says about “one Lord” (no polytheism) and “one faith” (salvation through Christ alone) … but then grow strangely silent regarding “one body” (vv. 4–6). At that point we start making excuses, historical and otherwise, for the shameful divisions within the church.

The early Christians began dynamically in power. They were unified, prayerful, filled with the Holy Spirit, going out to do God’s work in God’s way, and seeing results that glorified him. The hour seemed golden. This was truly the church overcoming the gates of hell, as Jesus described.

One day a public miracle occurred—the healing of the lame man, as related in Acts 3—which drew another crowd, and another sermon from Peter. Thousands more believed in Christ.

Then came the first attack. The priests, Sadducees, and captain of the temple guard broke in on them “greatly disturbed because the apostles were teaching the people and proclaiming in Jesus the resurrection of the dead. They seized Peter and John, and because it was evening, they put them in jail until the next day” (Acts 4:2–3).

Jesus had warned that difficult days would come. Now they were here. Although the attacks later on would come in the form of false teaching or internal division, this blow was physical and frontal.

A surprise awaited the Jewish leaders, however. “When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus” (4:13). These fishermen seemed guileless, sincere—quite the opposite of what we so often see today, which results in a great deal more polish in the pulpit, and a great deal less power.

The apostles were released on the condition that they not speak further in the name of Jesus. How did they respond? What did they do?

They didn’t petition the government. They didn’t wring their hands about how unfair this was. They didn’t complain about losing their freedom of speech, although they could have made a solid case that the Roman Empire, with its panoply of other gods, shouldn’t mind their speaking about the god named Jesus. The apostles could have done any number of things to sway public opinion. But to their minds this was not a political problem—it was spiritual. They quickly joined a meeting of the believers and began to pray. They immediately turned to their primitive power source.

This is how they prayed:

“Sovereign Lord,… you made the heaven and the earth and the sea, and everything in them…. Now, Lord, consider their threats and enable your servants to speak your word with great boldness. Stretch out your hand to heal and perform miraculous signs and wonders through the name of your holy servant Jesus” (Acts 4:24, 29–30).

This is precisely what the prophets, down through the centuries, had told them to do: When under attack, when facing a new challenge, in all seasons, in all times, call on the name of the Lord, and he will help you.

It sounds as if things got rather energetic, perhaps even a little noisy: “They raised their voices together in prayer to God” (v.24). When we read such passages, it is important not to force them into the context of our particular tradition. Would you or I have felt comfortable in the room that day? It doesn’t matter. This is the church on the move, giving us a Spirit-inspired model for today.

This is the only prayer longer than a sentence or two that is quoted in the entire book of Acts. No doubt it is only a summary of what the group prayed in a variety of words that day. Yet it offers a unique glimpse at the prayer life of the early church. As seriously as we revere and study the long prayer of Jesus in the garden (John 17), we should also examine what is said here.

Isn’t it strange that the group prayed for boldness? We might have expected them to pray, “Lord, help us find a safe shelter now. We need to ‘lie low’ for a few weeks until the heat goes away. We’ll stay out of sight, and if you could just make the Sanhedrin sort of forget about us …”

Not at all. If anything, they prayed against backing down. They asked God to help them press on. Retreat was the furthest thing from their minds.

And how did God react?

“After they prayed, the place where they were meeting was shaken. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke the word of God boldly” (v.31).

The first time vocalist Steve Green came to sing at the Brooklyn Tabernacle, we gathered in my office with the associate pastors to pray just before the meeting began. We prayed in unison that God would come among us that day.

When we opened our eyes, Steve had an odd look on his face. “What was that vibration I just felt?” he asked. “Is there a train that runs near here, or was that really …?”

I explained that, as far as I knew, the rumble wasn’t caused by the power of the Holy Spirit—would to God it was! Rather, it was the passing of the “D” train in the subway that runs directly beneath our building.

For the early church that day in Jerusalem, however, the vibration was nothing short of Spirit-induced. In that prayer meeting God’s power came in a fresh, new, deeper way.

These people had already been filled with the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2), but here they sensed a new need. God met them with a new infusion of power.

I am well aware that Christians disagree today on whether the infilling (baptism, empowerment) of the Spirit is a part of the salvation “package” or a separate, subsequent experience. Long and intense discussions go on about that. Whatever you or I believe, let us admit that this passage shows bona fide Christians experiencing a fresh infilling. The apostles didn’t claim they already had everything they needed. Now that they were under attack, they received fresh power, fresh courage, fresh fire from the Holy Spirit.

Our store of spiritual power apparently dissipates with time. Daily living, distractions, and spiritual warfare take their toll. We need, in the words Paul used in Ephesians 5:18, to “be always being filled with the Spirit” (literal translation).

Positional theology is good as far as it goes, such as “I am God’s child regardless of how I feel at the moment.” But if we stretch this idea to make statements such as “I am categorically Spirit-filled for the rest of my life,” we deceive ourselves.

Can anyone say with a straight face that the Laodiceans, at the time Jesus addressed them in the letter, had a Spirit-filled church? They were Christians, to be sure. But they were in desperate need of an Acts 4-type prayer meeting.

Andrew Bonar wrote in his diary on December 13, 1880, “I long more and more to be filled with the Spirit, and to see my congregation moved and melted under the Word, as in great revival times, ‘the place shaken where they are assembled together,’ because the Lord has come in power.”¹

Whether we call ourselves classical evangelicals, traditionalists, fundamentalists, Pentecostals, or charismatics, we all have to face our lack of real power and call out for a fresh infilling of the Spirit. We need the fresh wind of God to awaken us from our lethargy. We must not hide any longer behind some theological argument. The days are too dark and dangerous.

STRAIGHT AHEAD

THE WORK OF GOD can only be carried on by the power of God. The church is a spiritual organism fighting spiritual battles. Only spiritual power can make it function as God ordained.

The key is not money, organization, cleverness, or education. Are you and I seeing the results Peter saw? Are we bringing thousands of men and women to Christ the way he did? If not, we need to get back to his power source. No matter the society or culture, the city or town, God has never lacked the power to work through available people to glorify his name.

When we sincerely turn to God, we will find that his church always moves forward, not backward. We can never back up and accommodate ourselves to what the world wants or expects. Our stance must remain militant, aggressive, bold.

That is what characterized General William Booth and the early Salvation Army as they invaded the slums of London. It characterized the early mission movements, such as the Moravians. It characterized Hudson Taylor in China as well as revivalists on the American frontier. These Christians were not bulls in a china shop, but they did speak the truth in love—fearlessly.

In the familiar story of David and Goliath, there is a wonderful moment when the giant gets irked at the sight of his young opponent. “Am I a dog, that you come at me with sticks?” he roars (1 Sam. 17:43). Goliath is genuinely insulted. “Come here,… and I’ll give your flesh to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field!” (v.44).

Does David flinch? Does he opt for a strategic retreat behind some tree or boulder, thinking maybe to buy a little time?

Absolutely not.

“As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him” (v. 48).

That is the picture of what God wants for us today: running toward the fray!

David’s weaponry was ridiculous: a sling and five stones. It didn’t matter. God still uses foolish tools in the hands of weak people to build his kingdom. Backed by prayer and his power, we can accomplish the unthinkable.

The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir sings a song that captures God’s penchant for using the weak to shame the strong. It goes, “If you can use anything, Lord, you can use me.” Kenneth Ware, one of the associate pastors, has shown this kind of faith more than once. Years ago, this godly, gray-haired African American started all-night prayer meetings on Friday nights in the church. Then he organized a Prayer Band—a group of people committed to calling on the Lord at the church on a continuing schedule.

Soon the members of the Prayer Band were praying five nights a week, from 11 P.M. to 6 A.M. Today they are in the church seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, praying in three-hour shifts or longer. Every request we receive is written on a little card and lifted to the Lord for the next thirty days.

I remember the day Pastor Ware said to me in a fatherly tone (he’s at least fifteen years older than I am), “Pastor, you know, we’re still not seeing God do all he wants to do. You’re preaching with all your heart, but we need to see more conviction of sin, more of God’s manifest presence in our services.”

I agreed and listened, wondering what he would say next.

“I’m serious,” Pastor Ware continued. “We probably have half a dozen HIV-positive people in every meeting. We’ve got crack addicts. We’ve got marriages on the rocks, brokenhearted moms, young people hardened by the city. They really need the Lord.

“I want to have the Prayer Band start praying somewhere about this during the actual meetings, while you’re preaching. We need to see God break through among us.”

I gave Pastor Ware my blessing, and to this day he has twenty or so people closed in a room to pray during each of the four meetings—a total of eighty intercessors each Sunday. They start by praying with the pastors fifteen minutes before the meeting and keep going even after everything ends. Sometimes, in leaving the building at ten or ten-thirty at night, I have heard them still praying.

The first or second Sunday of this effort, I was in my office getting ready for the afternoon service when I heard, through the heating ducts, a noise from the room upstairs … the sound of people praying. The worship had just begun, and the Prayer Band was already calling on God.

Someone must have been kneeling at a chair directly beside a vent, because I distinctly heard a woman’s voice say: “God, protect him. Help him, Lord. Use him to proclaim your Word today. Convict of sin; change people, Lord!”

My heart started to beat faster. My spirit began to rise toward the throne of grace along with theirs. In a few minutes I left my office wondering what God might have in store for us that afternoon.

The place was packed as usual. The choir sang, and I preached with all my heart about the love of God. “How desperately God wants you to come to him,” I pleaded near the end. “What damns a soul in the end and sends you off into a terrible eternity is rejecting the love of God. He chases you, tries to hem you in, tries to get your attention. This love, this passion for you, is so real. He desires the death of no one. He wants everyone to come to a knowledge of the truth. Don’t reject God’s love! Don’t go there! That’s what will seal your doom.”

As I reached the end of my message, I moved to the side of the pulpit and closed my eyes. I kept urging people to come to the front and respond to God’s love. I kept talking, lost in my passion for those who didn’t know Christ….

A Jewish man about 25 years old, wearing beige chinos and a light green sport shirt, stood up in the back row of the lower auditorium and began edging toward the center aisle. What I didn’t see, because I still had my eyes shut, was the steel-gray 38-caliber revolver in his right hand, leveled at me!

Down the aisle he came, the gun pointed right at my chest. Many in the congregation didn’t notice because their eyes, like mine, were closed. The ones who saw him froze in terror. Even the ushers seemed paralyzed. By the time they sprang into action, it was too late—the man was coming up the steps onto the platform. All the while, I continued to implore the crowd to yield to God’s love, having no idea that my life seemed in imminent danger.

Carol was playing the piano behind me, and her eyes were wide open. In panic she screamed my name twice: “Jim! Jim!” I didn’t hear her. I was busy urging people to come to Jesus—and seemingly, I was on my way to Jesus myself right then.

Carol was sure she was about to witness the cold-blooded murder of her husband—and then what? Would the fellow turn on her next?

He did neither. Instead, he walked up right beside me and tossed the weapon onto the pulpit. Suddenly I heard a crash, my eyes flew open—and there’s a gun on my pulpit!

The man started to run back across the platform, down the steps, and up the aisle again. My only instinct was to chase after him and call, “No, no—don’t go! It’s okay. Wait!—”

He fell into a heap and began to weep as he cried out in a pitiful moan, “Jesus, help me! I can’t take it anymore!”

By then the ushers were on top of him, not to harm him but to control the situation and also to begin to pray for him. Meanwhile, the church was in pandemonium. Some people were crying, others were praying aloud, still others sat in stunned silence.

In a moment I walked back up to the pulpit. I took a deep breath, then held up the gun—not realizing it was loaded—and said just one sentence, more to myself than to the audience:

“Look what the love of God can make somebody give up.”

Suddenly, from all over the building, people began to race to the altar. God had attached the final point to my message. A great harvest of needy souls came to the loving Christ that day.

As I watched the response, my mind went back to the woman’s prayer a couple of hours earlier: “Lord, protect him today. Convict of sin; change lives….”

The man, somewhat unbalanced in his mind, said he had never intended to hurt me. He was planning to hurt somebody who had meddled with his girlfriend … and he had just stopped by our meeting on the way. He became so convicted of the hate in his heart that he said to himself, I have to get rid of this gun. I must give it to the preacher.

As a result of the Prayer Band’s praying straight into the face of danger, a life was spared. A great victory for God’s kingdom was won; we baptized more than a dozen people as a result of that one meeting. The power of God was evident, and his work went forward.

THE FALLOUT

WHILE MOST PEOPLE WERE relieved and rejoicing at the outcome, my wife was in shock. She said very little the rest of that Sunday. The next morning, as we were having coffee, she let go of her feelings.

“Is that the way it’s going to end for us someday, Jim? Is that how we’re going to go out—somebody’s just going to walk up and kill you in a meeting?

“We have no protection up there! Where were the ushers? Where were the security people? We could easily have been killed yesterday.”

I tried to console her and reason with her. “No, Carol—the Lord protected us this time, and he will in the future. The ushers had no chance to stop him anyway.” But my words fell flat.

All week long, Carol suffered. The fear was oppressive. She had trouble sleeping. I would find her staring into space, replaying the awful moments of Sunday afternoon in her mind, again and again.

That Friday night Carol made herself lead the choir practice as usual. Following their custom, the members began with a half hour or more of prayer and worship before ever singing a note.

The Holy Spirit spoke to one of the choir members. She came out of her section to stand beside Carol, took the microphone, and said, “You know what? I believe God just showed me that we should lift up Carol in prayer. Would you all join me?”

They gathered around, laid hands on my wife, and began to pray with intensity. In that moment, something happened that five days of her brooding and my consoling had not achieved. Carol was free of fear once again.

When we get serious about drawing upon God’s power, remarkable things will happen. Even if we grow listless and lukewarm, still Christ says, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come and eat with him, and he with me…. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (Rev. 3:20, 22).

Those gentle words, quoted often by evangelists to those who do not know Christ, were addressed to the Laodicean Christians whom Jesus had just scolded. Although he was grieved by their lethargy, he nevertheless offered his renewing love and power to any who would open the door. Will we?