Tag Archives: Pentecost

Unexpectedly: The Holy Spirit around the Globe

I received what was called a local preacher’s license in 1952, when I was only 17 years old. That means I have been at this business of preaching for 68 years. I have been the pastor of nine local churches and the organizing pastor of three of those nine. You may wonder why I’m sharing that…and you may consider it a bit boastful. Not so, not so at all. I share it as a part of a confession. The question really is, what sort of church did I plant?

Our scripture lesson – Acts 2:1-14, 42-47–tells the story of the first church plant in Christian history. At first blush, that certainly was not a good way to start a church. There was the disturbance of a roaring wind that would drown out any speaking. Then uneducated people speaking in languages they had never heard. And not only a roaring wind, and strange speaking, but what was described as “tongues of fire” resting on each of them.

Unbridled excitement and strange acting. What a way to start a church! The question has to be, what was happening here, anyway? And that is what my sermon is all about: what was happening here?Let’s think about it.

The first is this: God came unexpectedly, which of course is nothing new. God seems to make it a habit of sneaking up on the human race. Appearing unrepentantly, when no one is looking or knows what is going on, God is in their midst.

The kind of thing that happened at Pentecost had happened before. Moses was out in the field alone, taking care of his father-in-law’s flock. And there it was – a burning bush, and a voice coming out of the bush, and Moses was called to lead God’s children out of Egyptian bondage.

And now, here at Pentecost, is this little band of frightened disciples whose leader has gone off and left them; they are stunned, confused, and unable to figure out what to do. The only instruction they had was, “stay, just stay in Jerusalem, until you receive the gift the Father has promised.” What gift, they must have wondered! Then along comes God unexpectedly when they were not even looking.

Friends, I remind you: that kind of God action has not ceased. I have seen dramatic witnesses of it. One of the joys of my life was to chair the Evangelism Committee of the World Methodist Council for 20 years. This gave me opportunity to travel the world and meet extraordinary Christians. Two of those were Nelson Mandela and Stanley Mogoba. You know about Mandela, the man whose life and witness led to breaking the back of that awful oppressive system of apartheid. But you probably have not heard of Stanley Mogoba. He was the first Black person to be the presiding bishop of the Methodist Church of South Africa.

About the time Nelson Mandela was sent to prison, Stanley met with a group of angry students and sought to dissuade them from violent demonstration. Just for that – trying to avert violence – he was arrested and imprisoned for six years on the notorious Robben Island. Mandela was already in prison there. He and Mogoba became friends there in prison.

One day someone pushed a religious tract under Mogoba’s cell door. Parenthetically, don’t ever forget: most people become Christian not by big events, but by relationship and simple actions like a person putting a tract beneath a prison cell door. By reading that little tract and responding to the Holy Spirit, Mogoba became a Christian. He quoted the words of Charles Wesley’s hymn to describe his experience:

“Thine eye diffused a quickening ray
I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;
my chains fell off; my heart was free,
I rose, went forth and followed thee.”

God showed up, in a prison and in a simple gospel tract, and something unexpected happened. A person who was to lead the Methodist movement in South Africa was converted.

Are you listening? God who came unexpectedly at Pentecost continues to show up today…in prisons, on the streets, in person, in the Church.

Yes, in the Church. And that leads to the second thing I would say. Pentecost was a missionary event. Jesus made it clear that he would send the Holy Spirit to empower us for ministry. Listen to Acts l:8: “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

It shouldn’t surprise us, friends, when the Holy Spirit comes roaring through our lives and our communities; change will happen, people will be called to minister. People who have never known Jesus before will come to the altar to praise him.

How and why? Because God is a missionary God, and the Holy Spirit is the chief evangelist. Hold that tightly in your mind. The Holy Spirit has the power to create joy in the midst of sorrow and dancing in place of mourning. The Holy Spirit has the power to bring healing for our anguish and rescue life from the jaws of death. The Holy Spirit of God signals a time of restoration, awakening, and revival.

Pentecost was a missionary event. Remember, I asked you to hold tightly in your mind. The Holy Spirit is the chief evangelist. I believe revival is coming, because I believe the Holy Spirit is alive and active in our day, and we are moving toward a global Methodist church, an orthodox, evangelical, Wesleyan, Methodist Church.

We have been in a tumultuous time, contending with a mysterious virus; then came massive and widespread demonstrations calling us to racial justice. Our nation is politically divided, and hatred is blatantly present across the land. At the same time, we are also struggling with a painful divide in our United Methodist Church. It is a tough, heavy time. Discussion of separation is rampant, and I do believe separation is coming. Please hear me now. Separation doesn’t have to be bitter and angry. It can be redemptive. In fact, I believe it is going to be redemptive. That was signaled in a Holy Spirit event on December 17, 2019. Leaders from different perspectives of the church – from the most liberal to the most conservative – signed a “Protocol of Reconciliation and Grace through Separation.” I believe that if we had not had to cancel the General Conference that was to happen in May, that protocol would have passed and we would be on our way to a new global Methodist church.

People who know me and my history in the United Methodist Church are sometimes surprised about my position on some issues and my confidence that revival is coming. Some are surprised that I now believe separation is essential and can be redemptive. For decades, I have worked as hard as any lay person, minister, bishop or other leader in the church to preserve unity as we have struggled. So, let me share how I have come through the struggle to the place I am now in. The bishops called a special session of the General Conference in 2019 because the denomination was on the verge of implosion. We traditionalists prevailed at that General Conference in preserving the authority of Scripture. However, when we had done that by standard procedural vote, the conference deteriorated into a shouting match of anger, hateful accusations, and debate. I left the conference feeling with the psalmist, “Why are you cast down, O my soul?”

That was my state, when two weeks later I went to Cuba. I had visited Cuba twice before, and I knew revival was taking place, but I was not prepared for the robust power of the Holy Spirit being demonstrated in the church there. My time there was redemptive. It was a spiritual time of recovery in the wake of the General Conference experience.

The Church in Cuba is not affiliated with the UMC, it is the Methodist Church of Cuba. Bishop Pereira is a dynamic, Spirit-filled, Spirited-guided leader. Normally he would have attended our special General Conference, but he was needed at home. The communist government was seeking to change the legal definition of marriage. The government wanted to change that to simply a union between two persons. The bishop of the Methodist Church of Cuba had stayed in his country to lead his church in opposing what the government was proposing. I had come from a meeting in which I and others opposed a part of our church, including many bishops, seeking to do what would have resulted in the same thing the Cuban government was seeking to do. It was the church in Cuba, not the government, that prevailed.

Our missionary God has sent his primary evangelist, the Holy Spirit whose power cannot be denied. I’m going back to Cuba as soon as Covid will allow. I want to be encouraged by the hundreds of little bands of Christians that are being formed every year. The government will not allow the building of churches. So these little groups meet in homes, house churches being established all over. And one day, that government will discover that Holy Spirit power is more dynamic than anything they can design and impose on the people.

In Havana, there is a statue of the Risen Christ towering over the city, almost as high as the famous Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro. Not far from that statue is Che Guevara’s house, the companion of Castro as he seized leadership of Cuba in 1959.

Our small group shared communion at the feet of Christ, literally, as we gathered at the base of the statue on the morning we were leaving Cuba. There we were at the feet of Jesus, with his shadow falling over the city. When we took the bread and wine, we knew and proclaimed who is Lord, and that one day, he will claim the kingdoms of this world as his own.

More than ever, I believe that Holy Spirit revival is coming, and I pray regularly the prayer we pray during our Walk to Emmaus weekends:

Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of Thy faithful and kindle in them the fire of Thy love. Send forth Thy Spirit and they shall be created, and You shalt renew the face of the earth. Amen.

Featured image courtesy Hasan Almasi for Unsplash.

How Is Community Possible? A Note from Nouwen

In 2,000 years of church history, you will find an ebb and flow of opportunities seized and opportunities lost. While church history is often a study in fracture – who split from whom, when, and why – nevertheless, it remains remarkable that community is found even today among drastically different people. An illustrative moment comes to mind: a few years ago, a friend – a Methodist leader – found herself meeting Pope Francis at the Vatican. How much may change over 500 years.

If those of us in the United States can allow ourselves to be invited to take off our America-centric lenses for a moment, we have an opportunity to receive awe. Christians are worshiping together in Japan; Nigeria (where some recently have died due to their faith); Brazil; Nepal; Russia; Egypt; Switzerland; India; China; and a host of other countries. Just from this handful of examples, we know that China and Japan have a quite painful recent history with each other; but there are followers of Jesus in China, and followers of Jesus in Japan. Week after week, genuine believers gather in community in person (or virtually) to worship, hear Scripture, pray.

We believe in the holy catholic (universal) church, and the communion of saints. The global church is astounding in its breadth, diversity, and liveliness. Within the global church, the Wesleyan Methodist branch of the family tree is also astounding in its breadth, diversity, and liveliness – 80 Wesleyan Methodist denominations with over 80 million members in over 130 countries. Differences may remain, and yet community is also celebrated every five years at the World Methodist Conference, embodied in a procession of flags as representatives enter beaming.

How is community possible? Is it, perhaps, easier to interact with Christians from other nations who are a bit removed from more local controversy? Not always; iron sharpens iron, and sometimes believers outside of our own culture see clearly through our blind spots.

The truth is that the Christian faith has never approached community as possible solely in the confines of an echo chamber. The Holy Spirit destroys feedback loops; if we quench the Spirit, we lose our saltiness. Scripture burns; affirming the Creed tugs us into alignment; the Eucharist keeps us all beggars in a bread line; works of mercy force us to learn names, not just repeat talking points. If you approach community as a customer or a food critic, you will be hard-pressed to find it.

Like a virus, loneliness has grown to epidemic proportions. When an actual virus hit, the two collided. What does community look like when tent-pole communal rituals have to be put on pause? (What does community look like when there is significant difference in risk assessment among believers who have life insurance and health insurance, and those who don’t?) Rituals imbue time and gathering with layered symbols and actions that carry meaning far beyond the immediate and literal. When you and I lose rituals – from physically attending funerals to casually lingering in a store aisle, slowly browsing and picking up greeting cards – these actions, big and small, that mark our days and moor our identity are lost.

Who are we?

We are servants; we are the younger siblings of our sisters and brothers in Christ, who are leading believers through time zones and hemispheres and governments and languages and cultures. We are people of the Way, which means we do not belong to ourselves.

The late Henri Nouwen, a Catholic brother in the faith, lent his contemplative insight on community and solitude with these words:

“Community, like solitude, is primarily a quality of the heart. While it remains true that we will never know what community is if we never come together in one place, community does not necessarily mean being physically together. We can well live in community while being physically alone. In such a situation, we can act freely, speak honestly, and suffer patiently, because of the intimate bond of love that unites us with others even when time and place separate us from them. The community of love stretches out not only beyond the boundaries of countries and continents but also beyond the boundaries of decades and centuries. Not only the awareness of those who are far away but also the memory of those who lived long ago can lead us into a healing, sustaining, and guiding community. The space for God in community transcends all limits of time and place.

Thus the discipline of community frees us to go wherever the Spirit guides us, even to places we would rather not go. This is the real Pentecost experience. When the Spirit descended on the disciples huddled together in fear, they were set free to move out of their closed room into the world. As long as they were assembled in fear they did not yet form community. But when they had received the Spirit, they became a body of free people who could stay in communion with each other even when they were as far from each other as Rome is from Jerusalem. Thus, when it is the Spirit of God and not fear that unites us in community, no distance of time or place can separate us.”

– Henri Nouwen, excerpt from Making All Things New in My Sister, My Brother: Life Together in Christ, p. 49

Who are we? You and I are called to be Pentecost people, shaped not by national affiliation but by the holy catholic church, and the communion of saints. You and I are called to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit dwelling in us individually and in us as a community, whether gathered or scattered makes no difference. You and I are called to train our eyes and our hearts and minds to see that, “the community of love stretches out not only beyond the boundaries of countries and continents but also beyond the boundaries of decades and centuries.” This is no Sophomore crush love; it is the self-giving, pelican love of the Trinity that makes all things new, thunders and whispers, and loves us too much to let us stay small in our hearts, small in our holy imagination, small in our words, loves, and actions.

Featured image courtesy Simone Busatto on Unsplash.

When the Holy Spirit Empowers Our Ears to Hear

One of my favorite Holy Days is Pentecost, partly because (thankfully) it hasn’t been co-opted by Western consumerism. Maybe that’s why it comes and goes without too much attention. We don’t have weeks of lead-up like we do for Christmas or Easter; and the Holy Spirit definitely doesn’t have the economic punch of Santa or the Easter Bunny.

Pentecost is usually only recognized on a single Sunday, and then we move right into “Ordinary Time.” In 2020, Pentecost Sunday fell on May 31. With everything happening in our world right now, my hunch is that not very many of us noticed.

And yet this one day and what it marks is integral to understanding Christian faith. This is especially true when it comes to showing and sharing the love of Jesus. Without Pentecost – that miracle of communication – faith-sharing is reduced to a mechanistic step-by-step procedure filled less with love than prescription. But when the Holy Spirit comes, everything mechanical is blown away, and we’re left with the miracle of mouths and ears.

This isn’t new information. Christians celebrate that the Holy Spirit descended on the followers of Jesus, empowering them to speak boldly about his life, death, and resurrection. We celebrate that when the Holy Spirit descended, all the people gathered in Jerusalem for Shavu’ot heard the followers of Jesus speaking in their own language – even though there were Jews from many different lands who spoke many different languages. Pentecost was a miracle of communication because it was a miracle of understanding. Everyone was able to understand the good news of Jesus Christ.

Grasping that miracle is an important part of showing and sharing the love of Jesus. When we share the good news of Jesus Christ, we want it to be in a language that other people can understand. We want the words of our mouths to be understandable to the ears of those we hope to reach. Again, there’s nothing new here, but every now and then it’s important to look at things from a different perspective. What if God isn’t just interested in our mouths, but also in our ears? What if the ongoing Pentecost miracle of communication needs to involve not just what we say, but what we hear, as well?

When the Holy Spirit descended that Pentecost morning, it landed on a tiny, frightened, unpopular group of people. They were lying low, staying out of the way, not knowing what the authorities would do next. There weren’t very many of them compared to all the rest of Jews gathered in Jerusalem. They were in the minority, working class Galileans with little power compared to everybody else. These were the mouths the Holy Spirit empowered to speak.

Then there were all the ears that heard on that day. They were from all over. Some were devout Jews who had the means to travel from as far away as Rome. A privileged class. Others lived in Jerusalem – mainstream Jews and maybe even some of the religious elite, like the Pharisees or Sadducees, who had been marking this festival year in and year out with little change. These were the ears that the Holy Spirit empowered to hear.

In these days of crisis and challenge, I’ve begun to wonder who we (at least those of us who identify as white in the global West/North) look like. Are we more like the ragtag group of Jesus followers, with little power, in hiding for fear of what the authorities might do? Or are we more like the visitors from Rome or the other mainstream folks living in Jerusalem, routinely celebrating another religious holiday with little worry or thought of danger? Are we more like the mouths who were empowered to speak or the ears who were empowered to hear?

The global Christian landscape has been changing for quite some time now – shifting significantly south and eastward. In the face of such dramatic change, perspective is crucial. Does the Holy Spirit desire to loose our stammering tongues, filling us with the courage and boldness necessary to speak? Or, is it possible that the Holy Spirit is leading us to become the ears that hear? Is there a word from the Lord that can only come to us through the power of the Holy Spirit opening our ears to voices we have not noticed or have been unwilling to hear?

There are many in the Christian family who resemble the mouths empowered to speak on that first Pentecost day. And there are many as well, who picture themselves as the mouths that spoke, but who actually bear a closer resemblance to the ears that heard.

How might our witness be strengthened if we opened ourselves to the miracle of mouths and ears embodied in Pentecost?

How might the way we follow Jesus change if we were willing at every step, to discern which was most needful of Holy Spirit empowerment – our mouths or our ears?

As we continue to live out our faith in the midst of divisiveness, fear, and the threat of illness and death, I pray for that kind of discernment – that all of us would be open to the Holy Spirit’s ongoing miracle of mouths and ears.

All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak…and they all heard in their own languages. (Acts 2:4, 6 paraphrased)

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ Reckoning Before Revival

There is a reckoning unfolding that we would avoid if we could – unless we are one of the people who have been crying out for it, praying for it, watching the horizon for it.

But the people who pray for revival and the people who pray for reckoning aren’t always the same.

In the open air of summer camp meeting, I watched with child’s eyes as adults around me responded to altar calls from evangelists. Most of the people sitting on rough wooden pews were not atheists; they were looking for sanctification. Often, they were looking for release – catharsis, tears, freedom in individual hearts and minds. Preachers cautioned against returning home without living out the work claimed to have been done in the heart kneeling at the altar rail. I lost count of the times I went to the altar to pray.

Good was done in those camp meetings. When revivalistic Protestants speak of revival, it almost always entails looking back and looking forward – back to something that was, forward hoping to see it again. A lot has been written in the past few years that helps to puncture the yearning for a supposed golden time or the vague chase for nebulous revival.

Exploration of travailing prayer looks at the presence of focused, laboring intercession preceding spiritual awakening within the footprints of church history. Travailing is childbirth language; it is the language of being in labor, experiencing the pain of contractions. Rather than lament the absence of an idealized past with varying descriptions of revival – rather than hope wistfully to experience those descriptions of revival if God chooses to allow it (as if God is preoccupied on the phone rather than willingly pouring out the power and presence of the Holy Spirit) – discussions of travailing prayer highlight the rhythms of awakenings around the world the past few hundred years. Through this, we find helpful posture and practices for those hungry for spiritual awakening. A willingness to engage in travailing prayer should precede scanning the horizon for signs of revival.

Discussions on travailing prayer seem to be a necessary and pivotal counterpoint to any approach to revival that reduces awakening primarily to a personal experience of subjective emotional response. If we do not accept the burden of laboring in travailing prayer, we cannot complain of the need for awakened revival.

But I would say today, on a cool spring morning in the early years of the 21st century, living and breathing on American soil, that the people who pray for revival and the people who pray for reckoning aren’t always the same people. But they may be praying for the same thing.

People who pray for revival may want Holy Spirit power; people who pray for reckoning want the power of God to flip the power of oppressors upside-down.

People who pray for reckoning are people who are already used to praying travailing prayer, because they don’t have to go far to find themselves groaning in spirit.

The power of God may be poised, waiting to see whether the people accustomed to praying for revival will awaken to the deep-seated memory that revival and reckoning were never separated in the first place.

Reckoning came before the glory of the Lord would be revealed. The apocalypse – the uncovering – the unveiling – the revealing of God’s glory – would not occur without reckoning.

The people of Israel learned and forgot this time and again.

When the Word Became Flesh and walked around revealing God’s glory to untouchables and undesirables and overlookeds and underfeds, reckoning thundered in his wake; the same God spoke the Truth of God and to some it sounded like blessing and beatitude and to others it echoed of woe and dread.

To desire God’s glory without submitting to God’s reckoning is to desire the benefits of God without the costs of the way of Jesus.

Judas wanted to be near power and glory. Judas was near power and glory. Judas could not submit to the reckoning that occurs in the presence of God who was walking around eating fish and raising the dead and sitting in the houses of imperial collaborators.

Judas acted out of self-preservation and then regretted it; but the apocalypse – the uncovering – the unveiling of his own heart and motives became a further moment of reckoning for the rest of the disciples. In the face of the crucifixion, they also faced the revelation of Judas’ actions. Gospel readers know that before Judas tried to bolt as a disciple, he embezzled from the treasury box – a box funded by wealthy women supporting Jesus’ ministry.

In Acts 1, about 120 men and women – disciples of Jesus – gathered together earnestly praying, before Pentecost – before the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. In the midst of this travailing prayer, before Pentecost, they face what Judas has done – “he was one of our number and shared in our ministry.”

Reckoning comes before revival.

Had the wealthy women disciples noticed discrepancies in the treasury and prayed for God to reveal the truth of what was happening?

Had Judas stolen from someone who’d given their last two mites, their five loaves and two fish? Had someone powerless seen his quick, hidden dip into the group funds? Had someone prayed for reckoning? Someone who was dismayed but not shocked to learn about Judas betraying Jesus?

We cannot pray for revival without being willing to face the reckoning. If we submit to the reckoning, we may or may not see revival, but we will have submitted ourselves to the justice, mercy, and power of God – “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:24)

An impoverished unmarried woman prophesied in a time when her homeland was occupied by foreign forces:

“And Mary said:

‘My soul glorifies the Lord
    and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
    for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
    remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
    just as he promised our ancestors.'”

This ferocity from the mother of Christ celebrates the fact that for many, reckoning means hope.

“He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.” She rejoices because God has been “mindful of the humble state of his servant.”

Her suffering had not been overlooked; her humiliation had not been forgotten or ignored; the injustice experienced by her people was being answered in the arrival of the revelation of the Son of God – the God of jubilee and freedom, hope for widows and welcome for strangers.

People who pray for reckoning are people who are already used to praying travailing prayer, because they don’t have to go far to find themselves groaning in spirit.

There is a reckoning unfolding that we would avoid if we could – unless we are one of the people who have been crying out for it, praying for it, watching the horizon for it.

But the people who pray for revival and the people who pray for reckoning aren’t always the same.

Where in the Book of Acts can I find the Holy Spirit pouring out on groups of believers easily characterized by shared race – when that race is so predominantly represented because congregations and traditions sprang up geographically in places that less than a lifetime ago had Sundown signs posted at city limits? How can I say I long for individual and corporate spiritual awakening if I pray for revival in a room dominated by other white Americans?

Predominantly white towns and regions did not happen accidentally. Thousands of American churches are predominantly white because decades ago explicit signs or implicit laws made them that way and kept them that way.

Some of the oldest, storied, traditional Black Methodist denominations exist because white Methodists kept them out. Consider the AME (African Methodist Episcopal) Zion Church:

“The origins of this church can be traced to the John Street Methodist Church of New York City. Following acts of overt discrimination in New York (such as black parishioners being forced to leave worship), many black Christians left to form their own churches. The first church founded by the AME Zion Church was built in 1800 and was named Zion; one of the founders was William Hamilton, a prominent orator and abolitionist. These early black churches still belonged to the Methodist Episcopal Church denomination, although the congregations were independent. During the Great Awakening, the Methodists and Baptists had welcomed free blacks and slaves to their congregations and as preachers.”

Revival and reckoning had gone hand in hand – during the Great Awakening, Methodists and Baptists had welcomed “free Blacks and slaves to their congregations and as preachers.” But in the wake of the awakening, hearts closed; decades before the Civil War, the debate within the Methodist Episcopal Church over accepting Black ministers led to the official formation of the AME Zion Church.

Sitting in the humidity watching adults fumble down the aisle of the open air tabernacle toward the altar, crickets and cicadas loud against the singing of “I Surrender All,” almost every face around me was white.

How can God take seriously the prayers – even the travailing prayers – for revival and spiritual awakening that are prayed distracted from the cries, laments, and groans of those praying for reckoning?

We want revival only inasmuch as we desire to submit ourselves to reckoning, and the predominantly white Protestant Church in the United States on this Eve of Pentecost 2020 has shown nothing so clearly in the past six months as its damnable refusal to submit to anything, much less the convicting reckoning of Almighty God.

We want revival for ourselves and reckoning for our adversaries, rather than reckoning for ourselves and revival for our adversaries. The way of the cross of Jesus Christ welcomes the painful scrutiny of the Holy Spirit upon ourselves and the Holy Spirit’s merciful grace toward literally everyone else.

White Christians who pray for Holy Spirit power need to ask ourselves if we have a history of using power well. If we cannot answer that with a “yes” then we should beg God to spare us from pouring out any holy power on us that would consume us in its blaze. We should beg God to spare us until we have the character to withstand the presence of the Holy Spirit – “our God is a consuming fire.”

Desiring proximity to power and glory without submitting to the reckoning that occurs in the presence of God will place us squarely alongside a disciple – but not the disciple we would wish to emulate.

If revival does not come for you, it cannot come for me. If reckoning is what you are praying for, I cannot ignore it. If my prayers for revival sound trite while you groan for God to hear your pleas for justice, then I must join your groans and prayers for reckoning, sharing in your travailing as I can.

Ferocious Mary, mother of God prayed table-flipping prayers years before her son walked into the temple for a day of reckoning.

“He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.“

If Christians are baffled at why our prayers are being sent away empty, maybe we should consider that it is because we are avoiding the reckoning while praying for the revival. The arm of God will crash down on us like thunder if we think we deserve the outpouring of the Holy Spirit while avoiding truth; if we think we are entitled to revival while others need to prove their worthiness.

The Holy Spirit of God poured out on women and men, empowering them to speak in different languages. Jews from all different regions heard God calling out to them in their own languages, with their own words – God’s heart in the sound of their own accent:

“‘Aren’t all these who are speaking Galileans? Then how is it that each of us hears them in our native language? Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome(both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs—we hear them declaring the wonders of God in our own tongues!”

Pentecost has always only meant that the pouring out of the Holy Spirit means hearing God’s wonders. The Holy Spirit was set loose witnessing to the Resurrected Christ: “He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble.“

If I do not have ears to hear the groaning for reckoning, I do not have ears to hear the wonders of God.

If we justify church leaders who abuse their positions to exploit others, we do not have ears to hear the wonders of God.

If we ignore the groans of suffering people inside or outside the church, we have stopped up our ears to ignore the wonders of God.

If we resist the opportunity to learn our own history and the history of others so that we can better grieve and lament our broken, shared story, then we dim the volume of the wonders of God.

If we scorn the accounts of the hurting out of the compulsion to justify people who remind us of us, we silence the mouth of Jesus; we drown out the wonders of God.

A few months ago, Rev. Shalom Liddick preached on intercession. Anointed by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, she testified to this truth:

“I’m your keeper – you are mine. The fact that God came to Cain and asked, ‘where is your brother?’ tells me something. It tells me God will ask me about my community. ‘Hey – where is…?’ It is my responsibility to pray for you. Where are you, friend? We live in a culture where we want to be independent. But I need to make it a point to always present you before God, and you need to make it a point to present me before God.

Remember: you are your brother’s keeper; you are your sister’s keeper. You’re a watchman. And where God has placed you, God has placed you on purpose. Watchmen stand in the middle to communicate, to see, to defend. An intercessor stands in the middle to intervene on behalf of somebody else.

God calls me and calls you to be people who get in the middle and say, ‘God, can you help my sister? Can you help my brother? Can you help my community?’ God is present – in the middle – of everything.”

Reckoning comes before revival, and before we open our eyes on Pentecost Sunday, we must face the question of whether or not we have failed to be each others’ keepers. Whether we have neglected to stand in the middle and intervene.

In John Donne’s classic poem, “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” he considers the question not only of inquiring whose funeral a bell announces, but also the dilemma of whose responsibility it is to ring a bell announcing a sermon. Reflecting on funeral bells tolling, he wonders if the bell could ring for himself, if he were too ill to realize how ill he was:

“PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he
knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so
much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my
state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.

The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she
does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action
concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which
is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.
And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is
of one author, and is one volume.”

Can one be so sick they do not recognize the extent of their illness – to such a degree that they do not realize the funeral bell tolls for them? Can our souls carry unseen disease, visible to those around us but hidden from ourselves, so that we do not even realize the reckoning is ours?

On responsibility to ring the sermon bell, he muses that those who realize the dignity of the task will quickly respond to share the responsibility: “The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth.” The bell tolls for the person who thinks it summons them.

But whether or not we have trained our ears to hear the summons is another matter. And this is the tragedy of Pentecost: “Some, however, made fun of them and said, ‘They have had too much wine.'” We cannot hear what we do not listen for. We cannot hear revival if we believe it doesn’t sound like reckoning.

Every time a funeral bell tolls for someone else, it tolls for me, because their death diminishes me.

“I’m your keeper. You are mine. God came to Cain and asked, “where is your brother?”

The people who pray for revival and the people who pray for reckoning aren’t always the same people. But they may be praying for the same thing.

Come, Holy Spirit.

And let justice, like revival, roll down.

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ A Prayer for Burning Grace: Protocols & Pentecost

Pastors and denominational leaders face tough decisions right now. The Christian faith is inherently embodied; we gather, we meet, we celebrate the Incarnation – the Word Made Flesh. For millenia, we’ve celebrated the Eucharist, finding Christ’s presence in the tangible – wine and bread, a burning grace.

The Christian faith is also inherently self-sacrificial; we mend, we serve, we search out the vulnerable, we protect, we value. We “look out not only for (our) own interests, but also for the interests of others,” being told, “let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus…” who “took the form of a servant.” (Phil. 2) Early Christians rescued abandoned babies on hillsides and cared for their own plague-stricken members as well as caring for poor members of the Empire (to the Empire’s chagrin).

In gathered worship or scattered and serving, Christians have been told that whatever we do, we should do with good cheer. Rejoice in worship, rejoice in giving. Rejoice in getting together, rejoice in serving others. Grumbling is apparently not a Fruit of the Spirit. We value creation; and we show it by serving.

*Originally seen as shared by Dr. Holly Taylor Coolman.*

The Body of Christ is essential even if meeting together is interrupted. Churches are essential insofar as the Body of Christ is essential; but access to church buildings is not an absolute, essential piece of the puzzle. While the Body of Christ, existing in the life of congregations, is essential, congregants are not expendable. We are a people who value life and promote its flourishing.

The Christian faith is inherently embodied; but it is also inherently self-sacrificial. And so many face tough decisions. Leaders of all denominations have an opportunity to take strain off of individual clergymembers by continuing to create contingency plans and best practice protocol:

plans, practices, and protocol that cheerfully look out for the value and dignity of each church member and potential visitor.

When the strain is greatest, let’s continue to forge ahead with creative resilience.

By doing so we march hand in hand with the midwives of Egypt, who protected vulnerable newborns at risk to their own lives, thwarting the easy call of casual contempt, by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Moses and Miriam, called to distance from the land of their upbringing, caught between warriors and water, carried to the other side on dry land by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Elijah, who poured water on his altar, making sure every single witness knew that it was only God who could make the fire fall, watching the revelation of God crack the sky, vindicated by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Esther, who found herself vulnerable in halls of influence and power, carried by the urgent encouragement of one who saw clearly the stakes for a whole people group. She found favor with the powerful, toppling corrupt schemes and protecting the innocent by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who found themselves caught in the crucible but discovered in it the presence of a fourth – “I see a fourth man, who looks like the Son of God” – rescued from the inferno by the burning grace of God, not even smelling like ash.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Paul, who cried out in his letter to his fellow church members in Philippi how much he longed to see them face to face, person to person; how intently he prayed for them, by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with John Wesley, who as a child was rescued by community members during a roaring house fire, grabbed from a window, a “brand plucked from the flames.” His early memories were seared by other people sacrificing in order to protect him; later he experienced his very soul being warmed, not by trauma but by the burning grace of God.

We have nothing to fear from closed doors; we have everything to fear from closed hearts.

Our hope is not in “business as usual,” our hope is in the fourth man, who looks like the Son of God, wandering around casually in the crucible with us – the Ascended Christ.

Our hope is not in the Pentecost banners we’re accustomed to seeing in church sanctuaries, our hope is in the Holy Spirit, who descended on believers – only to scatter them.

In this moment we still have a choice of what we are going to be: a dead, rotted stump of former things, or potent seed bursting with latent life, willing to live scattered by the Spirit.

By the burning grace of God, we pray, Christ Ascended, that you will char away our bent to dry rot; scatter us like fresh, powerful seed, holding the promise of fruit we can only imagine, because it is only possible through the radiance of your Holy Spirit.

We do not like feeling scattered, God; we would rather stay close to each other.

Remind us that You are enough.

Remind us that you bind the stretches of the universe together and you bind us together, too.

Remind us that your Holy Spirit is faithful to keep us sensitive to each others’ needs if we will listen to Your Spirit who binds us together.

You are not just God who sustains gravity; you are God who knits with quantum entanglement for fun. Entangle our spirits with Your Holy Spirit, like particles that, “cannot be described independently from the state of the others even when separated by large distances;” entangle our hearts with each other.

Christ Ascended, in you we find wholeness; Holy Spirit, entangle those of us who feel distanced, lonely, despairing, afraid.

By the burning grace of God, keep us from being overwhelmed by distancing; sustain us with Pentecost entanglement that scatters and connects at the same time.

Through Christ our Lord, the only open door we need – Amen.

Justus Hunter ~ Promising the Mystery of Wisdom

Has the promise been fulfilled?

“You will eat in plenty and be satisfied.”

Has the promise been fulfilled?

“My people will never again be put to shame.”

Has the promise been fulfilled?

“I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh.”

God fulfills his promises. We know this. But we often struggle to see how. Because the promises God makes and the promises we would like aren’t always the same. His wisdom is not ours.

My sons want me to build them a playhouse. So I’ve been sketching a few ideas, and we’ve been scavenging useful things around the neighborhood on trash days. I came up with a small 8×6 structure with a hinged wall that lifts into an awning for hot or rainy days. You’ll note a parent’s motivation here – even if it’s hot or wet, they can stay outside! I was proud of my design. But when I showed it to the boys, they looked it over and asked, “Where is the desk? Where do we sleep?”

My plans didn’t suit their purposes. There was a gap, a rupture between my plans and their goals. I had my wisdom, and they had theirs.

In today’s reading from I Corinthians 2, Paul also speaks of two wisdoms. There is the wisdom of this age and its rulers, and there is the wisdom of God. And because there are two wisdoms, when he came to Corinth, Paul refused to speak as if he were wise. “My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom.” He decided to proclaim the mystery of God, but not in their words and according to their wisdom. “For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”

This message, the very mystery of God, requires a suitable foundation. The wisdom of this age will not do. Why not? Because the wisdom of this age and its rulers is, in fact, no wisdom at all. As it turns out, the wisdom of this age is foolish, absurd, contradictory. Its conclusion is the crucifixion. “They crucified the Lord of Glory.” As the early church thinkers observed, such things are unthinkable. How can the Lord of Glory himself, the very one who gives all life, who is Life Itself, be crucified, and die?

But this is the very thing the wisdom of our age does: it goes on as if the absurd were true. It lives as if Life Itself could be crucified, and that be the end of it. It is wisdom that attempts to destroy the Son, who is true Wisdom.

This, friends, is the wisdom of our age. We hear it all around us. And sometimes we live it. We live it each time we imagine we can carve off some corner of our life, set it aside, keep it secret from our Lord of Glory. We crucify him from our plans, our hopes, our times, our loves. We absurdly imagine that he could remain in the tomb, apart from the promises of our own making.

But no eye has seen nor ear heard what God has prepared for our plans and hopes, our times and loves. No heart can conceive the promises of God. None, that is, except God himself. None except the very Spirit of God.

And so Joel prophecies, “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.” “You will eat and be satisfied.”

The promise is fulfilled. The wisdom of God, the Son himself, has come to us. He has come, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again from the dead and ascended into heaven. What else do you expect when the Lord of Glory is crucified?

The promise is fulfilled. The ascended Son pours out the Spirit. The Spirit has come. The Spirit that, “searches everything, even the depths of God” is shed abroad in our hearts. Thanks be to God, we have received the Spirit. And so, “we will eat and be satisfied.”

I’m redesigning the boys’ playhouse. I’m adding a multi-purpose bench; desk by day, bunk by night. And maybe, if I’m lucky, they can take a nap out there as well. But I’m leaving the hinged wall and awning. You see, I know the boys will enjoy it. Their eyes have not seen what I have planned for them. My wisdom is greater than theirs.

God has poured out the Spirit on all flesh. The Spirit is present. It is here. Just as Christ walked by the Spirit, so might we. And so might we have the mind of Christ, that mind which crucifies the wisdom of this age.

Make no mistake – something must die. There are two wisdoms. And no matter how well our wisdom imitates the Spirit’s – no matter how noble or well-intentioned our promises might be – no one comprehends what is truly God’s except the Spirit of God.

And that very Spirit is offered us now, ready and eager to make bread and wine be for us the body and blood of Christ, poured out for us. Take and eat, friends. Receive the promises of God. Let them crucify your wisdom, the wisdom the Lord of Glory was crucified to take away, the wisdom the Spirit was poured out to overcome. Take. Eat. Be satisfied.

Carrie Carter ~ Waiting on the Holy Spirit

Waiting is not an easy task for me. I’ve been known to drive miles out of the way to avoid being delayed by a train. I’ve been caught sneaking food from the dish before it was placed on the table. I’ve evaluated the check-out lanes at Wal-Mart in order to choose the one with the shortest wait. I always choose wrong. Always. The microwave society that is the Western world has not helped to develop the fruit of patience (longsuffering?) in my life, and I find that it has done nothing to benefit our culture. I don’t have to drive in LA to know that road rage simmers on the pavement of I-5.

This week we celebrate Ascension Day. An interesting conversation happened on this last day of Jesus’ physical presence on earth. He was telling them to wait. He was answering their questions of, “is this when?” with a, “God’s times are none of your business.”

It’s funny that even after three years of walking alongside Jesus, living through the agony of his death, and celebrating his resurrection, they were still anticipating a coup on the Roman government (Acts 1:6). They had waited long enough. The nation of Israel had waited long enough.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait for the Father’s promise.” “Wait for the power you will receive.” “Wait for the Holy Spirit.”

And he was gone.

So they waited. They took care of some pre-church “business.” They waited some more.

Jesus didn’t tell them how long they would need to wait to receive God’s promise. Instead of grumbling, sighing, looking at their watches, complaining to the front desk staff, or checking for messages on their phones, they united in prayer. I don’t know what they prayed, but I don’t suppose it matters now.

They waited for 10 days. Ten days of not knowing how long they needed to wait and not understanding what they were waiting for but believing Jesus: that something was going to happen.

When it happened, they knew. All of Jerusalem knew. Pentecost came in a blaze of glory! Almost 2,000 years later, I’ve benefitted from that wait.

My reality makes this story painful. How often have I given up waiting on God’s promise because I didn’t see a “will expire on” stamp? How much have I missed because I was not submitted to God’s timeline? Like a petulant child, I’ve demanded answers right now, and I know, even within my own parenting, that a child who behaves in that manner rarely, if ever, gets that for which he or she asks.

The 10 days between Ascension Day and Pentecost is my yearly reminder that good things come to those who wait. That waiting is essential for growth within my spiritual journey. Those 10 days were not recorded as a time of uncertainty and frustration, but as a time of prayer and purpose.

My own prayer is that when God asks me to wait, whether for a week or for a season, I will do it well.

Little Pentecosts

While crowds of people followed Jesus during his earthly ministry in Judea, the spirit of Jesus worked through the disciples to give birth to a body of believers that has been growing ever since as the fire of the Holy Spirit spread to the ends of the earth.

Once again, Peter and the other disciples provide a significant model for us. While Jesus was on earth, they were followers, students. They didn’t always understand the message or the methods of Jesus’ ministry, and they certainly were not able to perform even a single miracle in Jesus’ presence. Their failures and weaknesses were most apparent.

In fact, Judas betrayed Jesus and then killed himself in despair; and when the pressure was on, Peter denied he ever knew Jesus. Finally, in the wake of the Crucifixion, everyone took refuge behind locked doors, hiding in terror, expecting reprisal. Yet these terrified followers didn’t remain students, and they didn’t remain terrified. Instead, they were transformed.

They were empowered by the Holy Spirit to be more than simply followers of Jesus; no longer students, they became messengers of the gospel. This transformation didn’t take place because of the bodily presence of the Jesus they had followed those many months; it didn’t happen because of his teaching or through the witness of his miracles and healings. The disciples were transformed into messengers by the presence of Jesus in real time, through the power of the Holy Spirit.

We call the event of the disciples’ transformation Pentecost, that miraculous event that took place fifty days after Easter and launched the spread of the gospel throughout the world. What we don’t always realize is that the Holy Spirit has been responsible for a myriad of little Pentecosts ever since.

A pivotal event in my own life occurred in 1996 when I had been in ministry only a short while. Due to the young age of my children, I had been appointed part-time to a local church as an associate; and while my work was focused mainly in the important areas of children’s worship and teaching, I had very little responsibility overall. Then I was invited to attend an evangelism conference, the Order of the Flame. With its emphasis on evangelism, the focus of the entire conference was on reaching others for Christ. It was a powerful time, and I was surrounded by many talented people who were doing exciting things for God’s kingdom.

The last event of the conference was a worship service. There was dynamic music, great preaching. It was an awesome worship experience. We closed our time with prayer. Everyone stood, and people spontaneously offered their prayers aloud.

As the praying became more intense, I suddenly felt the powerful presence of God’s Holy Spirit—not just in the service itself but within me. As I continued to listen to the prayers being lifted, I was overwhelmed by the spiritual depth that surrounded me, feeling out of my league. It didn’t seem possible that I could do the types of ministry these folks were doing with such power. I began to feel intensely unworthy, ill-equipped to do whatever it was God was calling me to do. In that moment, I was ready to bolt out of the room. It was truly a crisis, not necessarily of faith but of calling.

As I began to follow my instincts and leave as quickly as possible, I felt the full weight of God’s power upon me. I couldn’t move. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I sat down, convinced there was no way I could do what God was calling me to do.

Then suddenly I heard the voice of Jesus within me, saying, “you are ill-equipped; you don’t have all the ability. But that doesn’t matter; because I am not ill-equipped. You can do this—you will do this, because I am your source of power; and it is I who will work through you.”

God moments—“little Pentecosts”—times when we experience Jesus in real time. From that time on, everything changes—who we are, how we live. These aren’t events that exist only in the stories of our faith. They happen every day to believers all over the world, and following in the Jesus way requires that we be open to those life-changing, faith-shaping little Pentecosts.

Being open to experiencing our own little Pentecosts is about recognizing that each of us has a life mission. It’s that purpose for which God created you, for which God has placed unique gifts and talents and passions within you. And often, you can trace your “God mission” back to some particular passion that has been in your life for a long time.

Are you open to the Holy Spirit bringing a little Pentecost into your own life? What do you feel ill-equipped to do?

James Petticrew ~ Passion for Pentecost

On Sunday June 4th the Church of the Nazarene British Isles North District met at three locations across the U.K. to conclude its participation in “Thy Kingdom Come” and to celebrate Pentecost together. Rev. James Petticrew preached this sermon in Perth, Scotland as a part of that. Follow this link for more of Rev. Petticrew’s contributions to Wesleyan Accent.

Rob Haynes ~ Pentecost: What Does This Mean?

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place.  And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.  Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them.  All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.  Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans?  And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?  Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.”  All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?”  But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

“In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
    and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
    and your old men shall dream dreams.
Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
    in those days I will pour out my Spirit;
        and they shall prophesy.
And I will show portents in the heaven above
    and signs on the earth below,
        blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
The sun shall be turned to darkness
    and the moon to blood,
        before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” (Acts 2:1-21)

In verse 12, the people who witnessed the events of that Pentecost Day had one important question: “What does this mean?” They knew that something significant had occurred in their midst. However, they did not yet understand the fuller implications of the Spirit’s movement among them.

Just as they asked themselves, “What does this mean?” we too should reflect on the account in Acts for contemporary witness.

What does this mean? It means that the Spirit will meet the needs of the people. Many times in our churches, we work so very hard to meet the needs of people: those in our doors already and those yet outside of them. Yet, Acts tells us that God is even more interested in meeting the needs of people. He will do the miraculous to meet those needs. People heard the story of “God’s deeds of power” in their own language. That means that the Spirit met people in their own setting to meet their needs. In our contemporary contexts, we are often tempted to meet the needs of the people with some new out-of-the-box program or the next big idea. The lesson of Acts 2 is to instead be channels of the Spirit’s work and let him do the work that he wants to do.

What does this mean? It means that the ministry of the church does not rise and fall on one person alone. Peter, nor any single apostle, is the center of ministry. Rather, all the people are empowered to serve in the Kingdom of God. In the local church, it is tempting to pin the hopes of effective growth on one or two people. The hope of the church does not lie solely with the pastor, the longest standing member or the hip new staff member. All believers are called, and empowered, to serve.

By reading further in the account in Acts 2, we see what those new believers did: They were baptized, they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, they were discipled, and they shared meals and fellowship. They thought of others first. They put the mission of God before their own agendas. They spent time in the “breaking of bread,” taking care of each other and enjoying each other’s company. They did so in small groups and in large assemblies. They didn’t wait for Peter (the senior pastor, if you will) to do it.

And they prayed. When you pray, be careful. Things will change. If you start praying, really praying, things are going to change. Watch out! Are you ready for God to bring about the change you are praying for? Are you truly ready? In the Pentecost story the people embraced the change that God brought. And thank God that they did.

Can you imagine what would have happened if they refused to accept the changes God was doing? Imagine if the disciples had said, “Well, that’s all well and good, but I do not want to do anything different. Jesus is gone now and I just want to go back to my fishing boat, my tax collection booth. Don’t bother me.” What if they had stood up and said, “That is not the way we’ve done it before, and I sure don’t want to do it that way now.” Can you imagine the travesty? Christian believers today celebrate a spiritual heritage because those at the Pentecost movement of the Spirit said “YES” to the new thing that God was doing.

What does this mean? It means that churches were planted. They grew into vibrant communities of faith. By the power of the Spirit, they brought the Good News to the world. The Spirit met the needs of the people. The Spirit empowered the people to serve in the Kingdom of God. Those first believers responded by sharing with others the amazing things that they had seen. And they prayed in that same Spirit. They prayed and things changed.

What does this mean? Because the Spirit is still at work in the world, it means that the contemporary church can do just the same. This means that the church must prioritize the work of the Spirit over any ideas of people. As twentieth-century evangelist E. Stanley Jones said, “Unless the Holy Spirit fills, the human spirit fails.”

Rev. Dr. Rob Haynes is the Associate Director of Education and Leadership Development for World Methodist Evangelism. He may be reached at: rob[at]worldmethodist.org