It was months ago that they’d come. A mother. A father. One Sunday morning, all of us gathered and listening. A Mr. and Mrs. Martin were guest speakers that day, and the topic they brought was revival.
Growing up in the Wheat Belt, I’d sat through revivals on benches all hard, cold and wooden. Preachers thundered, Spirit convicted and we fled to the altar, crowd crooning “Just As I Am.”
Revival for sure in a church building proper, the sawdust and camp-meeting way.
That was then. But now, they told of a new way, a different method where folks took to highways and byways. To towns and to cities, to the mall and to shops. No hard pews. No “church proper.”But same Jesus.
“The disciples came to him and said, ‘Send the crowds away, so they can…buy themselves some food.’ Jesus replied, ‘They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.’”
So they came. Team Revive Indiana came to our town, and they taught a new way. Taught revival done just a bit differently. Equipping believers, teaching love and discernment, giving tools for the sowing and gathering.
Seven days was the plan. Seven days for Christians from Amish to Methodist. From there, yes, then on to the Baptists. To Pentecostals and Mennonites, Beachy and “English,” all coming together for one cause: Lord Christ’s kingdom.
When the Holy Spirit’s involved, He changes things up. When He comes in His power, things move. Move and shake. And so the 7 days became 52, a move unexpected, all surprising. God is working.
“Andrew spoke up. ‘Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?’”
It was yesterday, Day 17 of the 52 days, that another surprising thing happened. At 7:00 a.m., it began. A trickle, a rivulet, a virtual flood, and they came wearing jackets and colors.
Blue and yellow. Green and white. Purple, too; dash of crimson. White and blue, and the black and the red.Heaven’s rainbow.
Over 600 students from 16 (1-6) schools, and 200 leaders to help them. They prayed, they broke bread and then carried baskets with fish, grain-filled loaves to the hungry. Sons and daughters…
In that live, boisterous stream of students come early to share love of Christ and Him risen, there was one. There was one with blue eyes, quiet spirit, faithful heart who carried this name on his jacket:
This one boy. And other mamas’ girls and boys stepping up, bringing ‘lunch’ for the sharing. Northridge Raiders mixed with Falcons. Mixed with Bruins and Couriers teaming with Redskins and Panthers.
All as one. All for Him.
Last night, home at last from his day of revival, Blue-Eyed Boy is telling the story. He, my nonemotive son, is full. I can hear it, and see it. And looking at him, Mother asks, “So what is your big takeaway from it all?”
The answer that comes brings joy springing up, and happiness flooding my heart. “That this (oh, this praying for others, the sharing of Christ) should be grafted into my way of life.”
“They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up 12 basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. The number was about 5000 men, plus women and children.”
When Jesus comes, there is more than enough. There’s abundance; there are bushels left over. Miracles happen, and folks–they get fed. The men and the women and children.
New methods. Old truths. Spirit fire. Same Jesus. And He’s using the new generation.
Bless the Lord, O my soul.