Remembering Revival Words 7

I am continuing to remind myself of words that have stirred in me about revival over the last 5 years from BuyTheField.

SPIRIT’S PAVILION

originally penned September to November of 2020

Billions of places.

The mind roams, “rolodexing” through all the places that you might consider being. Some you’ve seen. Some you’ve only heard of. Predictable places and ‘off the beaten path' ones. Paris, under that tower at night (place 17,689,423,112). That one little nook in the Colorado Rockies where the water drops from one rock level to the next, down 8 or 9 levels (place 126,717).

And all the billions of places that your eyes have never touched for that place to even be imagined in your mind. Never seen by you. Never imagined by you. There's that oft bantered question. If a tree falls in the woods and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? My eyes not touching a place yet doesn't mean extraordinary life isn't already being lived there.

Or about to be lived.

Never seen by you. Never imagined by you.

Tucked in the East Tennessee mountains at the southern end of the Cumberland Plateau near Walden's Ridge, Signal Mountain rises 1700 feet above Chattanooga. Each of these spots one of those billions of places strung together in a region. And up on Signal Mountain is the Bible Church. Place 4,223,637,012. Quiet, humble beginnings in 1985 led to a bit of earth on Shackleford Ridge Road in 2003. A new house of worship. Lovely, understated, purposeful.

In the early autumn of 2017, a pavilion was being constructed at the Bible Church, nestled behind the original building in the edge of the mountain woods. Late one morning, the unfinished pavilion met a big gust of wind from a Hurricane Harvey remnant. Blown down. Collapsed. Disappointment. Setback. But resolute. The insurance settlement led to a new and improved plan. In the first half of 2018 a beautiful, inviting pavilion was completed and dedicated for blessed use on Signal. Place 37,219. Beautiful and inviting whether eyes are touching it or not.

My eyes had never touched place 37,219 for that place to even be imagined in my mind. Never seen by me. Never imagined by me.

Until....

Spirit's Pavilion….

It's interesting to think about places when no-one is at the place. It doesn't cease to be the place while no-one is there. Most of the time, we just don't think about a place while we're not at it. Most of the time. We might think, " Later, I'm going to the store...", but we don't slow to think about the store, what it's like, what the atmosphere was like when we were at the store the last time. We just acknowledge that we're going to the store, we go and that's that.

But not always.

There are times when we are not at a place and we long to be there. I have a very specific memory from my childhood. One summer I went with my friend, John Collins, to a camp in Lake Lure, NC. Camp Lurecrest (place 7,012,661). It was amazing. It was so much fun. Badminton tournament. Water skiing. Really fun games. Fountain drink machine where you could get a little bit of each flavor in your cup. Talent night. Camp week romances. I remember the worship leader singing a story song called "Forty Brave Soldiers for Jesus". My camp counselor was Gary Anderson. He made the week so special. I realized that as younger boys, we thought that Gary was really cool. Kind of a "I want to be a camp counselor like Gary when I grow up" thing. I'm slowing to take that last line in as I think about how many camps the Lord has allowed me to be a part of over the last 30 years. God is always previous. As I noticed Gary and the appeal of his life during that week of camp, God knew how He would be investing my life for these 30 years.

Back to the story. Camp ended. I loved the week so much. Packed my stinky, sweaty clothes and my light and joyful heart and headed home to Charlotte. My parents picked me up at the church and we headed to our home, 334 Chillingworth Lane (place 469,712). I started unpacking my bag and I sorted my laundry to the laundry room to begin the smell detox and the wave of my wonderful week started waving over me. I remember laying in a recliner in our living room and I started nodding off to sleep, pretty viciously. The stereo was on quietly in the background on a Christian radio station. I heard the blurred sounds of music as I drifted in and out of camp-exhausted sleep. All at once I snapped into clarity. Someone had called into the radio station and was talking on the air. Apparently the radio host had thrown out the topic of "things you are thankful for" and had invited people to call in to share. Gary Anderson was talking on the radio! My camp counselor was talking on the radio! It was almost like a little mini-adrenaline shot to go from sluggish camp sleepiness to hearing the voice of a man who had been really significant to me for the last week of my life. I listened as Gary told the radio host about the week of camp that he had just experienced and that he was so thankful for the group of guys that had been with him in Cabin 2C.

I started crying.

There are times when we are not at a place and we long to be there. In that moment as I listened to Gary sharing his gratitude to the Lord for his "guys from 2C" in our week of camp, I missed being at Lurecrest soooooo much. Even as a younger man I would describe it as my heart aching. That place had hosted significant living for me. My inner life had been touched and transformed in big, subtle ways during our week of camp. I wanted to be with Gary and my camp friends at Lurecrest at that moment soooooo intensely. That was part of the real of my heart at that point of my young life. That is still a part of the real in my heart at this point of my older life. These details still come to life in me.

I'm not currently at Spirit's Pavilion......

but I'm thinking about it.

Sometimes we simply acknowledge that we're going to a place later, we go and that's that.

But not always.

The Pandemic days of 2020 had been hard. The early days had eyes and ears glued to daily, hourly news reports of rising Covid numbers and deaths started multiplying. The Italy's of the world were being ravaged with death and sickness. The unknowing of whether we would experience the same was gnawing. We were thinking about it inside. "Is this really going to be a big thing?" Night by night the recap of the day seemed to become more and more intricate. It started to feel uncomfortable internally. "Why won't this just go away?" "Are we really going to start closing everything down?" It was hard. Harder than we cared to imagine or admit. Our lives were changing. It was uncomfortable. An uncomfortable world. An uncomfortable America. Different.

In a relatively short period of time, the world was collectively suffering in a new, particular way. Certainly, suffering was happening prior to the Pandemic of '20, but those new moments of suffering were unique. The world is certainly connected. The interweb seems available even to the poorest of the poor on dirt floors among cardboard walls with cell phone in hand. The world is certainly no stranger to suffering. Pockets of suffering out of Eden exist everywhere. But the Pandemic suffering of '20 was new. The 1918 Pandemic was not in the interweb age. It would take time for folks to learn of the death devastation happening around the globe. Within days of the onset of the Pandemic of '20 there was a Covid death dashboard up on the interweb tallying deaths and cases in real time. Click. Click. Click. There was quickly a suffering gasp around the world. A few nooks were untouched early, but a slow steady spread of suffering seeped around the earth. And it lingered and lingered and became not so new anymore. Even suffering gets stale at times.

Closed.

Much closed accept for necessities. Life for the homeless continued in rhythm. Life for those with homes changed. People went home. Hmmm. People went home. Bars, restaurants, schools, churches, businesses, government, sports, entertainment closed. It was surreal. So much shifting in such a short period of time. The suffering continued, Covid and living. Cases spreading, bodies piling, jobs lost, businesses ended, churches empty, crops spoiling, government scrambling in confusion, balls lay still. And home became "base" to view the suffering and change. There was the reality of being home and all the myriad of stories there. Thriving. Suffering.

March, April, May, June, July, August. Half a year. Not slight. Not simple. Lingering on in odd days, slipping into new normalcy. Masks, death, inconvenience, uncomfortable. Wondering about and waiting for spreading while seeking to live daily life as real and normal as possible, longing for normal to be the real again. Masks hanging on rear view mirrors and tucked in back pockets. Roped off rows at churches and schools and ball games. Meals in outdoor seating areas. Government resuming its chaos. And then, people left home again. Dispersing out into a world of ongoing suffering, emerging into an ongoing Pandemic.

The people at the Bible church on Signal have lived this story in unison with the world. This was their story too. After months of empty seats, a slow return began. Such a sweet gift to hear a few singing voices together in a familiar place. And her students. What a journey this was for her students. Seniors losing senior year things. Ballers losing seasons. Friendships losing face to face and gaining more screens. Finally, after a full half-year, hints of gathering together again face to face, mask to mask. Place 37,219 was cleared as the re-entry spot for the students of the Bible church. This airy, outdoor spot was ideal for their reunion. What a lovely spot to re-gather again after this slow, uncomfortable span.

It was wonderful just like they imagined. Night one brought bright, vibrant, masked faces to place 37,219. Such a sweet gift to hear their muffled voices, listen to them laugh while they played, open God's words with them again and watch some dance with a seeming pure joy as the night ended and folks trailed out of the Pavilion with a gladness of getting to be together. And this was the simple, enjoyable pattern for a month of weeks as they began again.....

until…..

The students from the Bible Church on Signal had experienced a lot of loss, a lot of change, a lot of waiting, a lot of internal wondering, a lot of pandemic reality. A student's heart is unique. So much is happening internally and externally, daily. When they arrived at continuing something again that had been a normal for them in the past, it was quietly hopeful. Gathering together at place 37,219 was a way of pushing back uncertainty right in the midst of uncertainty. They were trying to live on in it.

There was a slight chill in the air. Daylight was shortening. Propane heaters were being readied for when the Pavilion felt winter. But on this night, the cool was enough to pull on long sleeves and watch the late sun dance golden on the trees. It was that feeling of fall that the wet heat of summer makes you long for. There was a simple joy present throughout the 90 minutes of time together. Games were played. Healthy silliness in games with plastic cups and healthy competitions. Adult friends laughing with student friends. Watching the generations living some humble moments together was so healing, so healthy. Guitar strings were strummed. Masked mouths pushed praise words outward. "Praise is the highway". And then adult friends invited their student friends to grab their camp chairs and head to different spots that have quickly become "their spots" each time they gathered. There they circled up in their smaller groups to slow and talk about life, wander rabbit trail stories, and touch the pages and pixels of the words of God with one another.

Those are really tender moments. Adult friends slowing to regard the hearts and lives of the next generation. There is power there. There is sacrifice there. A sacrifice in the slowness of how long it takes for hearts to be formed. All our days. Older and younger. A sacrifice of letting words appear on the other side of the mask, pandemic or not, where they can't be masked anymore. Vulnerable courage. All our days. Older and younger. Watching it happen day by day, year by year, is such a deep honor.

A loud whistle was heard. It's the call around the wooded campus for everyone to come back to the Pavilion to "link up" and pray before we disperse into the new week. Folks trickled from "their spots" just like they have every gathering back. All circled in the pavilion. Another quiet, lovely evening of time spent together about to close. Folks were talking. Some were laughing. Adults and students learning about community together. As their shepherd made the all call for everyone to link up, their sign of unity together, the circle grew quiet for the closing words.

In the quieting, an unusual sound was heard.

One of the young men was standing in the circle, weeping audibly.

There is this amazing, seemingly life and death push/pull that resides during your student years. And beyond. One might call it the "stand out/blend in" matrix. Student relating can be brutal. Adult relating can be brutal. When you're in, you're in. Phewwww. Almost eternal sigh of relief. And when you're out, groan, you're out. Almost hellish sigh of soul pain. You so badly want to stand out enough that your person is deemed worth being in tier one. You must start with the appropriate paraphernalia. Each era has its own. Each group in each era has its own. Izod and Ocean Pacific. Nike and New American Standard. And it almost seems as though the matrix gods at the top of tier 1 have to converge perfectly for you to be noticed. So with your OP shirt on, Nike sneaks laced or NASB version appropriately procured, if and when the tier 1 matrix opens up to let you in, one might collapse in a heap of relief. It's that big. Once in, the newly welcomed tier 1 member does everything possible to enjoy the new status while desperately trying to blend in and not unnecessarily stand out in any kind of awkward or weird way fearing a matrix shift. Days later, you can miss school because of a stomach bug or a pandemic and in missing simply one or two days inside jokes around the lunch table, the matrix swallows you up upon your seeming, innocent return to the upper tier and you're spit out. Out.

The "stand out/blend in" matrix gets us somewhere. It gets us tired. Soul tired.

Why was the "stand out/blend in" matrix in play that night at Spirit's Pavilion? A male student weeping doesn't bode well in the matrix. You're standing out for all the wrong reasons. Of all the characteristics that can pass through the matrix membrane and keep you in good standing, it's almost like there's one that stands all by itself as the kamikaze display. A guy crying. And because we all know this matrix so well and that this would NEVER happen, there was an almost uncontrollable curiosity in the night air.

The quiet got quieter. Everyone knew it wasn't a "yellow jacket sting" or "someone made fun of me" cry. Somehow, everyone knew it was holy. Somehow they knew. And the quiet slowed. And they were together in the holy quiet with the one crying.

Don't rush reader. Slow with them.

"I need you Jesus.",

he muffled out through his cried tears.

There was an unheard gasp around the masked circle.

Something shifted.

The young student hadn't just declared that he needed Jesus. He had actually told Jesus that He needed Him in front of the matrix. And the matrix started crumbling. Stuff that is usually embedded firmly in the background as being really, really important to maintain at all costs was being shed and washed in one young man's tears.

He continued weeping with every eye turned toward him. He didn't look away. He kept weeping and the quiet kept being washed in tears.

Everyone knew it. Intrinsically it is branded into us. You don't do this. Guys don't do this. You can't do this and maintain your standing in the matrix. Death to the damned matrix. That's what cracked open as the tears dropped to the cement through his mask.

"I'm so tired. I'm so tired of trying to keep up with the game. I just show up and do this same routine over and over again week after week. I want there to be more than this."

The circle stood quietly, with respect. Many times, students are ruthless. And you and I. When they sense someone in the matrix tiers crashing and burning, it's a time to seize a move up in the matrix, regardless of the hemorrhaging of the one. "Sorry dude. Timely riddance." Of course, this is not said aloud, but it's totally known to be part of the matrix operating system. Not that moment. It was as if stiff shoulders started to drop down an inch as the matrix loosened. There was a freer breath for some. This viewing of unexpected, honest struggle was opening a pocket of freedom ever so slightly.

A high school girl walked completely across the circle towards another girl. It was the first movement since the guy's words had rippled across the pavilion. "I'm sorry", echoed in the night air. The two embraced and began to weep, quietly confessing some long standing hurt that had lingered between them.

Another was thinking, "What's going on? I thought this meeting was supposed to be over 5 minutes ago." And that was ok. We all get used to the routines of the way things normally go and can live predictably inside of them, not expecting them to ever really change and never thinking about them changing. But sometimes they do change. Sometimes they can change.

WHATEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHOMEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHENEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHYEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHEREVER HE CHOOSES.

HOWEVER HE CHOOSES.

What was happening at the Pavilion? Some stood still, not moving. Some walked out knowing that the normal ending time had been reached. And some began to move towards one another to embrace, to talk, to just stand near one another, still curious about what was going on.

The young man started speaking again. "Jesus, I want more. I want more of You. I don't even know why I'm saying this. I've never talked to You like this before. I feel like I want You. I feel desire. I feel like I want to know You. I don't really understand what's happening to me right now. I almost can't help saying this. Can You hear me? Are You the reason I'm saying this? Are You the reason I'm feeling this strange.....this strange.....hunger, this ache? That's what it feels like. It feels like an ache. Like I want something to change the way I am inside. Does that make sense to You? I feel silly, but I don't know what else to do. Something is happening to me that I can't explain. Something is different. Is this You Jesus? Are You working in me? In me? Please help me. Please help me to want more of You. My life isn't working. My routine isn't enough. There has to be more. I want there to be more."

Several of those who remained went down on their knees while He talked out loud to God. You could see several heads ever so slightly nodding "yes" as he talked. It was a nod of "Me too. Me too Jesus."

Me too.

Me too Jesus.

Sometimes it only takes one for something to shift. Sometimes it only takes one moment for something to shift. When the young man started weeping that night in the Pavilion, something shifted. Things had hummed along for weeks and weeks. There was nothing wrong with the routine as they gathered time after time. God is the one who knows the eternal value of the forming of hearts. The value isn't inherently found in "that was a fun meeting" or "her teaching was so strong". The value is...

WHATEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHOMEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHENEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHYEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHEREVER HE CHOOSES.

HOWEVER HE CHOOSES.

It's always His glory alone.

Though the gathering was technically over, there was this unusual hovering of time. Some had left the Pavilion, but not everyone had. It seemed that some were pulled to stay in the uniqueness of those particular moments. There was a holding curiosity that hovered around the Pavilion. An adult friend, one of his youth leaders, moved towards the young man and they began to quietly talk. Eventually they just sat down on the floor of the Pavilion and they had a newer kind of conversation with each other. One unlike they had ever had before. They enjoyed it. There was freedom in their words. Something shifted. Something new was happening. The young man had come as he always so faithfully did. And in the familiar routine of his night, God's Spirit moved in an unexpected way. The moments were glorious. Some of those who were there somehow knew that a shift was happening. They just knew. When you haven't experienced and encountered something before, you don't know to be looking for it. There is no reason to anticipate something that you don't know to anticipate or don't particularly care about anticipating. But when it happens, you know. You just know.

Other conversations were sparking around the Pavilion. Parents in their cars began to pile up in the parking lot looking for their sons and daughters. This was a familiar routine. Their children would walk out of the Pavilion at the end of the meeting to jump in their car to head home with their parents for a late dinner and Sunday night homework. But students weren't coming out of the Pavilion. A few horns honked. A few students trickled out, but not the full rush that would be normal. Several parents decided to park and walk up to the Pavilion. As they reached the edge they sensed something was happening. They didn't hear the usual thump of music over the speakers. They heard a loud quiet and some quiet tears as they approached. They slowed to survey the Pavilion. There were many little pockets of students and leaders huddled with intention throughout. Several started moving towards their sons and daughters as they panned the Pavilion. They slowly approached the huddled conversations encountering tender words and tears.

The young man's dad arrived where his son and the leader friend had been sitting talking. The father had a decision to make. There was not a typical, "hey bud, we need to get going". The father sat down and joined them. The dad slowed to be with his son and their friend. The young man had a decision to make. Would he try to take the shift into his own hands and try to close down what had been happening with him? Or would he stay in it and invite his dad into what was happening inside of him?

""Something has happened to me tonight Pop."

The matrix crumbled some more.

Ahhh, the vastness of the heart of the Father. A new story began. A larger story. Hours earlier they had no idea what was about to happen. And now a larger story....

Folks lingered. They didn't want to leave.

Time slowed. The normal routines blurred out. There is a normal routine. There just is. Meals, homework, Netflix, practice. Parents and students. What's notable is that over time the routine can become so set that anything new or unusual or not expected can be more interruptive than welcoming. The busyness of life only allows for what's normal, what we've made normal. And that may seem to be what is most desirable for us as time goes by. Just the routine. Safer. Safer?

"What happened son?"

Matrix fracturing into pieces.

Two people slowing to relate in perhaps an unusual way for them. A parent and student slowing to relate in a different way. A father and son slowing to relate in a holy way. A detonation of glory. It's not that we intend to shift into predictable patterns of relating with one another, but over time it becomes what is comfortable and expected, at times our mindless autopilot and what we prefer. And then..... it's been 20 years.

The son began to slowly tell his dad about what had happened during the night at the Pavilion. He described how unexpectedly the normal night became different. He shared it all. His sudden realizing of an awareness and feeling that something was happening inside of him that he couldn't really describe and that he knew God was doing it. He just knew. His surprising tears as the meeting was ending. The sense that his friends were with him in the unusual moment, not rejecting him.

While the three of them sat there on the concrete floor, other real life conversations kept springing up in the Pavilion. The father looked into the face of his son and began to weep. Tears multiplied. Tears tend to weaken the matrix. The father sat there quietly for a couple of minutes. This whole thing could have been one big awkward moment, but the sons earlier tears prepared him to peacefully wait as his dad did something he hadn't really seen him do before. They just waited together, the three of them. The leader friend told the dad and son how thankful he was for them and how honored he had been to just simply get to be near them in such a special time. He then quietly stood up and told them that he would give them some space to keep talking together. And they talked.

The father and son talked and talked and talked. It was like a cork had been popped. There was new ground. There were new words. There were new tears. Something was different. It was holy. His wife texted wondering where they were. "We're ok. Still at the Pavilion. Things are good. Really good. God is working. We may be here a while. Don't worry. Stories to tell. Or why don't you come to the Pavilion. Yeah. Come find us at the Pavilion. It'll be worth it. Hurry! You want to be here! We'll explain."

People didn't want to leave. They wanted to stay. They were drawn to stay. Parents were now streaming into the Pavilion with curiosity, aware that something was happening. The night stretched on. They just wanted to be there lingering in the presence of the unexpected movement of God's Spirit.

And that is what it was. Nobody made it up. God brought it.

WHATEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHOMEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHENEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHYEVER HE CHOOSES.

WHEREVER HE CHOOSES.

HOWEVER HE CHOOSES.

I wonder what might be?

____________________

Thank you for reading and wondering as I have created space in myself to imagine, hope and pray about the work of God's Spirit. I am not an expert. I am longing.

Martin Lloyd Jones.

"Perhaps it will help us to grasp this if we put it like this. The same thing is true, of course, of all the great revivals in the history of the church. They are most important in this matter. The difference between the pouring out of the Holy Spirit and a revival is simply one of the the number of people affected. I would define revival as a large number, a group of people being baptized by the Holy Spirit at the same time. The Holy Spirit falling upon, coming upon a number of people assembled together. It can happen in a chapel, in a church. It can happen in a district. It can happen in a country."

It can happen in a Pavilion.

There's more.