Day Is Near
Van Gogh, The Old Tower In The Field, 1884
Sharon and I heard a speaker at our church the other evening make this bold prediction: “Within the next decade, we will witness a spiritual revival.” I hear this kind of talk around these days. We sense we may have reached the depths of disillusionment. That’s when revival takes place. Maybe, from this nadir, it’s time we will open once again to a fresh sense of God’s presence in our midst. Could this be possible?
Such a thought causes nothing short of revulsion from so many, skepticism for sure, sneering derision at its worst. What in the world could you be talking about? Revival? Really? Spiritual renewal? Can’t be. Not going to happen. The only turnaround we’ll see is through rational thought, science for sure, political strategy always. But really, as we’ve been scrambling so hard to apply all these tools, for centuries actually, do we really still believe there is a bright future ahead?
And so I am asking myself, won’t the real answers come from a place deeper than politics and supposed rational planning? And don’t we sense that our malaise is somehow the consequence of airbrushing God out of existence, a process Western culture has been relentlessly pursuing now for centuries? And don’t we sense, that the only place from which fresh winds will blow will come from the very heart of God?
Last year, on Pentecost Sunday, I was struck deeply by that moment in very early Christian history, when a small group of followers of Jesus gathered together, stunned by all that was happening around them, gathering to figure out what they should do now? And then, they heard the promise that “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you.” There they were, “all together in one place,” surely imagining this could be the end of the road for their movement. The reigning regime of Rome will not tolerate much disruption, they surmised. Could there be any greater disruption than the resurrection of their Lord?
Then, “suddenly there came from the sky what sounded like a strong, driving wind, a noise which filled the whole house where they were sitting. And there appeared to them flames like tongues of fire distributed among them and coming to rest on each one.”
Wow, are we too much the skeptics to imagine a fierce wind blowing across our own land even as we speak? Can we imagine these flames lighting the way out of our dark discouragement?
As I was thinking about all of this, I found myself reading that stunning passage from the 12th Chapter of Romans. Paul encourages us that we should make ourselves fit for God to come into our midst.
THEREFORE, my friends, I implore you by God’s mercy to offer your very selves to him: a living sacrifice, dedicated and fit for his acceptance, the worship offered by mind and heart. Conform no longer to the pattern of this present world, but be transformed by the renewal of your minds. Then you will be able to discern the will of God, and to know what is good, acceptable, and perfect.
This is what it will take to make ourselves fit for revival: Surrender in renewed worship, free ourselves from the patterns of the present world, submit to the very practice of renewing our minds, be transformed. Get ready to discern what is good, acceptable, and perfect, because revival is on its way.
But then Paul throws a twist that surprised me. He offers abundant practical advice how we can change our lives and change the world to get ready for revival. He tells us quite specifically what transformed lives look like.
I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think. . . . Love one another with mutual affection. . . . Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. . . . Contribute to the needs of God’s people, and practise hospitality. . . . Live in agreement with one another. . . . Do not keep thinking how wise you are.
This is downright revolutionary talk, exactly not what the patterns of our world advise. Be transformed in these ways and revival is possible. Change will come from the bottom up, from the small gestures, from persistence toward what is good.
Then finally we hear this:
Always remember that this is the hour of crisis: it is high time for you to wake out of sleep, for deliverance is nearer to us now than it was when first we believed. It is far on in the night; day is near. . . .
I am convinced we live in an “hour of crisis.” We are deep into the night. I want desperately to wake up. I want to do my small part to prepare for revival. I’m counting on it: The sun will rise again. Day is near.