Jesus Freaks
Riding that frigid Vermont chairlift back in 1978, I can still hear my cousin Scott’s piercing question as I desperately tried to warm my hands while clapping my skis together high atop the rime-iced chairlift. “Do you want to know Jesus?” he asked as I watched the newly released snow sift upon the unsuspecting skiers below.
It’s never the questions that change our lives but rather, our answers.
I didn’t know it at the time, but we were living in the twilight of what is now called The Jesus Movement. For those old enough, you will remember Kathryn Kuhlman’s powerful ministry was winding down while things like bright yellow I Found It bumper stickers, the Jesus Freaks, and 2nd Chapter of Acts vinyls were winding up.
Think what you will, but I experienced too much love and saw too many miracles to ever doubt it was anything but real. Those days set the bar so high for church life, it ruined me for Sunday mornings ever since.
Our personal burning bush, St. Pauls Church, Darien CT, had books written about what transpired there. As I skied off that chairlift with little capacity to understand the impact my “Yes” would have on my life, the Charismatic Renewal was breaking out all over, and St. Pauls was one of the epicenters.
Before you dismiss this as merely a religious piece, consider this question: Have you ever seen a life-long crippled man get out of his worn-out wheelchair and begin to walk amidst the gleeful screams of thousands of onlookers? I did. It was the summer of that same year and it still wrecks me in the best possible way.
I’ve seen similar miracles here in 2021 which tells me you will too.
I remember my first time walking into St. Paul’s High School Youth Group. Coming off the heels of a violent arrest and having been essentially grounded for life, it was the only place my parents allowed me to go. It was a serious culture clash as this Catholic city kid ventured onto the posh, Protestant turf of the neighboring country-club town.
My wardrobe was a bit like Judd Nelson’s The Breakfast Club attire and I even carried a Sucrets canister packed with spleefs that first night (Just in case I could make a few bucks on the foray).
The church hall looked like a photoshoot for the Preppy Handbook. The first thing that caught my eye was the overindulgent rainbow of Izod Lacoste alligator shirts, layered two and three deep, worn under solid, button-down Pima Cotton Oxfords. The trick was; when they flipped those collars up in the right puff of breeze — a student could take to flight á la The Flying Nun.
Who knew khaki pants came in Kelly Green or that Sperry Topsiders must only be worn without socks? Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.
But Jesus was there. And everyone knew it.
“Hear me, I am with you always”.
~Jesus
I could write a book on those early days because it is the foundation upon which everything in my life has been built — save the wardrobe. Services were overflowing with people, power, truth, and joy. Likewise, the weekly prayer meetings were overflowing with faith, expectancy, and mighty miracles. I was at many conferences where people would come forward in tears to dump their cigarettes, booze, and drugs on the platform in response to the presence of God.
Altar calls were commonplace and it was not out of the ordinary for disturbed persons to be escorted out of the service and set free from demonic oppression. If this seems strange to you, consider this: If the Gospels tell us Jesus cast demons out of many people in his short three-year ministry, and told us to do the same; why do we think the evil torments of today should only be remedied by pharmaceuticals, counseling or institutionalization?
As powerful as those days were, they were really quite simple. People loved God and loved one another. Preachers were bold and everyone believed what the Bible said. Church music was fairly lame, but when we started singing those Songs of Praise from the little red books, the presence of God filled the room in spectacularly palpable ways.
As my life was being transformed, I couldn’t help but tell everyone what was happening — so more and more people came. And as more people came, more and more lives were being transformed.
“The people were in reverential awe…and the Lord added to their numbers daily”.
~The First-century church
Today, Big-box Church seems a bit different and not at all as simple. Keep in mind as I proceed, I served as a Pastor for years in a church our family helped plant, so I am not just an onlooker with an opinion.
I recently learned of a large, multi-campus church that has an over one-million-dollar budget for — video production. No, not for feature-length videos streaming on Netflix but rather, the flashy weekly announcements, emotional special interest segments, and high-energy promotional ads for upcoming events. I love the pursuit of excellence, but in our pursuit of the slick did we lose the power? One million dollars…
Have you tried to discreetly walk into one of these church services lately? It’s not at all possible. You have to tuck your head, pick up speed, and dash through the exuberant car-wash of Greeters like a newly married couple being pelted with rice. Welcome to church! Are you excited? We are so excited! C’mon, high five! Let’s get excited!
Why are they working so hard?
It’s as if to admit: We’re not sure if God will be here today, but don’t worry — we’ll make it great anyway!
It almost gives the feeling of finally sitting down at your long-awaited Broadway show, opening the Playbill, and have that dreaded slip of paper float out:
At today’s performance, the role of God will be played by our hyper-caffeinated volunteers.
It is confounding to me why any church worth its salt and light today is required to have a smoke machine, theatrical lighting, and a kicking house band that knows how to play along to pre-recorded tracks. As I grab my earplugs from the bowl in the lobby, I think to myself: Who knew Milli-Vanilli were prophets?
Back in the day, all that was needed was a piano, a pulpit, and a pew. In fact, I visited a church in Rwanda which consisted of an undeveloped plot of land the locals spent years waiting to buy. They were so proud to host us. We literally sat on the ground and it was the holiest place I’ve ever been.
Because back, back in the day, only one thing was needed:
“And the priests could not perform what was planned because of the cloud, for the glory of the LORD filled the temple”.
~ Book of I Kings, Old Testament
Our Sunday services have become so finely produced and precisely executed, I often wonder: If Jesus walked into the room, would there even be time to hand him the mic?
This is why the midweek Prayer Room gatherings have become my Sunday mornings. It’s in these meetings I see revival fires burning bright; not merely a nostalgic glance in the rearview mirror, but a full-on view through the windshield of what is here and fast ahead of us.
“Every Sunday, churches around the world gather around a sermon. But Israel gathered around The Presence”.
~Pastor Bill Johnson
Unless you carry a personal smoke machine, professional lighting, and hand-out earplugs everywhere you go, I’m afraid people have confused the indwelling, abiding Christ with an excellent concert experience.
It’s been said; What preaching was to the Great Awakening, and what miracles were to the Azusa Street Revival, and what Evangelism was to the Jesus Movement — worship will be to this current day revival.
Worship.
“The time is coming, and is now here, when true worshippers will worship in Spirit and Truth”.
~Jesus
We humans are all created to worship something — or some One.
Isn’t it obvious? Look around — while some worship ignoble social movements, career, or political ideologies, others give themselves to fears, addictions, and painful vices. However, to truly understand worship is to know it has little to do with the worshiper and everything to do with the object being worshipped.
To worship is to bend the knee, both literally and spiritually. To worship is to pay homage. To worship is to kiss the hand of Whom you revere. To worship is to willingly lose oneself in the affections of another. To worship is to raise one's hands in grateful surrender.
Who we worship matters. Bands not included.
Colin Kaepernick notoriously taught millions to bend the knee; was that Spirit? BLM Inc. violently taught millions to raise the hand; was that Truth? Pride month is coercing millions, particularly children, to revere sex and gender; is this Spirit and Truth?
The historic, great moves of God always led people to personal repentance, renouncement of individual vices, and an unstoppable desire to help others find the same freedom. Today’s secular, cultural movements are so utterly bereft of eternal worth, they can not even be considered cheap facsimiles. We are being told to not only wink at one another’s blindness but to consecrate it.
Today, guilt is no longer individually owned but collectively cast. Repentance is never required for me but mandatory for you. And the only light being shone is from the miner's headlamp, searching for sin lurking in the crags while obfuscating the depravities of the miner himself.
The Jesus Movement was imbued with heavenly love, power, and eternal kindness. Unity was as diversely harmonious as a philharmonic orchestra performing a masterpiece. Today’s dissonant, cultural movements feign unity but are soured in anger, accusation, and scorn-ridden assertions. The moment you identify with a team, you give credence there is an opponent.
Perhaps the church should rethink drummers in Pope-mobiles, greeters on speed, and man-made glory clouds. Perhaps it’s time to shorten the script and schedule more “Quiet” into our jam-packed productions so we might hear what God Himself might have to say to us.
What if I told you I can introduce you to my friend who had a fist-sized cancerous tumor miraculously disappear from his lungs after being prayed for in the Prayer Room?
Would you come to see what happens in a prayer room like that at the risk of being called a Freak?
