"What is going on here?"

As a rule, Charismatics don't do it this way

As a rule, we Charismatics like to pride ourselves on the fact that, unlike our liturgical brothers, we have no liturgy that we are bound to. But, truth be told, that’s just not so. Of course we have a way of “doing” church – we just don’t put it in the bulletin (to post the order in our circles is definitely NOT PC). At Refuge, most Sundays of the month our order of service runs thusly: opening song, meet and greet, offering and announcements, worship (usually 3-4 songs) which involves an invitation to the altar for personal prayer and ends with a corporate time of intercession led by various individuals of the congregation, message and, usually, response. On Communion Sunday, which is on the first Sunday of the month, we reverse-order things and hear the Word first and then worship in preparation to receive the Lord’s Supper. That’s how we “do” it and we don’t vary from that order too often. Which is not to say there are not occasional Sundays where we definitely “off road”-it a bit, an unexpected extended time of worship or prayer or an altar call that takes us way beyond the 12-bell. But most who belong to Refuge expect about the same from their worship experience week-in and week-out. And most would agree they like it that way.

This is more our style

But this past Sunday was different. On Sunday the normal stream at Refuge broke into a river bed that has been known to run at Focus (the youth fellowship that meets at our place on Wednesday nights) from time to time but hardly ever at the Sunday morning gathering. But last Sunday the river overflowed its banks a bit and coursed through our sanctuary. The night before as I was pulling songs for the gathering, with each song a greater anticipation of the coming worship service welled up in my heart. In fact, as I ran through the songs on my Fender I just had an increasing sense that something out of the ordinary was going to happen as we gathered together the next day. During our warm-up on Sunday morning, I was hacking chords and progressions on a few of the songs but when my sixteen year-old daughter Emma, my accompanist, and I prayed together right before the service, I felt as if the waters were rising. And upon the very first strums of my guitar, for me the banks overflowed – my legs began to inadvertently shake to the point that I was sincerely concerned that I might topple over. On Saturday night I had already decided then to set aside our normal order of service and spend the first 15 minutes or so just in extended worship. People were not expecting this – they were, in fact, caught a bit off-guard but instead of drawing back they were lured in by, I assume, the Spirit of God on me.

I consider myself a cheerleader when it comes to worship. I believe I am called to exhort people to extol the Living God all the while recognizing that you cannot force worship or coerce devotion. I do not intentionally manipulate emotions but I admit there is something that goes off in me when we are singing songs such as “Our God”, “Revelation Song” and, even, “I Exalt Thee” and people continue to sip on their Lattes indifferent to the words we are professing corporately together.

Our God is greater, our God is stronger, God you are higher than any other.
Our God is Healer, Awesome in Power, Our God! Our God!

It's at moments like these I want to shout, “EVERYBODY DOWN ON YOUR KNEES….NOW!!!”
Of course, I restrain myself and instead either kneel or encourage people in polite fashion to lift up their voice to the King within our midst.

This past Sunday, after our normal meet and greet, offering and announcement break, I referenced Genesis 18. It’s the heat of the day and Abraham is dozing in the shade of his tent when he looks up and sees the Lord passing by. The narrator doesn’t elucidate how Abraham recognized “the Boss”; rather, he focuses on Abraham’s reaction to the fact that Yahweh was outside his door. He runs and throws himself down upon the ground and begs him to stay for dinner. He runs to Sarah and tells her to bake a cake just as fast as she can. He runs to his servant and tells him to pick a choice calf out of the pen. He is in earnest to lay before his Lord a sumptuous meal. Commentators like to point out that his actions reflect customary Bedouin hospitality and while I have no reason to question them I am simply struck by his posture – everything is done with alacrity. There is nothing casual or familial in this encounter. So I challenged everyone present at the gathering that in our worship this morning to copy Father Abraham in his response to the reality of God passing by his tent. Their instructions are simply to respond in whatever way they find appropriate.

As we resumed worship, several got out of their chairs and came to the altar and knelt down. A few others went to the back of the sanctuary and stood with hands lifted up. Despite the fact that one of our deacons had grabbed a stool for me in case I was feeling the need for it, my legs no longer were shaking and, unlike many Sundays, my fingers never tired of moving over the frets of my guitar. And we just continued to worship. I really didn't know where we were headed other than we were doing pretty much what the agenda was for this gathering. Nearing the end of the songs I had pulled and having played through all of them several times, I asked if anyone was feeling if they had a “word” for the fellowship that would be beneficial for everyone. That question is greeted with silence so I resumed playing at which point one of the guys thought maybe he did, after all, have something to say. Jeff suggested that if anyone was wanting to enter in but felt unable to do so to allow the Body of Christ to pray for them. Whether it was the word of the Lord or not, it was good counsel. Only a few raised their hands – one got up from their seat and came to the altar – but otherwise worship went on. Janet made her way to the floor mic and during a lull in the music simply shared that she was feeling the same thing Jeff had and then shared what had happened to her at the altar earlier in the gathering. And the band played on…and then our daughter, Emma, began to weep and pray over her mic for all those in our midst who needed healing. Apart from a little more commentary on my part as to what was happening that morning, we played on dismissing those who felt they needed to go. Most got up to leave although perhaps a quarter of those present remained soaking in the moment. Once again, Emma extended an invitation to those who wanted healing to come to the altar so that she could pray for them. Only one responded.

When it was all over and we moved into that afterglow time of the worship gathering of those who remained many made a point to tell me in superlative terms how they felt about the morning. And of those who left as soon as they were given pastoral permission to do so, nothing was said; i.e., their quick departure from the sanctuary was not necessarily commentary on their response to what had happened. (If you ask me, any time a sixteen year old - albeit a very spiritually mature one - invites people to the altar to be prayed over for healing everyone else present should be asking, “What gives?”) But here’s my take: In August, during a 24 hour prayer vigil held at Refuge in which only a very small percentage of the congregation participated in, the word we received was “wake up.” In response to that, in early September we began a twice a month worship and intercession gathering on Friday night. With a few exceptions, only the elders have been present but collectively we feel we have been digging a new well for Refuge. A week after beginning, Kees, a friend of mine from Holland, was in town and preached at the Sunday morning gathering. His message? “Wake up.” About the same time, I was challenged to begin intentionally pray in my prayer language 15 minutes a day and since then, not counting a day or two, I have done just this. Two weeks ago during our worship gathering, someone from our fellowship who had been longing to be filled with the Spirit, suddenly began to speak in tongues. And then we have what happened last Sunday at the gathering. The sum of these things taken together tells me that while we haven’t hit water yet we’re getting closer. All the more reason for us to keep digging, to keep asking, to keep knocking, to show up this Friday night at MORE (what we now refer to the Friday night gathering) and ask the Father for more. To be content with same-o, same-o is to reveal just how much asleep we really are.