Back on the Path

Am I Holding up the Revival?

A number of my friends in the revival trenches are calling for a deep spiritual assessment of what, if anything, might be holding back the Revival that we all know is coming soon. Several are calling leaders to gather to pray together, until God answers them – no matter how long it takes – and I will be part of that.

But this morning, as I started my day off with Him, I got a foretaste. Last evening I had been searching in vain for my automobile registration which had been misplaced somewhere in the chaos that I dignify by calling it my office. I was resentful that He had not helped me. . . .

Father, I spent three hours looking for it without success.

Did you ask me to help?

I assumed I had. I assumed you would.

I like to be asked.

I teach that.

You should practice it. Lead by your example.

I teach that, too.

If you want my power behind your words, there needs to be room for it.

[He was referring to my excess flesh. Long ago, He had told me that if I wanted more of Him, there needed to be less of me.]

Roger. We don’t need a new word; we simply need to start living up to the old word. None of what John G. Lake or any of those other heroes of the faith were preaching was new. But they were totally living it – and that was new. Also, they were so devoid of self that there was immense power and authority in what they preached – and that, too, was new. And they were well aware of the authority with which they spoke and acted and healed, whenever they were in the very center of your holy, perfect will and timing, which, for them, was nearly all the time. That level of faith was so rare that it was remarkable.

So. . . .

Time to start living up to the old word every moment of every day.

You start each day, telling me that.

Talk is cheap, isn’t it.

It can be an easy substitute for acts.

It’s so simple.

Do you want it to be difficult?

It’s not a matter of knowing. It’s a matter of doing. You don’t need a formal education to understand this. In fact, a highly-trained intellect can be a distraction.

What do you teach writers about distraction?

That we court it. We welcome any worthy distraction that gives us an excuse to break off the intense concentration that good writing -- Spirit-led writing – requires..

What else does a well-trained intellect do?

It develops exquisite rationalizations to put off making the absolute, unwavering commitment to keep both feet in your Kingdom all the time. Great scholars of your Word can find ample justification to avoid rash behavior. [Suddenly Joan of Arc comes to mind.] Why am I thinking of the Maid of Orleans?

Why did I choose to use a simple, uneducated farm girl to deliver France from her oppressors?

So that everyone would know that there was nothing in her birth or bloodline -- or education – that could be influencing her. Nothing but obedience to you, so obvious that any soldier or farmer could see it. Perfect, unwavering obedience. . . that ultimately cost her life, when she refused to recant.

[And now I am reminded of another maid of simple background, whose obedience was perfect. ] I am convicted, Father. I talk a good game, but I don’t live it.

What is stopping you from starting right now?

Only the number of times I have intended to, and wound up disappointing both of us.

What do you teach about failure?

That in your Kingdom we don’t fail; we just keep retaking the test, until we finally pass it.

Why don’t you practice what you preach?

There is grace here, now. You are showing me that I can do it, if I will. And you will enable me with supernatural power to do so.

What is stopping you?

Only the memory of all the times I’ve started and failed.

What do you teach about an imperfect heart?

That as long as it is sincerely trying to stay in your Kingdom, as long as it is trying to be obedient, you can use it to encourage other hearts to come and do likewise. You don’t require perfection of your servants. All you require is that we are totally given to the effort. If we remain steadfast to that commitment, choosing the hard way over the easy one each time you ask us to, then we are on the way to becoming your friends.

Does one require a formal education to appreciate that?

Not a bit. All that is required is a strong will and an unshakable determination. Don’t talk about doing it. Do it.

Amen.

Share it?

It is time for you to start sharing again. As long as your heart remains surrendered, I can use it to encourage others.

The path of surrender. . . . it is good to be back on it.

It is good to have you back, my son.

I love you, Father.

And I love you. Vaya con Dios.

VCD.

Lent 15

VOICE PEOPLE

There is grace, again, Father. More than I deserve. More than I dared hope for. More than I would have given me, were I you. I flubbed the dub yesterday, eating a big meal late at night when I wasn’t even hungry. Walking too far, too fast, in macho pride and paying for it now. Watching dumb TV, when I should have read your Word and gone to bed.

Yet here’s this grace, and I don’t know why. And please, Father, don’t say, “Why do you think?” Because I really don’t have a clue, and we’ll just bat it back and forth over the net, like a shuttlecock.

Mind you, I don’t want to sound ungrateful here. Grace is always amazing, and I am amazed – and relieved and delighted. But – why?

My son, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

My love for you began before eternity.

Before you were conceived, I conceived you.

While nations rose and fell away,

I kept the idea of you in my heart,

awaiting the perfect moment

for you to be born.

I have loved you

since before your first breath,

to the one you just took.

How much do I love you?

How far is the east from the west?

How deep is the ocean?

How high the sky?

I loved you enough

to send my only son

to die for you,

to shed his blood for you,

that you might be forever free.

And if you were the only one,

I still would have sent him.

Father, forgive me. And help me to never again wonder why you love me, only to be grateful that you do.

Amen.

I’ve just seen something. Two days ago, I asked a two-part question on behalf of anyone who doubted they could hear you in their heart. And I promised them I’d share some of the typical answers, the next day. But David Wilkerson’s prophetic warning intervened. Something like that makes everything else seem inconsequential, and I forgot that I’d promised the answers. But you didn’t. You answered them for me, when I didn’t even ask them for me.

Restate the questions and provide the answers. And do not ever disparage my relationship with each of them, and with you, by referring to it as inconsequential. Nothing could be more relevant at this time than the depth and breadth of my love for each one of my children. They must know that I love them in the unshakable depths of their being, or the coming darkness will catch them unprepared.

I’m sorry, Father. The questions I asked you, on behalf of each of them, was: How long have you loved me? And how much do you love me?

Doubters, if you will sit perfectly still and calm, and listen inwardly so intently that it seems as if the very pores of your skin are listening, you will hear His answer. Write down what you hear. Shake off the contempt of the other one who insists it is nothing more that your imagination. Tomorrow, look at what you’ve written. Check it with Scripture. Show it to your pastor or Bible-study leader or prayer-partner – someone in whose spiritual wisdom you have confidence – and see what their discernment is.

Here are some of the answers I’ve heard in the Hearing-His-Voice workshops that I lead.

Father, how long have you loved me?

Since before your mother met your father.

Always.

Forever.

Since before time began.

Since before I set the earth in orbit, spinning on its axis.

Father, how much do you love me?

More than you can possibly imagine.

Can you count the stars? The grains of sand in the ocean? Those are finite quantities; the depth of my love for you is unfathomable.

Enough to be laid in a manger and nailed to a cross.

Enough to leave the ninety and nine, to find the one – you.

I’ve just seen why connecting with God is such an urgent matter, and why it is so relevant. He has been saying Trust me to a lot of us, who are at the edge of the precipice and losing our balance. We trust Him, because we don’t have any other choice. Everything we might have trusted, or used to trust, has been taken away from us. So we trust Him – because He’s all we have left.

We should be grateful for the circumstances which have removed, or are removing, all the other things we might have trusted, or used to trust. But most of us aren’t grateful. Most of us are still hoping that we can hang on to a little bit of our former world. Or if we do lose it all, that He might, as He did with Job, restore it all. (He might. But we’d better not count on it.)

Here’s one thing we can count on: if we can hear Him, we can go to Him with our fears and concerns, our hurts and frustrations. We can go to Him for sake of each other. And if we can be in His presence, sustained by His grace, we can endure – anything!

The Puritans – they were called that, because they believed that God had called them to purify the Church from within. The term was originally intended as a term of derogation, by those who mocked and scorned them. (The bishops, for instance, could not see anything in the Church that needed purifying.) It has become a term of honor.

The mockers and scorners are going to call us People of the Voice, or simply Voice People, because we believe we can hear the Voice of the Shepherd in our hearts. Their leaders will warn their flocks against us. But the Voice People will have a much easier time trusting Him, than others will.

As I write that, it all seems wildly improbable – spiritual science fiction. But what is coming also seems wildly improbable – and far stranger than any fiction..

Keep listening, friends.

And Father, if there be anything written here that is not of you, let it fall quickly away to ashes and dust. But that which is of you, let it be established in our hearts.

Time to Die

It’s been a long time since the Lord woke me up in middle of the night to write something for Him. Years. He used to get me up at the Gethsemane Hour (3:00 AM), until I began to think a good night’s sleep was more important.

I was awakened about that time this morning, with The Battle Hymn of the Republic running through my mind. Especially the words of the last verse. . . “As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.” Good Christians, feeling the original was too morbid, too fanatical, would later change it to “let us live to make men free.”

But Julia Ward Howe had gotten it right. The whole power of her hymn – which transformed the war over slavery into a holy Crusade – derived from the concept that some causes were worth dying for, and this was pre-eminent among them.

The moment a soldier loses his fear of death, he becomes an awesome adversary. Because fear of death is the enemy’s ultimate inhibitor. A soldier who is no longer afraid of dying will charge up a hill towards an entrenched position, grab up a fallen flag and wave his comrades onward, oblivious to those falling to his left or right. He will take the high ground, the enemy’s stronghold, and do so, exulting.

Three days ago, on an El Shaddai retreat, the Lord asked me, if I was willing to die for Him. He knew I was willing to live for Him. I’d been doing that for 37 years. Now He wanted more than that. He wanted my life.

He wanted me to abandon myself to His Divine will. Absolutely. Unconditionally. Forever. Take no thought for your life. . . .

He and I had come to this place before – to this all-consuming bonfire. I’d been drawn to it, even dipped in towards it. But it was too hot! Singed, I’d leaped back, and rejoined the other flame-dancers, circling the fire. We wanted it. Our spirits longed for it. But our souls held back. The price – melting, losing one’s identity, security, control – was too great.

And yet, I could not leave the Refiner’s fire. The light was too pure, too compelling. And no matter how my soul recoiled, my spirit cried out for it. And so I danced on, wondering if I would ever take the plunge, knowing that if I pondered it long enough, I wouldn’t have to. I would die – and perhaps spend the rest of eternity lamenting my cowardice.

Recently I heard a woman pour out her heart for AIDS orphans in Africa. On a trash heap in a city slum in Swaziland four years ago, she had encountered a nine-year-old girl named Lillian whose parents had died of AIDS. No relatives would take her in. She had been discarded on the street, thrown away to die. And death would come soon; she was HIV positive, had TB, and was blind from malnutrition. She weighed twelve pounds.

In that instant, the woman’s entire life changed. She went home, sold the large marketing agency she’d spent years building up, and dedicated the remainder of her life to doing something about the tragedy she had witnessed. When she returned to Swaziland, she found that her prayers and the prayers of others had been answered. Lillian had been totally healed, and now had a bright future.

As the woman shared her testimony, the power and presence of God was manifest. Great grace was on all of us. This was more than just orphans being thrown away. This was – everything.

When she closed, she asked, “Who will come with me to Africa?”

Tears were streaming down my face, as my hand shot up.

Are you out of your mind? my soul demanded. We can’t go to Africa.

We can’t not go, my spirit replied.

Yesterday evening I emailed my reservation. My soul was not in favor of this. Why, it pointed out, do we have to go all the way to Africa, to abandon our selves? Why can't we just stay home and do it here?

Because, answered my spirit, if we could have, we would have. Long ago. It is time to embrace the fire, time to put self to death, once and for all.

As He died to make men holy. . . .

He had elected to die on the Cross, to break forever the addictive power of self-love, of seductive compromise. That we might become holy.

Let us die to make men free. . . .

It was time to die.

If I die, will any be set free? I have no idea. But I know one who will: me.

David Manuel
August 26, 2007

A Mighty Wind

In the Noon Hour, Wednesday before last, there were several Scriptures referring to the wind, and Kathy shared this word,

Beloved, I am coming to build up my church. I build it on a firm foundation so that when the storm wind blows and when the shaking comes, all that I put My hand to will endure. The wind of my Spirit will blow across Boston, loosening false facades and exposing the footings that were buried in dark and secret places. (These are rotten!) When the shaking comes, they will suddenly crumble.
Do not fear, Beloved, because my construction crew far outnumbers my demolition team. You will see Deliverance! Deliverance! Deliverance!
You ask me when, Lord, when will this happen? The answer is in the whirlwind of my Spirit. It will be soon and suddenly. I accept your sacrifices, for they are righteous and just. Assemble before me, for I mean to reveal more to you!

We were reminded that a year and a half ago, Dutch Sheets and Chuck Pierce, prophesying together, declared that the Awakening, which had long been smoldering under the surface, was about to burst forth in New England in a conflagration that would be heralded by sudden and inexplicable record-setting winds.

There was another wind word:

My children, you sense that I am about to move here in Boston and everywhere else. Your discernment is not misleading you. I am coming like a mighty wind, and I am bringing my Glory. So do not ask for whom the wind blows, or whence it comes. It comes from me, and I have come for you.

As we emerged from the Noon Hour, we were greeted by a mighty wind. It starched flags and caused people to lean into it, shielding their eyes and clutching their briefcases. The sun was shining; there was no visible storm-front in the distance, no clouds anywhere, in fact. Yet here suddenly was this wind, out of nowhere. None of us had any idea where it had come from, or where it was going. But none could deny its presence or its power.

Our St. Crispen's Day

Friends,

Today (Thursday) is the showdown battle for the same-sex marriage amendment now being decided in the Statehouse. An urgent plea has gone out from the leaders of that fight, for all available troops to come join them. Many of you are going; some are already there. A number of you physically cannot go. (I'm writing this from Tulsa.)

And some of you have yet not made up your minds. (We New Englanders are notorious for that – not deciding until the last moment.) I’m writing to those who might yet go. While your prayers are obviously needed, this time prayers are not enough. This time, it needs boots on the ground.

Ask God, if He would have you there, to be part of our spiritual St. Crispen’s Day. If He would, then guess who will come up with any number of reasonable reasons for you staying put.

If you hear the trumpet call, and you say, “I'm coming!" , then fast and pray on your way. Because you will not be warring against flesh and blood. This battle is being waged in the heavenlies, against major Principalities & Powers. So pray for grace and courage and protection. And set your heart. Gideon’s soldiers may have been few in number, but they were absolute in their resolve.

+ + +

Keep praying for Alex. The medical news could not be worse. His spiritual outlook could not be better.

And keep praying, too, for Manuel Emilio. He is still not released, and it has now been 38 days.

The Latest Word on Manuel Emilio

At the Boston Noon Hour yesterday, Esmeralda expressed her gratitude for all your prayers. Her nephew, 19-year-old Manuel Emilio, is still being held by the kidnappers, but the whole ordeal, whatever its outcome, has greatly deepened and strengthened her faith.

When she got home, she sent this note from her sister in Guatemala:

"We wish to express our deep-felt gratitude to the brothers and sisters who pray at Tremont Temple and other churches for all your prayers on behalf of our family. Your prayers have brought peace and hope to our hearts. Manuel Emilio continues to be away from us. We pray for his prompt liberty and hope and trust in God.Blessings,Guido y Chiqui MartinezWe enclose a photo of our family. Manuel Emilio is #4 from left (next to his father).

Keep praying, friends. God is going to have the victory.

Immediate, Sudden, and Radical Response

Continue to pray for Alex. God is doing a great miracle of healing there, but He cautioned us to be patient.

Pray, too, for Manuel Emillio. There are promising signs there, but no definite news. We’ll let you know, as soon as we know.

In the Noon Hour, God is teaching us to hear Him in our hearts. While He may call only a few to become prophets. He does expect all of us to hear His voice with the same confidence and clarity, that His prophets have.

Here is what Kathy heard last week:

The wind of change has been released from my mouth. It is blowing from East to West. Rise up on the wings of the eagle-dove and ride the wind! A golden wave of my glory is released from the sea of glass at my throne. Hear the sound of its approach! Be prepared to surf this wave. You must be balanced by my holy angels in order to do this. Surrender totally to me in trust. The angels are in their stations beside you. As you rise up, you will become a target of persecution.

Do not allow this to daunt or distract you! Whenever my power is made manifest in strange and wonderful ways, there is always persecution. It will come from within the church, from those who do not have eyes to see or ears to hear as you do. Be of good courage, my warriors, my children. I AM THAT I AM is with you. No one will stop this great revival and world harvest. It is my will! Powers and principalities will be torn down in advance. Watch what my spirit does and be prepared for immediate, sudden, and radical response!