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!

The Story of the Boston Noon Hour

Tremont Temple
Wednesday Noon till 1:00
Main sanctuary
88 Tremont Street
Boston


David Manuel
DavidBMjr@aol.com

Alex Canavan
alexc55@comcast.net


Two years ago at the National Day of Prayer in Washington, DC, an old prayer warrior named Ray Bringham got to his feet. In clear, ringing tones that belied his 85 years, he declared: ”There should be Noon prayer hours in major cities across the country!” There was scattered applause and murmurs of approval.

I knew where Ray was coming from. In the third history book I did with Peter Marshall, Sounding Forth the Trumpet, we describe the Noon prayer hour that Jeremiah Lanphier began in New York City. Spreading rapidly throughout the city, the compelling desire to pray together jumped to Boston, Philadelphia, and Washington. A shoe salesman named Moody took it to Chicago. Eventually it became known as the Great Prayer Revival of 1857 and went to all cities, north and south, and around the world. It continued into the Civil War, with full-scale Revival taking place in both the Union and Confederate armies.

I shook my head; that might work in the 19th Century, but not in the 21st . In today’s stress-filled marketplace, no one had time to stop for even a few minutes of prayer, let alone a whole hour. I sighed and shrugged it off. Ray might be a good friend, but I feared he was a little out of touch. . . .

However – when I got in my car to drive back to Massachusetts, I heard a still, small voice in my heart: Why not Boston? Why not Tremont Temple?

You know perfectly well, why not, I thought. Nobody would come! Who’s got time? Besides, you’ve called me to be a writer, not an event-organizer – a species for which, as you know, I have a very low opinion.

We drove on in silence. But I knew it was unresolved. And sure enough, after a few miles I heard it again: Why not Boston? Why not Tremont Temple?

Ever notice how, when God desires you to do a thing that you have no desire to do, it is not open for discussion? “Come,” I pleaded aloud, “let us reason together.”

Silence.

I chatted with friends on my cell phone until its battery gave out. I listened to all the Dutch Sheets CD’s I’d brought with me. I turned on the news, till it started repeating itself. And when it was finally quiet in the car, there it was again. . . Why not Boston? Why not Tremont Temple?

After seven hours of trying to stave Him off, I gave up. “All right!” I cried aloud, “I’ll do it! But it’ll be clenched-teeth obedience.” And then, more calmly, “What’s the next step?”

What I would have liked, of course, was the whole game plan. That way, I could start putting the pieces together, getting the right people in the right slots . . . . But then I would be in control, making it happen. Which was the opposite of what He wanted. He wanted me out of control, powerless to go forward on my own, and listening carefully.

That’s why He never gives us more than the next step. That step is a test; if we carry it out promptly, exactly the way He wants it, He will give us the step after that. In that way, we’re perpetually out of control and perpetually needy.

Call Alex Canavan.

Alex was general manager of the two Christian radio stations that reached the metro Boston area. He and I went way back. At the height of the Charismatic Renewal, He’d been a regional director of the Full Gospel Businessmen, then their International Director, about the time I was setting up the editorial department of Logos, the first Charismatic publishing house.

I called Alex and shared what had just happened to me. He caught the vision for the Noon Hour immediately. “The great hunger in the Church today is for the presence of God in the worship; too often, He’s just not there.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “The only way that will ever change is through prayer.”

Before I could tell him where I thought the Noon Hour was supposed to be, he exclaimed, “And I know just the venue: Tremont Temple.”

In the heart of downtown Boston, Tremont Temple had been a great well of revival in the 19th Century. As the first integrated church in America, it became a rallying place for the Abolitionist movement. Abraham Lincoln spoke there on his way to the Presidency. And later, when Billy Sunday was on the platform preaching revival, the line to get in would extend around the block. Built like a three-tier opera house, it could hold in excess of 1800.

More recently, Derek Prince, speaking there in 1972, declared Boston to be America’s intellectual Jericho. (There 53 campuses in the metro area, which annually award 18% of all the degrees given out in the country.)

Derek concluded with this prophetic word: “The Lord says, When I cause the walls of intellectualism to come tumbling down, then I shall pour out my Spirit upon this whole land.”

The next step? Alex and I went to Tremont Temple, to seek God’s will. The cavernous interior was dark and forbidding, but even in the gloom, God spoke to each of our hearts. This Noon Hour was of Him. He wanted us to proceed together, as co-stewards of it. As long as we stayed out of control, He would open the doors and anoint our endeavors. And He would bring the watchers, to stand with us on this wall. Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.

We covenanted with Him to keep it totally His. We’d seen too many works of men come crashing down. A self-appointed boulder-pusher calls on his friends to help him. Many come to help him push the great stone up the hill. But the closer they get to the top, the steeper the hill becomes, till someone loses his footing and. . . . If the Noon Hour ever got our fingerprints on it, we promised God, we would run from it.

For its format, we would follow Jeremiah Lanphier’s model. It would be on Wednesdays, at Noon. And we would incorporate his rules: Start promptly at 12:00; end promptly at 1:00. Everyone is welcome, even if they can spare only a few minutes. No sermonizing, no prayers or exhortation lasting more than five minutes. No divisive or political prayers. And be considerate of your neighbor, who may not come from the same prayer tradition that you do.

Each Wednesday we would renew that covenant, turning the hour over to Him, asking Him to give us the prayer concerns and the right words. We would not lead. He would be our leader.

The next step? To meet with the interim pastor, Ray Pendleton, on loan from Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary. After we shared our vision, he smiled. “You gentlemen have no way of knowing this, but when our board met last week, our great burden was to reach out to the marketplace. We felt we had to do something, probably on Wednesdays at Noon, but we had no idea what.” He chuckled. “Now we do.”

For the first Boston Noon Hour, June 8, 2005, six people showed up – exactly the number that had come to Jeremiah’s first hour. And the Lord gave us a word:

For I will fill each one of these seats
with those whose hearts long for my heart.
And I will renew their strength
And I will lift them on the wings of my spirit.

They will soar with me,
And they will rejoice with me,
And when I return them to earth,
Their joy will be magnified
And will spread throughout the city
And throughout the land.

The following Wednesday, however, we were only four. (Jeremiah had twenty his second week.) I knew God was not interested in numbers, large or small, but still. . . . Then, in my heart I heard, Despise not small beginnings.

Only the following week, they were even smaller – just Alex and me and Basil Yarde, the radio stations’ director of ministry. We roamed the aisles, praying free-form and declaiming. Nothing happened. Then after about half an hour, suddenly He was with us.

I’m glad You’re here, I told Him, but why now? Why not sooner?

I waited until you were finished.

After that, we turned the hour over to Him at the outset.

The day came when there was just Alex and me – and God. He was tangibly with us, and that was all we needed to keep going.

By Labor Day, there were twelve to fourteen. And I was impatient for the Awakening that He kept telling us was coming soon. Finally, I burst out, “Father, with all due respect,” (and you know that whenever anyone starts off that way, they’re about to be appallingly disrespectful), “the way Heaven uses the word ‘soon,’ it could be a thousand years! I mean, Jesus is coming soon!”

Then I heard, I am using that word not as we use it here, but as you use it there.

That helped – for about four months. By the first week of Advent (we were now twenty to thirty), my impatience was again boiling over. And I heard, My son, you are like a small child, impatient for Christmas. You know your parents have something to do with it, so why won’t they make it come sooner. Christmas will come at its appointed time – not a day sooner, or a day later. But when on that glorious morning you unwrap the magnificent present I have prepared for you, all your frustration will be forgotten.

That has held me (pretty much) ever since. We’re upwards of seventy now, of all denominations, ethnic backgrounds, ages, and walks of life. There may be a few more blacks than whites, a few more women than men. A few of us are well-to-do; more than a few are barely making it.

We’ve become a prayer family, invited by God into His living room. It’s as if He sits in His chair, and we gather cross-legged on the floor around Him, while He leads us in our prayers. We have become concerned for one another, praying for one another, helping one another. And His presence has been growing stronger each week, till we often just sit in silence with Him, basking in His love.

Love is increasingly the focus of our prayers, as we bow or kneel and open our hearts to Him, giving Him all the love we have, and receiving all He has for us. Then, as we leave to return to the marketplace, He challenges us to see if we can give away more love than He can replenish. Recently He said:

My children, you have deeply pleased me with your gift of love. And you have received my love in return. Let us exchange this gift of love again and again, without ceasing. For this meek but intense love is what will draw so many unto me, and I will awaken their hearts to my love, as I have already awakened yours.


Copyright © 2007, David Manuel
All Rights Reserved

Description of The Boston Noon Hour

In 1857 America was in crisis. What had begun as a cultural divide over slavery had deepened into a spiritual rift. Had God created blacks to have the same self-evident right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as whites? Or did He intend them to be intelligent beasts of burden, put on earth to serve whites? In both North and South, hearts had so hardened over that question that resolution by force of arms seemed inevitable.

Then the stock market crashed, the economy collapsed, multitudes were thrown out of work, and no one had any answers.

But one man thought God might.

Jeremiah Lanphier invited anyone with a heart for God in the business district of New York City, to gather for prayer at Noon on Wednesdays. The first Wednesday, there were six. The second Wednesday, twenty. The third, forty, and they started coming every day.

The Great Prayer Revival of 1857 had begun.

Today, America is again in crisis. The cultural divide has become a spiritual rift, and no one has any answers.

But perhaps God does.

What if – we were to accept the challenge of Jeremiah’s example? What if we were to go and do likewise? And follow his model exactly?

Two years ago, a few of us began meeting for prayer at Tremont Temple at Noon on Wednesdays. Now we are 70.

Ask Him, if He’d have you join us.

Jeremiah’s Rules

1. All who desire to seek the face of God in meekness and humility are welcome.

2. Come to pray, not to preach or proselytize, or be entertained. Just to pray.

3. Avoid controversial subjects and divisive prayers. The hour is God’s, not ours. Ask Him to guide your prayers.

4. As you pray, be sensitive to those around you, who might not come from the same prayer tradition as you.

5. Personal prayer requests and praise for answered prayer are welcome, as are reports of what the Lord is doing elsewhere. Exhortations are also welcome, but no more than two in a row, and none should exceed five minutes. A bell may be rung to announce the next person’s turn.

6. Promptness is vital. The hour should begin at Noon and end at one. If you can give Him the whole hour, fine. If you can stay only a few minutes, that is also fine. Linger afterwards if you like, but the closing benediction will be at one.

7. Throughout, be sensitive to the leading of the Spirit of God. Let Him give us the concerns and the words, for we’ve come to please Him, not ourselves.
Guiding Principles

For he was looking for the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God. – Hebrews 11:10

Abraham was looking for a far city, whose foundations were already laid by the Master Builder. So it is for the Boston Noon Hour. Erected on the firm foundation of the Word and Will of God, it has His Spirit hovering over it, guiding the preparation.

From its inception, it has been His. When He determines it is ready for all of Boston, He will speak that into existence, and it will continue to be His, until its completion.

Meanwhile, we are living stones that He is shaping to fit into His temple of prayer – watchers on the wall, awaiting His command:

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord shall come upon you.
– Isaiah 60:1

Jesus revealed that the glory the Father gave Him is also given to us, that we might be one – in spirit and purpose, in one accord.

As God re-digs this great well of revival, Tremont Temple in downtown Boston, and the work gathers momentum, let us always remember:

Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain. – Psalm 127:1

Reflections

At different times, as we have prayed in Tremont Temple and sought the Lord’s face, we have sensed Him speaking into our hearts. We do not claim it is Him, but what follows is the gist of what has come to us.

The first time we prayed together, Alex felt God was calling men and women of kindred spirit to form a unified front, for His Word says that while one could set a thousand to flight, two could set ten thousand to flight.

The coming Revival would involve thousands of watchmen and witnesses—but first it would begin in two’s. In God’s Word He called two, Peter and Andrew, as they were casting their nets. All He said was, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Without hesitation they left everything and followed Him.

Similarly, James and John were mending their nets with their father, when Jesus called them to follow Him. They, too, at once left their livelihood to do so. And He sent the seventy out, two by two.

This new move will begin on a foundation of two’s – multitudes of groups of two’s. They will serve as prayer partners to accomplish what He is about to do. If the prayers of a righteous man availed much, how much more will prayers of many righteous avail? The foundation, then, would be 2 x 2 x 2. . . .

During the same Noon Hour at Tremont Temple, David felt God was pleased.

They had begun.
They should not shrink back.
They should not lower their voices,
for fear of offending men.
They should sing and speak boldly
and fearlessly, because
They would know it was not them
speaking, but His Spirit speaking through them.
They should have patience with one
another, but not tarry. The wave
was already gathering.

God intended them to be on it,
not observing it from afar.
He was calling them to
stand up for Jesus, and
He would stand up for them.

At the first public prayer hour, God seemed to encourage them that He would fill each one of the 1850 seats in that sanctuary, with men and women whose hearts longed for His heart. He would renew their strength and would lift them on the wings of His Spirit.

They would soar with Him,
and they would rejoice with Him,
and when He returned them to earth,
their joy would be magnified
and would spread throughout the city
and throughout the land.


The
Boston Noon
Hour

An invitation to
an open prayer gathering
on Wednesdays
at Tremont Temple
Noon till one o’clock
88 Tremont Street






For more information, call or email:

David Manuel, 508-364-7644
DavidBMjr@aol.com

Alex Canavan, 617-435-2636
alexc55@comcast.net