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.