Over the last 10-15 years their have been a number of happenings that the church community has labeled “outpourings.” These events are typically quite sensational and people from across the world will travel thousands of miles in search of being touched by the hand of God. As with any unique happening, various aspects of the Christian community weigh in on whether or not what is taking place is in fact genuine. As the debate rages, thousands of people keep streaming in hoping that tonight will be their night. Personally, I find myself conflicted and here’s why.

While the experts criticize, analyze and debate I watch with intense compassion the masses of people so desperate to be touched by God. I am particularly drawn to those who suffer physically, I’m rooting for them and I hope God does heal them. Physical pain is debilitating. I have watched helplessly while my wife suffered through severe back pain and what it did to her mentally and emotionally. One of my dearest friends was paralyzed from the neck down. I would have gladly given any limb off my body if it would have allowed him to walk again. I used to laugh at headache healings until I got a migraine once. At that point I would have agreed to have the Dali Lama come pray for me just to stop the pain.

Having said all that, there is something in my soul that keeps wondering when the outpourings are going to pour out? What I’m referring to is pouring out over the walls of the church community and into the surrounding secular community and making a significant impact. When was the last time the US church saw hundreds of thousands of people getting saved? Unless I fell asleep I believe it was the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. That was nearly forty years ago. I wonder will we ever see another Billy Graham? What has happened?

While I am certainly not a trained sociologist, I have noticed a significant cultural shift that started with my generation. Having been born in 1957, that would place me near the caboose of the Baby Boomers train. In my opinion there is a huge paradigm shift between my generation and my parents’ generation that may be at the heart of this issue.

My parents saw life very differently than I did. They saw themselves as a part of a greater whole and who they were and what they did was all done under the auspices of building their community. Their personal identity and significance was based on how well they fulfilled their role. In their world, country and family always came first. Honor was determined by how much you sacrificed for the good of all. The giving of ones life for the sake of preserving the community was considered the ultimate sacrifice. This was never more evident than in my own home. My father was struck with an illness as a child that scarred his heart. Because of it he was rejected from entering the military during World War II. It haunted him his entire life as deep down he never felt he was a real man. He never got to serve his country or his community. Those that did go to war learned the military’s systematic way of life. When they returned home they went to work and with military precision built up the industrial complex that generated our now prosperous lifestyle. At the head of it all was their Commander and Chief, President Dwight Eisenhower.

Then there was us! We totally rebelled against this industrial/military production line mentally because we felt it lacked a soul. Where was the love man? The concept of unquestioned loyalty and duty to the community got trampled under foot on our way running out the door. We threw off the bondage of structure and institutionalism for the more free-flowing attributes of love. We wanted great experiences and to feel good so we let down our hair and went in search of drugs, sex and rock-in-roll. While initially it looked like we had founded Utopia, soon the unfettered evil in our hearts called selfishness began to rule.  We became consumed with self-fulfillment and feeling good about ourselves. We began using and abusing each other to get what we wanted. Life became “all about me” and in the process many of our generation got severely wounded. We are still today repairing the damage. Hands down, women got the worse end of it.

What does this mean for today? How has this affected the Christian Community? I think the fact that MASH was the most popular TV show of the 70’s is no coincidence. The US church today more resembles a MASH hospital than a fighting army. People go to church to get ministered to. We pick churches by their ability to meet our needs and when they cease doing that we move on to find another one that does. The US church today is a mass of people in motion from one place to the other never asking what can I give you but what can you give me? The pressure on pastors to meet needs has never been higher nor met with more distain when not accomplished. The ministry today is a brutal place to be. Like Gollum in The Lord of the Rings, we will stop at nothing in our desperate quest for self-fulfillment, even if it means killing others in the process. Tragically, if we don’t get well soon, the non-Christian world around us may never get to hear or experience this wonderful God we serve as we horde everything for ourselves.

It is my hope and prayer that these “outpourings” do heal us, but in a way that causes us to overflow to such a point in our own souls that we can’t help but share it with others. It needs to be taken to the highways and byways of life and invite all to our God’s wonderful banquet table. The world needs the church healthy and whole. I’d love to see mass baptisms in the oceans again!

In closing, I want to share with you about a dream I had years ago. I think I understand it now. What I remember was hovering over the courtyard of an ancient stone castle that was lined with modern glass counters around the inside perimeter wall. The counters looked similar to what you would find in a jewelry store with glass shelving inside. There seemed to be some commotion in the courtyard but as it started I was distracted by rising smoke off in the distance at the foot of some mountains. I noticed that there was a medieval village there that was being raided and pillaged by a black army.  Everything they had including their weapons was completely black. I could see them lighting the thatched roof huts on fire and people screaming and crying as they were being captured and put into slave chains.

At that point things in the castle courtyard had started to further stir. Soon trumpets were blaring and people were scurrying everywhere. I assumed it was to gird up for battle to rescue the villagers. Next, I saw a lot of pageantry as flags on long poles were being paraded around the courtyard with the multitudes in the castle singing inspiring anthems. It was all very stirring. Soon what I assumed was the king emerged from under one of the overhanging crosswalks and made his way over to one of the glass cases. He unlocked it and pulled out the most magnificent golden sword with embedded jewels. He held the sword high over his head and the crowd cheered. He then stood on a small platform and recounted the stories of how the golden sword had been wielded in past battles and saved the lives of thousands of people. People wept at his passionate oratory. While he was energizing the crowd, I peered in a little closer and noticed that they had hundreds of various golden weapons in the glass cases. Each had an incredible story to tell. As the king finished his speech I fully expected a whole army of noble knights to come riding out into the courtyard in blazing glory ready to go to war. I was disappointed and shocked when nothing happened. In fact everyone simply went back to work. I was stunned. I started to scream at them that there were people outside the castle walls that were in desperate need of them and their weapons, but no one could hear me.

I was so frustrated when I notice a lone figure running towards the castle from the village. When he got to the side of the moat he yelled up to the guards on the wall to let the draw bridge down so he could cross over. They could see that he was no threat and he looked like he was in need of medical attention. Soon he was on the inside and many kind people in the castle gathered around him to find out what had happened. Once he had finished his story he pleaded with them to come help the people of his village. When he saw the hundreds of golden weapons that they were in possession of, he was convinced they were a mighty army. They explained to him that it was not the time yet and that he was in need of medical attention first. They took him to the infirmary where he was well looked after and got some rest. A few days later when he was feeling up to it he decided to take a walk in the courtyard where he noticed a group of men that were sitting in a circle polishing the weapons from the glasses cases and talking. He asked if he could join them and they offered him a seat. As he listened in, the men were discussing the history of the various weapons that they were each polishing. He was thoroughly captivated by the stories and asked if he could learn how to polish the weapons too. Soon he was a part of the team. It wasn’t long before his life in the village was forgotten. In time, He could barely remember the faces of his friends and family that were led off in slavery. He had a new life now. He was a part of the polishing team and this was his new identity. He belonged to a new community now that was meeting his needs.

I was then woke up in the middle of the night and found that I had been crying.