On worship and fog machines

I was surprised when a young friend told me the other day that most of his friends attended churches that use fog machines. So clearly it’s a trend.

I admit I have never been in a church service where a fog machine was used. So maybe I’m not qualified to speak on the subject. But I’m going to anyway.

I have always felt that we need to cater our music to the generations that are closer to birth than to death. That would be the people who are actually going to be alive when I am dead. They are the church’s future.

But when it comes to worship, let’s make a difference between what really matters and what doesn’t. What matters, for instance, are the words we sing. They say a lot about what we believe. There was a reason the Scots sang the Psalms, and only the Psalms. There was no doubt about the content.

So I ask the question: should not the songs we sing be every bit as rooted and grounded in Scripture as the teaching we hear?

I could make a sad joke about being in churches where most of the fog emanated from the pulpit, but for the moment I assume that most of us are in churches where the teaching is decent and Biblically grounded.

One thing I’ve noticed is that most of the arguments over worship are not about the lyrics but about the music. Music, for the most part, is a matter of taste. Taste is what changes, and that’s where we have to cater to the younger half of the congregation if we want a church capable of reaching the next generation.

And is this is a source of frustration to me. We argue over the things that matter far less -- we argue over style of music, how loud the music is, what kind of instruments we should allow, and so on. But we pass over the far more significant issue of what it is we are actually singing.

The Scots used to sing without accompaniment. There were loads of arguments over scandalous things like using an organ in worship. When I was a young Christian, people left churches when somebody dared to appear on the platform with a guitar. Never mind that the church was filling up with young people and the songs we were singing were largely Scripture put to music.

So where does that leave us with fog machines?

I admit I’m not a fan. For one thing, they seem to be a poor substitute for the cloud that filled Solomon’s temple. But let’s face it, they are part of the periphery, not part of the core.

What is a real problem is if the fog machines represent an attempt to dumb down worship and to make its focus more on making people feel a particular atmosphere rather than leading those people into glorifying the one true God.

Having said that, I would rather be in a congregation with a fog machine singing songs with Biblical lyrics and glorifying God than in a congregation with neither a fog machine nor any sense of what true worship is supposed to be.

At its root, worship is clearly defined by Paul: “Present yourselves as a sacrifice, living, holy and acceptable to God, which is worship, properly understood.” That is my translation of Romans 12:1, and it’s backed by some pretty good scholars.

If you have the foundation right, you’ll get the rest of it as well, with or without a fog machine.

But I’d still like to witness that manifest glory that Solomon saw…

Experiencing the presence of God

Is it somehow wrong or unspiritual to want to experience the presence of God?

All sorts of arguments rage over this question. And especially in relation to worship.

Are churches too experiential? Or not experiential enough? People are leaving churches today for both reasons, so it’s a significant question that demands an answer.

Let’s establish one fact first. The presence of God is not an experience to be sought or argued about. It is a theological and Biblical fact.

And a fact with several aspects or levels to it.

First of all, God is omnipresent. He is everywhere. That doesn’t mean he’s in everything, just that his presence as Creator of the universe cannot be limited to one place. He is capable of being present anywhere at any time. He is present, for instance, in every Christian by the person of his Spirit. In this sense, you don’t have to seek his presence. You have his presence.

Second, God is very often present in an intensified way when we pray and seek him, or when we are gathered together corporately in worship. How often have we felt his peace or his joy in personal or corporate worship? The Bible says he dwells in the praises of his people.

Third, God is sometimes present in a manifest sense. These are times when the awareness of his presence can touch or even overwhelm our physical senses. Think of Moses or Elijah in the cleft of the rock on Mount Sinai. Think of the priests unable to stand at the opening of Solomon’s temple. Think of Ezekiel “lifted up by the Spirit between earth and heaven.” Think of the soldiers thrown to the ground as they came to arrest Jesus. Think of the believers at Pentecost, appearing outwardly drunk due to the power of the Spirit. Think of Paul thrown off his horse by the presence of God. Think of Philip transported miraculously from one place to another. Think of the building in Jerusalem shaking when the believers were praying, or the jail bonds burst asunder by the earthquake at Philippi. Think of Paul caught up to the third heaven.

And think of the congregations addressed by John Wesley and Jonathan Edwards, where men and women were reduced to tears and crying out to God in repentance. Think of the Scottish highlanders on Lewis and Harris, sprawled in the fields in intense conviction of sin. Every revival has similar stories, differing only in detail.

Why then do we argue over whether it is unspiritual to seek the presence of God? When I first met my wife, I wanted to be in her presence. I felt something tangible. It was (and is!) special. Why on earth would I not want to be in God’s presence? God’s presence is nothing more nor less than God himself. Do we not want to seek God?

I think the whole argument against seeking experiences is based on a misconception. The misconception is that those people seeking the presence of God in a tangible way are looking for an emotional experience. Our faith is based on Biblical truth, not emotion, the argument goes (and so far quite rightly), so we should not need those kind of experiences, and certainly should not depend on them. And it is true that we should not be seeking God for emotional experiences.

But here’s the mistake. We do not encounter the presence of God with our emotions. But we do encounter the presence of God in a way that affects our emotions.

We encounter God’s presence when the Holy Spirit invades our spirit with his power and reality. Our spirit is the deepest part of us, that place where his Spirit comes to dwell, from which he begins to establish lordship over our emotions, our intellect and our body.

God is always present in our spirit by his Spirit: that is his omnipresence. His presence is often felt in a tangible way when it is intensified in prayer and worship. And his presence may be felt in a manifest way in times of special power and revival.

God is present: that’s a fact. And that’s what our faith is built on. But if he chooses to come in an intensified or even manifest form, it is for a kingdom purpose. It’s not so that you can be emotionally overcome, but that you can be spiritually empowered.

I advise you to seek as much of God’s presence in your life as you feel you need to do his will.

And as for me... I’ll take as much as I can get. Because his call on my life requires it.

And his call on your life requires it too.

For he was but one: the power of insignificance

Things were tough for God’s people. And worse was coming.

In the midst of it all, Isaiah called the people to look to the rock from which they were hewn, to look to Abraham their father and Sarah who bore them. And then he makes this statement: “For he was but one when I called him, that I might bless him and multiply him” (Isaiah 51:2).

For he was but one.

How many times have you felt alone, abandoned, misunderstood or powerless in the face of circumstances? How many time have you looked enviously or wistfully at others who do not appear to be in such a hard place?

For he was but one.

How many times does the church regard success in terms of numbers? Speakers are invited to conferences simply because of the size of their church. I once heard a very godly and wise pastor say he knew God had given him one of the largest churches in America simply so that people would listen to his message. He said it with regret that this should be the case. Yet so often it is.

For he was but one.

At Gethsemane, Scripture records Jesus was deserted by all of his disciples.

He also was but one.

Sometimes God strips away our outward success. He removes our popularity. He puts us in a place where it seems we have only him. But here’s why. It’s when we have nothing, when we know we are nothing, when we are but one, that he can begin to bring a harvest out of our lives.

If Abraham had not been one, God could not have been glorified in the miracle of multiplication that followed. Abraham was significant precisely because he was insignificant.

Many years ago and though very difficult circumstances, God brought me to the devastating realization that I wasn’t his greatest gift to the body of Christ. Something in me died, but because of the death, God slowly but surely began a process of resurrection which, I hope and pray, has brought blessing to the lives of others, blessing that would never have come had I found myself in a place of self-defined success.

We so foolishly think God is most glorified in our great ministry gifts and successes. What a lie! Advertising our ministry accomplishments brings glory only to us.

In truth, God’s glorification is found in our desperation. And that usually comes at the moment we feel we are but one.

I am so glad Abraham did not give up. His greatest qualification for leadership was his refusal to walk out. And because of that, the covenant line was preserved for the Messiah to come and save you and me.

We so often read the stories of the Bible with the end in mind. We forget what it was like for the disciples in the boat before Jesus showed up walking on the water to rescue them. We forget what it was like for Jairus at that awful moment when the messengers told him there was no point bothering Jesus because his daughter had died. We forget what it was like for Peter in Herod’s prison the night before his scheduled execution. We forget what it was like for Abraham during all those long years when he was but one.

If that is where you are today, hang on. Know that God is not deserting you, he is preparing you.

Knowing you are insignificant qualifies you to be significant.

Another day will come. Just hang in there and stay faithful.

You are not but one. He is with you.

We jumped - and here's where we landed

For many years, we have felt the Lord speaking to us about change.

When I was approaching my sixtieth birthday (and feeling a bit low about it), I attended a conference where three men independently approached me over two days and made the same statement to me: “You are about the enter the twenty most powerful years of your ministry.”

We knew we had a choice. Stay where we are, focus on the local church, maintain our financial security and gradually fade away. Or… throw our security away, leave where we are and sow ourselves into the kingdom of God around the world in whatever way God called us to do, making our latter years our most reckless and hopefully most effective for God.

And so there really wasn’t any choice.

A year ago in a blog I described it as jumping off a cliff.

Over that time we looked at all the options available to us, did everything we could to explore them, and came up with nothing we felt at peace about. In the meantime, I had committed to resigning the leadership of my church and moving away to give my replacement some space.

In a moment of utter desperation six weeks ago, knowing we had to leave, knowing we had nowhere to go, and knowing we were running out of time, the Lord graciously showed up. I felt God speaking to me about Stratford, Ontario.

What, Lord? I don’t even know anyone there!

Six short weeks later, and with many remarkable things happening in between, we have committed to moving to Stratford, and we have bought a house there. Our own house, in which we raised our 8 kids, is on the market. And we are being warmly welcomed by the leadership at Jubilee Christian Fellowship in Stratford, a church with a worldwide vision, and a church which, in its history, has affected the world in many ways since its founding by our friend John Arnott in 1981.  As friends of Jubilee, we can remain part of our worldwide Newfrontiers family of churches and serve across networks as well as nations.

So what’s the plan?

We will divide our time three ways, between our base in Canada (from which we will serve churches here), the Firm Foundation churches in the USA, and the various churches in the UK we have many long years of relationship with. I am publishing my book on foundations of faith this summer, books on suffering and manhood after that, and others to follow. The blogs will continue, and I hope will be a blessing and encouragement to you who read them.

That’s the plan. But more fundamentally, what is the vision?

Our vision is to raise up a generation of leaders who will impact the body of Christ around the world, and to leave a legacy of faith, power and integrity in spiritual sons and daughters who will change this world for Christ for many, many years after we are gone.

Please pray for us. And if you feel called to support us financially, we are setting up ways in Canada, the USA and the UK for you to do that as of July 1. We don’t as yet have enough money to live on, but we know God will look after us as he always has.

One thing I know. God is faithful. I believe it was William Carey who said this: God’s work, done God’s way, will never lack God’s provision. That is as true for you as it is for me.

And as for us... we’re getting ready for the best twenty years we’ve ever had.

A taste of revival

Few of us in the western world have ever seen genuine revival. The story I tell here represents the closest I ever got. It still amazes me.

In 1982, my friend Robert Ward asked me to accompany him to the Outer Hebrides, a group of islands off the north-west coast of Scotland and the last place revival occurred in the United Kingdom, or all of Europe for that matter.

The revival began in the late 1940s with an all-night prayer meeting, in which a small group of people in a Presbyterian church took hold of God. As they prayed in the small hours of the morning, people elsewhere on the islands were awakened to terrifying visions of hell and judgment, and began to call upon the Lord for salvation.

Many of the people Robert and I visited with were young people at the time of the revival, and so we had eye-witness accounts.

We attended service at the Presbyterian church in Tarbert on the Isle of Harris. You can see a recent photograph of it above. The preacher had a magnificent view of the bay out the window! The service was mostly in Gaelic. We were told in hushed tones after the service that during the revival unsaved people entering the church on Sunday morning often fell into a “coma” during the preaching of the Word. The elders used to carry them outside and lay them in rows on the ground. When they awoke out of this “coma,” they were converted. And when they were converted, they were truly converted. The life of the islands was transformed.

Others were struck down by the Spirit while going about their employment or other daily business, experiencing visions of judgment. The ministers would often refuse to go them until they were convinced they were truly convicted of their sin. Some lingered in this state for several days before a visit from a minister became the opportunity for them to receive Christ and be delivered from their agony.

One evening we preached in a country chapel. As we left the building, one of the men told me that during the revival a wind began to blow through the church to the point that papers were flying around. The minister ordered the windows to be shut, but the wind continued to blow. On another occasion, after the congregation had left the building one Sunday night, members looked back as the empty building was suddenly filled with light.

A nurse violently opposed to the Gospel became so upset she decided to move away and took a job in Glasgow. Later, her job ended and she had to move home. The church was located on the way to the hospital, but she hated it so much every morning she would walk blocks out of her way to avoid going past it. One morning she was late and had no choice. As she passed the church, she fell under the conviction of God and was struck to the ground, crying out for mercy. When she arose, she was saved. Much later, a close friend of mine baptized her and told me the story.

Those dear people lived and prayed for nothing but revival. They had seen and tasted the goodness and presence of God. They were not Pentecostal, they were Presbyterian. The ministers did not wear designer t-shirts or expensive suits, they dressed in black from head to toe. The worship was not Chris Tomlin, it was the Psalms, and sung in Gaelic, not English (a sound like vocal bagpipes). But they knew the power of God.

What do you think revival looks like? We can’t define it by any particular outward manifestation. But at its heart is the presence of a holy God coming in power into a sinful world to change lives.

If I had people falling down under conviction of sin all around me, I would even learn Gaelic and sing the Psalms if that’s how God was doing it. I’d rather be there than in a sound and light show with great contemporary music but nothing else.

Those Presbyterians had no technology, no plan and no money. All they had was the ability to get on their knees and cry out to God. And he came.

Maybe we have something to learn from them.

Maranatha - Come, Lord!