Good Treasure, or Evil?

“A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” [Luke 6:45]

Reflecting on the repeated word “good.” (Principle: when the Book repeats something, it’s worth paying attention to!)

The word for “good” is ἀγαθός, and it “describes that which, being “good” in its character or constitution, is beneficial in its effect; it is used
(a) of things physical, e.g., a tree.
(b) in a moral sense, frequently of persons and things. God is essentially, absolutely and consummately “good. (Vine's Dictionary of New Testament Words)

This tells me something that I don’t actually want to know: what I say (and presumably what I write about on FB) reveals my heart. If I’m talking about things that are beneficial in their effect, if I am pointing out that which is good about things, then this verse declares that I am a “good man” and I have “good treasure” in my heart.

But if what I say (and presumably what I write about on FB) is talking about things that are faults, or problems, or failures, or complaints or even just drivel, then this verse declares that I have “evil treasure” in my heart.

Certainly, I wish to apply this to myself: I can judge my own heart by watching what I say. Are my words revealing good or evil in my heart?

But I probably need to take this a step further as well: who am I reading, who am I following. If they’re speaking things that comfort me or challenge me or cause me to dig deeper into God, if they’re declaring what is true, noble, just, pure, lovely, of good report, virtuous or praiseworthy (see Philippians 4:8), then I can safely judge the fruit: this is “good treasure” coming from a good heart.

But if I’m listening to people or reports that are bringing fear, or outrage, or self-pity, or resentment, or entitlement, or powerlessness, or reports that are stirring worldly desires (“the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,” 1 John 2:16), then I can – and must – judge that report as “evil treasure,” and recognize that it is coming from a motivation that has evil toward me in it, whether those speaking it mean for it to or not. (I’m not judging their heart; I’m judging their words.)

May I tell you a secret? That’s why I stopped watching the news. Father showed me this, and he called it my “devotional with the world.” I don’t hide from the news, but I get my news on my terms now, not on theirs.

I intend to judge fruit. I choose to be a fruit inspector. I choose to filter the fruit that others give me, to receive the good, and reject the evil.

Borrowing an Anointing in Rizal Park

There’s a principle in prophetic ministry: even people with no real prophetic gifts can prophesy when the Holy Spirit is present and manifesting that gift. The clearest example I can think of is King Saul, and it hit him twice: in 1 Samuel 10, and again in chapter 19. When he was around prophets, King Saul flopped on the ground and prophesied. “Therefore it became a proverb: “Is Saul also among the prophets?”

It appears that it happens with other gifts as well. I’m not really gifted as an evangelist, but let me tell you about one time that I was numbered among the evangelists. There’s no great lesson in this; it’s just a testimony.

Some years ago, I was part of a YWAM evangelistic outreach in Manila, the Philippines. If ever there was an organization with an evangelistic anointing, they would be included on that list.

Coming into this “Outreach,” I’d been praying for an anointing for whatever I was going to do. I was assigned to be one of the “street preaching” team, and occasionally part of the drama team. Everybody was on the personal evangelism team.

My friend Connie was there. Connie is an evangelist. She looks across the restaurant and you can hear the sobbing break out. (OK. That’s an exaggeration. A little bit.) She has flaming red hair, and she lives up to it.

One afternoon, we were sharing testimonies of what God had done, and Connie shared this story: she’d led a college student, we’ll call her Kim, to faith early in the outreach, and now, she was discipling her; they met every afternoon after Kim’s afternoon college classes.

The second day, Kim shows up an hour early: it turned out the college professor hadn’t shown up. Connie asks, “Does that happen often?” “Yeah, fairly often.” Connie’s eyes sparkled. “May I go with you to your class tomorrow?”

So Connie accompanies Kim to class, and sure enough, the professor doesn’t show up. And now Connie has a captive audience of 30 college students. She stands up, calls for their attention, and launches into the good news. As she was finishing, before she could ask “Who wants to believe in Jesus?” the professor comes in, sees someone else – a white woman! – speaking to her class. Of course she demands to know “What is going on here?”

Connie says, “Just a moment, please. I’m almost done,” and explains that they need to believe, but rather than praying with them, she instructs those who want to follow Jesus to speak to Kim and tell her.

The next day, Kim brought 28 other students with her to be discipled in the ways of Jesus.

I heard that story, and I’m thinking, “I wanna be successful, too!” so I ask God for effectiveness in evangelism.

The next day, we take an outreach team to Rizal Park, downtown. The team outreach was structured in four parts: three songs, one drama showing the gospel, a 3 minute “sermon” presenting the gospel, and Bam! Everybody splits up to share one-on-one with someone, hopefully leading them to faith.

I didn’t really know what I was doing. My attention was drawn to one old guy, in a group of old guys, seated on some planters. I asked his permission, and then shared the basic gospel story with him again. In those days, some of the people really wanted to please foreigners, so I explained the gospel, and then I outlined the costs of following Jesus. Twice. And he was old, so I had to speak up while I did it, so he could hear me. He kept looking down, as if the ground were more interesting than what I was saying.

When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I asked, “Would you like to follow Jesus? Would you like to give your life to Jesus?” And for the first time, he looked up, he locked his eyes on mine, and he said in a shaky, but strong voice, “Yes. Yes, I will follow Jesus.” 

I cleared my throat, and prepared to lead him in that great Evangelical theological pillar, the Sinner’s prayer, but before I could get started, the guy next to my guy looked at me. “Could I follow Jesus, too?” Oh! Oh, yes!

And then the next guy tugged at my sleeve, and pointed to the three guys with him. “We’d like to follow Jesus, too.” And then several more guys sitting on the next planter over, asked if they could as well.

I shared the gospel, quite hesitantly, actually, with an old guy that wasn’t interested. But rather than judge him myself, I kept going. That afternoon, I led nine men in the sinner’s prayer, and then introduced them to a local pastor who was traveling with us.

It’s my opinion that it worked because I was “under the influence” of a group that had a substantial evangelistic anointing. And because I was faithful to do what I really didn’t feel like doing.

When I returned home to the USA, I was, I confess, rather impressed with myself. I headed out onto the streets of my city one Saturday afternoon, fresh from successes like that one (and yeah, there were others).

And I “shared the gospel” with a whole bunch of people. Actually, I attempted to share the gospel, but they saw me coming, and dodged me before I could talk with them. I didn’t lead a single person to faith. Actually, I didn’t even have a serious conversation with even one person that whole day.

I’ve ministered under that anointing again since then. I joined the Full Gospel Businessmen in a booth at the regional fair, and watched God move powerfully. I joined with some gifted evangelists in the same city where I had failed, and watched God move semi-powerfully, but way better than I had done by myself.

Nowadays, I teach people, if you want to move in what I call “the juice,” then go be with someone who has what you want. If you can join them in ministry, then by all means do, but if you can only stand next to them, and learn from them.

For myself, it’s only worked when I’m with them. But when I’m with people who are evangelists, I can exercise that gift. And when I’m not, I’m embarrassing. 

A Curious Contrast

It's a curious thing to walk in great weakness and in great peace simultaneously.

Heads up: a bit of self-disclosure going on here. It’s probably good that I’m comfortable with not “feeling the victory” every minute of every day. Right now, I’m more-than-usual in touch with my weakness as a man, my vulnerability as a human being. I’m really aware of the myriads of enemies coming against me.

Don’t jump to conclusions here. We’re used to interpreting these kinds of things as some sort of failure, where we need to rescue the person feeling such things. I’m not sure I need rescuing. I’m not sure I’m in trouble, really. Sure, enemies are there, always. I'm maybe more aware of it now, but I'm still separated from it, like watching it on a TV; a small, black & white TV: it's there, but it lacks reality, it lacks impact.

I’m not broken. I don’t really need fixing.

I know who I am in Christ. I know my victory in Christ. I’m not a victim of emotions or of demonic interaction; in fact, there are some demons hobbling around with my boot print embedded rather deeply in their buttocks right now, because they though I was vulnerable. Their mistake.

At the same time that I’m experiencing my weakness, my vulnerability, I’m completely clear that I’m SO much more than a conqueror in Christ. I am absolutely, positively, gloriously loved by the most amaaaaazing Daddy in the Universe, and I LIKE it that way!

This is an illustration in irony: it’s going to sound religious, but I think what may be going on is a peeling away of some of the religious “Man of God” garbage that I’ve grown up with. You know: “God’s man for the hour, filled with paste and flour.” I think some of that religious persona, some of psychological buffalo sprouts are landing in the recycling bin where it belongs.

What a wonderful contrast the Kingdom is. I can be in touch with my own inability, my own vulnerability, and still be a full participant in the almighty, awesome, kick-the-devil’s-teeth-in power of my Papa.

Do we have any Firefly fans among us? Any Browncoats? I’m sure you remember how River Tam is the weakest, most dependent character in [the best science-fiction TV series ever! And…] the movie, Serenity.

Do you remember River’s interaction with the demonic bad-guy Reavers toward the end of the movie? Here's a refresher of her great weakness:
(https://youtu.be/nAzZoU9tOeY [warning: violent content!])

Maybe that’s a decent illustration of what it means to be weak, dependent. Maybe it’s OK to be weak and dependent, after all. Particularly when we're passionate.

Dealing With Bombs

I share this as a testimony. You know I love testimonies.

I had a dream. In the dream, or maybe it was a vision: I was working my way through the sparse underbrush of a very large hill. I was searching out unexploded ordinance: bombs that hadn’t gone off, and I knew that some of them were nuclear bombs.

My friends and I were cleaning out the area so that kids could play safely in the bushes and grasses there. My job was to find the bombs hidden under the bushes, behind the clumps of grass. There weren’t a lot, but it was more than I expected.

When I found one, I put it into the basket I was carrying (really? Carrying nukes in a basket?), and hand the baskets to others who took them off to other places, and came back each time for more.

As I was dreaming, while I was pulling a shiny silver bomb out from behind a clump of tall grass, Father began interpreting the dream I was still in the middle of for me. (I’ve never had that happen before!)

“You recognize these bombs?” and suddenly, I knew that these were issues in my life where offenses could grow. These were wounds, lies that I’ve believed, curses, and other detritus in my soul that could explode and cause problems. “Yes, sir,” I replied.

“And you recognize that this dream is just symbolic? That solving these issues in the real world is going to take more than just picking up the bombs and putting them in your basket?” I understood that he was right: these are real issues and they need real solutions.

The dream had prophetically pointed out that there were bombs, danger points (and I suspect we all have some). We can identify the bombs by prayer, by prophecy, by soul-searching, maybe by inviting input from godly friends.

I also recognized that he wasn’t commenting on the solutions that they needed, just that the issues needed something more than “prophetically picking up a bomb” and putting it in my basket. I was welcome to choose the solutions I was comfortable with: repentance, healing prayer, power of God, therapy, washing in the Word, and more.

I observe that God is speaking to a number of his kids in this season about getting rid of offenses, removing the stumbling blocks from our history; in fact, it’s a little freaky how many began hearing this topic at the same time. If you’re in this season, embrace it as from God, and work with him to remove the hindrances to moving forward.

We’re in this together.

A Legacy From Adam

“You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve,” said Aslan. “And that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth. Be content.” CS Lewis, Prince Caspian

As a man, as a human being, I am heir to the strengths and many of the peculiarities of those who have gone before me.

I have brown hair and blue eyes: I inherited these genes from my parents.

I sunburn easily. I inherited this characteristic from the Scotsmen and Englishmen who populate my family tree.

I also inherited something from one of my more distant forbears, the first Man, Adam himself. While I am certainly not his only descendent on planet Earth, I am one of his descendents, and one of his heirs. I believe that you and I, Adam’s heirs, have the right to name ourselves inheritors of his calling.

What was Adam’s calling? What was the first responsibility given to Adam?

Out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name. –Genesis 2:19

Adam’s first responsibility was to give names to every creature that God made. “Whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name.”

I had a revelation recently about how important it can be that we – Adam’s heirs – are inheritors of Adam’s calling, Adam’s authority.

One night, a group of prophetic intercessors had gathered together in our home, and were praying about a minor stronghold in our hometown. There was a high bridge downtown, a favorite among the despondent members of our community; it became known as “Suicide Bridge.” For years, it had been known by that name, and used for that purpose.

Recently, several of us had noticed that when we crossed that bridge, thoughts of suicide, temptation to jump, came upon us: we who were healthy, satisfied, happy individuals. These clearly were not our thoughts: they came from outside of us, from something associated with death, and associated with that location.

As we prayed together, we understood that there had been enough suicides, enough wrongful deaths in that place, that the enemy had capitalized on all the death, and assigned a demon to the bridge, to become a stronghold, whose responsibility, it seemed, was to maximize the enemy’s investment in the form of suicides from the bridge.

Most of the intercessors gathered together that night had learned that the “right way” to deal with things like this was to discern the name of the demon, and then to use that name, with the authority of the name of Jesus, to break the creature’s right to live there and to work there.

But we didn’t know the creature’s name.

As we were looking for the name, God spoke up: “You are heir to Adam.” Hunh? What? “You have inherited Adam’s authority to name living creatures.”

And the light went on!

We named the demon, “Bob,” and then we broke “Bob’s” authority and assignment in that place, and kicked him out. The “urge to jump” was gone the next morning, and within a week, the city “just happened” to raise all the railings on the bridge to eight feet high. There have been no more suicides that I know of off of that bridge. More importantly, there is no “urge” to end it all when passing by that place.

Hmm. That was interesting. I suspect we may be onto something.

Another time, we were involved in a wonderful and glorious session of healing and deliverance, in a wonderful, family-based environment. Most of the words of knowledge that directed our ministry came through pre-teenagers that night. Everything was going well, our friend was finding real freedom, until we came upon one demonic stronghold that would not let go.

After we fussed and fumed for a bit, God said it again. “You are heir to Adam.” We named the beastie “Squiggly” (as that was the dominant characteristic: he squirmed and slipped out of our “grasp” as we prayed). We assigned him the name, seriously: we took up the authority we’d inherited from Adam, we stripped it of whatever (unknown) name it had gone by, and we gave it a new name: its name was now Squiggly. Then we commanded it by that name, and the demon submitted quickly and left peacefully.

If you’ve been part of deliverance ministry, if you’ve been involved with a team breaking down demonic strongholds, you may have encountered the obstruction of a demonic beastie whose name you did not know, and therefore you may have had difficulties overcoming the thing.

Based on our revelation, supported by our experience and by the Biblical description of Adam’s calling, I believe that we as heirs of Adam have the right to Adam’s commission: “Whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name.” If you can’t find the thing’s name, then give it a name, and use that name to get rid of it.

(I am not arguing for a theology that says our authority in Christ is limited only to those circumstances wherein we know the enemy’s name; I’m merely observing that many intercessors and ministers have encountered obstructions that we have associated with not knowing the demonic spirit’s name. And of course, I am not encouraging rookies to wield this weapon as if it were a talisman; I remind you of the seven sons of Sceva.)

Finally, I observe that there is, in practical terms, a substantial difference between referring to a spirit, and naming a spirit. Talking about “that squiggly demon” is not at all the same thing as naming the thing “Squiggly,” assigning it the name, exercising Adam’s authority. If I am just talking about a spirit, a demon, then I am not exercising the authority I’ve inherited from Adam; I’m merely talking (to it, to God, about it…) as a man. But to name something is to both claim and exercise authority over it, authority that you actually have, authority that you’ve inherited. Step into the authority you’ve inherited from Adam: wield the authority you’ve been given.

I’m interested to hear if others have found this weapon, and what experiences they’ve had when wielding it. Please comment here, or email me at nwp@northwestprophetic.com. I look forward to hearing from you.

Regarding Physical Manifestations,

Freaky Physical Reactions

If you attend a charismatic or renewal service, you’re likely to eventually come upon a scene which has left many people with questions: late in the service, when people are praying for folks, some people start freaking out, physically reacting. Some stand (or lie) quietly twitching, almost vibrating. Others jerk violently and even thrash about. Some shout, moan, roar or make other, less-describable noises. I’ve heard some roar like lions, others bark like dogs, and I’ve heard the clucking of a chicken.

The percentage of people who reacted strangely varied, from just a few, to most of the crowd, and it appeared that their reactions came from different motivations; some appeared more sincere, more genuine than others.

People who frequent such meetings are often completely at ease, even inattentive to the reactions. People who are not from a tradition that includes “physical manifestations” often find those manifestations distracting, confusing, off-putting. Neophytes often come away from these meetings with more questions about the congregation than about the sermon or the prophetic ministry:

• Why do they do that?
• Is that God?
• Can they control that?
• Are they faking it?
• That can’t be good for them, can it?
• That’s not going to happen to me, is it?

Those are good questions, actually. I try to encourage them.

John Arnott pointed out one time that there are many reasons why people react physically in a spiritual environment.

• Some folks react because God is touching them; it's involuntary, like touching a live electrical wire.

• Some of them, God isn’t touching them physically, but he’s working on their emotions, and their physical manifestations are simply a symptom of God addressing and healing deeply rooted emotional wounds.

• For others, it's psychological: they need to feel like they're part of what's going on, or they need to feel loved. For some of these, it's marginally voluntary: they may not know whether they can control the physical reaction.

• Others are moved socially: everybody is doing this; I need to fit in, so I should too: their reaction is voluntary, though the thinking behind it may not be.

• Some may be manifesting because their resident demons are freaking out.

• And there are mentally ill persons among us, who are legitimately reacting for their own reasons, real or imagined.

• I leave out those who are mockingly “faking it.” I actually haven’t ever met such people, and though I imagine they exist, I have difficulty imagining them sticking around without fitting into one of the other categories.

Among these motivations, are there any of these people that shouldn’t come to God, that shouldn’t bring these needs – spiritual, psychological, emotional, whatever – to God and invite him to work in them? Is there any reason to separate some away from God and permit others to come near?

If we accept John’s observation that these physical reactions come from many sources, we can answer the question “Is this God?” with, “Well, sometimes it’s God.” And we can make that statement without judging the person who is twitching undignifiedly on the floor: whichever of these motivations is making them flop, they deserve a touch from God, they deserve to be loved by God’s people, they deserve to be pastored, not judged, not excluded.

For some people, a touch from God won’t be the whole solution; they’ll also need to replace a lie with truth, and they may need deliverance. But the touch from God is a part of the process, is a part of the healing, and often it makes room for the other components of the healing.

I remember the night that I undeniably encountered really strange manifestations on people as they encountered God – this was the night that a man clucked chicken for twenty minutes as he was praying for me! I saw hundreds of people fall on the floor and flop around like a fish out of water. Afterwards, when most of the flopping fish were through flopping, and had been helped up, had straightened out their clothes and stumbled off to the parking lot, I was talking to the guy running the sound.

I asked him a blunt question: “Do you do that?” “Do what?” he asked. “Do you fall on the ground and flop around like a fish?”

His wife interrupted before he could answer. “Yes! Yes, he does, and I’m glad he does!” Um. Ok. “You’re glad he does that? Really? Why is that?”

“Because the man who gets up off the floor is not the same man who falls down there. God works on him while he’s there, and he always gets up a better man for it.”

She went on to tell me about some of the character issues that have changed, grown, matured, since he first landed unconscious on the carpet, twitching. In my evangelical vocabulary, he was growing more Christ-like while he flopped about on the carpet.

My evangelical mind had trouble with that concept. But I was beginning to be convinced. I really didn’t understand (I don’t claim to understand even now!), but when something I don’t understand brings about the result of increased Christlikeness, increased fruit of the Spirit, then I can’t really argue with it, even if I don’t understand the process by which God works in them. I understand the results even if the process confuses me.

Reactions to the Manifestations

At those same meetings where some people who didn’t participate in the festivities. Some wandered about, wide-eyed, watching what was going on, others clung to their chairs, with the same wide-eyed curiosity. I love watching these folks’ honest fascination with what God was doing.

Others stood, often along the back wall, often with arms crossed, scowling, watching the shenanigans, usually with growing unease. I’ve been this guy, so I know that the mental process behind the scowl is not generally one of approval. These folks may ask the same questions, but with a twist, perhps twisted into a statement, usually a statement of disapproval, judgment, even condemnation:

• Why doesn’t somebody stop that?
• That is not God! That can’t be God!
• They could control that reaction!
• They’re faking it!
• That can’t be good for them!
• That’s not going to happen to me!

Often, they’re rehearsing in their minds all the reasons why this can’t be God. Confusion is replaced by indignation, then anger, and they leave the meeting, usually early, more justified than before, in their opposition to the physical manifestation of the touch of God. Often they’ll write an angry blog post afterwards, justifying their judgmentalism.

Curiously, some of their judgments touch truth in the matter. We’ve already described how some of the manifestations are from psychological or emotional sources, so it can legitimately be said, of some, that it is not God making them shake; some of those could be described as faking it, though I have come to question the need (or benefit) from identifying or judging that. And it’s true: most people (though perhaps not all people) can indeed squelch the reaction (the critics sometimes do that themselves!). But those who enjoy encountering God this way, choose not to squelch the experience. And the statement “That’s not going to happen to me!” is in some measure self-fulfilling.

A Comparison

So I compare the three perspectives: ● Those who twitch and moan (“those who manifest”), ● Those who eagerly watch the manifestations, and ● Those who stand back and judge. (Note: I have been all three of these people.)

One could make a biblical argument to each of these three people for the validity of physical manifestations (referencing Matthew 17, or 28, for example). But it’s my experience that the first group doesn’t need the argument, the second group isn’t paying attention at the moment (but will ask about it later), and the third group can’t be convinced, no matter how biblical the argument.

In my mind, the more important issue is the question of fruit: what kind of fruit does this encounter produce in each of the three groups? Let’s look at them in reverse order:

• The critics are an easy one: their fruit is bitterness, judgment, and anger. That doesn’t sound like it represents God well. Therefore, I decline to partake of this fruit.

• The curious observers are easy as well: they manifest genuine hunger, honest questions, eager anticipation, or legitimate confusion. They are willing to listen to testimony and teaching on the topic, but will judge both by what they’ve seen. Most of these onlookers will become participants before long. These characteristics (these fruit) seem to reflect God’s character well; they fit well on his children who are growing and learning. I find this to be very nice fruit.

• The fruit of those who manifest is harder to classify, because it’s so varied. Some, like my friend the sound guy, have an honest encounter with God and get up changed. Those are easy to discern: that’s God! But some seem to have an honest encounter with God, but develop a fixation on the encounter, missing the God whom they encountered, and these seem to be less changed. I find good fruit in some people, and less desirable fruit in some others.

The conclusion I’m coming to in all of this is this: I like some of what goes on, and other aspects, I’m ready to distance myself from. I have decided that what happens between them and God is really none of my business, none of my business. My business is about being impacted by God myself.

Some may ask, “But what about those who you lead? Don’t you have a responsibility to them? Shouldn’t you warn them?”

This is a good place for a testimony, a story: Some time ago, I took a group of fairly intellectual young believers on what we called a “Field trip.” We visited a church who had a guest speaker that was known for these kind of manifestations. I intentionally did not tell the group what to expect, except to say, “It will likely be different than you’ve experienced before.”

Sure enough, God showed up, and people started falling, twitching, moaning, whatever. Two ladies were convinced that this was fake, but were hungry for God enough to get prayer. They had been convinced that the pastor was pushing people over, and they stood there, braced against pushing, hands in their pockets, as he lightly touched their heads. When he removed his hands from their foreheads (and not before), they both fell down backwards (caught and lowered gently to the ground by people less skeptical than themselves). Twenty minutes later, hands still in their pockets, they woke up, confused as to how they had landed on the floor, but excitedly chattering about their encounter with God during the time they were out.

Another time, I took another young believer to a similar meeting, but the results were different. We talked about it afterwards, and she was indignant: “He pushed me! That’s just wrong!” I probed further, “So you’d say this was not God?” “Well, he sure wasn’t working with God! I landed on my back, mad, because he pushed, and because he wanted so desperately for me to fall down. But while I was there, God said, ‘While you’re here, do you want to make the most of the time?’ and then he showed me some really cool things while I was lying there!”

We concluded that the minister was, for whatever reason, relying on pushing, rather than on God, for the manifestations. But we also concluded that God likes the heart that is eager to interact with him, and is willing to use people’s fleshly and inferior responses in order to reach his eager children.

So in regards to the question of pastoring, my conclusion is this: If I am leading people to myself, then I guess, yeah, I need to have all the answers to all their questions. But if I’m leading people to God, then the measure of success of my pastoring them is this: do they know God well enough to discern for themselves?

Yes, I’m there to help them process the experience, and that’s valuable to them. But my role is not to make their judgments for them; rather my job is to support them in their own encounters with God, and to encourage them to encounter God.

A Season of Training for Supernatural Provision

I drive a little 4x4 truck. I love driving a 4x4 because I can take it almost anywhere.

Funny thing about trucks: they need tires. Mine needs tires. The tires on it now are steel-belted radials, and the tread is worn down so much that the steel belts are sticking out pretty badly on one back tire and not much better on the other one. The front ones aren't much better.

My truck has pretty large tires, and so they’re pretty expensive. I priced some discount tires, and a set of four cheap ones tires was $800.00. I really need all four, but I could get by with just two. But we couldn’t afford four tires or two.

As if that weren't complicated enough, I had found out when the tires were going to be on sale, and saved up most of the money for two tires. But then the truck needed a clutch, and that took all of the money I had saved for new tires. I felt thwarted.

So we didn’t buy tires. I’ve been praying about what to do for tires. I don’t trust the truck to go very far while the tires are messed up. I drive to work, to church, and to the grocery store, and I DON’T drive to anywhere else. I don’t go camping with those tires. I don’t drive to places God’s doing cool stuff. I don’t get to visit folks in other areas. It’s sad. I bought the truck so I could drive it interesting places, and I can’t go anywhere.

I’ve been talking to God about my tires. In fact, I’ve been fussing about our finances in general. Our bills are paid, but it bothers me that we can’t give generously, and I was rather complaining.

And God’s been reminding me that we’re entering a season where we need to be able to find money in the mouths of fishes, where we need to be able to feed a crowd with five loaves and two fish.

This isn’t a season of lack; it’s a season of training.

I’ve been thinking about that, and I think it’s right. We need to learn to trust God’s provision, and even learn to expect it.

So I’ve been thinking about this, about God’s provision.

Today, I needed to buy gas for the truck. I checked the account, and we can afford it, so I head over to Costco, and I’m on the phone with my friend (it’s OK, I have a Bluetooth earset). I pulled into line at Costco’s gas pumps; one line was shorter than the rest, so naturally, I chose that one.

And right there in front of me, a man was stepping out of my truck’s twin to pump gas into it. His truck was identical to mine, except I have a canopy on mine and in the back of his, he had four large tires on four wheels.

I felt a small nudge in my spirit: “Those are for you. Go get them.” I hung up the phone and got out of the truck.

“Say, those tires aren’t for sale, are they?” and I eyed the tires closely. They looked to be the right wheels to fit my truck, and the tires were about the right size. The tread on a couple of them looked real good. I'll bet they'd fit my truck.

“No, not really. I was going to sell them to a buddy of mine for twenty bucks.” Oh well. It was a nice idea while it lasted. “But he never showed up.” Say what?

“Uh, I’ll give you twenty bucks for them.” Uh… do I have twenty bucks? Oh! Yeah, I do. Hey, that’s weird.

“Hunh? Oh. Ok. I’ll meet you right over there, after you fill up. You’ll be able to find my truck.”

So I tanked up, and drove over to where he was. I backed my truck up to his, and rolled four tires from the bed of his truck to the bed of mine: they are exactly the same size as the tires on my truck. I handed him twenty dollars, shook his hand and drove off, shaking my head at my Father's loving provision.

I had just bought at least $400 worth of tires for twenty bucks. They were my tires. I just needed to recognize them. And go get them.

Thanks, Dad. I love you too.

Gatekeeping in my Neighborhood

Several years ago, my family was in a tough way and needed to find a home to rent. We made two lists: things we needed in a home, and things we wanted in a home. Through a series of miracles, financial and otherwise, we actually purchased a house that had everything on both lists. We were elated.

But the elation was short-lived. Our home had everything that we knew to ask for, but there were some things we didn’t know to ask for. In our first week living there, I learned of three drug dealers on our block. I watched drug deals go down at the front door of the house across the street while my kids played in my yard. They knew about that dealer, and they told me about the other two dealers on the block, and which houses they lived in.

This was absolutely not OK with me. I talked to the authorities, and they told me about the standards of evidence that they needed in order to intervene. I talked to other neighbors, and they shook their heads and “tsk tsk’d”.

Then I talked to God. More precisely, I whined at God. “God, why is this going on? This isn’t right! Make it stop!”

It seemed as if he let me vent for a while, and when I paused to catch my breath, He interrupted. “So what are you going to do about it, Son?” Hunh? That stopped my whining immediately. Once my head stopped spinning, I asked more intelligently, “Uh… what can I do?”

He gave me some prayer strategies: some specific ways to address the situation in prayer, rather than through legal means, social means, or whining. The specific strategies aren’t important except that they involved me obeying Him, and they involved me making some particular declarations over my neighborhood. Throughout the process, God used the metaphor of a gatekeeper with me: the one who decides who can come in and who cannot.

So I obeyed: I prayed the things He said to pray for, the way He said to pray it. It was odd stuff, so I did it in the middle of the night and the wee hours of the morning: I didn’t want someone calling the cops on me!

His instruction to me was to establish some "gates" at the entrances to my neighborhood. That felt really weird. I didn't see anything in the natural, looking with my "spiritual eyes," they looked like the gates of an ancient walled city.

Fundamentally, the decree to the "gates" was: "Welcome in the Holy Spirit, and the human spirits of the people who live here, and their legitimate guests. Keep out every other spirit, human or demonic."

Suffice it to say: it worked. Within 30 days, the three dealers were gone. The one across the street sold the house to a family with a daughter the same age as my daughter. The other two just picked up and left, leaving empty houses. All three houses were soon remodeled.

I was stunned. I don’t think I’ve ever seen prayer answered in more detail than I did in this adventure: first our house, then the removal of the drug dealers. Life was good!

Then my next door neighbor invited a woman to live with him. She brought guests: two silicon implants for him, two full-blooded wolves for herself, and a host of demonic co-habitants. Life was no longer good.

I called every government agency I could think of that might have some authority with wolves: federal, state, and local agents told me time and time again: “No sir, wolves don’t belong in a residential neighborhood, but yes sir, she does have the necessary permits for them. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

I ignored the time that they lunged from the back of her Toyota pickup and nearly ate me. But when they tried to eat my daughter (they didn’t succeed, but just barely – she was unscathed), I confronted the neighbor: politely, gently, because he was a wimpy little guy and I didn’t want to intimidate him. But the wimpy little guy got big and snarly when I suggested that the wolves shouldn’t live there: he cussed me up one side and down the other in his rage, and vowed in no uncertain terms that they were not leaving, not today, not ever!

Hokay! That’s not going to work!

So I tried prayer. Again, I whined at God; again, He interrupted, but more quickly this time. “What are you going to do about it?” Again my slack-jawed “Hunh?” Then He went on, “You’re my representative in that neighborhood. It’s up to you. What’s your decision? Do they stay or do they go?”??

That floored me. I didn’t have a theology to deal with that kind of a question, but I didn’t hesitate. The wolves wanted to eat my daughter, and God was saying that it was up to me? “Heck no! They cannot stay. They have to go!” and I knew I was speaking with the authority of a judge announcing a decree.

That very weekend, they moved out. No explanation. The guy that cussed me out and shouted that they were staying, took their wolf-house down himself, packed it into the Toyota truck and moved it away. We never saw the wolves again, or their owner with the implants, except once, and the Police arrived en masse with drawn weapons to make sure that didn’t happen again. No explanation for that either.

Since then, I’ve tried to exercise this authority in other ways, and when I felt that I was following God’s leading rather than my own, I have found that things often unnaturally change.

I have also found that I need to increase my skill in wielding this power: I watched a porn shop close after I made some decrees, only to be followed by another in its place, and that one was more firmly rooted (though it had a “going out of business!” sign on it regularly). A pagan worship center was closed, only to open up again a couple of blocks away. Both have since gone out of business

These are curious stories, and true ones, but what’s the purpose?

I have developed a couple of guiding principles from these events, and the others that surrounded them (this was an interesting season in my life!):

1) God delegates authority to His representatives in an area. (My “area” of influence was only a couple of blocks; others’ territory may be smaller or larger.)

2) He takes that delegated authority very seriously. When He gives authority, He means it.

I guess there’s a third principle:

3) I probably ought to exercise the authority that I’ve been given, and I probably ought to exercise it for good purpose.

I know I’m nothing special. May I suggest these principles for the life of the church in this season? May I suggest these principles for you?

The Pilgrimgram comes from an elder Pilgrim about the thing we call "church." Seldom politically correct, this is what I hear God saying to and among His Church today. Feel free to share it with others.

An Encounter in the Woods

I came to a realization today. I was walking across a wooden bridge, nestled in the rainforest, surrounded by moss and vine maple, when I realized that God doesn’t love me because of Jesus. He doesn’t love me because of the cross. In fact, the cross had no part of Him loving me.

I don’t know if that’s a radical thought for you; it was for me. It caught me off guard, and I stood still on the bridge thinking about it.

Is it true? God doesn’t love me because of the cross? It messes with some of my religious thinking, certainly, to think that God does not love me because of Jesus and what He has done. But is it a biblical thought? Is it true?

As I was standing on the bridge, the thought occurred to me that the cross was not what I thought it was. I had been working from the assumption that the cross had been a rescue mission: that it had allowed God to love me because it put me in Christ (or put Christ in me) and certainly Christ is quite lovable, and so I had merely been caught up in that love-fest between the Father and the Son. I understood that in Christ, I was loved; apart from Christ, I was not so lovely, not so lovable.

Without the cross, I’m just a sinner heading for hell. God didn’t plan hell for me, of course, but when I rebelled (when I chose a way that wasn’t his way – when I sinned) hell was the consequence of my choice. I discovered that, fundamentally, I saw myself as the sinful man, separated from God, thankful for the rescue that the cross provided. I was really quite grateful for the rescue!

And there’s truth in that. But standing among the mosses on the bridge, I realized that the cross did not somehow manipulate God into doing something that wasn’t in His mind already. There in the woods, He took me back to before creation, before He declared “Let us make man in our image.” By the time He made that declaration, He would have already been committed to the process: to the creation of a species in His own image, and the creation of a universe in which to place that man. Standing on that bridge, I was caught off guard by a vision.

In the vision, I saw the omniscient God considering the process of creating man before He took the final step of creation. In that instant, I saw that because He is omniscient, when He considered creation, He also saw all that comes with it; He knew that if He created a species in His image, they would be loving, because He is love. They would be creative, because He is creative.

But in order to create us – you and me – as a loving, creative people, for it is us He is contemplating, He must create free will, for love that comes from a will that is not free is not love at all. And free will – truly free will – will lead to someone among the billions of individuals choosing to sin. In point of fact, it has led to every single one of us sinning, and so our omniscient Father knew that as He considered creation, it required a cross; if He created us, then He must die for us, and He knew that before He made up His mind to create a race of men in His image.

But because He is omniscient, He saw more than just the concept of a species of beings: He saw the members of that species. Standing there obscured by the vine maple, I looked up and it was as if I saw God looking down at his creation from that moment, as He was thinking about the creation He would make.

He saw Adam and Eve eat of the wrong tree, but his eyes didn’t linger. They looked beyond them to their children. All of humanity was in his gaze. I watched his eyes light on different figures in history, some were heroes, some were villains, most were neither one. He saw every one. He took it all in. This is what creating mankind would result in.

And then he saw me! I caught my breath.

Before He made me, He knew me, yes, that’s true. But before He had even made up His omniscient mind about whether to make a creation or not, He grasped that once He said “Let us make man,” that would result in me.

And in this vision, as He saw me from before His decision to create, I watched him as he fell in love with me. (It’s OK: He saw you from that vantage point too, and He fell in love with you, too, but this is my story!) From before He ever decided to create a universe with space and time, and a race of people to inhabit and explore that universe, He had already fallen irrevocably in love with me.

And now, before He had committed Himself to creation, He was already committed to me in love; He was hooked. He had fallen in love with me. Even though I didn’t exist yet, and I would never exist unless He chose to follow through with creation, yet He had fallen in love with me, and now He must follow through with creation, with the cross, in order that He might know me, that He might share his heart with me. His heart had been ravished. He was smitten. With me!

And suddenly, I saw the cross differently. He didn’t send His Son to the cross as a rescue mission, to deliver me from all the crap and slavery I’d gotten myself into. And He didn’t love me because finally I had come Christ and He certainly loves His own Son, so I get included in that love too.

No! The cross was conceived, all of creation was conceived, planned and carried out, because He loved me! God had fallen in love with me, and He was going to do everything He could do to get to me, to find me and wrap His arms around me. He would climb any mountain to get back to me, so to speak; and that’s what He was doing.

That’s what the cross was: It wasn’t the goal. It was the means to an end, and the end was me. Standing there in the woods, leaning on the railing of an old wooden bridge, I looked up into eyes that were seeing me from before “Let there be light,” from before “Let us make man.” And those eyes were falling in love with me – had already fallen in love with me. And He would do anything, absolutely anything, in order that He could be with me.

Later that week, I got up the nerve to share this experience with my bride as we headed out on our date night. That was difficult because it was so personal. And as I shared it, I realized that it sounded strange. The immediacy of it began to fade as I spoke of it, and I began to question my experience, maybe even my sanity.

We got to the restaurant, but because it was so full, we ended up seated at the bar. And at that moment, the bartender changed the station of the music to an oldies station. They’ve never played oldies there.

Suddenly, Diana Ross started singing, “Ain’t no mountain high enough, Ain’t no valley low enough, Ain’t no river wild enough, To keep me from you!” and I recognized the voice of the One who had spoken to me in the woods.

I literally cried in my beer. Yeah. You love me that much.

And yeah. He loves you that much. That much.

The Miracle Truck

I drive a miracle truck. Here’s how it happened.

I’ve been looking unsuccessfully for a truck for about the last nine months. I’ve checked all of the car lots, watched the papers, had professionals look for the right truck. I’ve even prayed extensively for a truck. During an extended time of prayer one weekend, I told the Lord specifically what I wanted in a truck, and I listed about fifteen very detailed specifications that were on my heart. I was specific about the year, the mileage, the engine size, the bed size, the number of seat belts (5), and even the color.

After two years of this, I concluded that this desire for a truck was not God’s desire; that this was my flesh rising up. So I confessed it, repented of it, and renounced the desire. I expected the desire for the truck to leave.

No such luck. The desire grew. The more I renounced it, the more the desire grew. Aargh. I couldn't get away from the desire for a truck. THIS specific truck on my prayer list from months earlier.

One day, I was trying hard NOT to observe this nice truck that fit most of my specifications, and I heard a little voice say in my mind, "I can give you a truck like that." Now, I didn’t know God's voice as well as I thought I should, but that did NOT sound like His voice, so I rebuked it in Jesus Name, and asked God to shut the mouth of the devil. Besides, that wasn't the kind of thing God would talk to me about! ...Was it?

About this time, God began speaking to me about my prayer life. He instructed me to pray a little less along the lines of “Oh God, would you please….” and more along the lines of, “Move! In the Name of Jesus, you’re coming down!”

You know, this didn’t settle all that well with my Calvinist upbringing. But I wanted ALL that God had for me, so I began to seek Him about it. The more I prayed, the more I felt like I ought to at least TRY praying that way before I wrote it off. I was willing to risk my understanding of "How God Does Things" if that was what He really was asking me to do.

So one afternoon, I got a little bold. Amidst many prayers of “God, if this isn’t of you, don’t hold it against me, OK?” I decided to try this kind of "commanding prayer." I had several things on my mind to pray for, some that were real significant eternally, and that I felt that I wanted to pray for. If this was going to work, I wanted to use it on something Really Important. But it seemed that God was leading me to pray for a truck. THE truck. The truck on the list.

So I did. I commanded the truck to be released, in Jesus’ Name, from whatever was holding it back. It wasn’t their truck anymore, it was mine, and it was time for me to take possession of it!

Ok. That was wierd. But as long as I was experimenting, I added, “And I want it here by Friday!”

In the intervening days between then and Friday, I had to wrestle doubts to the ground a couple of times, and that was a challenge. On Friday morning, I realized that I hadn’t specified a price. Then I reminded myself that if God had a truck in mind, He’d know my budget, too. And if He didn’t have a truck in mind, then I’d know that I had bigger problems with my theology than I did with my finances.

To make a long story short, I bought the truck on my lunch hour that Friday. It matched EVERY ONE of the specifications on my list--even the color!

That was several years ago. I still can’t get into the truck without thanking God for His faithfulness!