Tag: pentecostal

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Open Letter to the Tribe-less (updated)

Open Letter to the Tribeless:

By now I should learn to never write when my emotions feel as raw as they do today. Yet, here I am pounding keys on the keyboard with words I hope make sense. I am tribe-less. I am without people. 

Let me lay out for you my personal framework: I am educated, I am Pentecostal, I am for change and challenge in the church, I am for the expressions of the Spirit in our gatherings, I am also for order and not chaos.  These are my preferences. These are some of my values. These seem challenging to find in group of Christians. 

I never wanted to make a local church about me, please understand that right off the bat. Yet, it has been hard to find a place where I fit in the kingdom. I have often felt like the square peg trying to force myself into circle holes. No matter how much I twist and turn I cannot seem to fit into the spaces that seem available to me. 

Maybe I am the only one. Maybe there are others like me. I sense that I am not as alone as I often feel. 

Is it too much to ask for a church to be biblically sound? Is it too much to also love the next generation and want to release them into space and place of their gifts? Is it too much desire to see an authentic, biblical, Pentecostal move of the Spirit? 

Every time I start to pen these words I picture Jerry Maguire, filled with passion about change, who takes his stand only to find no one wants to walk away with him. No one wants to do business differently. The comfort of status quo has captivated Jerry’s co-workers. I wonder if the church has found itself in the same stage. 

So if you’re out there, tribe-less like me, be encouraged. You are not alone. If you feel out of place, in my life you have a place. If you have felt homeless, you are welcome in my house. 

The voice of those who are tired of the box of Christian faith they have been sold has been quieted too long. We can be biblical, Pentecostal, concerned about the next gen, Spirit-filled, anointed, power-filled disciples of Jesus. We do not have to trade one for another. We do not have to yield a piece of our passions to find place in a tribe we do not belong in. 

In one part, this is a resignation letter. I resign from being something God did not create me to be. I resign from being quiet about how I see truth and church. I resign from falling in line and watching a generation be overlooked, neglected, and left on their own in exchange of the comforts of a few. 

So to the tribe less, this is your invitation to join us. Walk with us. Do life alongside of us. You do not have be alone any longer. 

Join our tribe. Let’s begin with coffee and a conversation. I am here for you.

Jeff

Update:

We have found a home. Rachael and I have planted The Collectives Church here in Cleveland. We are a part of the Assemblies of God and the Tennessee District. From the very first moment, we have felt supported, loved, and accepted. We have been continuously encouraged to chase the God-given dreams of planting a church that is slightly different in aim. We have had other pastors in our district support us with prayer and finances. We have found a home. We have found a people. We are here for those that may feel like we felt.

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Why I am STILL Pentecostal

It was a little white church building my grandfather had built with his own hands. I was 11 working on 12. It was a Sunday night service in an era where Sunday nights were for the faithful few. This particular Sunday we had a guest speaker. I am unable to remember the name of the preacher, but I do remember thinking fondly of him before this point in time. He had served as a camp counselor at church camp. He was fun, engaging, and seemed to really care about us youthful campers.

Being that I grew up in a Pentecostal church, this service ended as most did, with an altar call. As much out of curiosity and some level of peer pressure, probably more than conviction, I walked the 5 pews forward to have hands laid on me by this man of God. Little did I know that I was committing a critical sin in the house of worship. As I came forward, the preacher placed his hand under my mouth. Now even at 12 I had seen a lot in the workings of the Spirit, but this was new. With a slight shoving gesture, he placed his hand under my chin again. Then whispered harshly “spit it out”. 

Somewhere in my youthfulness I had forgotten that I was still chewing my doublemint gum. In that same youthfulness, I spit the chewed up gum into the tissue in his hand. Then this supposed man of God whispered something in my ear that I will never forget. “Son, you almost caused the Spirit of God to stop moving.” Church hurt is real, church hurt happens.

Like a double-edged blade of shame my heart was cut wide open. As he prayed for me, my mind chased on how my gum almost stood in the way of God.  

It seems silly, yet my story is not uncommon. Well-meaning preachers under the apparent power of God make life altering remarks not knowing the damage they are doing. Others make those same remarks knowing the punch they are making to the soul placed in their care. I have seen power plays. I have seen manipulation. I have seen false tongues, fake gold dust, and all the nonsense that movies have portrayed as Pentecostalism.  I have had friends chase the signs and friends run far away from the crazy. So you are probably asking yourself “Jeff, how can you still ascribe to this movement?”

Let me tell you another story. As a sophomore in college, after a slight diversion into some ungodly behavior, I rekindled my romance with Jesus. In that time, I got connected to a college campus ministry called Chi Alpha, sponsored by Assemblies of God. It was in a typical Thursday night worship service, in the front corner of an elementary school auditorium kneeling on the second step. A tender young adult heart in full search of what Jesus would have prayed desperately to hear from heaven. Out of that desperate heart cry came a moment when my words became insufficient and my tongue spoke a language that was not my own. 

My mind quickly questioned the experience, while my soul was at complete peace with what was happening. Somewhere in the process, my days of youth in that Pentecostal church recalled what was happening. I was baptized in the Holy Spirit and speaking in tongues. It was a moment that forever changed my life and my relationship with the Lord.  It is biblically true and naturally unexplainable all at the same time.

I am Pentecostal for this one simple reason: the Bible outlines this event which aligns to the experience I had that can only be explained as the power of God. The Spirit baptism empowers me as a believer to live out this faith as a witness and a disciple of Jesus Christ. Shame and hurt and other individuals abuse could have become a barrier to my own belief. And in truth, it did at some points. Yet, in my deep desire to experience Jesus in his fullness of my life, I was baptized in the Spirit.  The Bible lists in the book of Acts several occurrences of this event. Paul writes to the church in Corinth about it. Historical documentation from the revivals of the early 20th century evidence this. Worldwide Pentecostals, those baptized in the Spirit, are the fastest growing group of Christians.    

I am Pentecostal because of what the Lord has done in me, even in spite of what a man did to me. It is a gift from God and I am proud to be Pentecostal. It is not something that I think makes more more a believer or more Christian, but it is something available to those who ask and seek. It is still real and available today.

Hits different
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Sometimes It Hits Different

pentecostal worship, hits different

John Cougar describes my life in the lyrics “I was born in a small town. Taught to fear God in that same small town.” Now granted, not every town along the journey was small, but most of the houses of worship were. I was born to a man who was the son of a preacher. A Pentecostal preacher to be clear. I grew up in the Sunday services of exuberant worship, speaking in tongues, prophetic messages, and yes, somebody was either going to take off running or dancing or fall out in the Spirit. This was my norm. This was my frame of reference for faith. It was my normal. I didn’t know any different.

As an adult, I have made the conscious, educated choice to remain Pentecostal. With all its flaws, with all the manipulating TV preachers, with all it’s bruised egos, to steal the Gen Z colloquialism: it just hits different. I am not here to begin a theological argument regarding the continuation of the gifts of the Spirit past the experiences of the Apostles. I am here making a declaration and as much out of my desire that I am still in search of those moments when it hits different.

Back to that growing up in small churches. There was an expression that is still often perpetuated when the seemingly perfect pairing of music and preaching stirred the Spirit: we had “church”. This emphasized umph put on the word “church” was expressed not as a knock on any other Sunday, but more as an indicator that that particular service “hit different”. God moved. Lives were healed, sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally. People were saved, delivered, restored. In those moments of youth observance, what I saw was the real power of Pentecost. From the floor tucked under a pew pretending to sleep, I saw the authority God had in both heaven and on earth. I saw God move.

Now, I have been one who has strongly contended that the church move in line with the times and culture. I have advocated strongly for younger leaders to be given space and place. I have waged my battles on the receptivity to new songs for the church that are being birthed out of empowered moves of the Spirit. New songs for new days. So, understand what I am advocating, is not the good ole days of Pentecost. I am not looking to walk down memory lane in hopes of finding the Spirit of God there waiting for the church. What I am searching for is a genuine, empowered place of worship.

Let me bring some clarification: the Bible is clear on a couple of issues. The 120 in the upperroom in Acts 2, a cornerstone of Pentecostal theology, says they were all in unity. From every place my finger touches the page of scripture, what I find is a God of unity not chaos. So let’s be clear, God is mystery and mysterious at times. There are still things about this incomprehensible God that our finite minds cannot grasp about the infinite. Even in the mystery, it is orderly. Chaotic experiences of unicorn dust falling from the ceiling is not the move of God we should be looking for. Instead, it is housed in individual hearts that rise as one voice and one prayer and one anthem of worship that reaches heaven and heaven responds.

As I sat in a recent master’s level class, I asked a visiting professor for a clear definition of Pentecostal worship. Dr. Martin, professor and former pastor, summarized it this way: it is an experience of God’s actual presence. God is there doing something. Acts 10:44 tells of Peter preaching to the Gentiles at Cornelius’ house and the Holy Spirit “fell on all those who heard the message”.

In my maturity of faith, I no longer want simply the theatrics of Pentecostal church. I desire God to fall on those who gather. I desire his presence to be evident, real, tangible in the space of worship, preaching, testimonies. It is not a return to anything, it is a request for God to do what he has always done in this generation: pour out his promised presence on sons and daughters as prophesied by Joel and as declared by Peter. It just hits different.

Please understand my heart. If you come from a different faith tradition that the baptism in the Spirit or Pentecostal belief was not taught or taught as wrong, this is not an injunction on you. Any who call on the name of Jesus as Lord and Savior is set free and we are united as family. This is simply the beating of my heart for God to do something great, tangible, real in my generation and as an evidence for the next. This is a heart beating for the mystery of God to find space and place in our lives, in our houses of worship. This is a prayer for God to fall on me.

What we learn from the prophet Isaiah is that God does new things. The Lord told his people that he was going to move. Yet, just before that announcement came a reminder of what he had done: Red Sea crossing, Pharaoh crushing, promised land giving. Then the Lord shifts gears and says to his chosen tribe: forget those things, I am about to do something NEW.

Forget the peeping under the pew. Forget youth camp methodology. Forget any pattern of how we have ascribed to manifesting a move. For what God is going to do is new, it is for TODAY. It will be the same God. It is the same authority. It is the same Holy Spirit given by Jesus who intercedes at the throne for us. Yet the HOW will be different, it will be new. It will hit different.

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I've Robbed My Kids

Children are educated by what the grown-up is and not by his talk.
~Carl Jung

Father-with-kids.jpg

I am just going to say it.

I have robbed my kids blind for years. And really they never even knew it.

Before you turn me into the FEDs to be prosecuted because you presume I have been taking their cash, it has been more my lack of giving rather than taking.

I come from a classic Pentecostal, Bible-believing, Jesus heals background.  (To clarify: I do listen to secular music and I have not yet boycotted Disney).  My childhood faith framework was that of one that God is “able”.   God is able to save.  God is able to heal.  God is able to provide.  God is able to deliver.  God is able to give his Spirit.  God is able to do the impossible.

And I grew up experiencing that divine ability. I saw God do the miraculous. I saw God do ridiculous things that left me with zero doubt in who God was and what he was able to do.

And for most of my adult life the childhood years of my kids have seen their dad live, work and volunteer in the house of God. And while we have always attended church. What they have not never really seen is that move of God I grew up with.

Jesus said this ” no one lights a lamp and places a bowl over it”.  But in so many ways that is exactly what I have done.  Went to my closet to seek the big things of God and kept the light in there.  Keeping my kids in the dark and leaving the miraculous still a mystery to them.

I have robbed them of experiencing the miraculous.
I have robbed them of having their faith made firm by an amazing move of God.
I have robbed them of seeing the BIGNESS of a God in order that they can believe for themselves in a God who is “able”.

So yes, I am guilty.
I am guilty of not being the priest I need to be.
I am guilty of not allowing them to fully see the mighty move of God that lies just on the edge of the prayers I pray.
I am guilty of shading the shine of the Son from the eyes of my kids.

And I had to change that. So this Sunday I did.

I went to my pantry got the extra large bottle of extra virgin olive oil and prayed over my kids.  I get that it’s old school and maybe to some a little unorthodox.  But scripture teaches us some critical lessons about blessings.

Jacob was willing to deceived and trick his father Isaac to steal Esau’s. Jacob wrestled all night with the angel of the Lord just to receive the blessing.  Jacob later blesses the Ephraim instead of the older child Manasseh.  The blessing the father was coveted and sought after.

Now I have been “blessed out” many times.  I told you I have a Holy Spirit filled mama, but this is not that.  This was me putting my hand on their hand and passing the passion infused in me by a loving Father onto them.  This is not a right of passage or ritual duty.  This is the heart of a father loving and longingly desiring his three kids to fully discover the Father and all he has for their lives.

Stop robbing your kids of their blessing.  Yes it was awkward.  No they didn’t understand.  Yet I firmly believe that God has a way of transferring love and passion and callings through a father’s hand.  I believe that in that moment my kids destiny was determined and set into motion.  They may not know it today, but one day they may look back and see that moment as a revelation that God is able.

So quit robbing them.  Bless them.

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