Ash Wednesday + some thoughts on Revival (February 22, 2023)
“I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” — Jesus
Since my return to social media last week, I’ve been loosely tracking the outpouring/revival happening at Asbury University. And in so doing, I keep stumbling upon articles, like this one by Christianity Today, that use words like genuine, peaceful, quiet, and ordinary to describe what’s happening there:
“The mix of hope and joy and peace is indescribably strong and indeed almost palpable—a vivid and incredibly powerful sense of shalom. The ministry of the Holy Spirit is undeniably powerful but also so gentle.” — Christianity Today
When I read these words, I’m absolutely beside myself. I’m filled with encouragement and deep hope.
Because for some years now, I’ve been feeling a profound and relentless ache for the church—a hunger—to return to a simpler way of being. With every sensationalized headline of evangelistic abuse, and with every experience I’ve had of disillusionment and spiritual manipulation, my heart has broken. It has cried out for justice; for sincere hearts; for return and repentance. Without using so many words, I think my heart—for all this time—has been crying out for revival.
I firmly believe with every fiber of my being that the church needs to (and perhaps now, is) move, shift, recount, and recalibrate. I believe that’s what she needs. Because her people are tired. People, especially young people, are tired of the façade. They’re tired of power plays and empty consumerism; of performative religion executed in the name of love. Quite frankly, I am tired, too: tired of personality-driven churches and celebrity culture; tired of deceit; dishonesty; and exploitation. I’m tired of churches that place a higher value on serving Jesus than knowing Jesus. I’m tired of hyperactivity at the expense of spiritual formation. I’m burdened by the amount of Christ-confessing sisters and brothers who are still living, unknowingly, in deep bondage, because they haven’t been discipled into the presence of God. They don’t realize that where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom (2 Corinthians 3:17). They’ve been serving and singing and they know all the words, but they haven’t yet tasted and seen that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8).
They don’t yet realize that they are deeply loved.
And my heart is shattered by that.
For many months, I’ve been searching and scanning the greater church for others who feel and sense the same pull that I do: towards simplicity, health, and wholeness. In a world that largely resists the humble, small, and slow — and a church that has replaced ordinary faithfulness with an endless scheme of grand gestures — it has been rare.
But I’m seeing a glimpse of it now at Asbury.
“Anyone who has witnessed it (the outpouring) can agree that something unusual and unscripted is happening. […] There is no pressure or hype. There is no manipulation. There is no high-pitched emotional fervor. To the contrary, it has so far been mostly calm and serene.” — Christianity Today
When I read words like these, I find the strength to reach for those shattered fragments that rest on the floor; I find the faith to mend them back together.
When I read those words, I find Jesus: the one who describes himself as gentle and lowly.
And I begin to hope again.