<image courtesy of clearly ambiguous>
Beginning this evening, I’ll be preaching a series of messages for a ‘revival’ being held in Watts Towndship at the Wesleyan Church there.
I know it sounds old-timey, and the concept of ‘revival meetings’ has long ago lost its luster in many places… but I’m incredibly excited about this opportunity. The desire of the church’s pastor is true ‘revival’–“to stir up or rekindle a fire which is slowly dying.” The heart of the pastor and many of the people is that by dedicating a few pointed hours of their weekend to hear and heed the Spirit of God, a dying flame will be rekindled into a full-on blaze.
As excited as I am, I’m also a little scared: the people are praying for, hoping for, and expectant of a genuine revival in their hearts and church which will spill over into the lives of their community.
Why does this scare me?
I’m the preacher.
And I am very much aware of my own fallibility, shortcomings, and plain-old human-ness. If ‘genuine revival’ comes, it won’t be because of me… it will be in spite of the preacher. As much as I recognize work being done in the lives of others is only God’s to do, I feel a great weight of responsibility in preparing myself to be used… and a certain level of terror when I recognize the incredible honor I have and the truth that “every time you preach, you stand before a living God and dying Man.”
Hold on. I think I need to throw up.