SET OUR HEARTS ON FIRE

Chapter 7

 

Give the Spirit Room

 

We  now return to a truth we learned when the Spirit first set fire to our hearts: the fire could only enter us as we made room for it. The Spirit of God cannot enter you if you are full of yourself. The Spirit can only dwell in a person who has cleared the way, as we observed in chapter three. But this lesson that we learned in our personal revival applies with new force and broader dimensions as God uses us to spread revival to others.

 

Have you ever considered why Jesus chose you to be one of his disciples? Did he look out over the vast sea of humanity and say to himself, "Ah, there's a person with talent! Just what I'm looking for!"

 

That's the way they do it at General Motors and NBC. They want talent. They scrutinize your qualifications. They evaluate your personal appearance. But when it comes to calling people and putting them to work in his kingdom, Jesus doesn't seem to do it the way they do it at GM and NBC.

 

Look at the twelve men Jesus chose to be his apostles. What seminary would accept a man like Peter? His clothes smelled of fish, and his beard was never trimmed. Thomas was always rais­ing questions. Philip –   what could Philip put on a resume? Jesus chose his apostles, after an all-nighter in prayer, satisfied that the Father was directing him to choose, not the "wise and understanding," but "babes" who were teachable.

 

Think of the woman God chose to be Jesus' mother. Mary lived in one of the most backward towns in Israel. It is hardly likely that she could read or write. But Mary knew how to yield to God's will. "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word" (Lk 1:38).

 

Paul summed it up this way:

 

For consider your call, brethren; not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth; but God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.

1 Corinthians 1:26-29

 

The Lord Jesus looked out over the sea of humanity and saw you struggling, weak, troubled, confused, and said, "Here's a person who might give me room to work in his [or her] life." He did not choose you because of your talent or good looks or celebrity status, but for the opposite reason. He chose you to be a sign of what grace can do in a human life.

 

Once we have been chosen, we begin to learn the principle of remaining empty, a lesson we keep learning the rest of our lives on earth. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matt 5:3). The poor in spirit are the people who are empty of themselves. They have come to a place where they no longer rely on their own wisdom or skill or righteous­ness. They have nothing. They come to God with empty hearts, crying out to be filled with his forgiveness and peace: "Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mis­tress; so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, until that he have mercy upon us" (Ps 123:2, KJV).

 

Our personal revival began when we divested ourselves of every claim on God but his mercy. No matter how many prayers we prayed, or how many tears we shed, or how much tragedy we lived through, or how many days we fasted, or how much we sacrificed, we found that our only claim on God was the cross of Jesus.

 

Yet many of us still carry within us the secret belief that God is fortunate to have us in his service; that we bring with us into the kingdom a rare integrity, a sincerity that outdoes the com­petition by a mile; that our insights are a valuable asset to God's program on earth, and we are pleased to make them available. Surely God owes us something in return for our faithfulness through all we have suffered!

 

Revival can only spread through us as we repent of all spiri­tual fantasy and become children before the heavenly Father. Charlie Darnels was a regular at our all-night prayer meeting the last Friday of the month. Most of us were young. Charlie was old. He had seen his share of trouble in his seventy-nine years, but he knew where to run for help. When the rest of us were struggling to keep awake and pray, Charlie was up at the rail, pleading with the Lord. His words still ring in my mem­ory: "Comin' to ya, Lord, 'cause we need ya! Comin' to ya, Lord, 'cause we need ya!"

 

What else do we have to offer the living God but hearts that are empty and need to be filled again and again with his Spirit? (As we see in Acts 4:31, the believers who had been filled with the Spirit on Pentecost were filled afresh as they cried out for boldness.) Our heart's cry must be: Lord, help me to empty myself of the self-righteousness, and the self-confidence and the self-pity that clutter my heart, so the fire you have given me may burn clearly and spread through me to others.

 

The first gift the Welsh Revival brought to people was a spirit of brokenness. People were on their faces before a holy God. They confessed their sins and cried out for mercy. They saw themselves, for the first time, in the light of God's search­ing holiness and repented of what they saw.

 

The second gift of the Welsh Revival was joy. Once they emptied themselves before a holy God, the Spirit filled these believers with more joy than they could contain. It overflowed in rivers of thanksgiving and praise and transformed living. Joy came to them as they became empty – poor in spirit – before the Lord, and lived in them as they remained empty.

 

The revival God sends into our personal lives is no different. Its first blessing is to impart to us a spirit of brokenness. The Spirit lovingly convicts us of the immense load of spiritual bag­gage, which before was a source of such pride, but now is seen for what it is: clutter, vanity, sin. We begin to empty ourselves so God can fill us with his life. "God, be merciful to me a sin­ner!... Lord, I'm not worthy to have you come under my roof; just speak the word ...."

 

Then the Lord Jesus reaches down and lifts us up. We are flooded with the power of his cleansing blood, the peace that only that blood can bring. God breathes into us the breath of his Spirit, and we rise and stand on our feet, ready to serve him, like Ezekiel's dry bones restored to life.

 

Even when we go forth to serve under the anointing of his Spirit, God still requires us to remain empty. "Take nothing for your journey," says the Master, as he sends us to serve in his spreading revival. "Discipline yourself to rely on nothing but me. I alone am your strength."

 

Going forth empty is often frightening, since we have been trained to approach every problem from a position of strength. Don't start building a house, we were taught, unless you have enough funds to complete the job. Don't take on the armies of the enemy unless your armies are superior.

 

But Jesus puts a new twist on this teaching. He says the strength we need to accomplish things in his kingdom does not come from within but from above. And to obtain strength from above we have to divest ourselves of our own "strength." "Whoever of you does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple" (Lk 14:33).

 

In other words, God can only use you when you're empty. This applies to all whom God uses to ignite his church with the fire of heaven. When we're full, full of ourselves, full of our knowledge or skill or wealth, the Spirit of God has no room to move in us. Our tendency to rely on the force of our personali­ties, our wealth of knowledge, the skills that have made us suc­cessful in our trades and professions, makes it difficult for us to yield to the direction of the Spirit.

 

Likewise, our churches, like the synagogues and the temple of Jesus' day, are often driven by the efforts of men and women of exceptional talent. Talented preachers draw crowds, talented musicians enhance the worship. Astute managers plan ahead for larger facilities. People come forward with their skills and gifts, and the church seems to thrive.

 

But before the Spirit of God can ignite any assembly, large or small, with the fire of heaven, he has to find someone who is open to Jesus' teaching about remaining empty.

 

Why did Jesus tell the young man who had "great posses­sions" to sell it all, give to the poor and follow him with empty pockets? Why did Jesus explain to Nicodemus, who had great knowledge as a teacher in Israel, that he would have to be born again? Why did Jesus repeatedly insist to his followers that who­ever exalts himself will be humbled and whoever humbles him­self (empties himself of "glory") will be exalted? Because it is only when we are empty of ourselves and lose our lives in him that the life of heaven can move through us.

 

There is wonderful comfort in this teaching. It means that every one of us can qualify, no matter how wise or how foolish we are. Whether rich or not so rich, young or old, plain or attractive, we can all enter the vision of a revived people and watch that vision come to life under the Spirit's power. All we have to do is give the Spirit room to work in us.

 

Jesus' Example

 

Theologians call it "the doctrine of the kenosis," the Eternal Word emptying himself of his glory to ignite a dying race with the fire of heaven.

 

Who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied him­self, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of man. And being found in human form he humbled him­self and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Philippians 2:6-8

 

In this state of emptiness, divested of his divine preroga­tives, willingly separated from the glory that was rightfully his, the power of the Father could move through the Son to open the door to Paradise which had been closed to us for so long. Never in his entire life on earth did Jesus do anything from his position as God the Son. He did it all as the Son of Man, totally emptied of his glory, utterly dependent on the Father for every need – his food, his shelter, his protection. His words were not his own; they came from the Father. His deeds were never self-motivated; they were acts of obedience to the Father. His power was the power of the Holy Spirit moving through his emptiness.

 

Jesus was no wimp. He stood before Pilate without fear. He rebuked the scribes and Pharisees with words that smoked. Demons feared him. The storm obeyed his command. Water froze beneath his feet when he chose to walk on it. But the power he commanded came from above and moved through him, because he was empty.

 

"Not my will, but thine, be done," he prayed to the Father as the cross loomed before him (Lk 22:42). It was the most dif­ficult thing he would have to do. But to bear away the guilt of this sin-sick race, it would have to be done. He was yielded. He was empty of himself. So that when he bowed his head and yielded up his spirit, the earth shook, the veil of the temple tore apart, and the curse of Adam was broken.

 

Following Our Lord's Example

 

We give the Spirit room by "declaring bankruptcy," turning over everything we are and have to the Master. Dying to our­selves, we form the discipline of beginning each day by empty­ing ourselves of our "glory" and presenting our bodies afresh to the Master as a living sacrifice. Daily we clear our minds of the clutter of self, so that they can be renewed once again by the Spirit of God. How can the Spirit fill me, if I'm already full of myself?

 

How can the Spirit lead me, if my soul is a boiling pot of complaints, regrets, resentments, cravings and fears? I need to yield them to the power of the cross, so that they can be drained away in the Lamb's blood. Deliver me from myself, O Lord. Wash away the chaos within me and restore me to the peace you gave to your first followers when you came to them alive from the dead.

God will give us the wisdom we need. But only we can empty ourselves to receive that wisdom. "Take nothing for your journey, no staff nor bag nor bread nor money...." That is, "Make yourself dependent on me. Empty yourself of those things that might become your confidence in place of me. Put your trust in me alone, and I will use you in ways that surpass human thought."

 

I'm indebted to a man named Ralph, who helped me to see the importance of being empty. Ralph didn't talk about it; he just seemed to be aware that God had a program, and it was his job to fit into it – empty. Over a two-year span of time, Ralph was at the center of a move of the Spirit in Detroit whose effects are still evident, twenty-five years later, in many lives and numerous churches.

 

I met Ralph about six months after he arrived in town from California. By this time his following was a growing hodge­podge of university drop-outs, Vietnam veterans, high-school kids, street people and recovering addicts.

 

But how did it all get started? What did Ralph do when he arrived from the West Coast? Did he put up posters? Did he line up speaking engagements? Commercials on Christian radio?

 

No, he just sat in a park with his Bible and waited for further orders. He was empty. From conversations I had with those who were there, it happened something like this:

 

It was summertime and the park was an oasis of green in a grimy city. Mothers were walking their toddlers down the shady paths. Couples were strolling by the pond. Old folks lined the benches, enjoying their coffee and the morning paper. Off in a corner of the park, where the earth sloped up toward a mammoth oak, was the "market" where the dopers transacted business. Sitting on the grass, his back resting comfortably against the trunk of the ancient oak was a stranger dressed in worn army fatigues. His beard flowed to his chest, almost hiding the Bible that rested on his lap. At first nobody paid attention to him. He could be a narc, hiding behind that Bible.

 

The next day he was there again, sitting under the oak with the Bible in his lap. And the next day and the next. He didn't preach. He didn't initiate conversation. He waited.

 

On the fifth day Smilin' Dog, a well-known dealer, walked over to the man with the Bible.

 

"What's happenin'?"

 "Not much."

"I seen you here the last four days. You gettin' ready to preach?"

"No."

"What's your name?"

"Ralph."

"You believe what's in that Bible?"

"Yep "

"Tell me about it"

 

The next day Smilin' Dog brought three friends. They sat on the grass and talked with Ralph about the Bible, about Jesus. Ralph told them that Jesus is coming soon.

 

Soon there were a dozen disciples. Then fifty.

 

When fall came and the weather turned cold, Ralph min­istered to a flock of several hundred in a rented house. And it all began with Ralph sitting under an oak tree with his Bible, empty and waiting. The only thing Ralph was sure of was that he was to be there. He had no orders beyond that. Ralph obeyed what was clear to him and trusted that things would unfold in God's time. All Ralph had to do was fit in with God's program.

 

We approach our calling in a similar way. If the Spirit of God is going to use us to ignite our church, the first thing we have to do is simply be there – empty. Be content to be an empty vessel in the house of the Lord.

 

Who knows how long those water jars were standing in the house before Jesus ordered the servants to "fill the jars with water." But they were there, empty and waiting, when the moment came. If Ralph had sat under the oak tree every day for the whole summer and received no response, he would have kept coming. Ralph knew that he was to be there, and he believed that in time things would begin to happen. What would happen, how it would happen, when it would happen, was left to God. It was God's program, not Ralph's. Ralph was fitting in by simply being where he was supposed to be.

 

The Power of the Cross

 

Every believer open to being used redemptively by the Spirit of God soon learns that there is a price. While salvation is a free gift, paid for by the blood of the Lamb, those who yield their lives to the Lamb are crucified with him. To come out from the curse and live in the power of that cross, we not only have to accept Christ's atonement as a deed done, we also have to allow the power of that cross to work in us. "I have been crucified with Christ," says Paul. "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Gal 2:20). Jesus not only died for me, he drew, me into his death, so that dying with him to my own will, I might rise with him into the will of the Father. This means that we die to our own rights, ideas, principles, visions – so that Christ's life can flow through us as quickening fire to others.

 

The power of the cross of Jesus working in you releases the fire:

 

Always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For while we live we are always being given up to death for Jesus' sake,

so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you.                                                                        2 Corinthians 4:10-12

 

If we are willing to take hold of the cross and let the power of Christ's death work in us, we become a channel that carries a two-way flow. The fire of the Spirit's life flows out of us with healing and cleansing power into the lives we touch. At the same time the burden and the sickness and the sin that weighed upon these lives flows through us into the cross. As we keep one hand on the cross and the other on the person in need, we become that person's connection with the living Christ.

 

However, if we lose touch with the cross ourselves, while still holding on to that person's need, we become a receptacle for their burdens and will sink under the weight of them. We were not meant to be receptacles, only channels. Or if we keep hold­ing to the cross, but fail to reach out to other lives, the flow of the fire through us will cease. Since the Spirit never remains stagnant, he simply goes looking for another channel.

 

Each of us needs to have the attitude that no one in this church is more needy than I. "The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. And I am the foremost of sinners" (1 Tim 1:15). We approach the task of letting our fire spread, not as heroes, but as sinners who have no claim on God but the cross of Jesus. Apart from his grace we are as lost as any human on this earth. Apart from him we have no goodness, no wisdom, no health, no authority.

 

When Daniel cried out to God to restore Jerusalem, he identified with Jerusalem's sins. Daniel did not stand aloof, but prayed as one who was part of the problem. "To thee, O Lord, belongs righteousness, but to us confusion of face.... For we do not present our supplications before thee on the ground of our righteousness, but on the ground of thy great mercy" (Daniel 9:7, 18). In like manner we join ourselves in spirit to the hard­est hearts, the most flagrant hypocrites in the church, and we say to the Lord, who knows the truth about us, "Lord, I am more needy than they. Cover my sins with your blood. Raise me out of the darkness of my own soul into your light."

 

It's God's kingdom. God takes the initiative. God sends the fire. Yet he has chosen to use you in his program, as he visits this world with life. Join yourself to the Lamb of God. Take hold of his cross and cling to it, until the power of his death delivers you from yourself. Then open your heart and let the fire spread.

 

 

 

 

From "Set Our Hearts On Fire"  published by Servant Publications 1998  

 

 

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