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Print Have you ever had your “night?” A night when, due to the Spirit moving, the onset of a particularly “shout-worthy” chorus, an extended church absence, or any combination of the three, results in getting a blessing in some public display? I had mine last October. The concept started when I had been going through a difficult time in my life, and, as is usually the case when depression mixes with sin, my church attendance began to wane. I still came to church so as not to be labeled “backslidden,” but I just wasn’t there. One Monday when I came to my office, a co-worker who had once gone to church with me asked how our service had gone. I told him it was a “shouter” and he said, “Did you have your night?” Because we have always shared a weird lexicon between us, I immediately knew what he meant. That Monday, and every subsequent one afterwards for about six months, my answer was always, “No.” Yet, that evening last fall, the setting was ripe. The choir debuted “Let Go, Let God” and, as I know most everyone reading this can relate, the service exploded. To make my night more inevitable, my friend (who had been diagnosed with cancer) was intensely praying to my left and our pew soon was home to a group of saints travailing with her. Okay, what should I do now? I could do the overtly backslidden gesture and sneak out the pew to the foyer, I could close my eyes and bow my head and hope no one thinks I am making a move towards repentance, or I could stand up, put a hand on my friend’s back and pray for her need despite my own shortcomings. I chose the third option. Have you ever tried to pray, but were so focused on what was going on around you that you couldn’t? That was the situation in which I found myself. There is no telling what my lips were mumbling, but my mind was shouting, “Please do not let this turn into being about me! Please, God. I’ll get right later. Not now, please!” Who was I kidding? This was a Pentecostal church. I soon felt the hot sting of a quivering hand on my back and heard the intense whispers of several people around me asking me to, ironically as the chorus had echoed, let go and let God in. On my left I heard, “Hold on,” on the right, “Let go.” All the while there were many hands gliding over my body and the obligatory “arm hold-up” by my most faithful friend. All the while I’m thinking, “No, I will not do this. I don’t want to pray. I am not ready. I am praying for my friend. Why won’t they just leave me alone?” I realize now that I was praying to not have to pray. It didn’t work. I could immediately sense the shift of prayers from healing for my friend to salvation and repentance for me. I was intently resisting until a minister came up to me and prayed with a hand on my forehead for my release. I caved. I let my guard down, did what the people around me were asking me to do, and, as we like to say in Apostolic circles, “Prayed through.” If I sound like I am negating my experience that night, I apologize. That is not my intent. I do realize God touched me, and I was blessed by that encounter. Yet my question afterwards was “Is this it? Am I okay now? Can I sleep easy tonight knowing that, if the trumpet sounds, I will make it?” Was it really that simple? You can imagine how excited I was that next morning to let my friend know I had had “my night.” I walked in the office, put my bags down, looked at him and said, “I had it.” Later, while we were discussing the specifics, he told me that having a “night” is a rite of passage anyone wanting to be restored must complete. His theory was detailed, as he explained that the congregation needs to see some sort of visual display of repentance before they can have confidence in you to once again be what you used to be. After this showing, you would be left on your own until your next public need. I couldn’t get this concept out of my mind, and I began to resent having to prove myself before I could be let back into the fold. Why, now that I have made the step towards the altar, was I suddenly fine and no longer in need of reassurance, prayers, or other support? Was I all of a sudden supposed to feel like the old me and start humming, “I feel like traveling on” in the shower? Although it is hard to believe, the event that was so special and that brought me home again was driving me further away than I had ever gone before. Although my fellow church members were hugging me and telling me how proud they were of me, I felt like shouting, “I’m still hurting. One night doesn’t make it better.” I let these feelings simmer and could have easily allowed myself to get back in the same pattern I had been in before. But I didn’t. I started to think back on the years of ups and downs and how I would pray back through only to, shortly afterwards, revert back to some sort of detrimental behavior until I was again at the same point needing another touch. Although I am usually averse to the appropriate Dobson-esque analogies that accompany many life-lessons, here I must indulge. My new car has an indicator that tells me exactly when I need to get an oil change, have the tires rotated, and informs me of exactly how many miles are left before my gas tank is empty. This is the absolute worst technology possible for me. That is because I hate getting gas. I despise having to stop, whip out the credit card, say yes or no to the receipt question, and then wait while this pump delivers essential fuel to my car just so I can repeat the process in a week. So what typically ends up happening is that I drive the car to the last mile possible, and even have been known to work the fumes for a bit, until I find a gas station. Eventually, my car stopped working. It would sputter and jerk until I was forced to bring it to a repairman. The first thing he asked me was, “Do you drive this thing to empty before refilling?” “Ummmmm….yes.” “Why?” “I don’t know.” “You’re killing this car.” “I am?” “When you wait to the very last minute to fill the tank with the gas, what you are in fact telling the car is that it is weak and needs to pull energy from other resources to putter along. Don’t wait until it needs to be refilled. Anticipate, and go ahead and fill ‘er up before she needs it. You’ll thank me in the long-run.” Now, while I admit to having altered Bob the repairman’s dialogue a bit to make my point (I think his verbiage went a little like “Always fill your gas tank up, stupid girl, your car don’t like it when you don’t.”), you get the point. I decided that making a public display was okay if I initiated it instead of being coerced. Wouldn’t it mean more to God to have me make that first move instead of being ambushed in the pew by well-meaning saints? I had never wanted to be that girl. The one who, though always at the altar, was never quite able to receive deliverance. I have been guilty of thinking, “Are you kidding me, what is wrong with him/her now? (S)he is always repenting for something.” Yet these people have truly figured it out. “The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). If we could ever forget what our paranoid minds tell us that people are thinking about us and instead figure out that we are going to be judged by what we do and not what we intend to do, we might be able to save ourselves a lot of heartache. I’ve heard the same sermons and stories as everyone else and know that it is a given crowd-pleaser to regale the church with a story of someone who got a blessing right in the middle of Wal-Mart, a school cafeteria, or even during the middle of regular dinner with the family. Yet no one I knew had ever really experienced that. They were just…stories. I don’t negate their accuracy, but are we content living off the experiences of people we don’t know? While these occasions are important and deserve to be celebrated, can we also laud the everyday milestones like keeping our mouths shut when someone goes off on us or actually turning off the television out of conviction instead of obligation? It doesn’t all have to be about the “show.” That’s not how Jesus was and that’s not how He wanted us to be either. Still, don’t judge me when I get excited at the key change in a choir number or regular song service and even stand to my feet—some things will never change.
ninetyandnine.com Ó 2004, Kari Dolan --------- Kari Dolan works as the Program Director of the “I Have A Dream” Program in Beaumont, Texas. When not collecting “Hello Kitty” memorabilia and watching “Trading Spaces,” she expresses her crazy thoughts and ideals on her website. |
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