EXTRA - Buckle Up

Sunday mornings are busy for me. There are a lot of details to wrangle for any worship service. There are people I want to talk to. Music and preaching and prayer (Oh my!). 

Yesterday morning was unique. 

I arrived as usual and started getting organised. Our organist and our soloist were in the sanctuary. The tech team was doing their work. I started in my office organising my sermon notes (we're in a series, learning why and how to pray "Holy Spirit, come") and the songs I'd be leading.

People started arriving and settling in. Chatting and laughing.

In the sanctuary, I felt like there was something in the air. The energy was low. The usual spark was missing. The lights in the room literally didn't seem bright enough to me. I kept looking over my shoulder and wondering why.

I thought at first maybe it was the weather, or the end of summer or some kind of fatigue. Then I thought maybe it was just me. Maybe I was tired this morning. Should have had a second cup of coffee.

The people contributing to worship gathered as we always do before the service. There were a few new faces in the circle, people stepping up with their gifts. Beautiful! We prayed together, then took our places. The music of the prelude began.

I sat in the front pew as usual and closed my eyes to pray with the music washing over me. I prayed for refreshing and the energy to perk things up a bit.

Then I realised what I was feeling.

It wasn't in the air, or the people, or the lights, or the weather, or even in me.

The only term I have for what I was encountering is 'spiritual resistance.'

Maybe you know exactly what I mean, or maybe it's a new idea. I've never been a 'look for the devil behind every bush' person, but it was unmistakeable for anything else. 

(I do believe in the existence and the power of living, active, intelligent, subversive opposition to anything that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit do. I've never heard a better explanation for the gap between the tremendous mess our world is in and the glorious potential of humanity. But that's a debate for another day.)

So there I was. The Pastor. Pocket full of sermon notes. Tablet full of worship songs. Scripture readings typed up and in the slides. Sunday morning. In church. Face to face with the opposition.

I started to pray. Deep wordless prayer. The only specific I could repeat today is "Holy Spirit, come." (Although Romans 8:26 was definitely in there somewhere.)

The service began and I kept praying. The way your computer runs updates in the background while you're playing Minecraft.

Praying as I did the announcements. It persisted.

Praying as the worship leader spoke. It persisted.

Praying as we all repeated the Lord's Prayer. It persisted.

Praying as we sang, "Holy Holy Holy." It persisted.

Praying as we brought forward the offering plate. It persisted.

Praying as the soloist shared with us. It persisted.

(Thinking, "I can't preach like this. I'm going to have to stop and get the congregation to pray for me.")

Praying as I stepped up to the keyboard to lead the 'praise songs.'

Praying as the congregation rose to their feet and began to sing. Modern worship songs, written only a few years ago.

And it broke.

There was a moment in the first song when we were all -- Jesus' people -- standing together, singing, declaring that "Jesus saves..." there was an identifiable moment that the resistance broke.

Just went away. Left. Gone.

I nearly started crying. (Brothers who are Pastors can cry. They don't have to worry about mascara.)

______

I have a post-it note-to-self on the cork board next to my desk in my office, bearing these words:

This building is a place in which and from which we do battle.

I've had encounters before with the power of a family of believers singing truth together. (If you are a Jesus follower, and you've walked away from church, I weep for you.) This was another experience of what... of who... the Church is: the hands and feet, and at least as truly, the voice of God in the world. 

Here we are, learning about, leaning into what it means to pray, "Holy Spirit, come." And here we are actually doing it. Can't say it was fun. But it was real. And He did.

I have another post-it that says this:

The places where God is leading us are the places where we will meet opposition.

Resistance is not defeat. Giving up is defeat.

I'm a bit nervous about where God is leading us (maybe this week won't end up being "unique" in the long run. Maybe just the first), but it's a 'best-roller-coaster-in-the-world' nervousness. 

Strapped in. Buckled down.

Here we go.