I dislike public confession and repentance. Whenever people draw attention to their repentance, it’s like saying, “Hey, look at how humble I am!” Crazy, right? But I think my repentance of this particular arrogance and error may be instructive. And it doesn’t make me look super spiritual. And I am humble enough to risk looking pious.
For years I have spiritually been an Oregonian—independent, self-reliant, and definitely nonconformist. One expression of this has been a distrust of anyone claiming to have something I need spiritually. My attitude has been, “God has my address and can send me whatever wisdom, gifting, or growth He wants me to have.”
And of course in Christian circles we have been plagued with pastors and teachers who have been corrupted by greed or fallen into sexual sin. Who can you trust? Well, Jesus! So I have had an Oregon Jesus freak dedication to going it alone—just me and Jesus. In Oregon we don’t trust “suits.”
My 13-year sojourn in the Midwest did not cure my “rugged individualism.” In some ways it made it worst. Oddly, I found myself on staff at a church of 2,000 (a teacher in its school). The pastor, who I still love and respect, was an excellent teacher and attracted thousands of people to come learn about intercessory prayer, revival, prophecy, and worship. Hundreds moved to the area to be part of a move of God that would restore the Church to purity, power, and a passion for Jesus.
However, I saw many people coming with unrealistic expectations that being in a new place would make them a new person. Others thought, mistakenly, that being near those with a prophetic or visionary gift would elevate them to the same spiritual level. Many sought a cure for religious boredom and barrenness. A lot of people left disappointed.
On top of all that there have been my own disappointments of attending conferences and seminars and coming home unchanged—knowing a little more, but still spiritually barren and hungry. It seemed God’s blessings would fall on those to the left and right, but not on me. Yeah, that may have been my fault. Or maybe not. I still don’t know.
The result of all this has been a very individualistic spirituality and an aversion to chasing blessings. I don’t want to seek from others what can easily be given me by God in my own prayer times. It’s just me and Jesus.
If this all makes sense to you, or sounds good, you are my tribe! But I have bad news. This attitude isn’t biblical. It is wrong. I have been wrong. I repent. (Deep breath)
If we use even a little imagination, we can figure out that putting feet to our hunger for God makes sense. Imagine you were the blind guy Bartimaeus beside the road in Jericho. You hear this rabbi named Jesus has been healing people and he is coming down the road. Do you lose your dignity and start yelling for Jesus? God is sovereign, so if he wants you to see, He could heal you anytime he wants. Wouldn’t it be more spiritual to patiently bear the burden of blindness for the glory of God?
No. Of course not. We are told that when those in the crowd scolded him for shouting for Jesus, Bartimaeus yelled all the louder, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” When Jesus asked him what he wanted, Bartimaeus cried, “Rabbi, I want to see!” We need to see that it was okay for him to ask to see. Jesus said, “Go. Your faith has healed you.”
You might be thinking, “Well, this case is different because it was Jesus.” But it’s unlikely that Bartimaeus knew much about who Jesus was. He thought Jesus was maybe a prophet or a rabbi who did wonders. But Bartimaeus did know he was bone-tired of being blind.
Or imagine the pious lectures we might deliver those who lowered the crippled man through the roof so Jesus would heal him. Weren’t they silly to place so much hope in some traveling rabbi? Wouldn’t they have been wiser and more spiritual if they had quietly trusted God to heal their friend at his own time? Well, no. He would have died a cripple.
Or imagine you were in Germany when Luther was preaching or in England when John Wesley was reaching thousands for Christ. Would you have regretted not hearing him preach? Would you regret having missed the moving of the Spirit when Wesley led hundreds of miners to Christ? Of course.
Even more inescapable is the New Testament doctrine and practice of laying on of hands. Jesus himself often, not always, laid hands on those he healed. Something about God making Word flesh has made the flesh important even in ministry. It’s almost like our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit and can release the power of God’s love.
In the early church (Acts 8:17—18) the Holy Spirit was often (not always) imparted by the laying on of hands. I hate this. Why can’t this whole baptism of the Holy Spirit be just between me and God or something automatic at salvation? Or at least it could be like at Pentecost where the Holy Spirit just fell on people in a prayer meeting.
Paul wrote that he longed to visit the church in Rome so that he could impart to them some spiritual gift to make them strong (Romans 1:11). Of course, my theology would condescendingly lecture Paul that God doesn’t need Paul to go to Rome; God can give the Romans any gift He wants any time He wants. But for some reason God has decided that his glory and gifts will be carried in, and by, the bodies of His people. God continues to make his Word flesh in the Body of Christ.
In his letter to Timothy (I Timothy 4:14) Paul urges him not to neglect the gift given with a prophetic message when the elders laid hands on him. In a second letter, Paul encourages Timothy to “fan into a flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands” (II Timothy 1:6). Getting, keeping, and using what was imparted by the laying on of hands seems important.
Although my Oregon spirituality balks at all this laying on of hands stuff, I see what God is about and why we dislike this whole thing with gifts and impartation. First, we like everything to be distributed equally and universally within the church. We are offended by the idea of people getting stuff from God that others don’t get. God’s gifts offend our pride, violate our sense of fairness, and take away our control of the church. After all, don’t we have a board or bishop who should decide who gets what gifts? Many churches avoid all this trouble by doing without anything that has to be gotten through impartation. It’s hard, after all, to control the wind of God’s Spirit.
God’s uneven and crazy-quilt distribution of the gifts of the Spirit through the laying on of hands also forces some hard-choices on Christians. We can do without God’s Spirit or humble ourselves enough to go to whoever is able to give us more of God. I hate this. But it is the worst part of me that hates this—the part that is proud and independent.
What’s worse is sometimes God may want to impart gifts to through someone with whose theology I disagree—a Catholic, Baptist, or Pentecostal. It’s as though God refuses to give any one group of Christians everything they need. We either do without or humbly connect and receive from each other.
So I repent. I also surrender to God and my spiritual hunger. I will go anywhere for more of God. Even those in Southern Baptist hair-cuts and double-knit seventies suits can pray for me.
And yes, I will test everything against God’s Word and be alert for any and every kind of falseness or spiritual fakery. But I’ve got the rebellious and desperate heart of Bartimaeus; I can’t shut-up. I want to see the glory of God. Son of David, have mercy on me!
