Do you remember when you first saw? For me, it happened on my knees as a teenager. I was alone in my bedroom and I had just finished reading the entire Gospel of Luke in one sitting. When I got to the story of the cross, I was overcome with gratitude – pure, unhindered gratitude. I didn’t know what else to do, so I got down on my knees next to my bed, lifted my hands in the air, and began to whisper, “Thank you, Jesus; thank you, Jesus; thank you, Jesus.” Eventually, my whisper turned into passionate shouts with giant tears of joy streaming down my face and unto my bed. For the next hour and a half the only words that came out of my mouth were, “Thank you, Jesus; thank you, Jesus.” My prayer was simple – it wasn’t formulated, it wasn’t fancy, and it certainly wasn’t poetic. But it was real and it was raw.

 

Dear Pastor, do you remember when? Do you remember when you first saw?

 

After that day in the bedroom, a holy stirring took over my drowsing soul. There was an awakening – an explosion of sorts. Completely on fire, I was now a teenager on mission. I had to tell my parents, my brothers, and my friends – heck, I had to tell the entire high school. I practically did. I was one of those teenagers. Every single Monday night, I would illegally pile a dozen or more kids into my Toyota Rav4 and take them all to the local Youth for Christ gathering. One by one my friends were coming to Christ. We were all experiencing calls into ministry, we all wanted to see our high school transformed for the glory of Jesus. So we started gathering around our high school flagpole every single night to pray. We prayed for the Holy Spirit to move in our high school; we prayed for our friends to experience the life-changing power of Jesus Christ; we prayed for the brokenhearted to find healing.

 

We were desperate to see this thing we read about in church history: revival. We prayed for revival. We prayed for movement. We prayed for life-change, and we saw all of it.

 

Dear Pastor, do you remember when?

 

Every day when I would get home from school, I would quickly eat my dinner, finish my homework, and then sprint up to my bedroom. As soon I would close the door, I would blast worship music on my stereo and pace my room in prayer. I was 16. I am certain that my prayers would have made any theologian squirm. My prayers wouldn’t have moved a congregation to repentance. My prayers weren’t fancy, but they were raw.

 

I just wanted to see more of Jesus.

 

Full of passion. Full of life. After praying, I would grab my bible and just read, journal, and pray the scriptures. My prayer journal was so honest, so unhindered, so adoring for God.

 

I just wanted to see more of Jesus.

 

There were days I would run through my parent’s hay field with my hands in the air, tears streaming down my face, singing simple songs of praise.

 

Dear Pastor, do you remember when?

 

Do you remember when you didn’t have to worry about making church budgets? Do you remember when every sermon you heard seemed like it was written just for you? Do you remember when ministry didn’t get bogged down with politics? Do you remember when you didn’t have to worry about big givers leaving the church?

 

Dear Pastor, do you remember when?

 

Do you remember when you just wanted to see more of Jesus? Sure, your theology would have made any of the early church fathers roll in their graves. Sure, you had an over individualistic understanding of your faith and at times you viewed your faith much like a consumer. But that didn’t matter, because..

 

…your faith was childlike.  

 

Dear Pastor, do you remember when you had that pure, unhindered childlike faith?

 

I want to sit on a park bench with you and hold your hand and talk about when we first saw.  I want to go back to that place with you.  I want to tell you that our childlike faith doesn’t have to disappear. I want to tell you that the broken, messy church that you serve doesn’t have to rob you of that faith. I want to tell you to still pray for revival.

 

I want to tell you to still seek Jesus like you did in the days of your youth.

 

Dear Pastor, do you remember when?

“Let it Happen”