History Maker
Part Two of an Occasional Series on a Recurring Nightmare
There’s a revival in Asbury. Again.
I grew up in what I’m going to call “revival culture.” Revival culture was simultaneously exhilirating and quietly disappointing, inspiring and secretly devasting. And I feel like I’ve never left it—it just changed form. It is part of the recurring nightmare I began writing about here. And again, I want to scream: “We did this already!”
What is revival culture? It’s this song:
And it’s this story.
Giving Up My Sight to See God
When I was a teenager, I went on a mission trip to a foreign country. We were traveling by bus. I had a duffle bag of my belongings, a passport, and a dream of bringing lots of people to Jesus. We were going to a city with many Christians, but Christians who were “deceived” and were doing Christianity wrong. And we were going to save them from the fires of hell, while also doing service for the true church in that area.
On our way to the border, we stopped at a church to spend the night. Before we went to bed, we spent some time in worship.
What do I mean by “spent time in worship?” Well, there was a band with electric instruments, some minimal lighting, and a group of teenagers all tired but eager to cross the border and save souls. And we would sing these popular worship songs, interspersed with exhortations from the worship leader. The feeling was of intense hope and ecstasy, created by the simultaneously meditative and inspiring music. We wanted something desparately from God. We wanted to experience His presence.
I do not recall exactly what the worship leader’s exhortations were, but my best recollection was that they were about faith. About asking God for something and having faith that He would provide.
So I asked God to heal my eyesight. I am nearsighted, so I cannot see distant objects well without glasses or contacts. I had brought one pair of contacts. And I wanted God to make it so I didn’t have to wear anything.
At some point, I got the sense (perhaps from the worship leader) that I needed to do something to demonstrate my faith that God would heal me. And so I felt this intense pressure to throw away my contacts to demonstrate my faith.
I was prepared to give up my ability to see clearly to show how great my faith was in God.
What if I didn’t throw them away? Well, then I must not have enough faith in God. I must not really trust Him. How would he feel if I didn’t throw them away? What would others think of my faith? Am I really that good of a Christian?
But if I did throw them away—wouldn’t that also be foolish and potentially dangerous? I was going to a new place, far from home. I probably should have all my senses to make sure I don’t get lost or accidentally end up in some kind of danger.
Reader, I did not throw the contacts away. I remember going to bed that night feeling so disappointed—in myself. I felt bad about it for a very long time. I felt deeply that I had disappointed my Father in heaven. I had not trusted him.
And I also knew, deep down, it was also the wisest thing to do.
Revival Culture in the Church
Revival culture was the atmosphere created during that worship service—this intense belief that suddenly and mysteriously, God was going to work a great miracle because we prayed and sought His face. A real miracle. An occurance not explainable by science, simply because to know how it happened would be to understand the ways of God. To witness something impossible and unexplainable—and to know with certainty that it was God.
They told us stories. Brownsville. Toronto. A pulpit split by God’s lightning. A church where people pray in shifts, worshipping God 24/7. We believed that we would see mass conversions one day. An entire city won for Christ in a massive, miraculous event. Because we praised and worshiped God.
It’s a bit ironic that this was happening in a time when cataclysm was becoming a meme in popular culture—Independence Day, Armageddon, Deep Impact. While the world was fearing massive disaster, we were asking God almighty for a massive miracle.
That kind of hope and optimism is something I desparately miss. I miss the feeling of believing in miracles. I still listen to the music. I still sing along.
I still feel the ecstasy somtimes. Even as I write this, I’m listening to worship music. And hoping. Somehow. Maybe this blogpost is the post that changes things. That changes the world.
And that right there—that’s the poison.
Why is this aspect of revival culture poison? Because it downplays the importance of human agency and action in causing significant change. And because it creates a social pressure to become a kind of person who believes in things unlikely to happen. Someone who hopes and hopes and hopes and is constantly disappointed. Someone who hopes to the detriment, at times, of actions that would actually cause change.
That’s why they told us the stories. To give us evidence of our faith. To put the lie to the doubts.
And revivals are, indeed, a complex phenomenon. I have not looked into the social science studies of revivals, but I would speculate that the human element involves the use of music and preaching to emotionally manipulate people into believing in great and spectacular change. But why engage in that kind of manipulation?
There are probably two main motives. One is personal or regional status. Everyone in the churches where revival culture lives knows where “real” revivals happen—the churches become famous and hallowed ground. Believers make pilgrimages to these churches with hope of experiencing spiritual renewal and see miracles happen. But a large influx of visitors also means the potential for money and fame for the church.
But I am not so cynical to think this is the main motive that drives revivals. Another possible motive is honest-to-God true belief that it is the will of God. I would like to think most believers seeking revival are true believers.
I was.
Revival Culture Outside the Church
What I found surprising after I left the church was that revival culture was not just in the church. It was in the wider culture as well. I felt it in many places.
I remember going to an Obama speech in 2008. I felt it there.
I remember participating in the Women’s March in 2017. I felt it there. And the March for Science. And the March for Our Lives. And in the demonstrations in 2020.
I have felt it in academia as well. I have felt it at academic conferences, especially for my subfield. I have felt it at symposia. At plenaries. At award ceremonies. Where the pomp and circumstance manipulates me into believing in something greater. That what we were doing is going to change things. Eventually. One day. Maybe today.
How was this revival culture? These experiences proffered the idea that I and everyone else participating were part of a movement that was going to effect great change. That after we achieved our political or academic aims, everything was going to be different. And coming together in this way was going to be what changed things.
But that feeling was a warning. We had done this before. And I remembered the outcome of revival culture was great but secret disappointment.
In retrospect, I wish there had been more singing.
What I’ve Learned from Revival Culture
And so there is a revival in Asbury. Again. Because we have done this before.
And because we have done this before, I want to share what I have learned about what is happening.
I want to say to the young people at Asbury College that I am truly happy that you are experiencing what you are experiencing. But I will offer two words of caution.
First, my own experience. This feeling does not last. It is wonderful while it lasts, but it does not last. And it is important that you not beat yourself up when the feeling leaves, nor pine after that feeling long after. Feelings come. Feelings go. But you will always have the ability to choose what to make of the experience of revival—and you get to choose what to do as a result. Remember that. You get to decide what you make of your own experience.
And second, words of wisdom from a great Christian artist, Rich Mullins:
And I want to say to anyone else who has been a part of revival culture outside the church, out here in the world:
Surly one of the greatest forces for change in the world is mass organizations of people working for a common purpose. But it takes long hours and hard work to make great change. And the high from the academic conference or the political march is only just a feeling. It can inspire, but it cannot in itself cause change. The change comes from our day to day choices, our plans and projects, and our willingness to learn and grow as we journey towards our goals.
I know most of you didn’t need to hear that. But I did. I’m going to conference soon, and I needed to remind myself about what truly matters.