Years back, a strange thing was happening in American churches that taught me an important lesson.
Here’s what was happening. In a number of places around the country, a so-called “laughing revival” was taking place. It was characterized by manifestations of uncontrollable hilarity, animal roars, violent shaking, and loud wailing—all supposedly heralding the imminent return of Christ. Was this a “new movement of the Spirit”?
Here’s the lesson I learned: When I face a vexing theological question, I start with what I know for sure and use that to organize the field, eliminate options, and clarify the task. I move from the known to the unknown. In this case, two sound convictions guided my assessment of the “revival.”
First, I know that mystical appearances can be deceiving. Though well-meaning believers are drawn to spiritual drama, experience is simply not an adequate test for truth.
A friend of mine had attended one “revival” service where conferees stampeded to the front for the altar call, some falling down, convulsing on the floor in front of her. She whispered to the person next to her, “In the Bible, this only happened to those who were demon possessed.” She was immediately accused of blaspheming the Holy Spirit.
This won’t do. My friend’s observation was fair, biblically accurate, and fully appropriate in light of the spiritual chaos surrounding her. Yet she was rebuked for even raising the issue. Chastisements about “quenching” the Spirit, putting God in a box, or not “touching” God’s anointed are of no help discerning truth here.
An LA Times spread at the time featured pictures of effusive worshipers in churches in Southern California. The article asked: Is this a revival in the church? It struck me that if the LA Times was looking for revival, it was looking in the wrong place. True revival is never measured by what happens inside the church, but rather by what happens outside the church.
Secular historians note that the Wesleyan revival in the 18th century so transformed the cultural landscape of England that it saved Britain from a bloody revolution like France endured. No one had to go inside a church to know that God was moving because revival is not measured by how much swooning goes on in the sanctuary. Neither laughter, nor cheers, nor howls, nor tears mark the durable work of the Spirit, but only transformed lives that withstand the test of time.
Here’s the second conviction that guided my thinking. Though I was doubtful the Spirit had inspired the laughing revival, I was certain the Spirit had inspired Paul’s last instructions to Timothy.
In 2 Timothy—the apostle’s final charge before dying—Paul passes the torch of the gospel to Timothy with a sober warning: Trouble is coming. There will be trouble in the world as people increasingly fall into moral chaos (2 Tim. 3:1–4). There will also be trouble in the church as Christians turn to myths that tickle their ears rather than endure sound biblical doctrine (2 Tim. 4:3–4).
Paul then gives Timothy the antidote. His solution is found in three simple words: “You, however, continue.” Here’s the full citation:
You, however, continue in the things you have learned and become convinced of, knowing from whom you have learned them.... All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness; so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work. (2 Tim. 3:14, 16–17)
Paul never tells Timothy to look forward to the future for new movements of the Spirit. Rather, he tells him to look backwards to what has already been revealed. Everything we need to be fruitful and productive, to be trained in righteousness, to be adequately equipped for every good work, has already been revealed. For Paul, all the old stuff would continue to be all the right stuff.
Did I conclude that the “Toronto Blessing” was the trickery of men or a deception of the devil—or that it was a genuine move of the Holy Spirit after all? Neither. I concluded that I didn’t have to answer that question. I could play it safe and ignore it completely. How could I be left behind in God’s plan if I was following the orders he’d already given?
Nothing is spiritually wrong with anyone who doesn’t climb on a current evangelical bandwagon. Why? Because since the final writing of Scripture, we always look backwards for truth and spiritual stability, not forward to new experiences.
Here is the simple rule that will always protect you when spiritual fads entice others: Continue in the truth that has already been revealed. I, for one, have my hands full with my original marching orders. I won’t be grieving the Spirit if I’m being faithful to what God has already said instead of banking on new—and maybe fleeting or misleading—experiences.
I learned that I don’t need to concern myself with any alleged new movements of the Spirit if I have my hand on the plow, steadfastly doing the work of the old movement of the Spirit. If you, however, continue, then you’ll be safe, too.