Testing the Waters

"John answered them all, 'I baptize you with water. But one who is more powerful than I will come, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.'" - Luke 3:16

Taking the Plunge | The Search for Fire

I was still riding a spiritual high following the Walk to Emmaus. I felt a fire being stoked within me, and I wanted to fan the flames of faith. Somehow, my wife and I ended up at a Pentecostal church. It could be Divine Intervention, but by that time, it was more like a process of elimination. We had tried most of the other non-Catholic churches and found none to my liking. To be fair, my wife, Rose, would have been at home in any of the churches we visited. But there we were, deep in the pews of my confusion as hellfire and brimstone ricocheted off the walls that could barely contain the Spirit.

If you are wondering why I didn't just go to Pastor Dale's Presbyterian church after the Walk to Emmaus, I was seeking "more fire." I was trying to move beyond coffee shop philosophy, head-level Christianity, and waist-deep B.S. that quickly became Piled Higher and Deeper (Ph.D.). I found it here at this growing church.

But the familiar restlessness and questions began to surface, and by now Rose had had enough of my spiritual wanderings. She put her foot down and said, "We are staying here." So much for the "man of the house" being the "spiritual leader of the household." The reality was that I was no more prepared to be the spiritual leader of my household than I was to lead a troop of Boy Scouts to the moon.

I went to church on Sunday. I enjoyed the professional-quality music. And let me tell you, I can still hear that young girl's voice singing the Revelation Song. Never before, or since, have I heard such an angelic voice. What God can do with His chosen voices is beyond words.

The Observer's Dilemma

As I sat in awe watching the reactions of the congregants to every word preached, I became more of a detached participant-observer in a research study. I was there, I was observing, but I wasn't "feeling" what my brothers and sisters were experiencing. I was still in my head, taking critical notes of behaviors that appeared to reflect the "cult" I was concerned about before I went on the Walk to Emmaus. But this was no cult. It was a place of worship led by men of God and followed by a congregation of believers who did their best to shine Christ's light and love in the community. They treated me with more love and respect than I deserved. It was precisely for this reason that I began to feel discouraged rather than encouraged.

My career at the university continued to provide the meaning and purpose I desired professionally, but something was missing in my spiritual life. It was like an arc drawn in the sand that is "supposed" to be a complete circle. A large piece of the incomplete circle was missing, and I suspected I knew what it was.

The Missing Piece

On the ride back from the Walk to Emmaus, Randy P said the following: "Before I accepted Christ in my life, I didn't like people very much. After I accepted Him, I did." This was a profound statement and one that convicted me. Although I loved my career as a university professor and the professional relationship I had with my students, I can't say I really liked "people." I was waiting for that "before Christ" and "after Christ" moment when my introverted personality would somehow become a people-loving extrovert. It wasn't happening. I still needed to get away from "church" to recharge my spiritual batteries, just as I did from the classroom to recharge my professional energy.

I was thinking something was wrong with me. Was I not really one of the "elect"? Was I even really saved? My inner critic voice, not to be confused with the Holy Spirit, was saying, "You haven't even been baptized! How can you call yourself a believer and never have taken the plunge?"

So there you have it. I needed to be baptized to be a "real" Christian, and perhaps then the magic would happen and I would respond the way others responded to church on Sundays.

Taking the Plunge

The day came, and I went through with the public profession of my faith. I took the plunge and emerged as a new man of God in the eyes of the congregation, church leaders, Rose, and even my brother Randy B and his wife, Lupe, who were there to show their support.

There is something raw and exposed about a public full-immersion baptism. The feeling of being the object of 250-odd pairs of eyes intently watching as I was dry one moment and semi-shivering from the cold water the next. There is a vulnerability to the experience like being stripped nearly naked in front of your church "family," yet not feeling close enough to all of them that you'd take a bath in front of them.

I tried to see the crowd of onlookers as extended family, but in reality, they were effectively strangers viewing a public stripping of a relative newbie in church. It was a bit like a fraternity initiation in which the pledge becomes a brother. Fortunately, I was exercising and pumping iron while sharpening iron, so I was in good physical shape. There was a bit of "pride" that swelled at a moment when humility was expected. Oh well, one more example of being close, but not there yet.

Different, Not Changed

As I walked into the changing room, got dressed, and rejoined the congregation, I felt "different," but not "changed" in the way I had hoped. I still felt like the professional extrovert being expressed as a psycho-emotional introvert. I still enjoyed people, but I couldn't wait to get away. Maybe there was still more I needed to "do" before I would "feel" the Spirit that seemed so present to my conservative colleagues, many in jackets and ties. As with the university, I straddled the fence with a sport coat, button-down shirt, jeans or khakis, and typically my Asics running shoes.

Maybe if I spoke a different language, I could talk with God and the church I was now committed to? We'll discuss that in the next section.

Speaking in Tongues...Not

"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will." - Romans 12:2

"But the Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.'" - 1 Samuel 16:7

The Pressure Builds

As I mentioned, Rose and I were settling into this Pentecostal church. I thought that taking the baptismal plunge would somehow open the heavens and my heart to "liking people" as my brother Randy P found after his conversion and the Walk to Emmaus. The public yet straightforward ritual of baptism didn't change me. The problem, according to my Pentecostal family, was that I did not speak in tongues. After all, speaking in tongues is the true determinant that distinguishes the Church insiders from the Church outsiders.

Week after week, one particular sister would come to me and say, "It's time for you to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit!" And week after week, I would politely decline. I was an observer in a church where the people spoke a language that wasn't English or Spanish. As if on cue, what appeared to be mass hysteria broke out. Wailing, falling, and uttering sounds that were unintelligible were common. It continued for what seemed a predetermined time, and then stopped like someone had turned off the valve on a water hose. It was strange and psychologically discomforting.

The unsettled feeling I experienced intensified with each passing week. The visits from my "sister" in the aisle became more demanding. It was as if her salvation depended on my speaking in tongues. While I appreciated her concern, I was beginning to resent her method. Each time I would smile and decline, and then recline a bit lower in my chair, hoping to drop off the congregational radar. I was clearly becoming a spectator in a sport that I knew I was supposed to participate in, but my "professor's mind" kept telling me these people are nuts! I sank even deeper in my seat, hoping and praying that God didn't see me or hear me either. I was taking up airspace in the house of the Lord. I knew it wasn't right, but now I was committed. I just hoped I wouldn't be committed to the white padded room where family comes to visit those who have lost their minds and attachment to reality.

There was an apparent disconnect between my mind and my heart. My heart was bursting with feelings of fire, but my mind was acting as the governor, like those that regulate speed on a school bus engine. The governor was designed to control, to limit, to restrict, but I didn't "feel" like being limited. As I considered speaking in tongues, my heart was saying, "Let's go!" but my mind was saying, "Control yourself." My body remained glued to the chair until the doors opened two to three hours later.

The Firing Line

And then one day it happened—a tall missionary came in and was going to fill the room with fire! My sister approached and would not take no for an answer. She literally grabbed me by the arm and led me to the front of the church. There, along with about seven people to my left and three to my right, the missionary proceeded to bring fire to the line of church outsiders. One by one, the dominoes to my left began to fall. Speaking in tongues and convulsing on the floor, each was reassured by an attendant that at last all would be well.

The missionary comes to me. I feel a pop of his palm to my forehead. "FIRE!" he yells. Nothing. Again, palm strike to the forehead. "FIRE!" Still nothing. It was like the defibrillator paddles were pressed against the man in cardiac arrest. CLEAR! BOOM! Again. CLEAR! BOOM! Nothing. No sign of life in this one. He sidesteps me and repeats the process with the other three, who each fall out as expected.

For a moment, I thought, "Why don't I just fake it because I'm embarrassed!" If I was feeling "exposed" after the baptism, I was really exposed now. I went back to my seat, face crimson, and settled into my chair. Although I felt like a failure in the eyes of the congregation, I felt like I had passed some sort of test with God, that I neither knew the questions nor the purpose for the examination.

The rest of that church service was non-existent in my memory. I have no recollection of the message, how people responded to me, or what Rose even said to me. I was focused on that moment—that snapshot in time when I wanted to fall to the floor and not be the only remaining target with a bullseye on my back or forehead. "So this is what it feels like to face a firing squad." But this firing squad was from behind, like friendly fire, whether real or imagined.

In that moment when I didn't flinch, I may have been considered a dead man walking by the congregation, but God was smiling and saying, "You are not dead, you are alive." There was an alignment between my spirit, mind, and heart as I sat there as if suspended in one moment in time. It was what later became characteristic of the single grain of sand in God's hourglass.

From that service forward, no sister came to me insisting that I come forward to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit—the only one that really mattered, speaking in tongues. They were always "nice" to me, but I felt like a church outsider who showed up, sat down, and caused such a small ripple in the congregational pond that it didn't matter. I heard a colleague say once, "Some graduate students feel that if they pay their fees, they'll get their 'Bs.'" I never liked that. I always thought that if you were going to show up, you needed to put forth your best effort because someone was always watching, even if it was only God. Now here I was like one of "those" graduate students who would show up, pay their fees, and expect to get their Bs and graduate. I was showing up and tithing, but I knew God knew I was dogging it.

Perhaps that standing in front of the "FIRE" firing line was the first thing that really got God's attention. Because after that, I was on His radar. Things were about to change.

The Divine Paradox

That moment when I heard God say, "You are not dead, you are alive" became a bit of a paradox. What the church insiders consider alive may actually be dead to God. And what Christendom sees as dead may well have a strong pulse recognized only by God. Sometimes the crowd comes to see a performance, a whole movie from troubled beginning to a happy ending. It makes them feel good. But what if God is looking for a still shot, a freeze frame, where it's not about a beginning or an end, it's about a choice in a moment? A choice that is offered—perhaps as a test for some—in which the examinee is expected to disappoint a brother or sister but please God.

This is the equivalent of a Divine Appointment, a pop quiz that you couldn't cram for the night before. These are God's "high stakes" tests in which we may fail from a worldly perspective but pass with flying colors with God. I felt alive, even though I only spoke English.

It's interesting how we default to what we "know" to help make sense of what we "don't know." For instance, I often wonder if God employs pop quizzes, similar to those we had in university, or surprise evaluations and alerts in the ICBM business, to gauge who is genuinely prepared to do His work. Is He looking for those who prepare in graduate school, "as if" what they learn may mean the difference between life and death during a suicide intervention on a rainy night at 2:00 AM? Is He looking for warriors who pray for peace but train as if war is inevitable and losing is unacceptable? Maybe He really is looking to see how we respond to the small opportunities because they predict how we'll respond to greater responsibility. He is watching when we least expect it. Will He find us willing to take a shot in the back from the world to receive a hand from God? Our answer to these questions determines what happens next on the sanctification trail.

What was about to happen next was not speaking with tongues of fire, but a call to write with fire!

"'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'" - Isaiah 55:8-9