It was a night for gratitude. There were only two questions, really. The first, “How is your walk with God?”, and the second, “How can we pray for you?” But a new honesty and vulnerability hung in the air that hadn’t been there in the previous six weeks we’ve been meeting. Maybe it was the pocket-sized number of people or the way we laughed with ease, but the tears came just as easily. “It’s a sign of health!” I kept saying. I want them to hear and know there is a God who loves them no matter what, who requires only our love. We had Communion then, this eating bread and drinking juice an act of thanks. It was symbolic, a peeling back of skin to expose the heart and flesh of our faith as a reminder of how and why it all beats.
I realized something important, something absent these past few weeks. I had been wide open to God, aching for closeness with him, blanketed by a spirit of thankfulness. And when I did inch nearer, I knew my own humanity, my own filth – and did nothing to erase it. Disobedience blockades relationship with my Lord, obstructs full life. Revival, like rain on cracks in the ground making roots stretch deeper, begins with new obedience to God. I am dead to sin and alive to Christ. That is all, and that is the start.
(Image via Top Knot)