Revival

In the fall of 2023, singer Oliver Anthony got his big break in the music industry with his song “Rich Men North of Richmond,” a scathing criticism of wealthy politicians and other movers and shakers. And now that he’s gotten a taste of the music industry in Nashville, he’s decided to live out his convictions.

Anthony revealed in a recent YouTube video, “I’ve decided that moving forward, I don’t need a Nashville management company. I don’t even need to exist within the space of music. So, I’m looking at switching my whole business over to a traveling ministry.” He added, “Our system is broken.”

The singer, whose real name is Christopher Anthony Lunsford, says his vision is not to participate in the system, but transform it. "I have this vision for this thing that I’m calling the Real Revival Project, and it’s basically going to start as a grassroots music festival. But hopefully it grows into something that can literally change our landscape and our culture and the way we live.”

Anthony says he wants to create something that exists parallel to Nashville that circumvents the monopolies of Live Nation and Ticketmaster, and it goes into towns that haven’t had music in them in a long time. And he insists he’s not doing anything revolutionary. “I just want to help bridge the gap between millions of people who all believe in the greater vision of us all just getting back to living a normal life.”

Anthony sees the decline of the industry as part of a larger pattern that discouraged his interest in pursuing the traditional path to music stardom. He said:

At the very beginning, our focus was just trying to figure out what we felt like God’s purpose was for our lives and trying to figure out how to pursue that. I think it was just being around all those people that weren’t of that mindset. There’s no way to create something that’s focused around God when you’re working with people who are just focused around making money.

Possible Preaching Angle:

God’s purpose for life is more than just seeking fame and fortune; God calls us to make a positive difference in whatever space we’re called to inhabit.

Evangelicalism is now the largest religious demographic in Central America, according to a poll of about 4,000 people in five countries. More than a third of people from Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica told researchers that they are evangelical, while another 29 percent said they are “nondenominational believers.”

Only about a third of people in the region said they were Catholic—down from about 60 percent in the 1970s. Some scholars have attributed the shift to internal Catholic conflict and the long fallout from the church’s political affiliations on the extreme right and left, along with the disruptions of urbanization.

Evangelical theologian Samuel Escobar, noting the trend in an interview in 2006, said Catholics who moved to Central American cities found empowerment in their evangelical conversion. He said, “Their decision to accept Christ meant a change in patterns of behavior which helped people to reorient their lives.”

In the early 1950s teenage Lyle Dorsett and his family moved to Birmingham from Kansas City, Missouri. They were outsiders, often labeled Yankees by peers. But one summer evening in 1953, Dorsett was walking to his house after work and decided to take a shortcut through the campus of then-Howard College (now Samford University).

He was immediately intrigued by the sight he saw: a large tent on the football field featuring a magnetic preacher. As Dorsett drew near, he could hear evangelist Eddie Martin preaching on the parable of the prodigal son, calling other prodigals to come home. Dorsett said, “I knew I was the prodigal and … needed to come home.”

Martin asked those in attendance to return the next evening. Dorsett came early, and this time was seated near the front. When the call came, “the evangelist led me through a sinner’s prayer. I confessed my need for forgiveness. While being led in prayer, I strongly felt the presence of Jesus Christ. I sensed his love and forgiveness as well as his call to preach the gospel.”

Shortly thereafter, Dorsett and his parents joined a local Baptist church. However, 18 months later, Dorsett’s family moved back to Kansas City. On his return, gradually he drifted. During his time in college, he embraced a materialistic worldview. He received a Ph.D. in history but despite professional success, he began to drink heavily and became an alcoholic. His wife, Mary, who became a Christian after their marriage, began to pray.

One evening, he stormed out of the house after Mary asked him not to drink around the children. He found a bar and drank until closing. While driving up a winding mountain road, he stopped at an overlook and blacked out. The next morning, he woke up on a dirt road at the bottom of a mountain next to a cemetery not having any memory of the drive.

Dorsett cried out to God, “Lord, if you are there, please help me.” At that moment, he recognized that the same presence he had met in Birmingham was with him in the car and loved him. The prodigal son had finally, truly come home. He said, “Although I made countless mistakes, the Lord never gave up on me.”

God then called Dorsett to full-time ministry, ordination in the Anglican Church, and eventually to the Billy Graham Chair of Evangelism at Beeson Divinity School, Samford University, where he had first heard God’s call to preach.

He concludes,

Over the years God has proved to be a gentle Comforter—like when Mary underwent massive surgery for cancer, and when our 10-year-old daughter died unexpectedly. Certainly, the most humbling and reassuring lesson is his persistence in drawing me to himself. And it was he who pursued me and sustained the relationship when I strayed in ignorant sheeplike fashion, doubted his existence, and then like the Prodigal Son deliberately moved to the far country. And it is all grace—unearned, undeserved, unrepayable grace.

Generations placed the Muppet masters Jim Henson and Frank Oz on the level of comedy duos like Abbott & Costello and Laurel & Hardy. Henson died in 1990, but Oz continued to portray such beloved characters as Miss Piggy, Fozzie Bear, Bert, and Grover. Since the early 2000s, though, the puppeteer and filmmaker has been an infrequent presence in the extended Muppet-verse.

Disney acquired the rights to the Muppets in 2004, and many, including Oz himself, feel that this once rich franchise has lost its soul, and consequently, its audience. In an interview, Oz shared, "The soul’s not there. The soul is what makes things grow and be funny."

Once when asked how Disney could salvage the iconic franchise, the interviewer suggested the possibility of hiring "a unique, creative soul, to come in and do something new with the Muppets?" Oz had this to say:

I don’t think the answer is to do something new. I think the answer is to go back and be true to who they are. There’s nothing new to do except to dig deeper into their purity and innocence; that is what speaks to the audience. The problem was, in my opinion, that they were trying to do something new.

Perhaps his advice would be wise council for the Western church today. Maybe the church should not do something "new." The answer is to "go back and be true to who they are." To return to the purity and innocence of the gospel message.

Jeanne Pouchain knows she’s not dead. But she has to prove it in court. The 58-year-old French woman was declared dead by a court in 2017 during a decade long legal case. An employee Pouchain had fired years ago sued her for lost wages and told a court that Pouchain was dead after she stopped responding to the employee’s letters.

Without evidence, the French court accepted the allegation and levied a judgment against Pouchain’s estate. The court’s decision set off a chain reaction in France’s bureaucracy, which scrubbed her from official records and invalidated her identity cards and licenses.

Pouchain recently told The Guardian, “I have no identity papers, no health insurance, I cannot prove to the banks that I am alive … I’m nothing.” Pouchain’s attorney then presented an affidavit to the court from her doctor attesting to her continued existence. Her former employee says Pouchain had been pretending to be dead in order to avoid paying the court-mandated damages.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Christians can also appear to be dead if they let their spiritual life lapse. This is true in church membership (Rev. 3:1) and also in the lifestyle they choose if they fall into worldliness (Eph. 5:14-15; Rom. 13:11).

Tony Campolo tells of how he was a counselor at a junior high camp. He said he had never met meaner kids in his life. They focused on an unfortunate kid named Billy who had cerebral palsy. His brain was unable to exercise proper control over his body or speech. The kids called him "spastic." Billy would walk across the grounds of the camp in his disjointed manner, and the others would line up behind him, imitating his every movement. One day Billy asked one of the boys, "Which way is the craft shop?" The other boy twisted grotesquely, pointed a dozen different ways and said, "That way!" How could he be so cruel?

The meanness reached its lowest point when Billy's cabin had been assigned the morning devotions for those 150 kids. The boys voted for Billy to be the speaker. They knew he couldn't do it. They just wanted to get him up there so that they could mock him and laugh. Little Billy got up out of his seat and limped his way to the platform. You could hear the titters of mocking laughter. But that didn't stop the little guy. He took his place behind the rostrum and started to speak. It took him almost ten tortured minutes to say, "Je-sus loves meee! Je-Je-Je-sus loves meee! And I love Je-Je-Jesus." When he finished there was dead silence. I looked, and there were boys trembling and crying all over the place. A revival broke out in that camp and kids turned their lives over to Jesus. A host of boys committed their lives to Christian service.

Campolo wishes he had kept count of how many ministers he has met as he travels across the US who have told him how they gave their lives to Jesus because of the witness of a "spastic" kid named Billy. “If God could use him with all of his limitations, what makes you think that God can't use you to touch the lives other people? If God can transform the lives of people through the likes of little Billy, don't you dare tell me He can't do great things through you.”

Bible scholar N.T. Wright uses the analogy of waking up in the morning for how some people come to Christ through a dramatic, instant conversion and others come to Christ through a gradual conversion:

Waking up offers one of the most basic pictures of what can happen when God takes a hand in someone's life. There are classic alarm-clock stories, Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus, blinded by a sudden light, stunned and speechless, discovered that the God he had worshipped had revealed himself in the crucified and risen Jesus of Nazareth. John Wesley found his heart becoming strangely warm and he never looked back. They and a few others are the famous ones, but there are millions more.

And there are many stories, thought they don't hit the headlines in the same way, of the half-awake and half-asleep variety. Some people take months, years, maybe even decades, during which they aren't sure whether they're on the outside of Christian faith looking in, or on the inside looking around to see if it's real.

As with ordinary waking up, there are many people who are somewhere in between. But the point is that there's such a thing as being asleep, and there's such a thing as being awake. And it's important to tell the difference, and to be sure you're awake by the time you have to be up and ready for action, whatever that action may be.

This one was just too perfect to pass up. Due to a severe drought in Mexico, the remains of a 450 year-old church emerged from the receding waters of a reservoir. Architect Carlos Navarete, an expert on the structure, estimates that the building was likely constructed around 1564, then was abandoned because of the "big plagues of 1773-1776."

The church remained visible, however, until 1966 when a dam was constructed and the reservoir created. Plus, the church has even emerged from the depths once before, in 2002. That time, the waters receded so much that people could actually walk around the inside of the remains.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Either way, the image of whitewashed walls emerging wearily from the depths seems appropriate in an age in which many wonder about the role of the church in the modern world. A centuries-old, shell of a church building may not exactly be a sign from above, but it does serve as a reminder that God's Word is eternal, and that he has promised to return for his Bride.

The 137-mile long Atchafalaya River is a distributary of the Mississippi River that meanders through south central Louisiana and empties into the Gulf of Mexico, serving as a significant source of income for the region because of the many industrial and commercial opportunities it offers. Yet as scenic, productive, and enriching as this river is, it owes all its strength—all of it—to the mighty Mississippi. That's because a distributary doesn't have its own direct water source; it is an overflow of something else. So when the Mississippi is high, the Atchafalaya is high; and when the Mississippi is low, the Atchafalaya is low. What the Atchafalaya accomplishes depends wholly on something other than itself.

The church is a lot like the Atchafalaya River. Anything of value she accomplishes is always tied to her source. So if she somehow loses connection with it—with her first love, the Living Word—she loses all power. She dries up and empties.

Even though our churches are only able to be the object of revival rather than its producer, I don't think our waiting is as passive as it seems. Let me illustrate with an image from James K. A. Smith's book Imagining the Kingdom:

I cannot choose to fall asleep. The best I can do is choose to put myself in a posture and rhythm that welcomes sleep. I lie down in bed, on my left side, with my knees drawn up; I close my eyes and breath slowly, putting my plans out of my mind. But the power of my will or consciousness stops there. I want to go to sleep, and I've chosen to climb into bed—but in another sense sleep is not something under my control or at my beckoned call. I call up the visitation of sleep by imitating the breathing and posture of a sleeper … . There is a moment when sleep "comes" settling on this imitation of itself which I have been offering to it, and I succeed in becoming what I was trying to be. Sleep is a gift to be received, not a decision to be made. And yet it is a gift that requires a posture of reception—a kind of active welcome.

John Piper provides the following helpful illustration of the Holy Spirit before and after Pentecost:

Picture a huge dam for hydroelectric power under construction, like the Aswan High Dam on the Nile, 375 feet high and 11,000 feet across. Egypt's President Nasser announced the plan for construction in 1953. The dam was completed in 1970 and in 1971 there was a grand dedication ceremony and the 12 turbines with their ten billion kilowatt-hour capacity were unleashed with enough power to light every city in Egypt. During the long period of construction the Nile River wasn't completely stopped. Even as the reservoir was filling, part of the river was allowed to flow past. The country folk downstream depended on it. They drank it, they washed in it, it watered their crops and turned their mill-wheels. They sailed on it in the moonlight and wrote songs about it. It was their life. But on the day when the reservoir poured through the turbines a power was unleashed that spread far beyond the few folk down river and brought possibilities they had only dreamed of.

Well, Pentecost is like the dedicatory opening of the Aswan High Dam. Before Pentecost the river of God's Spirit blessed the people of Israel and was their very life. But after Pentecost the power of the Spirit spread out to light the whole world. None of the benefits enjoyed in the pre-Pentecostal days were taken away. But ten billion kilowatts were added to enable the church to take the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ to every tongue and tribe and nation.

Jason Brown was the highest paid center in the NFL, playing for the St. Louis Rams. In late 2011, Jason had two children, and a mansion with two fully-stocked bars, yet he and his wife were "dying inside" and were likely headed toward divorce. As a professed Christian, Jason had to admit that his relationship with Jesus was a ticket to forgiveness and little else—until he released his grip on money and football. Jason said he started releasing his grip on his lavish lifestyle by pouring thousands of dollars of expensive liquor down the drain.

After leaving the Rams and turning down three other teams, the Brown's put their home up for sale and bought a 100-year-old farmhouse with a dairy barn and 1,000 acres of uninterrupted land in North Carolina. Jason would become a farmer and give away what he grows. Jason learned farm basics from YouTube, which resulted in First Fruits Farm, an organization that seeks, through community and service, to boost Bible literacy.

Ten thousand pounds of cucumbers, and one hundred thousand pounds of sweet potatoes later, Jason says, "I literally still know nothing about farming." But Jason can summarize his business plan and his life these days with one word: "Obedience."

In the 2013 film, Gravity, Dr. Ryan Stone, played by Sandra Bullock, is a medical engineer on her first shuttle mission, with veteran astronaut Matt Kowalsky, played by Georg Clooney. On a routine spacewalk, the shuttle is destroyed by a freak hail of space debris, leaving Stone and Kowalsky completely alone. According to one description of the film, "They are tethered to nothing but each other and spiraling out into the blackness. The deafening silence tells them they have lost any link to Earth ... and any chance for rescue. As fear turns to panic, every gulp of air eats away at what little oxygen is left. But the only way home may be to go further out into the terrifying expanse of space."

After the film's release, the German magazine Der Spiegel asked 69-year-old German astronaut Ulrich Walter to fact-check the film. Walter said that after becoming completely untethered, Sandra Bullock's character would have died. The interviewer commented, "That doesn't sound like a very nice way to go, drifting through nothingness in a spacesuit, waiting to die."

But Ulrich replied, "When you're slowly running out of oxygen, the same thing happens as does when you're in thin air at the top of a mountain: Everything seems funny. And as you're laughing about it, you slowly nod off. I experienced this phenomenon in an altitude chamber during my training as an astronaut. At some point, someone in the group starts cracking bad jokes … A person who dies alone in space dies a cheerful death." In other words, your situation is hopeless, you're slowly dying, but you think it's funny.

Possible Preaching Angles: Is it possible that our entire culture is, in many ways, cut off from our spiritual oxygen supply, "drifting through nothingness, waiting to die" and yet "everything seems funny"? Is this an example of what Neil Postman called "amusing ourselves to death"?

Consider this mission statement of a well-known university: "To be plainly instructed and consider well that the main end of your life and studies is to know God and Jesus Christ." Founded in 1636, this university employed exclusively Christian professors, emphasized character formation in its students above all else, and placed a strong emphasis on equipping ministers to share the good news. Every diploma read, Christo et Ecclesiae around Veritas, meaning "Truth for Christ and the Church." You've probably heard of this school. It's called Harvard University.

Only 80 years after its founding, a group of New England pastors sensed Harvard had drifted too far for their liking. Concerned by the secularization at Harvard, they approached a wealthy philanthropist who shared their concerns. This man, Elihu Yale, financed their efforts in 1718, and they called the college Yale University. Yale's motto was not just Veritas (truth) like Harvard, but Lux et Veritas (light and truth).

Today, Harvard's and Yale's legacy of academic excellence are still intact. But neither school resembles what their founders envisioned. At the 350th anniversary celebration of Harvard, Steven Muller, former president of Johns Hopkins University, bluntly stated, "The bad news is the university has become godless." Larry Summers, the former president of Harvard, confessed, "Things divine have been central neither to my professional nor to my personal life."

Harvard's and Yale's founders were unmistakably clear in their goals: academic excellence and Christian formation. Today, they do something very different from their founding purpose. What happened to Harvard and Yale is called "Mission Drift."

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) Leadership; Church, mission of; Vision—"mission drift" applies to the leadership of the church. Greer and Horst write, "Mission Drift unfolds slowly. Like a current, it carries organizations away from their core purpose and identity." (2) Christian life; Backsliding; Spiritual formation—"mission drift" also applies to our individual spiritual lives.

What would it feel like to catch a 40-foot wave and ride it into shore? During a competition at surfing hot spot Maverick's, about 22-miles from San Francisco, a Sports Illustrated story described the incredible rides of a surfer named Darryl [the] "Flea" Virostko:

For his first wave, a 40-footer, he made a beautiful drop, essentially skiing down the face of the wave. The breaking wave exploded in a huge whitewash and Virostko raced ahead of it to safety … On his second ride, Virostko did something few surfers in the world can do. Rather than ski down the face of the 35-foot wave, he used his feet to point the nose of the board straight up and went free-falling … He positioned himself to catch the oncoming barrel and rode inside it. When he emerged from the tube, he surfed the wave to its terminus … On his third wave, Virostko … took off right at the peak of a 40-footer, made a graceful drop and rode it serenely. His [whole body] looked utterly relaxed though he was being chased by a wave big enough to kill.

Imagine sitting on a little board and having a forty-foot wall of water roaring at you and then deciding to stand up on that little board. I don't think anyone who surfs at Maverick's comes away thinking, "That was boring. Maybe tonight I can do something exciting like watch TV!"

A revival is a lot like catching a wave. At different times in history, God has built a wave for the church to ride. We can't manufacture a wave on our own efforts, but we can experience the thrill of getting on our boards and riding it in. That's why surfers use a phrase that also applies to Christians—"If it swells, ride it!" Like Virostko, we can be "utterly relaxed" while we're "being chased by a wave big enough to kill."

Imagine you're out for a hike on a beautiful spring day and you come to a creek. But there's something wrong with this picture. You notice that someone has dumped trash into the stream—an ugly sight. Judging by some of the empty soda cans, the trash has been there awhile. And there is an ugly film on top of the water. You can't just leave the scene as you found it, because it would bother your conscience. So you stoop down and begin gathering the trash.

It actually takes several hours before you can begin to see a difference; it's amazing how much junk is there. You sit back, rest for a moment, and realize you'll have to keep returning each day until the site is truly clean. But when you come back the next day, it's as if your work has been undone.

In fact there's more trash than before. Somehow the garbage bred overnight. You think about the unlikelihood of someone coming to this very spot to dump their garbage in the few hours while you were away, and you realize that something smells fishy—so to speak. So you begin to follow the creek upstream.

Sure enough, you come to a garbage dump that has been there for years. It's emptying into the passing creek. Your cleaning job only opened up a gap for more stuff to settle. You could go and clean every day …. If you want your creek to be clean, that means going directly to the source and dealing with what's there.

Possible Preaching Angles: According to the Bible, your heart is the source from which your life flows. Unfortunately, we spend great amounts of time, money, and energy—even in the church—doing trash removal "downstream." But real transformation begins when we travel upstream to the source of our heart. Our real battles take place in our heart.

In 1949, George Roy and Elizabeth Wood, an American missionary couple serving in northwest China and Tibet, were forced to leave the area. A local leader named Pastor Mung took over the church of 200 people. The Woods returned to America and by 1985 both of them had passed away without ever knowing what had happened to the church they started.

In 1988 the Wood's son George returned to China and met with Pastor Mung and his wife, who were now in their 80's. For 28 years the Communist government had done their best to extinguish the church. Pastor Mung wasn't allowed to preach and he spent nine of those years in prison for his faith. It was illegal to baptize or "indoctrinate" anyone under 18. When the government finally allowed Pastor Mung to reopen the church in 1983 there were only 30 (mostly older) people in attendance.

Assuming that the church was on its last leg, George Wood asked, "Pastor Mung, how many believers do you have today?" Pastor Mung's wife brought them a cardboard roll held together by yarn. The first page was filled with writing—five columns: name, age, gender, address, occupation. There were around 20 names. George Wood continued turning over page after page with the names of the baptized. Finally he asked the Mungs, "How many believers do you have now?" He said, "One thousand five hundred baptized believers." In disbelief George Wood asked, "How did this happen?"

Pastor Mung smiled as he shared his secret for church growth. It wasn't a technique or a program. He simply said, "Oh! Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. And we pray a lot!" Then he went on to describe what the Lord had done.

Pastor Mung died in 2006 at the age of 96. But when he passed, the number of baptized believers stood at over 15,000!