Why I am a Christian (21)

Foretastes of Heaven in Worship Are Unlike Any Other Earthly Experience

In 2012 I jotted down all the reasons I could think of why I am a Christian. I found 26 so I decided to serialise them in a blog every fortnight for a year.

I have so far covered themes from the realms of science, philosophy and theology before looking at five different facets of Jesus (I could have explored many more). Then I looked at the inspiration, invincibility and influence of the Bible. This is the fourth of the last nine posts which are more personal and are based on my own experiences.

Last week, one of the churches I lead had a special celebration to mark the end of a quite substantial building project, so we invited the architect, the boss of the building company and his workmen to join us so we could thank them for their work and offer them gifts to show our appreciation.

One of the contractors was clearly unfamiliar with church and was astounded by what he experienced; a puppet-led presentation for the children, a full contemporary band, informality and friendliness all through the service, people dressed normally, real joy and a personal welcome with eating and drinking afterwards. He was evidently impressed, almost speechless, that church could actually be good. “It’s not like the sort of church you see on the telly is it?” he said.

No it isn’t. Our media’s preferred projection of church as either a twee, out of touch, rather judgmental, ageing, overly formal and above all boring institution, or from the eye-bulging lunatic fringe, is wildly at odds with the overwhelming majority of healthy, growing churches today. At the very least, it is a grossly unrepresentative stereotype favoured by lazy journalists and broadcastors who can't be bothered with basic research.

I have pastoral responsibility for two churches and, between them, there is a wide variety of worship styles. I happen to like all our services, from the more traditional, liturgical Holy Communion (dignified but not stuffy) to the energetic and chaotic Messy Church (accessible for and popular with families who don’t do ‘normal’ church), to the fluid, charismatic The Source (where spiritual gifts such as prophecy and tongues are encouraged and given full expression) – and everything in between.

There are times in any of these services where Heaven seems to touch Earth. These are stolen moments that cannot be artificially manufactured or prepared for. They arrive from nowhere, spontaneous instances of pure grace that make you glad to be alive and grateful that you belong to the family of God.

What do I mean by moments when Heaven touches Earth?

It could be to do with spiritual revelation. About a month ago at The Source for example, I had a word of knowledge. This is when people become aware of something that they have not learned by natural means. It’s a spiritual gift (mentioned in 1 Corinthians 12.8 and shown in operation in John 4.17-18). 

I felt strongly that someone in the congregation (there were perhaps 30-40 people present so it wasn’t a vast crowd) had pain at the base of the back of the neck, just to the right hand side. I pointed to a very precise spot and said that if that corresponded to anyone, they should come forward for prayer.

There were other words of knowledge about this time so it was no surprise to me that five or six people came forward for prayer. What did surprise me though is that not one but three people, one after another, revealed to me that they had pain in exactly the spot I had indicated. 

Furthermore, I learned the following day that the woman who prayed with me for those who came forward, Sandra Griffiths, had suffered from pain in that exact spot for about four years but decided she would not ask for prayer as three others had already been prayed for. However, when she got home that night she noticed that her pain had gone. When she woke up the next day, it was still gone and has not come back since.

The most amazing experience of this kind I have ever had was as a visitor at a Prophecy Day in Versailles, France in 2003. There was a detailed prophetic message for me, including a revelation of my Christian name, by someone who did not know me.

The words were so accurate that my pastor at that time Anthony Wells said to me afterwards that if he had just heard an audio recording of that prophecy and somebody had asked “who do you think, of all the 6 billion people in the world, this is describing?” he would answer without hesitation that it was about me. It was slightly scary! I have since invited the man who gave that prophecy, Mark Aldridge, to speak at similar meetings and I have seen his remarkable gift of spiritual revelation overwhelm people I know well and have had pastoral responsibility for.

Other moments when Heaven has touched Earth are more sacramental; a means of grace through a physical, symbolic act. I wrote about Holy Communion in Reason 20 and how it uniquely seals the special bond of affection between believers. That’s the horizontal aspect of the Lord’s Supper. But the vertical aspect is profoundly beautiful as well.

I won’t lie, there are times when taking the bread and wine is as mundane an experience as it is possible to have. But there are others when eternity seems to break in to time and the soul exults in the unfathomable depths, the exquisite wonders and the holy mysteries of God’s amazing grace. I have seen people unspeakably moved at the Communion rail, from quite small children to elders in their 90’s.

I have at times myself become moved with emotion as I have presided at the Lord’s Table. There are moments when the meekness and majesty, the sorrow and splendour and the tragedy and triumph of the cross affect me profoundly as I break the bread; “This is my body, broken for you” and hold out the cup, “This is my blood, poured out for you.”

Other moments when Heaven has touched Earth have been in musical worship. Sometimes (and it can be led by a choral group with the organ or by a contemporary band with bass guitars and drums) everybody’s heart seems to be touched at once. The volume lifts unprompted. The passion rises. Or a holy stillness descends. Heads humbly bow. Hands rise upwards unselfconsciously. Smiles may appear. Tears sometimes roll down cheeks. Eyes close and people just savour the goodness of the Lord. It can be a time of rocking exuberance. Or it can be a moment of tender intimacy.

I think that this is what David was reflecting on when he wrote these words to describe visits to the mobile temple (called the tabernacle) to worship almighty God.

How priceless is your unfailing love, O God!
People take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
They feast in the abundance of your house;
you give them drink from your river of delights.
For with you is the fountain of life;
in your light we see light.

(Psalm 36.7-9).

Other moments when Heaven has touched Earth have been in the noisy, child-friendly services for mostly unchurched families. We call it Messy Church. Children can be incredibly sensitive spiritually. Actually, it doesn’t have to be in church at all.

One of our most treasured “Heaven touching Earth” moments was when our daughter Anna was about 2 or 3 years old. She was buckled up in the back of our old Citroen 2CV one damp, misty morning. I tried several times to start the car, but to no avail. I suppose I must have tried in vain to start the motor for about 10 minutes but, though the engine turned, it wouldn’t fire. I got out and looked under the bonnet (as if I would know what to look for but, who knows, there might have been something obvious like a dead badger under there). Alas, there was nothing.

I tried again, failed again, and sighed noisily, looking helpless as only men who know absolutely nothing about cars really can. Then, from the back seat, a little voice squeaked “Come on Jesus, start the car!” I hoped Anna’s childlike faith would not be shattered by our useless, unreliable (French - just saying!), shiftless old banger stubbornly refusing to start yet again. But, resigned, I put the key back in the ignition. I turned the key. It started perfectly.

Other moments when Heaven has touched Earth have been in preaching. Most Christians have their favourite preachers. I have mine. Some are profoundly insightful (like David Pawson and Ravi Zacharias). Others are inspirationally fiery (such as Philippe Joret and Tony Campolo). Some are very funny story tellers (like Eric Delve and Mike Pilavachi). Still others are weighty and serious (such as C.J. Mahaney and R.T. Kendall). 

It doesn’t really matter about the style; the fact is, when Heaven touches Earth in preaching, the heart begins to race quicker, passion for God is stirred and faith rises up in the soul.  

There is a difference between brilliant secular oratory, the sort Winston Churchill was famous for, and anointed preaching. The former can move the emotions and bolster resolve or pride. It may be a matter of life and death. The latter is the heralding of good news that not only stirs the affections, it fires up the soul. And it's much more important than mere life and death - it determines eternal destinies.

I have had many moments of Heaven touching Earth as I have listened to, and engaged with, Spirit-filled, biblical preaching; times when I have had to say “I cannot go on living like I did before. I am leaving this place resolved and empowered to live a different way.”

Canadian pastor and author Guy Chevreau in his book Vital Signs of a Healthy Church sums up very well what I've been trying to say here. "Worship in Spirit and truth, seeing things as God sees them, attentiveness, alignment of heart, restoration and redemption, direction and revelation, may seem too much to hope for in a single service of worship. We're certainly left forever changed should we experience such holy glory."

Foretastes of Heaven, usually in the context of worship, are quite unlike any other earthly experience I have known. They are the 21st reason I am a Christian.

There’s an atheist “church” that has recently started up in London. Weirdly, it's leader has long hair and a beard and looks a bit like Jesus! It’s quite popular actually. There are no prayers of course and the content is entirely secular. They sing songs, read poems or great literature, listen to a talk and meet up with each other over coffee. It sounds quite nice.

But as Oscar Wilde said, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” 

I sometimes wondered if the expression "If church didn’t exist, someone would have to invent it" was a slight exaggeration. But someone now has, absolutely proving the point. Some people feel they really need what church offers but, sadly, just don’t believe in God.

I wonder if they experienced any of what I have described above, and I have dozens more examples I could have shared, whether they would have the courage to question their doubts. For all the enjoyment, even inspiration, you can glean from reading Rudyard Kipling and singing The Beatles and listening to someone prattle on about virtue or self-worth, they are not sublime foretastes of the heavenly realm are they?