Friends, welcome to The Book of Common Words, where we explore the Christian spirituality of being human through poetry and prose about my life, art, and the Christian faith. I’m your writer, Aaron. This publication is 100% reader supported. Thanks for joining me in this exploration.

I guess there was a revival this time last year.

It was at a college, with a bunch of college-age kids being drawn to an experience of God for something like twelve days.

I don’t know how I feel about it all. Or even if I’m supposed to have feelings about it. I mean, I wasn’t there. It wasn’t something I was a part of, and who am I to say anything about someone else’s experience of the divine?

But, I do have feelings about it. They called it a revival, and that word triggers a lot of history in me.

I used to pray for revival. I was raised to pray for revival. There were prophecies and teachings on how there needed to be a revival in this nation, in “this generation.” Revival was going to end the culture wars. See, if the people would humble themselves and turn back to God, then abortion would stop, traditional families would reconcile, and the church would rise to prominence in society once again. All the things that the good charismatic fundamentalist I was raised to be longed for. All the things I was told were holy.

Revival turned into a code word for a mass emotional experience. The idea was that there would be sorrow, weeping, rejoicing, miracles, and wonders. If this happened on a national level, then God’s people would be triumphant. We would have prayed in the right way. We would have fasted hard enough. We would have been faithful in daily devotions, worship, church attendance and all the other things God required of us for personal holiness.

This is what I was raised to pray for. This is what I begged God for. I wanted revival to break out, for God’s glory to fill the earth like the waters covered the sea. I believed God could move in power like he did for Peter, Paul, and Mother Mary. If only we could get it right and not stand in his way.

I’ve experienced God at various times in ways that fit into this concept of revival I was raised to look for. I’ve felt something come over a group of people singing Jesus songs, something that made us weep and laugh and spontaneously sing and pray. I’ve been places where those slain in the spirit through prayer were scattered across the church stage as people continued to pray fervently over them. I’ve had some crazy shit happen that I swore at the time was supernatural.

All of these things centered on an emotional experience. I look back and see emotional manipulation. Even if it was unintentional, it was still manipulation. Put together the right series of musical notes and songs and something can be triggered psychologically in the human brain.

Now, am I saying that all these experiences were nothing more than hyped up emotions?

I don’t know.

I do know that any time I hear about a revival these days, I automatically assume it’s emotionalism and not really divine.

But…

I’ve been slain in the spirit and know it wasn’t a put on due to any pressure to have it happen. I’ve been in worship sessions where the music just kept going and we felt the presence of God (or something).

My cynical nature keeps me from buying into the experiences as anything more than emotionalism, and my own testimony reminds me that things happen I can’t explain

So, I don’t know what to do with the revival at Ashbury.

What I do know is that everything dies.

Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. When we received ashes on our foreheads, we are reminded that we will die with the words “you are dust, and to dust you will return.” Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, birth to death… no one gets out of here alive.

We want to rush ahead from Christmas to Easter, from birth to resurrection, but the truth is, there is no resurrection unless we die first, and everything dies. The grave may have lost its position as the end of all things, but we still get buried. Even in the life-giving sacrament of baptism, we must pass through the waters of death to receive life on the other side. We can’t simply move from one joy to another, from Christmas directly into Easter; we pass from birth to death to new birth. We must walk into and through Lent.

So, what is revival if not some sort of resurrection? The word itself means a restoration or reawakening, implying there was a loss of life prior to this life again. But what now? What happens when the music fades, when the preaching stops, when the sense of the Spirit dissipates and we walk back into the wold of hurried traffic and jobs and school and diapers and snot?

That’s exactly what Jesus did.

The Sunday before Ash Wednesday, we remember and celebrate the transfiguration, a revelation of the Glory of Jesus. There he shines with the light of the stardust that makes up those atoms in his body. Heavenly glory descends on a mountain top, Jesus converses with the long dead lawgiver and prophet, and he shines before the eyes of the disciples. A voice from the cloud of the glory of God speaks that Jesus is the beloved and we should listen to him. Then, in an instant, everything is back to normal.

Jesus comes down from the mountain and begins telling his followers that he has to go and die. Even Jesus knew that the revival he was part of on the mountain top wasn’t something that would last forever. Jesus knew he had to go through death so he could see resurrection on the other side.

Maybe revival isn’t something to scoff at. Maybe the emotion and passion that occurs in people when songs are played, and preaching is done well is something to pay attention to… but it’s not salvation. It’s not the end. It’s not a way to bypass death.

We saw the transfiguration of Sunday; on Wednesday, we all received the ashes of death. And this is how it should be. We aren’t meant to stay in glory yet. We aren’t made to stay sequestered from the world, locked away in a chapel where we can pray and sing till our hears are bursting. We are supposed to walk in a dying world because we ourselves are on our way to death, and through that death we will find resurrection, and maybe we can bring the world with us.

Maybe this is why glory breaks through sometimes, so we can be reminded of what’s coming, what the new heavens and the new earth are going to be all about. Maybe we’re supposed to remember that we are made of stardust as well as ash. Maybe we’re supposed to hold this life abundantly in tension with the grave of death that we all are marching towards.

Maybe sorrow and joy are two sides of the same experience, and we need one to feel the weight of the other.

I will not sit here and say not to fret over the sorrow and pain in your life because resurrection is on it’s way. That’s the kind of shit that takes us right out of the reality of the world and would have us skip over the necessary beauty of Lent. What I will say is the life is at the end. We aren’t doomed to death; we are destined for life. Easter is coming, but this time of mortification that culminates in a Cross and a grave comes first.

So maybe we should pray for revival, while knowing full well it’s going to mean our death comes first: death to self, to ego, to power, to control. And we are going to lose things and people we love. That’s the price of revival, the reality of the grave. Even if resurrection is coming, we weep. Maybe it’s with hope, but still, we lament and weep and seek justice, seek wholeness, equity, and righteousness. We seek liberation of our brothers and sisters and siblings.

Death is already all around us. I think right now specifically of the anti-trans bills that are being passed all over the country. That’s not revival, as much as some people think it is. It is the sting of death. It is the sorrow that threatens to consume us. It is the pre-curser of resurrection. It’s not the end of the story… but it hurts people like hell. This is where our repentance should be. This is where we should humble ourselves, turn back to God, seek justice, see the liberation of bonds and captives. This is where we should seek revival.

May revival come, and may it be the justice of the Lord.

May we all die first, so we all can experience resurrection.

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