"Heritage........................"

Late Thursday evening my youngest daughter called me from the church youth camp, choked up, tears in her voice, relating to me how all four of the grandkids attending were submerged in His presence up at the altar. This was no doubt the deepest McKenna, about to turn thirteen, has ever been into such waters. Her mother has returned every year since she, herself, went the first time, the five-day event packed with three services daily and, other than some sports competition, the only other attraction for these teens being romance. A tight rein is held, though, insuring “love in bloom” goes no farther than conversation, a walk together in the midst of a crowd where an adult eye is always present, conversation in the dining area sharing a coke with friends. It is this heavy encounter with the Holy Ghost, though, that marks the event. To say it occurs every night would be a lie. The Spirit dictates His own appearance, the water rising to different levels, the arena not the same every time, a sanctuary not defined by its pulpit and pews, but by willing hearts feeling a tug on their heart, sensing that knock on their door and surrendering to a reality that confirms their faith. Yet, as powerful as this moment of fusion can be, through the years I’ve found it to be no guarantee of any individual’s commitment to the relationship and it makes me wonder if we, as a group of believers, haven’t failed to teach (as much as any of us understand this provision of the Gospel) what “Christ in me” really means. How can anyone, having experienced more than a “mental conversion” (with no attempt here to isolate a “Pentecostal speaking-in-tongues baptism into His identity” as the only immersion out there), walk away afterwards with no desire to know it again? It happens. Not so sure about the “no desire”, it being hard to determine what is going on inside another person, each of us dealing with our own history, hurts, and hard-headedness. In truth, this is a journey and the best I can do is be a father and a grandfather to these whom He has given me, a vessel through which He can witness, not via chapter and verse, but by manifestation of that which I profess to possess in Him. Either He lives, or we’re just playing with religion. I am grateful for His grace as we go……