Every year all the of the churches in the fellowship I grew up in would send their youth groups to a large youth conference. Each day included several sessions with speakers, youth group time, free time, off campus activities (seeing local sites, etc), and the national rounds of Bible quizzing, music, and drama. There were also concerts by big name Christian bands; Third Day, Jars of Clay, and Audio Adrenaline to name a few. (And one year I even got to get up on stage and dance with Rebecca St. James.) It was one of my favorite events of the year.

This event functioned as part youth rally and part revival. The speakers were asking us to get serious about our faith and to live it out well in our homes, churches, and schools. We were encouraged to be committed and faithful. And because you were there with your youth group there was a built in accountability system to keep you on track when you got back home. There was usually some speaker that got my attention during the week and I would feel convicted of something. Sometimes it was the silly stuff like the year a ton of people got rid of “secular” cds (probably to go home and buy them again. I got rid of a Celine Dion cd that year. Because I am edgy like that.)

The speaker about midway through one week was a guy named Bill Wilson. He is said to have started the largest Sunday School in the world. He lives and works in Brooklyn and has drawn thousands and thousands of kids into his children’s ministry by creating entertaining and high energy programming. He trained workers to follow up with kids, giving them attention and care. As he shared his stories of being in an incredibly poor area of the city, about the violence the children faced, about the violence he had faced by being present in the city (he had actually gotten shot several times), I couldn’t help but be moved. I was this kid from the sticks with a safe and secure home. My family wasn’t rich but we were okay and here was this guy who was doing ministry that really mattered.

Wilson is a no bullshit kind of preacher. He didn’t rely on humor to get people on his side. He simply told his stories. If anything he was kind of brash and harsh, occasionally shouting a bit at the crowd of youth. But everyone was hanging on his every word. I was definitely hooked.

At the end he said he was going to do an altar call. We were no stranger to altar calls; often emotional music would play and people would be encouraged to come forward, but Wilson didn’t want to do that. I still remember this clearly even though it was over a decade ago; He said, “I’m going to count to three. If you want to come forward, do it.” No sappy music, no drawn out speech, just a blunt you’re in or you’re out. He began to count: “One. Two” and when he said “Three” it sounded like a gunshot had gone off. It was the sound of stadium folding seats snapping up. The room surged forward; it felt like almost everyone was in motion. Within seconds there was no more room in the front of the auditorium because of all of the people on their knees. Youth were in the aisles and wherever else there was room.

When he said Three, I moved, too. I don’t remember knowing if I had planned on moving. But I was overcome. I found myself on my knees at the front of this stadium, weeping. Now, back then I was not someone who cried. Ever. In fact people were often concerned because of the way I held back my tears. But that night I was simply overcome. There is no other word for it.

There was something electric in the room that night. Something that compelled a massive group of people to be moved into motion. Now I know that some people will say it was the power of a manipulative speaker, but there had been lots of speakers who had used all sorts of rhetorical devices and in all of my years at this conference I had never seen a reaction like that one. And he didn’t use a lot of the hallmarks of other speakers who were trying to elicit an emotional reaction (descriptions of the crucifixion, sentimental music, etc.). And the feeling lasted for the next several days as people felt like they needed to change something in their lives; like they needed to root out something that was wrong.

Looking back on that event I still can’t really explain it. I don’t know what kind of lasting impact it had. But I do know that I am still thinking about it all these years later. There is still something about that night that bounces around in my soul. There’s something powerful about being in a room when something like that happens. I’m inclined to think that it’s not something that can be manufactured; not on that scale, not with that kind of response. Maybe it was the Spirit moving. Maybe it was a group response because of the pressure of the counting, I don’t really know. But it was a powerful experience and one I am not likely to forget even if I can’t explain it.

For years I tried to get that feeling back.

My churches growing up were big on praying for “revival”. They wanted the Spirit to sweep in and change people’s hearts and lives. Revival, in their minds, was a lot of individuals changing their hearts and lives and therefore changing society. It was about “holiness” which usually meant sexual “purity”, getting serious about reading Scripture, being active in your church, and witnessing to your neighbors.

The other day I was listening to an album by Johnnyswim and a line in one of the songs just about knocked me over: “While you’re praying for revival, I’m already living in one.”

There were so many years where I was begging God to change me, to make me “pure”, to help me take my faith seriously. There were so many years when I was praying for revival in my own life. I wanted more experiences where I felt moved like I did when Bill Wilson spoke. I wanted some dramatic life change that would make me feel like I was good enough.

But in that moment, when I heard that line of the song, I realized that it was talking about me. Revival happened in my life. It wasn’t about “getting right with God”, it was about realizing that God loved me just as I am. I didn’t need to get more involved in toxic churches, I needed to embrace a faith that was life-giving. Revival looks like health. It looks like wholeness. It looks like relaxing into the knowledge that I am a beloved child of God. It looks like embracing who I am (which includes being transgender and queer). It looks like taking Scripture seriously and understanding its context and also understanding it as a life-giving story that gives me meaning and hope.

Revival is here. It’s not something outside of us that we pray for to change us; it’s inside. It’s the fresh breeze of the Spirit blowing the dust off of our hearts. It’s being awakened to the work of God in the world. It’s opening our eyes to the needs of our neighbors and doing something about those needs. Revival is here. It’s the work of our hands. It’s praying with our feet. It’s ours to bring about.

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