13. Moments with the Holy Spirit -- a Personal Memoir

This series contains some personal stories in which the Spirit did things with people.  Some of these may make you laugh, some may make you shed a tear, and some may make you marvel.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:02

This is episode 13 of the book I wrote, uh kind of like a letter to my children and grandchildren, called Moments with the Holy Spirit, a personal memoir. I'm going to continue with some more stories. This story is titled Shot in the Foot. As I was making my rounds in Chapel Hill to introduce myself as the new Baptist pastor, I noticed that there were about a dozen men who were always hanging around, quote, downtown, clearly unemployed. When I spoke to them, it became obvious that they all that all they did was to spend the day drinking their welfare checks. My family and I arrived in Chapel Hill in late October. Then, on the night before Christmas Eve, a huge dome of bitterly frigid air overtook southeast Texas. For 14 days in a row, the daytime temperature did not get above freezing, with the average daytime highs being in the mid-twenties under a bright blue sunny sky. After the initial cold blast that first night, I wondered how these men had fared, for they all seemed to, for all they for all they seemed to have, were the clothes on their backs. So I got with the church members to gather some money to buy them some winter necessities, such as coats, hats, scarves, and of course, gloves. Some members even donated jeans and long sleeve work shirts. And it was in distributing these things to these men. It's how I got to know them to some degree. Well, winter passed and spring came. And one day I received a phone call at home. This is way before cell phones. The voice on the other end spoke in a dramatic voice saying, Pastor, come quick. There's been a shooting downtown. A shooting? I wondered. This isn't Houston. So I jumped in my vet, my quick my chevette, and quickly drove toward downtown. As I came down the main street, I saw one of the guys waving me over. When I parked and got out of my car, he breathlessly said, Pastor, quick, follow me, and he led me behind one of the downtown businesses. There was the rest of the gang all standing around one of their group who was sitting in a rickety old chair. I immediately noticed a little stream of blood coming from the bottom of one of his shoes. Alcohol thins the blood, and the daily abuse of alcohol really thins the blood. In fact, although this was a black man, his skin had a yellowish hue to it, a sign of jaundice due to his liver shutting down. I asked if an ambulance had been called from the hospital in Brenham. Someone confirmed that an ambulance had been called, so I figured the best thing I could do was to get this guy talking so he didn't pass out. So looking at the bottom of the so looking at the man's shoes, I noticed that there was a hole in the top of his shoe. I asked, Why do you have a hole in the top of your shoe? This guy, who was clearly drunk, said in a slurred voice as he pointed, Do you see that guy? Looking at who the man was pointing at, I said, Yes. Well, he dared me to shoot myself in my foot. What? The guy chuckled as if this was funny. I then looked more closely at the man's shoe and saw that there were two holes in his shoe. You have two holes in your shoe. The guy got a little serious, but still slurring his words, he said, Yeah, the first time I thought I missed. Literally shocked. I said, So you shot yourself in your own foot twice? This guy chuckled some more and said, Yep. There was an old saying in my day, don't shoot yourself in your foot. Meaning, don't do something stupid to yourself. I have a real life example of someone doing something really stupid to himself by shooting himself in his own foot twice. Next story. I'm sorry, let me resay that. The navy blue baby buggy. A couple in the congregation where the Holy Spirit manifested himself in profound ways came to me to ask for help for one of their longtime friends. They told me how this woman had been in multiple mental hospitals, as well as in and out of many, many counseling clinics due to having a variety of quote mental illness labels. This sounded far beyond my experience, so I told them that I could provide them with the phone numbers of some people I knew who were more equipped to handle such a person. While they appreciated these potential referrals, they still wanted me to at least meet with this woman one time. I agreed to do this and told them to have this woman call me to schedule an appointment. A few days later, this woman called, and because I wasn't sure what I might be getting into, I scheduled our meeting an hour before the Sunday evening service. This way, I figured, if I was in fact in over my head, I could politely end the meeting by pointing out that as one of the pastors I needed to be in attendance of the evening service, and then I could give her my referrals where she might get help. When this woman arrived at my office and sat down, she got right to business by telling me her very, very, very long history of being in mental hospitals and therapy sessions with all sorts of professional counselors. And as she spoke at about a hundred words an hour, with bursts up to 200, she was at the same time in constant motion, going from a normal sitting position to the fetal position, twisting in her chair. Her constant motion was almost making me seasick, just watching her. On a few occasions when she seemed to take a breath, I tried to interject something into her raging river of words. And at this, she would tell me the name of the author and the page number in his book where I had learned what she what I had said to her. And she was right. She told me she had an identic memory. This was all all so overwhelming, I couldn't wait for it to be time for me to close our session. And mercifully, at about 10 minutes before the evening service, I said, Wow, you certainly have a lot going on, but I don't think I'm qualified to be of any help. However, I can give you the names and phone numbers of some people who may be able to help you. She said, I've been in and out of so many, many counselors, therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists, and none of them have been of any help. I like you though, because you seem to be good at listening. I thought all I could do was to listen, for she absolutely dominated her tsunami of words. But then I thought, oh well, I can at least listen, or she seems to at least want to talk. So I said, okay, I'll meet with you on Sunday evening, an hour before the evening service, and we'll take it a week at a time. She agreed with this, and so every Sunday evening we met. And when it was time to conclude for the evening service, I would say, I have no idea what to say to you, but I know at some point Jesus will do something to help you. Week after week, Sunday evening after Sunday evening, for four or five months, this is what we did. She would talk and talk and talk, and I would try to listen. Although one of her issues was agrophobia, fear of crowds, I suggested she try to attend one of the Sunday morning services. Sure enough, one Sunday morning, about fifteen minutes after we began, she slipped into the auditorium and sat down on the last chair on the last row by the door. Then, about fifteen minutes before we ended, she would slip out. Then came Easter Sunday morning. Because of the very increasing presence of the Holy Spirit among us, the auditorium was even more packed due to those who only go to church on Easter morning to perform their perfunctory annual obligation to some Jesus in whom they quote believe. At the end of the service, the senior pastor invited people to come forward for prayer. And as we four pastors stood ready to minister to people, coming down the center aisle in front of this huge crowd was this woman. I was shocked to see her. When she came to me, she was trembling and sort of freaking out because she was trembling. She said, something's happening to me. What is this? Just try to calm yourself, I said. It appears Jesus is attempting to do something, as I've been telling you for all these months, to help you. I put my hand on your shoulder and invite the Spirit to come closer and to help you. She said I could, and when I did, closing my eyes for a moment to focus myself, I had a closed vision. In this vision, I saw Jesus coming down a sidewalk pushing an old-time navy blue baby buggy with big white wheels and a large hood. The smile on his face was riveting. When he got close to me, he pulled back the large baby buggy hood to show me what was inside. It was this woman. When I looked up at Jesus in surprise, he said, Oh, how I love this woman. The power of the message of his words made my knees weak. When the vision ended, I began to tell this woman what I saw. And when I got to the end, telling her what Jesus said in this vision, she collapsed to the floor. It seemed to me that she needed what we came to refer to as some floor time, in which the Spirit would do something with a person while he had their wrapped tension. I then moved on to minister to others who had come forward. As things were winding down, I went back to this woman. She was still laying on the floor. After she needed help, some help to get up and getting up, because people's knees are usually weak after such encounters. Once I got her into a chair, I sat down next to her. For the first time she was perfectly calm and still. There was none of the constant agitated motion she manifested in my office each time we met. Clearly the spirit did something. After several minutes in which she seemed to be trying to take in what he did, she said, For as long as I can remember, I've had a recurring dream two or three times every week. Wow, I said. And in all the psych hospitals and with all the psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, and counselors I've had all these years, I have never, not one time, ever told any of these people about this recurring dream. Really? What was the dream? In my dream that I have had several times a week for many years, I'm walking down a sidewalk, pushing an old-time navy blue baby buggy with white wheels and a large hood. I know in the dream that the baby in this buggy is me, and I'm looking for a way to kill it. I just shook my head in disbelief. Although no human being, including me and all the people she'd gone to for help, knew anything about this recurring dream. Jesus knew about it. And in his act to heal this woman, he took this dream, changed it up somewhat, and penetrated her heart and mind with something that was more than mere theology, that of he truly and deeply loved her. In other words, what Jesus did was revelation to this woman's heart and mind, and not just Bible information for her to know about. Galatians 2.20. I've been crucified with Jesus. I no longer live, but he lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. The next story discernment. On one occasion, in which we were having one of our usual ministry times at the end of a service where people are seeking help from the Holy Spirit for some issue, physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual, I noticed two women who were laying on the floor about 10 or 12 feet apart. They each had already encountered the Spirit in some way and were showing physical signs of this. And as I looked at them, they were both manifesting the exact same physical indicators of being touched by the Spirit. It was almost as if they were in perfect sync with each other, even though their eyes were closed and they were separated by several feet. As I approached the first woman, and again, despite having her eyes closed, he growled at me with a demonic growl. I motioned for a few people to come help me, and after they got started dealing with this demon, I detached and moved toward the second woman, assuming, of course, that she too was demonized. And when I drew close to her, she was in a happy state of perfect peace. Perplexed by this, the Holy Spirit seemed to tell me that one cannot discern something spiritually and supernatural by one's eyes. For our eyes can deceive us. See 1 Corinthians 2, 12 through 14. And of course, 1 John 1, chapter 4. Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God. And speaking of the importance of being discerning, the following story that happened early in my education really hit home with me. It was shocking, actually. In my first semester at seminary, the professor of my philosophy of religion class assigned several books he wanted us to read. I'm sorry that all these years later I don't recall the title of this particular book, but I do remember the impact it had on all of us in the class. When I began to read this book, the author went chapter by chapter explaining the basics of Christianity, what some call the charygma. For example, the first chapter was on the Father, chapter two was on the Son, chapter three was on the Holy Spirit, then came baptism, the Lord's Supper, salvation, etc., until he covered all the basics of Christianity. As I read, because this author did such a good job explaining each of these topics in such an easy to understand way, I thought of purchasing copies of this book to use in teaching and discipling new converts. Personally, I was enjoying the book very much. Then at about half at the halfway point, the beginning of the next section, the first thing the author says is that he is an atheist. What? There's no way. How can this be? I wondered out loud. The author then spends the rest of the book explaining chapter by chapter, issue by issue, why none of these things, the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, baptism, the Lord's Supper, salvation, etc., are in are in any way actually true. Well, it's probably probably needless to say, but the following week, when this class met, the angry atmosphere of all the students was rather intense. Most of the students were angry at the professor for exposing them to such evil literature by an atheist. There were many who were more than just angry, or some were confused. After all, how could the author have been able to explain the foundational issues of Christianity as an avowed atheist? After letting people vent and things began to calm down a little, the professor asked us why we thought he would have us buy and read such a book. For the first time since the class began, there was some thoughtful silence. In a few minutes, as the professor allowed his question to percolate, I slowly raised my hand. Yes, Mr. Koons? Uh maybe because the person, maybe because a person can learn the concept of Christianity and even clearly explain them. But this doesn't mean the person has been born again by the Holy Spirit and thus believes these biblical concepts. Professor smiled and said, that is exactly correct. Knowing stuff, even accurate stuff about Jesus is good and even important, but is not the same thing as intimately and personally and relationally knowing Jesus, and as a result, wanting to love him and in loving him, wanting to obey him. John chapter five, thirty seven to forty. You have never heard the Father's voice, Jesus said to the Pharisees, nor seen his form, nor does his word dwell in you, for you do not believe or trust the one he sent. You diligently study the scriptures because you think that by them you possess eternal life. These are the scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life. Next story. Oh the blood or love. At the congregation I've been referring to, in which we had an outpouring of the presence of the Holy Spirit, there were many power encounters, times in which people were born again by receiving the Spirit or being healed in various ways by the Spirit, or even delivered of being demonized by the Holy Spirit. Initially, when there were just four of us pastors, the oldest pastor had on occasion, on a couple of occasions in his past dealt with people who were demonized. So of the four of us, he was the only one who had any experience with this. Thus, he was the one who stepped up to deal with it again, where he seemed to love seeing people set free from the influence of a demon or demons. On one such occasion, he was dealing with a particularly stubborn demon who kept refusing to leave the person. When the pastor asked its name, it claimed to be the Prince of North Korea, which was its way of stalling and mocking the deliverance process. So at some point, and being the pastor who led worship, he changed his tactic by beginning to sing an old hymn. Oh the blood of Jesus. Oh the blood of Jesus. Oh the blood of Jesus. It washes white as snow. I won't sing it, I don't have much of a singing voice. At this, the demon increased its mockery by acting like it was taking a shower and even saying, Blood of Jesus, I wash in the blood of Jesus. This moment momentarily stumped this pastor, breathing quickly recovered by singing, Oh, the love of Jesus. Oh, the love of Jesus. Oh, the love of Jesus. It sets us completely free. This version profoundly agitated this wicked spirit. He began screaming and telling the pastor to stop singing. This pastor ignored this thing and sang even louder. And the more he sang, the more the demon begged and pleaded to leave. But when it did, the pastor commanded it in the name of Jesus to stay. And he kept singing about the love of Jesus to the demon, screaming in torment. Finally, the pastor asked, Have you had enough? Yes, yes, please, please let me go. So this pastor told to get the hell out, which it did immediately. One of the team members asked this pastor why he did not, he would not let the spirit leave when it wanted to leave, especially since you've been so resistant to leaving. He smiled and said, I guess I just enjoy tormenting it, giving it a dose of what it has done to many others. I love that story. This one's titled Humpty Dumpty. When my children were young, and besides praying for them when I would put them to bed, they love listening to stories I would make up about Jerry the Giant, that's my oldest son, Jared, Ned the Giant, that's my second son, Nathan, and Erica the Giant, that's my daughter Aaron, which always ended by me saying, Oh, how either Jerry, Ned, or Erica's daddy and mommy very much love whoever it is, you know, Jared, Nathan, or Aaron. I also at times would tell them the following version of a classic childhood poem. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a very great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not put Humpty Dumpty back together again. So the bridegroom king himself came. And he put Humpty Dumpty back together again because he is the only one who can. Yes, and amen. A girl with a broken leg. Our congregation made a connection with a husband and wife missionary team located in Piedras Negras, Mexico. Various groups from our congregation made a number of trips there to help the pastor and his small church. When some other churches heard about some of the things the Spirit was doing through us, they asked us to come minister to their churches. The congregation I went to had about a hundred people. It was my first time to preach through a translator. At the end, I asked through the translator if anyone needed physical healing. The people began calling the name of someone. The bottom line was that she had a serious fall and broke her shin and ankle. So I put my hand on her shoulder, invited the spirit. Suddenly something seemed to happen, for I recognized that unusual heat in my hands when the spirit does something like physical healing. And when this happened, I noticed the surprise look on the young girl's in the young girl's eyes. I asked the translator to ask her if she felt something. She said she did. She then put down her crutches and began to sort of walk with the cast, initially gingerly putting her body weight on her leg. After a few steps, she began, in Spanish, of course, asking those around her to get the cast off of her. Several people jumped to it. In a moment her leg was free, and she walked around completely normal. At this she began to weep with gratitude, saying, Gracias, Senor, gracias, Senor, muchas gracias, Senor. The place went crazy. Sometimes I wonder why we don't see much of this sort of expressed power by the Holy Spirit. I believe at least the main reason is the profound amount of compromise in the church in this country. And along this line, most of us don't need Jesus. After all, we can go to expensive doctors, most of whom are pretty limited in what they can do, and again, usually at a high price. For example, a friend who used to be on the worship team at the church where I was at encountered a group of about a dozen people who were from China at a coffee shop. This was unusual since the Chinese government usually didn't allow their people to travel outside of China, and especially to travel to the United States back in the late 1990s. So he introduced himself to them, and being curious, he asked some questions. Turns out that they all worked with a Chinese company that had an office here in the States. Further, they're all involved in the underground church in China. This really intrigued my friend, so he asked even more questions. And in this conversation, one of them mentioned that his group had just finished a 21-day fast. A 21-day fast? Wow, that's pretty serious. Why did you guys do this? Well, said the man, we hadn't seen anyone raised from the dead lately, and we thought that maybe we had offended the Lord. Raised from the dead? You've had people raised from the dead? Not all the time, said this man, matter of factly, but yes, we not only see people healed of various issues, but we have also seen people raised from the dead. Question Is anyone being raised from the dead in this country? In fact, where's the divine power for anything in this country? Shouldn't we be asking why this is? I'll stop there.