Despite growing up having heard of old-fashioned revivals under white canvas tents and watching a few of Billy Graham’s crusades on late-night reruns, I had never actually been to a revival — until now.
I didn’t know what to expect, and that’s probably the best gift I could have given myself: being open to whatever direction the Holy Spirit wanted to lead me.
The pavilion was packed with folding chairs, benches, Bibles, and people who either occupied the seats or stood with their hands in the air in praise.
Of all the churches I have visited, I often notice a peculiar pattern: they are highly segregated, and amongst those gathered, there are clear factions and underlying fractures.
The revival, however, was in a park, not inside a walled church. The people were the church, and God was present.
Scripture tells us that we are the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16) and the body of Christ, with each Believer a vital part of it (1 Corinthians 12:27). “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them” (Matthew 18:20).
Whatever invisible walls were present during the revival, the Holy Spirit was actively crumbling by the power of Jesus’ blood and name. After all, sometimes carpenters must break things down in order to rebuild.
I was captivated by the varied mix around me — Black, White, and Hispanic; rich and struggling; young and old; differing levels of faith and education.
God had brought us all together — bridging divides that the church itself has often failed to cross (despite a cross usually being prominently displayed behind pulpits and preachers).
The music was as earthy as it was otherworldly — raw and relatable. Tears filled my eyes and spilled before I could stop them from falling.
I looked not to my right or left, as this experience was not enhanced or diminished by the opinions or judgments of others. It was a special time to reconnect with the Lord.
The Texas heat pressed in, but the message burned hotter still. A Black pastor stepped to the front of the crowd and delivered the Word with unapologetic passion.
I share his color because he added color to his words that dispelled any level of tolerance or lukewarm Christianity that is prevalent in so many stuffy White churches I’ve experienced.
This pastor was more concerned about not offending God than he was about the people who showed up. This alone made him unlike any preacher or teacher I had heard.
After his talk, he invited people to pray, leave sin, and cleave wholly to Jesus. I saw grown men hugging, strangers praying together, and people getting baptized.
More than what I saw is what my Spirit felt. I recognized the presence of mighty angels encamped around us, hemming us in like a guarded fortress.
I saw shadows of sickness, addictions, and unclean thoughts slither to dark corners only to burn into embers when someone cried out to God. And I saw people become more than a worldly label: I saw them rise in their identity in Christ.
This was not the time for whispered requests and polite promises to keep someone on a prayer list. Instead, unrehearsed prayers poured out over long-buried groans.
The Holy Spirit used these cries as instruments to chisel away at hard hearts, helping to create something new and clean in their place (Psalm 51:10).
Even if you didn’t totally understand it, you couldn’t deny that something was happening: there was a force just beyond the veil, agitating demons, exposing half-truths, and rattling the cages of lies.
Something else happened that I was not expecting, yet I did not question whether it was supposed to happen.
The pastor came to my husband and prayed over him, telling him that he has been holding back and that he is anointed to do more for the kingdom of Christ. After the prayer, a gentleman behind us confirmed the pastor’s words, sharing that he, too, had been given the same discernment about my husband.
What these two men — strangers, but brothers in Christ — didn’t know is that I fervently pray for my husband daily… multiple times. God put it upon my heart a clarity… a knowing… that he is to be a vessel to share the power and peace that only God can bring, specifically to men.
The revival confirmed what God was already stirring in my husband’s life and what had been put upon my heart to pray for on his behalf, rooted in prayer and scripture.
Friends, we can trip ourselves up and limit our reach when we begin to doubt our qualifications or look to our history to define our future.
God’s reach is greater than anything we can see, imagine, or are qualified to do beyond our limited efforts. When God puts a calling upon your life, His arm will extend to the fullness needed to get you where you need to be for His glory.
My husband received prayer and the blessing, but more than that, he understood that faith without action is dead: it was incumbent upon him to trust the Lord to guide his next best step and to walk in faith (see James 2:17 and 2 Corinthians 5:7).
It would have been easy to leave the revival and let the honeymoon high fade into a fond memory. The hard part was just beginning. Being responsible and a good steward of the time, gifts, and talents the Lord bestows upon us is not to be taken lightly.
In truth, being a disciple of the Lord can feel heavy, like the cross we are called to carry (see Luke 9:23). And yet, in heaviness, we build spiritual muscles to help point others to life everlasting. Not all will understand, but we are not meant to keep tally of the wins and losses, but rather to remain faithful and leave the judging and the saving to God.
The next morning after the revival, I saw my husband reading the Bible, as I had witnessed many times before. Yet this time, he appeared more like a student than a part-time seeker. He was reading scripture not like a fortune cookie, but as the blueprint for life and living beyond this life… beyond himself.
He has been working toward being a faithful disciple for a long time, and the revival confirmed his path, even when he didn’t want to follow it, didn’t quite understand it, or didn’t believe it.
Where God calls, He will also protect and guide.
For my husband and me, he guided us to the revival. A true revival is not an event you attend — it is an encounter that changes you. It strips away every excuse, every hidden wall, and every comfortable compromise, leaving only surrendered hearts and fresh fire for the Lord.
The hard part has just begun… but so has the rewarding journey of living out the path the Lord has set before us. As scripture says, we are to continue to work out our salvation, knowing that God Himself is at work in us (see Philippians 2:12-13).
“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).
When the church sheds its figurative walls, it becomes what it was always meant to be — the living, breathing presence of God among His people.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. For more inspirational articles, follow ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.
