The Call

Joel 2:12-17:
"Now, therefore," says the LORD, "Turn to Me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning." So rend your heart, and not yur garments; return to the LORD your God, for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness; and He relents from doing harm. Who knows if He will turn and relent, and leave a blessing behind Him - a grain offering and a drink offering for the LORD your God?

Blow the trumpet in Zion, consecrate a fast, call a sacred assembly; gather the people, sanctify the congregation, assemble the elders, gather the children and nursing babes; let the bridegroom go out from his chamber, and the bride from her dressing room. Let the priests, who minister to the LORD, weep between the porch and the altar; let them say, "Spare Your people, O LORD, and do not give Your heritage to reproach, that the nations should rule over them."

For 14 hours we repented and forgave, petitioned and promised, mourned and danced. For 14 hours we pressed into the heart of God. Relationships were mended with communities of Native, African, and Latino Americans. Bonds were reforged between parents and children. We heard from Senator Brownback (in person) and George W. Bush (wrote a letter), Mike Bickle, Ron Luce, and Lou Engle. Mostly we prayed - in small circles, from our knees on the concrete step at our feet, or as a corporate body of people passionate to see their nation turn back to God.

Mostly we called upon the living God to beseech His mercies. We stood in turn as representatives of our regions and ethnic backgrounds to repent of the sins of our people and call upon the mercies of our Messiah. It was the first time in a public setting that I've been so aware of His presence and so aware of His omnipotence that I felt ashamed for my head being uncovered.

We stood, sat, knelt, laid, sang, danced, wept, and worshipped for hours in 90+ degree heat, unrelenting sun, and Tennessee-summer humidity. Many had to be carried out of the fray, and some hospitalized as organizers begged the people to drink more water.

Then, after the sun had mercifully set behind the walls of the stadium, and the cool of the night began to settle over us, we sang Be Praised to the One who is worthy and 300 men armed with shofars assembled at the back of the main isle. To the beat of a half dozen drums and under dim stadium lights they made their way to the stage, trumpets raised like swords over their heads. The man on stage talked of the walls of Jericho and one shofar sounded six short blasts. On the seventh, 300 shofars trumpeted and nearly one hundred thousand of God's people erupted in a shout of victory that made that Bible story completely plausible. If the walls of that stadium had been holding us back from our destinies in Christ, they surely would have come down.

I'd been standing on my seat and half a minute into the celebration, lifted my hands to heaven and felt the pleasure of a beautiful Savior like a wave through my spirit. And I wept again.

We're forgiven. We're free. Because our God hears our cries. He doesn't have to, and we're not worthy that He should, but He does because of a love I know with all certainty I will never understand. The spirit of our nation has stopped dead in her tracks and turned around. I guarantee it.