On the following Wednesday night, about half of the school showed up at my church, along with my family. Youth Group was back on, but it was nothing more than lame fun and games. More exciting things happened at the adult’s prayer meeting than ever happened during the YG—so I went to the prayer meeting instead. Weird. I know.
I decided to sing and pray this time. I’d seen God do wild things at the school, so I was thankful—grateful. When I saw a few kids from the school walk in, I smiled at them, then closed my eyes and tried to focus. It was kind of tough. I wasn’t used to singing in front of anyone. Who cares? They’ve seen worse. Ha! Seeing my legs pulled out in different directions and up in the air must have been something to see.
I was so intent on thinking about the day in the Cafetorium and remembering the talk I’d had with the Principal afterward that I didn’t hear the sanctuary fill up. When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see the room filled with teenagers. My eyes bugged out. Many had their hands in the air, and many were down on their knees. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The pastor was already on the floor and pushed himself up off it and got the microphone. “You know, folks, I’ve come to the conclusion that all of our grabs for power and ambition, even our pride and everything sinful that we do—comes from wounds. But He, Jesus, was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities—those generational things that were passed down in our families. When we get wounded by other people, we react, and out of spite, we often sin, which causes us to inflict more wounds on ourselves.
“But Jesus . . .” said my Mom.
“But Jesus, indeed, Julie,” said the Pastor. “He took on our wounds—so we could be healed and have peace—the chastisement, the suffering so we could have peace was upon Him—He took it—and with His stripes, we are healed.”
“Amen,” the crowd of regulars responded.
“Who in here needs to be healed?”
Every hand went up, some more slowly than others, as they looked around to see if it was okay to raise their hands. My hand went up too.
“Then say this with me: ‘Jesus. I want to be free.’”
“Jesus,” the entire crowd said. “I want to be free.”
“I’m giving You my life,” he said as the crowd repeated each phrase after him.
“Please heal me. Heal my wounds. Forgive me for sinning against You and others. And I choose, as an act of my will, to forgive those who’ve hurt me. Save me and set me free, Jesus. I believe . . .” They said, repeating the words—the prayer—of the Pastor.
“…that You are the Messiah, the Son of God. You were born of a virgin, and You were crucified on that cross for my sins and for my wounds so I could be healed—so I could be free. And then, on the third day, You rose from the dead and then later ascended back to the Father. I give You my life. Make me Yours today.”
Cries and sobs broke out all over the room.
“Now, stay where you are,” said the Pastor, “Let the love of Father-God fill your heart with peace. Maybe you didn’t have a good earthly father, but this is a Daddy who’s given up everything so you can be together. Go ahead and start telling Him all the things you want Him to forgive. Let it all out. Tell Him everything. He knows it anyway. Give Him all those things you’ve done—so He can wash it all away and make you clean. Give Him all those impossible situations. Keep talking to Him. He loves you so much. He wants you to know you can connect with Him by talking to Him at any time. He’s always there waiting for you to come to Him. Nothing you want to say is too big or too small for Him. He cares about every situation in your life. He loves you.”
The pastor motioned to Anna and Simeon and the other elders of the church, both young and old, men and women, to place a drop of anointing oil on each student’s forehead and then to pray over them.
Someone began to play the guitar and sing over the teens, “O Lord—my God. I will praise You—with all my heart. I will glorify Your name—for—ever. For great is Your love toward me. You delivered me—from the depths of sin and captivity—I love You, Lord. I thank You, Lord—for saving me. For saving these kids right here, right now, tonight. We call forth, we call forth—their destiny from Heaven. We call down Your purposes—from heaven. Come forth. Come forth. Be awakened—to new life. Be energized—by the Spirit. You are called. You are chosen. Walk in the Light—of Je-e-sus. We love You, Lord—we lift our voices—to worship You—our souls rejoice—in You, and You alone.”
Simeon went to the platform and prayed, “Lord, we thank You for what You are doing in this place tonight. We seal each person who has given their life to You with the blood of Jesus that You shed on the cross, in the garden, and from the crown of thorns thrust onto Your head. Lord, bless this new generation of revivalists as they set this world ablaze with Your love, justice, and FIRE!”
As he said fire, the smell of a heavenly fireplace filled my nostrils. It was the scent of cedar and frankincense. The room erupted with the sound of new languages being spoken by the teens—unknown words and phrases and sounds filled their mouths—and tears fell from their faces until the wee hours of the morning. And when some kids’ parents showed up to take them home, they were so awed and overcome by the heavy atmosphere in the room—the presence of God—that they joined in, only to go home as the sun began to rise the next day.
My friends, if you want to meet Jesus as these teens did, say the prayer the Pastor prayed with them. If it’s heartfelt, it’s real. It’s really that simple. He loves you, my friend. You were worth all pain and suffering Jesus went through. He loves you.
If you found meaning and hope in this chapter, please share it with your friends and family.