I Will Pour Out


      Beth Moore said that she loved the sound of rain falling, and that she had a recording of that sound that she often listened to as she went to sleep.  She said it was the sound of a heavy rainfall, and though she did go off to sleep, the one thing she noticed every morning when she awoke was that she was perfectly dry, not wet at all.  She was able to make the sound of rain, but she could not make the rain.  She thought this a great example of what so much of the church has been occupied with in these days; trying to make the rains of heaven and the Kingdom, but all the while, and despite all the effort, remaining completely dry, not rain soaked at all.
      In the late 19th and early 20th century, there were men who traveled through parched, drought afflicted lands, promising that they could bring rain.  Many of them were nothing more than con-artists, but there were among them, some who truly believed they could.  They were sincere, honest, and caring for the people they sought to help.  Yet they could make no rain.  I think we in the church today are sincere, honest, and truly desire to help those we seek to lead and serve in the church and outside of it.  We come together for conferences, meetings, and planning sessions.  We share the burdens, dreams, and even visions we believe we have to see the rain of His Spirit fall upon the church.  We talk about how we may see His Kingdom advance, His church grow, and we may even do so from a godly perspective, yet, in the end, we can make no rain.  The landscape remains parched, and the drought continues.  We are all of us thirsty, but are we thirsty enough?  Are we so thirsty that we cast aside all of our self-made rain making equipment, all of our techniques, plans, and even dreams, so that all that is left is He, and we?  Are we so thirsty that we come to Him, on our knees, face down, crying out, desperate?  So desperate that like Elijah, we will not cease our crying out until we hear the sound of thunder, and the storm clouds gather, the heavens open, and rain of the Holy Spirit fall upon us.  One of the old songs goes "I will pour water on him who is thirsty."  Tell me, are we thirsty enough?  Parched enough?  Has the drought gone on long enough?  Are we so desperate that nothing less than the true rain of the Holy Spirit will do?  Are we weary enough of trying to be rainmakers, and seek the heart and face of the only One who can bring that rain?
     Isaiah 44:3 reads, "I will pour out water on the thirsty land and streams on the dry ground.  I will pour out My Spirit on your offspring and my blessing on your children."  I heard it said that before we can be give His wondrous water, we must first admit to our overwhelming thirst.  Can we do this?  Can we admit that how we've lived, how we've "ministered," how we've been "doing church" has not been able to satisfy the evergrowing thirst within us?  Can we confess, and yes, repent of our dependence upon the rainmaking "tools" that we have devised?  Can we let go of the all the "bottled water" we have been drinking that we may have the refreshing, life giving waters that only He can provide?  Can we admit to how parched, dry, and drought ridden our lives, homes, and yes, churches really are?   Moore said that each week, we gather in our buildings, and like her recordings, we "make the sound of rain," with our music, our meetings, and our messages, but each week, we leave those places totally dry.  We've made the sound of rain, but we haven't received it.  Do we long to receive it?  Are we desperate for the rain only He can bring and give?  I have spent most of my life and ministry trying to find a way to bring the rain.  I cannot.  You cannot.  We cannot.  Will we come, confessing our thirst, crying out for His rain, His water, His life, that the waters of heaven will flow to and through us?  Let those waters flow.

Pastor O
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   May 2019   
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