Chapter One
THE BIG QUESTION
I love Indian food. Just a few months ago, after years
of mouthwatering waiting, the first Indian restaurant
opened in our town. I could hardly wait for that first
bite of flaming, curried goodness. My friend Gary was my
lucky lunch partner for that meal. We had shared some
wonderfully deep spiritual conversations over the years,
but on this day he was quieter than usual. That meant that
nothing much was being said, since my mouth was stuffed
with chicken vindaloo.
Suddenly, in a voice edged with conviction and bordering
on frustration, Gary blurted out, "Where is the power
that raised Jesus from the dead, John? Where is it?" Now,
it took a lot to make me pause, fork in midair, and delay
my next bite long enough to figure out what he was talking
about, but he had my attention.
"I'm confused," he said. "I'm happy that we're all discovering
our purpose. That's really important. I believe
in worship and fellowship, discipleship, evangelism, all
that. But there has to be more! It's supposed to be supernatural-following
Jesus. Where is the power the New
Testament church had? Where's the power of the resurrection?"
Wow! Gary had no idea that the same question he
was asking right then had been burning in my own heart
as intensely as the spices in my mouth. Our church had
just finished the 40 Days of Purpose campaign, and it was
incredible. My friend Rick Warren's book The Purpose
Driven Life had given our church a clear focus, just as it
has for thousands of other churches. Our church was
large, healthy, and growing. What more could I ask for?
Authentic power. That's what I was asking for! Power
to fill the purposes of our lives and our church. Power to
ensure that worship, fellowship, discipleship, ministry,
and evangelism didn't just become "the stuff we are supposed
to do to be a good church." I wanted the power that
ignites the purpose. I wanted purpose on fire!
And if I were completely honest with myself, I didn't
often see it. Could I really say that our church resembled
the church in the book of Acts? Overflowing with the
power of the Spirit and transforming our world? No. Not
consistently, at least.
And what about other churches? I have the chance to
speak at many, and it seemed to me that virtually all of
them faced the same power outage. In fact, many weren't
even concerned with the lack of power. They were too
busy with the vital issues of daily church life-like whether
to clap in worship, why the youth group's music had to be
so loud, and when their Sunday school classroom was
ever going to get painted-to even notice that the power of
God seemed absent.
And if I really wanted to be honest, even among the
churches that were growing and baptizing large numbers,
few of them were reaching many truly unchurched converts.
A staff member of a new church in our area told one
of our staff that they had nearly emptied a couple of other
churches when they started up. And he seemed to think
that was a good thing! Sounds like swapping fish among
aquariums more than fishing!
And in my own denomination, as in evangelicalism as
a whole, when some really do begin to see the unchurched
reached, the reaction from other church leaders is rarely
rejoicing. It is usually criticism of contemporary methodology,
which may be based more on jealousy than on any
legitimate concern.
What's going on? Are we just all out of power? Is it
no longer available to us? To our churches? Do we have
to choose between business-as-usual church life and wild
claims of the supernatural from ego-centered guys on
television begging us to send for their anointed prayer
cloth for a donation of only a hundred dollars?
Where is the power of the resurrection?
Great question, Gary. Maybe the question that must
be answered for our churches to matter again, for our
lives to be fueled by New Testament fire instead of by the
dead wood of our own efforts.
I didn't have a full answer for Gary that day, but I do
know where it can be found. I've been there. Let me take
you there.
A STEP INTO POWER
I stood quietly by myself on a bright, beautiful morning,
waiting for the crowd in front of me to clear. Wastheday
as beautiful as this day, Lord? Finally, I saw the chance
I had been waiting for. The last person exited, and no
one else was waiting. I could go in for a few minutes on
my own.
I stepped into the garden tomb just outside the walls
of Jerusalem. I was struck by how small it was. Such a tiny
place to change a whole world. I reached out my hand and
touched the coolness of the hewn rock. I knelt and touched
the place-what may indeed be the very place where the
body of Jesus once lay. Overwhelmed, I stood, and then I
saw it. The view Jesus had as He stepped out of the tomb.
I was frozen-transfixed by the strange thought that I could
not step out. I could not take the same step my Lord took-the
step that saved me, the step that opened up a new life
for me that I did not deserve. I could not step out of the
tomb.
But in one moment of utter, life-changing amazement
it hit me-I already had! "Having been buried with him in
baptism and raised with him through your faith in the
power of God, who raised him from the dead"
(Colossians 2:12). I stepped out of the tomb with Jesus on
the day He rose! Even then, I was on His mind. Though it
makes no sense, I was His choice. I was raised with Him!
And so I stepped out of the tomb-again. And in that
step is found the answer to Gary's question. Here was
resurrection power. Walking with Jesus out of the tomb!
But what would it mean to live like that? How would it
flesh out in the real world? How would it change us and
our churches? What do you look like when you come out
of the tomb? Well, that's what this book is about: living in
the realm of the resurrection. A place we might not be
used to living in. But it is a place that is meant for us-a
place I hope we can go to together.
Authentic power is far from absent in our world
today. I have seen it many times-often in the most unexpected
places. Places where the realm of darkness does
desperate battle with the resurrection realm. Let me take
you to one of those places. A place where a variety of
very different power seekers saw their lives connect in
quite an unlikely way.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD .
Abdul could taste it now. The power was almost in his
hands. For so many months he had dreamed of this day-
the day when the arrogance of the Americans would be
shattered. His humiliation and rage at the enemy presence
in his country had reached a boiling point. For America to
have any power in the Middle East, in his homeland, was
beyond unacceptable.
For so long he had worked to keep it all under control-so
that the plan could be a safely kept secret until the right
time. Today was that time. No more need for caution.
Today all his wrath could overflow. The vengeance of
Allah could be unleashed. It was time for the Americans to
feel the fire. Time to strike! Time for power!
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CITY .
Mustafa understood well Abdul's quest for power. For so
many years it had been his quest as well. How he had
poured himself into the study of the Koran. Surely no one
had worked harder to please Allah, to know his mighty
power. Mustafa would not settle for the watered-down teaching
of so many of the weak Muslims. The compromisers.
Pandering to the infidels. No. He would give his life to the
defense of the truths taught by the prophet Muhammad.
How many could claim with him to have memorized
fully half of the prophet's words? And one day he would
have the entire Koran committed to memory. He had the
best teachers to guide his understanding. As he read the
doctrines of the great leader Osama Bin Laden, he felt the
contagious power of his hatred grow. With his booming
voice, he was the perfect one to chant the call to prayer at
his mosque. "There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad
is his prophet!" As his words rang through the streets of
his city, people bowed by the thousands, brought to worship
by his call-his call. What power!
But as Mustafa thought back on those days, he found
it amazing that he had once been that person. That person
was dead, and with him the shadowy evil he had once
called power. Something new burned in him now.
Something stronger than the hate, something he had
never before seen but had, in some deep place inside, been
searching for all his life. Something had risen in him. It
was the love of Jesus. The urge to kill out of hate had been
conquered by the One who died out of love-for him.
And now it was time for the prayer call again-for his
powerful voice once more to be heard on the streets of the
city. His call would not come from the mosque now, but
from anywhere God placed him. And his call was a call of
truth seldom heard in the Middle East-"There is one
God, and Jesus is His Son!" Mustafa knew full well that
prison might be his home after people heard his call. He
had been there more than once already.
But there would be no stopping him. No prison walls
could contain the call. He had found a passion and a
power that overwhelmed him with joy. He was born again!
With that thought, he began to laugh. It started small but
soon rose from his mouth in uncontrolled ecstasy. Others
had to know this life, this peace. This power. Still laughing,
he arose to the call.
THE AMERICAN
He had been foolish. It wasn't the first time, but it was the
first time it had cost him his passport and visa. It wasn't
very smart to go to an area of this Middle Eastern city
known to be occupied by terrorists, but he had been with
friends and it seemed relatively safe. Now his bag had
been stolen and, with it, his way out of the country and
back home again. How stupid! He knew better. He'd been
in thirty countries and had never carried his passport in
his bag before. There was nothing to do now but head to
the American embassy.
No reason to get too upset. He had learned on trips
like this to go with the flow and look for the surprising
ways that God would work through the most unexpected
and sometimes unpleasant events. He had also
learned not to get too worked up over what he had no
power to control. After all, with what his purpose was
here, there was no hope of accomplishing it in his own
power anyway.
He had come here to join the war on terrorism.
And though he had deep respect and support for those
fighting with conventional weapons, his weapons were
different. He had come with a passionate belief that the
most powerful force on earth is the conquering love of
Jesus Christ-a love that could pierce the darkness of the
Middle East, even the hate-filled hearts of the most
fanatic Muslims.
Most Americans found that hard to believe, but he
knew it to be true. He had seen it in the eyes of his friend
Mustafa. He had heard it in his laughter, which filled a
room like the contagious joy of heaven itself. Even now he
held in his hands the most amazing photographs he had
ever seen-a picture of Mustafa as a radical Muslim and a
second picture of him after he met Christ. The transformation
was impossible to describe. It was what "born
again" looked like. He would show these pictures to as
many people as he could in America. People had to know
this power, to see it.
But for now, he had a purpose in this land so far from
home. He had traveled here not as the American with all
the answers, swooping in to the rescue, but to support the
already-growing army here-the army of God's people,
transformed by His love, assaulting the darkness with the
light of Christ. He had come to be with them for a little
while. To learn, to love, and then to go home to support
their battle from overseas. He was after the power of God
that could literally change the Middle East. A lost passport
was a minor inconvenience in the midst of this war.
So on a beautiful spring day, a little frustrated, but
happy to be in the hands of the Head of the army, he
walked into the American embassy building.
. Abdul's team was ready. The rockets were in place and
all nine men knew their responsibility. Soon media from all over
the world would be reporting on their glorious accomplishment.
Abdul had watched with uncontrolled glee as the towers
fell on 9/11. Even though he saw the devastation only on a
television screen, he felt as if he were there. This was his battle
too, and now it was his turn. Now he would see the destruction
of Americans with his own eyes, by his own hand, and the
Americans would watch it on their TVs. No more shame at the
power of the enemy. Today, the power was his-and Allah's, of
course. And so Abdul turned his attention to the preparations
for the rocket attacks-the rockets to be launched into the
embassy building of the United States of America.
BACK AT HOME .
At first glance, sixteen-year-old Amy didn't appear very
powerful. But power was exactly what she was after. She
felt something-something that stirred her, frightened her,
and left her with an uneasy feeling that something was
very wrong. So Amy did what is available to so many but
chosen by so few.
She entered the realm of resurrection power. The realm
of unimaginable strength.
A young girl slipped to her knees in her bedroom in
Georgia, and the heavens opened. Though she could not
see it, demons screamed around her to stop. Angels drew
their swords and struck. The same power that rolled a
stone away from a tomb was unleashed by a mighty
hand. And it all came at the quiet whisper of one
teenager: "Jesus, protect my daddy!"
The power of God moved like an unseen wave across
the world. All the carefully formed plans of the enemy
inexplicably began to unravel. The power of the invisible
realm had penetrated the visible. Prayers had been heard.
Prayers were being answered. The evil anticipation of
Abdul and his cohorts was transformed into the bitter
rage of frustration and defeat as government forces suddenly
burst in. How had they known? How could this
be? And their dream of terrorist victory came to an end.
They would not end this day in celebration of American
deaths, but in a prison cell. The rockets, ready for their
appointed destination, would never be launched. And a
cry of rage rose from the realm of spiritual darkness.
On the other side of the city, another cry was beginning.
A chant that would be strange to Western ears but
a familiar sound in the Middle East. A call in loud,
cadenced Arabic. Familiar in sound but not in content.
Something was different here.
Mustafa stood on the street, tears of joy streaming
down his face, the power of God shining from his countenance,
and cried, "For God so loved the world that He
gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever should
believe in Him would not perish, but have eternal life!"
And many of those who heard it knew, as Mustafa had
come to know, that they were hearing for the first time the
words of truth. The power that Abdul had sought, Mustafa
had found! And there was no stopping it now.
As I sat in the embassy building that day, I had no idea
of the drama that was unfolding. The drama that I was
very much a part of. The drama that could have taken
my life. I was the foolish American! I didn't find out what
had happened until I went back to the hotel room and
discovered that it was all over the news, all over the
world. But that's the way it is with the power of God. He
moves in a resurrection realm, an invisible realm, but
with very visible results.
I want to know that realm, and I want you to as well.
I want to live in it-in the reality of the power of God. I
want to live out what I really believe-that adventures like
the one I just described are real-and not uncommon at
all. They are going on around us all the time. We're just
so trained to live in the visible that we rarely even think
about the invisible. And that's really tragic.
I lived that adventure during a visit to a country in
the Middle East. I've changed the names, but "Mustafa"
really is my friend-one of the only full-time evangelists
in the world who once followed the teachings of Bin
Laden. Abdul represents the nine terrorists who were
arrested that day. And others were killed in battles with
government forces while I was there.
But what kind of adventure is it if you don't even
know you're in it? God's kind!
(Continues.)
