Pentecost’s
power is more than wind, fire and supernatural hoopla. Without love it is just
noise.

What’s
the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear the word “Pentecostal”?

A. · · A woman with a beehive hairdo, support hose, Granny
shoes and no makeup?
B. · · Someone rolling on the floor while speaking in tongues
uncontrollably?
C. · · A slick-haired televangelist in a white suit who begs
for donations?
D. · · A sour-faced Christian who looks like he just sucked
all the juice out of a lemon?
E.···· A sincere Christian who passionately loves God and
people and believes in the supernatural power of the Holy Spirit?

I
wish we all could answer E., but we Pentecostals have an image problem. I’m not
ashamed of the word itself, but I don’t use it as a label because the bad
stereotypes (A., B., C. and D.) have just about ruined it for the rest of us.
Many people associate Pentecostals with dry legalism, fanaticism, charlatanism
and downright hatefulness.

In the
days leading up to the Global Day of Prayer, let’s bombard heaven on behalf of
the United States.

Twelve years ago a South
African businessman, Graham Power, felt God nudge him to organize a prayer
gathering in the city of Cape Town. About 45,000 Christians responded to the
call by jamming into a rugby stadium in March 2001 to intercede for their
nation.

That was the beginning of the
Global Day of Prayer, an event that will likely involve millions of Christians
in 220 nations on Pentecost Sunday, May 27. This year organizers are encouraging
people to extend their prayers for 10 days prior to the event, beginning on May
17. They are also urging pastors to fuel the prayer with sermons about the
necessity of the Holy Spirit’s power.

Reclaiming the process of
discipleship will require a total overhaul of how we do church.

I get funny looks from some charismatic Christians
when I tell them I believe God is calling us back to radical discipleship.
Those in the over-50 crowd—people who lived through the charismatic movement of
the 1970s—are likely to have a bad taste in their mouths when it comes to the
dreaded “D word.”

That’s because the so-called Discipleship Movement (also
known as the Shepherding Movement) turned a vital biblical principle into a
weapon and abused people with it. Churches that embraced the warped doctrines
of shepherding required believers to get permission from their pastors before they
bought cars, got pregnant or moved to a new city. Immature leaders became
dictators, church members became their loyal minions, and the Holy Spirit’s
fire was snuffed out because of a pervasive spirit of control.

The Lord wants to unleash a gushing
river of new wine into the church today, but we must leave some
things behind.

A
woman from Orlando, Fla., was in the news last month because she
decided to retire from driving her 1964 Mercury Comet. Rachel Veitch,
who is 93, bought the car new for $3,300 when gasoline cost 29 cents
a gallon. Today the light yellow car, which Veitch calls “Chariot,”
has 567,000 miles on it.

That’s
great news for Veitch—who will probably get $44,000 for the antique
car because she took such good care of it. But whoever buys it will
either store it in a fancy garage or display it at an auto show.
There are not too many miles left on this relic of the past.

If you or someone you love is struggling with a porn addiction, take these steps to freedom.

At a men’s conference I sponsored last weekend in Philadelphia, some of my friends took the stage and got gut-level honest about their temptations. I was so proud of their courage. Shay, a young father from Ohio, admitted that he was exposed to hard-core pornography when he was only five years old. He began modeling what he saw in X-rated videos when he was just six.

Another guy from Pennsylvania told the men in the audience that he began watching porn when he was a preteen—and this led him to sex with dozens of girls in high school. Until recently this man still battled the shame of his porn habit even though he was a lay leader in his church.

Trayvon Martin was not a
criminal because he was black and wearing a hoodie. And I’m not a racist
because I’m white.

We will have to wait months to find out how jurors
in Florida will rule in the Trayvon Martin case. Did his accused assailant,
George Zimmerman, act in self-defense when he shot the unarmed boy? Or did
Zimmerman kill Martin because he just assumed any young black man walking
through a gated neighborhood wearing a hoodie is a dangerous criminal?

Trayvon’s case should cause all of us to check our
hearts. We’ve all been guilty of making unfair judgments. Many of us stereotype
people unconsciously.

Technology has connected us
superficially. But the Holy Spirit can knit us together supernaturally.

Two weeks ago I attended a men’s
retreat in Georgia with some of my closest friends. Chris, Eddie, Rick,
Michael, Ray, Robert, Medad, Quentin and James were in the audience with 120 other
guys. We spent 2 1/2 days together—worshipping, attending teaching
sessions, praying in small groups and eating our meals together. Nobody wanted
to go home. It felt like heaven because we enjoyed being together so much.

It’s OK to tone down certain charismatic manifestations to make church
visitors feel welcome.

I love it when the Holy Spirit moves in a church service. But I also
know there’s a fine line between charismatic and charismaniac.
Too often, those of us who love spiritual gifts get carried away—and before too
long things get strange. What is supernatural turns weird, and what is
prophetic becomes pathetic.

This is not a new problem. Two chapters of Paul’s first letter to the
Corinthians are devoted to this dilemma. Even in the first century, people
misused charismatic gifts to get attention. The abuse of speaking in tongues
created pandemonium, and the lack of order invited an apostolic rebuke.

In the case of Trayvon Martin, we’d
be better off to keep our heads cool and our words peaceable.

I live eight miles from the gated
subdivision where Trayvon Martin died on Feb. 26. A few weeks ago that section
of Sanford, Fla., was as peaceful as the palms that sway in our humid breezes.
But since the black teenager’s unexplained death, an unsettling pall of anger
and suspicion hangs in the air.

The specter of American racism has
returned. And the world is watching us argue about it.

I’m dreaming of a day when U.S. immigration policy reflects the values
of the Bible.

Earlier this year when I was preaching in California, a woman came to
the church altar and asked me for prayer. She spoke with a thick Spanish
accent. Her tears had already streaked her mascara, and she was trembling. In
between her sobs she told me that her husband, who is not a U.S. citizen, had
been deported to Mexico—leaving her and their four children behind.

This woman is a U.S.
citizen, but her husband had been standing in line for 10 years to get his
papers. As is often the case with Mexicans, bureaucracy offered him no
compassion. Now a family is split up. The land of the free and the home of the
brave slammed its doors on a Christian brother.